StarChaser

by Angie Sage

  “They’ve all got stars on them,” Tod explained.

  “They do,” Rose agreed.

  “So . . . I think I need to know a bit about what the Charm does before I can choose the right locker,” Tod said.

  “You do indeed,” Rose said, sounding pleased. “That is one of the most important things to understand about how to use a Charm. Always make sure you know exactly what it will do. Don’t rely on what people tell you—make sure that you know.” From beneath the Charm desk, Rose took a leather-bound book titled Ancient Charm Index and handed it to Tod.

  “This lists all one hundred and sixty-nine Ancient Charms,” Rose said. “They are indexed in three ways: design of key, name of Charm, effects of Charm. Many of the effects sections will be blank, as for some we have no information at all. You will also find the Charm Chant by most of them, but again, not all.”

  Ten minutes later, Tod had matched her sketches of the lockers with the entries in the index. She showed Rose the one she thought referred to her key. It was named StarChaser.

  Rose put on a tiny pair of pink-glass spectacles and peered at the minute faded writing in the book. “StarChaser,” she murmured. “Well, you’ve chosen an odd one there, I must say. We’ve got no information about it at all.”

  “Oh.” Tod felt disappointed.

  “However,” Rose said cheerily, “I have a feeling that you’re going to find it out for us. But first let’s see if you’ve picked the right locker.”

  Tod had a strange feeling as she climbed the ladder, and it wasn’t because of its teetering height. She felt as though she were climbing toward something really important in her life. At the top of the ladder, she looked closely at the locker. Like the key, it was a dull silver color—pure silver leaf—and etched into it was a scattering of tiny dark blue stars. It looked very mysterious. Tod began to feel excited.

  The key turned easily and the locker’s little door swung open. Tod glanced down at Rose, who was looking up with a broad smile. “Well done!” she called. “Right the first time! Not one Apprentice has ever done that. Now see what’s inside.”

  A little nervously, Tod put her hand into the darkness of the locker. She was surprised to find how deep it was—her whole arm had disappeared into it before the tips of her fingers at last managed to touch the back wall. At first Tod thought that the locker was empty: all she could feel were its polished smooth sides. But as her fingers fluttered like trapped butterflies against the silvery back of the locker, a small box made itself known beneath them.

  With the key back in its place inside the Charm desk, Tod and Rose sat gazing at the box. Like the locker, it was covered in battered silver leaf with the dark ghosts of stars scattered across it. Just looking at it made Tod shiver.

  “Are you going to open it?” Rose prompted.

  Tod hesitated. She felt strangely nervous.

  Rose smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t you see what the Charm Chant says?” she suggested. “It’s not here in the Index and I’d really like to add it.”

  Tod lifted the lid to the box. Inside lay a five-pointed star made of a thick, coppery metal with shifting blue patterns that moved over its surface like oil on water. The star had a random pattern of small holes strewn across it and was pierced with a central hexagonal hole. It lay on a scrap of grubby turquoise wool that smelled of oil.

  “It won’t bite,” Rose said with a smile. “You can pick it up.”

  Nervously, Tod held the StarChaser in her palm. It was heavy and covered most of her hand—just a battered piece of metal that looked as though it had once been part of a machine. There was no sign of a Charm Chant inscribed on the uppermost side of the star, so Tod turned it over. That too was blank.

  “No Chant?” Rose inquired.

  “No. It must be in the box, I suppose,” Tod said.

  But it wasn’t. Tod and Rose even rolled back the wool lining of the box to see if the Chant was hidden beneath, but all they saw was plain silver, as smooth and unmarked as the day the box had been made. Rose fetched an Enlarging Glass and ran it slowly over both the box and the Charm, but she found nothing.

  “Most peculiar,” Rose said. “It’s not marked as an orphan.”

  “An orphan?” asked Tod.

  “That’s what we call Charms that have lost their Chants. They’re marked in the Index.” Rose checked the Ancient Index once again. “And this one isn’t. I shall have to correct it.” Rose sighed. “I’m so sorry, Tod. This StarChaser is pretty useless; Ancient Charms always have to be started with a Chant. But you were clearly drawn to it for some reason. Why don’t you keep it for a while?”

  “Keep it?”

