Chapter 511: Signatures

[February 5th, 2017]

The queue outside the Barnes & Noble at The Grove in Los Angeles was long by five o’clock that morning.

By mid-afternoon on a brisk Saturday in early February 2017, the line had wrapped three times around the central fountain, snaked past the trolley tracks, and spilled into the adjacent parking structure.

Over three thousand people were waiting with worn paperbacks, collector’s hardcovers, and hand-knitted wizarding scarves.

Inside the bookstore’s central atrium, sitting behind a signing table beneath, was–

Regal Seraphsail, and to his right stood Rock.

On his left sat Gwendolyn.

In front of Regal, stacked in neat battlements, were two monuments of publishing.

On the right lay the gold embossed advance promotional posters and commemorative bookplates for [Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows].

–the seventh and final volume of the series that had redefined twenty first century literature, scheduled for its worldwide midnight release exactly one month from today, on March 10th.

On the left sat stacks of a brand new, forest green hardcover featuring an ornate, gilded streetlamp standing solitary in a snowy wood beneath a starry sky:

—-----—

[THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: THE MAGICIAN’S NEPHEW]

| By C.S. Lewis

| Published by Everleaf Press

—-----—

"Drink some water, darling." Gwendolyn murmured without looking up from her screen, tapping the tabletop with her stylus. "And good work, I think the last one was your seven hundred and fortieth sign today."

"No worries. As long as I get to sit beside you, I would happily sign a million copies."

Regal said, flashing a smile as he accepted a copy of [The Goblet of Fire] from an eager college student.

He signed the title page:

’To Rudd, keep looking for the magic.

’–Regal Seraphsail.’

"Thank you so much, Mr. Seraphsail!" the young man beamed, his face flushed red as he clutched the volume against his chest like a holy relic. "I have read this four times. The graveyard scene still gives me chills."

"Thank you very much." Regal winked. "It really means a lot."

As the student stepped away, the next fan in line stepped forward, and Regal’s demeanor softened instantly.

It was a little girl, no older than six, dressed in an oversized, hand stitched Hufflepuff robe.

She wore round, plastic toy spectacles, and she was carrying a brand new copy of [The Magician’s Nephew] with both hands.

Behind her, her mother looked on with a warm but embarrassed smile.

Regal set his pen flat on the table, rested his elbows on his knees, and leaned down so his eyes were completely level with hers.

"Well, hello there...." Regal said softly. "A Hufflepuff prefect, I see. What’s your name?"

The little girl froze, blushing. She looked up at her mother, who gave her a gentle, encouraging nod on the shoulder, before whispering in a voice as quiet as a mouse:

"Maxie..."

"Maxie." Regal repeated. "A pleasure to meet you. Now, tell me the truth... did you sort yourself into Hufflepuff, or did the Sorting Hat have to think about it?"

"The Hat knew right away." Maxie whispered proudly. "Because I share my snacks with my brother."

A ripple of affectionate laughter washed over the nearby crowd and the event staff.

Even Rock, standing three feet behind Regal, let out a huff from his chest.

"The Hat made the right call." Regal nodded with absolute seriousness. "Hufflepuffs are the most loyal people in the world. And what do we have here?"

He pointed to the green hardcover she was holding.

Clara placed the book on the table, pushing it toward him with careful reverence. "My mom read me the first Chapter in line. Is Aslan real?"

Regal picked up his pen, opening the pristine front flyleaf.

"In every way that matters, Clara." Regal smiled gently, writing a personalized dedication:

’For Maxie... the most loyal Hufflepuff at The Grove. May your wardrobe always open into a snowy forest.

’–Regal Seraphsail & C.S. Lewis.’

He closed the book, tapped the golden lion on the cover, and handed it back. "Read it with your mom before bed, and keep sharing those snacks."

Maxie took the book, gave him an adorable, clumsy little curtsy, and ran back into her mother’s with a giggle of joy.

Watching them walk toward the exit, Gwendolyn rested her chin on her hand, a soft smile curving her lips. "You’re dangerously good with kids, you know that? If the film industry ever collapses, you have a solid future as a mall Santa."

"Thank you for the honour, madam." Regal chuckled, uncapping his water bottle and taking a long sip.

He glanced down at the stack of [The Magician’s Nephew], his eyes thoughtful.

Bringing this book to market had been a completely different battle compared to his own writing.

When Regal knew he would be finishing the [Harry Potter] franchise two years ago; and knew many of his fans would be expecting a new book from him, he wanted to prepare something very true and genuine.

No matter how many years passed or how much success he achieved, he would never forget where it all began: as the author of [Harry Potter].

And continuing the legacy would be nothing short of an Oscar for him.

However, he is also aware of his busy schedule.

And that is why he wanted the next book series to be written by someone else.

Nearly two years ago, through an academic contact in Oxford, he had discovered Clive Staples Lewis, an unassuming, deeply brilliant scholar of medieval literature who possessed an extraordinary talent for allegorical myth and portal fantasy.

Regal had immediately recognized the timeless genius of the man’s imagination.

But unlike Regal, who possessed the advantage of a past life’s memories and the system that allowed him to draft seven hundred page epics in three weeks without breaking a sweat, Clive was a classical, methodical human craftsman.

It had taken C.S. Lewis eighteen months of solitary labor, historical research, and relentless redrafting just to finalize this single premier volume.

However, he didn’t stop there.

Lewis had insisted on mapping the entire seven book cosmological timeline before penning Chapter one of [The Magician’s Nephew].

He had drafted genealogical charts, debated theological allegories with his Oxford peers, and gone through four complete developmental rewrites with Gwendolyn’s editorial desk.

To the modern fast paced entertainment industry, eighteen months for a slender fantasy novel felt like an eternity.

But to Regal and Gwendolyn, it was the natural gestation of a masterpiece.

Regal had provided structural notes, of course; guidelines on pacing, world building anchors, and thematic resonance.

But he had made sure those notes were framed strictly as editorial scaffolding so Clive’s authentic voice could flourish, rather than imposing his own will onto the page.

And the timing of the release was going to be a marvelous point in the history of literature.

Launching [The Chronicles of Narnia] on March 9th, literally twenty four hours before the midnight release of [Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows], was a move that had sent book distributors into a frenzy.

Every bookstore on the planet was already ordering pallets of books.

By pairing them together, Everleaf Press was capturing the fantasy zeitgeist at its absolute historical peak.

Already, the literary forums were burning with feverish speculation.

Sharp-eyed readers who had gotten their hands on early review copies of [The Magician’s Nephew] had noted the uncanny thematic synchronicity between the two series–

–the Wood between the Worlds, rings carrying travelers across dimensions, ancient primordial magic that preceded spoken spells, and the deeper concept of sacrificial love acting as an unbreakable cosmic ward.

Internet message boards were rife with rumors that Narnia was secretly the prequel to the Harry Potter universe–

–a mythic chronicle set tens of thousands of years before the founding of Hogwarts, documenting the origin of magical bloodlines and parallel realms.

In truth, that secret macro link existed in Regal’s private notes.

It was an intentional narrative bridge known only to him, Gwendolyn, and Clive himself. But Regal had placed strict rule on the entire studio and publishing house:

Never confirm it.

Not during press junkets or author interviews, in promotional blurbs, or even in future film adaptations.

Regal didn’t want the connection confirmed after book three, or after the final book, or even ten years from now.

He wanted it to remain a beautiful, eternal mystery.

An unverified myth that generations of readers could debate, cross-reference, and obsess over for as long as printed words existed.

Ambiguity was the true mother of wonder.

....

"Next, please!" the floor manager called out, waving the line forward.

Regal shook out his right wrist, readying his pen for the next volume.

The figure stepping up to the table, however, immediately drew a subtle shift in the room’s energy.

The man was wearing a streetwear hoodie pulled low over a vintage baseball cap, a pair of dark Ray-Ban sunglasses, and a face mask pulled up over his nose, entirely obscuring his features.

Around the area, two venue security guards straightened up, exchanging nervous glances.

Rock didn’t flinch, but his dark eyes narrowed by a fraction of an inch. He gave Regal a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his chin, indicating that the area was secure.

The masked man didn’t speak.

He reached inside his jacket with exaggerated slowness, withdrew a thin book, and slapped it down onto the table with a thwack.

Regal looked down, it wasn’t a copy of [Harry Potter], but [The Magician’s Nephew].

Lying face-up on the table was a copy of [The Invincible Iron Man #12].

The latest blockbuster issue from MDC Comics, featuring Tony Stark standing atop an exploding Helicarrier in gleaming red and gold armor.

Regal slowly lifted his head, an amused eyebrow curving upward.

"Sir. I believe you’re in the wrong line. The comic book shop is three blocks south on Beverly."

The masked man leaned both hands on the edge of the table, leaning forward until his shaded glasses were six inches from Regal’s face.

"Listen to me, kid." a familiar voice rasped through the mask, vibrating with theatrical arrogance–

"I stood in that godforsaken line outside by the fountain for twenty five minutes between two teenagers who were passionately debating whether or not Hermione should have ended up with that ginger kid.

"My knees are cramping, my espresso is lukewarm, and my legal team just informed me that you had Tony Stark say, ’Statistically speaking, your argument is garbage,’ in issue eleven. I want an explanation, and I want an autograph."

The man reached up with both hands, hooked his fingers behind his ears, and pulled down the mask, sliding his sunglasses up onto the brim of his cap.

It was Robert Downey Jr.

He stood there with his classic, cocky, million-dollar smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief.

For half a second, the entire Barnes & Noble atrium hung in silence.

Then, the floor exploded.

"OH MY GOD!" a girl shrieked from the mezzanine.

"ROBERT?!"

"TONY STARK?!"

Gasps, camera clicks, and shouts rippled through the hundreds of fans waiting in the queues.

Cell phones flew into the air like a flock of digital birds as people scrambled against the velvet ropes.

Gwendolyn let out a startled laugh, covering her mouth with her hand, while Rock let out a chuckle from behind his crossed arms.

Regal simply leaned back into his armchair, clicked his ballpoint pen twice, and looked up at RDJ with unimpressed amusement.

"Robert." Regal said dryly. "You’re holding up the queue. There’s an eight year old behind you who actually wants a signature on a book I wrote."

"First of all, I am an eight year old." RDJ countered without missing a beat, casually resting a foot on the crossbar of the signing table like he owned the building–

"Second of all, you owe me this signature. Do you know what it’s like trying to come into a huge crowd being incognito? It’s a nightmare, Seraphsail. Sign the comic, or I am sitting on your lap."

Regal shook his head, a laugh breaking through his composed exterior. "You really have nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon?"

"I was having lunch with Susan at the bistro across the street." Robert explained, gesturing with an espresso cup he had pulled out from somewhere inside his coat. "She spotted the queue, checked the news, saw that the elusive Director Seraphsail was actually doing ground level fieldwork, and said: ’Go bother him, Robert, you know you want to.’ And who am I to disobey my wife?"

"Susan is an enabler." Regal sighed, pulling the comic book toward him.

"Nha... She’s a visionary." RDJ corrected instantly.

He leaned across the desk, lowering his voice into a comedic whisper that was loud enough for the first three rows of fans to hear–

"Also, off the record... I saw [Train to Catch] at the Arclight last Friday. What is wrong with you, man? You made my friend Keanu hallucinate a newborn baby while falling off a train! I was in a dark theater trying to look like a hardened action star, and I was weeping into a bag of peanut M&Ms! It’s unconstitutional!"

The crowd within earshot burst into laughter.

Regal unhurriedly uncapped his pen. Across the glossy cover of [Iron Man #12], right across the arc reactor glowing on Stark’s chest, he scribbled:

’To the real Tony Stark... Stop complaining about your lines and learn how to fly.

’–Regal.’

Regal slid the comic back and looked up with a deadpan stare. "There. Your collector’s edition is officially defaced. Now take your espresso and vacate my singing room before Rock escorts you."

Robert picked up the comic, inspected the signature with a nod, and looked over at Rock.

The giant bodyguard gave Robert a slow nod of greeting.

"Rock." Robert pointed a finger at him. "As terrifying as always, my friend. Love the henley. Very blue collar warrior."

Robert turned back to the crowd, raised the signed comic book high above his head like a championship trophy, and flashed that patented Tony Stark grin as cameras flashed in a blinding frenzy.

"He’s real, folks!" Robert yelled to the cheering room, gesturing toward Regal. "He signs books, he breaks hearts, and he doesn’t take my calls on weekends! Buy the green book! Read the lion!"

With that, Robert pulled his mask back over his nose, tipped his cap to Gwendolyn, and sauntered toward the side exit with swagger.

....

By seven o’clock that evening, the video clips were circulating in the global internet.

Dozens of phone recordings taken from every angle of the Barnes & Noble atrium flooded every social media platform.

The video of Robert Downey Jr. dramatically pulling down his mask to demand an autograph on an [Iron Man] comic from a totally unbothered Regal Seraphsail rocketed past twenty million views in under four hours.

....

[Twitter | Worldwide Trends]

| #1 StarkMeetsRegal

| #2 TheGroveSigning

| #3 NarniaPrequelTheory

| #4 DeathlyHallowsCountDown

| #5 RobertDowneyJr

....

On Reddit’s r/movies and r/Marvel, the megathreads were filled with happiness:

| u/CinemaGeek_LA (14.2k upvotes): "What kills me is Regal’s face when Robert pulls off the mask. Initially, I thought the whole thing was just a PR stunt, but watching Regal’s genuine reaction when he realized it was actually Robert standing there was hilarious. He looked at him like he’d just caught his roommate raiding the kitchen at two in the morning for a bowl of cereal. The chemistry between those two is absurd."

? u/StarkIndustriesRep (6.8k upvotes): "RDJ complaining that Regal made him cry into a bag of peanut M&Ms during [Train to Catch] is the most Tony Stark thing to ever happen in real life. These guys are genuinely family."

....

Beneath the viral clip on Twitter, which had garnered over four hundred thousand retweets, a top comment from a popular entertainment blogger captured the exact cultural consensus:

| @FilmDork_Official:

"I don’t know how Regal has such a rapport with the actors he has worked with. They all love him, and talk about him even when they are working on different projects. It’s like the man is the most natural human male friend.

"And honestly, if someone doesn’t like the man, then the problem is them, not Regal. Go see a doctor, man."

....

....

[To be continued...]

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