  “I’ll check it out as a long loan. You can get to know it. See if it tells you anything.” Rose smiled. “I’ve learned with Charms that you have to Listen to them sometimes. And not everyone can Hear. But I think if this Charm wants to tell anyone anything, you will be the one it chooses.”

  Tod looked at the heavy metal star lying quiet and warm on her hand. It felt to her as though it belonged somewhere she knew, but had not yet found. “Thank you,” she said.

  “On one condition,” Rose said. “If you find out what the Charm is for, you will tell me. Okay?”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” Tod said.

  For the rest of the afternoon Tod sat making notes on the Ancient Charm Index, aware of the great weight of the StarChaser Charm snug in its box and sitting deep in her pocket. By the time Tod had finished her notes, the StarChaser had begun to feel as if it were part of her.

  Before she left, Tod helped Rose wash up the FizzFroot mugs. Twilight was falling and through the sparkling window—Rose kept a clean kitchen—Tod could see candles flickering in the attic windows of the houses that lined the Moat. She folded up the drying cloth and looked out the window.

  “I love this time of the day,” Rose commented. “All the candles being lit. And the torches blazing up along Wizard Way.”

  “And the Forest looking so dark and scary.” Tod shivered. “I’m so glad I’m here and not out there. I never want to be in the Forest at night again. Ever. Oh . . . Isn’t there a light in the old Infirmary?”

  Rose peered over Tod’s shoulder. “So there is. Candlelight.”

  “I suppose they’re getting ready for the party,” Tod said.

  Rose clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “I don’t know why Septimus allows those parties,” she said. “It’s a big mistake.”

  “He says it keeps trouble out of the Castle,” Tod replied loyally.

  “Those parties bring trouble right up to our doorstep,” Rose said. “Which is too close for my liking.”

  Tod did not disagree.

  A few minutes later, Tod and Rose emerged from the Charm Chamber into the lobby. They were both pleased to see that Jo-Jo Heap had gone.

  “I wonder if he found what he was looking for?” Tod said.

  “Hmm,” Rose replied. “I rather hope he didn’t.”

  Tod rather hoped so too.

  WIZARD SANDWICHES

  Dusk was falling by the time Tod said good-bye to Rose. With her hand in her pocket clutching the warm metal of the StarChaser, Tod walked dreamily out of the door and along the wood-paneled passageway that led to the silver spiral stairs. These were, like much of the Wizard Tower, powered by the ancient Magyk that took its energy from the great block of lapis lazuli that formed the bedrock of the tower. The stairs moved constantly, turning like a massive corkscrew. At this time of day they were busy with Wizards returning to their rooms. Tod stood in the soft light of the corridor, waiting for three empty steps—it was considered bad manners for anyone, especially an Apprentice, to crowd someone out by occupying the immediate step above or below.

  While she waited, Tod drew the StarChaser from her pocket and let it sit heavy in her palm. She gazed at it intently, convinced that now she was alone with it she would be able to see the Chant, which it was keeping only for her eyes. The StarChaser remained as unmarked as ever, but as
she looked, Tod thought she caught ancient echoes of a mechanical thrum. She was so entranced that when there was a space on the stairs she automatically stepped on, only to realize some four floors up that she was going the wrong way. She leaped off and found herself on the eighteenth floor.

  Bother, Tod thought. I really do not want to be here.

  The eighteenth floor of the Wizard Tower was a strange place. Like most of the floors it consisted of a central corridor with rooms leading off, but it differed from the others in that it still had its original decoration: slate walls with thousands of silver-leaf pictograms in vertical columns that ran from ceiling to floor, the translation of which was kept locked in the safe at the end of the corridor. Like Tod’s StarChaser, this place too was full of ancient echoes, but unlike the StarChaser they were more than a little disturbing, for it was here that Septimus held the new Darke course for final year Apprentices.

  Tod knew that only those in their final year were allowed to set foot on the eighteenth floor, and the echoes of lingering Darke spells spooked her. As soon as the stairs reversed direction, she jumped back on and with a feeling of great relief, headed down into brighter spaces.

  The Darke echoes had unsettled Tod and she felt afraid for her StarChaser. Remembering that Rose had told her the best way to keep a Charm safe was to wear it close, she got off the stairs at the seventh floor and hurried along to the Junior Girls’ Apprentice Dorm. The dorm was set out with twelve tented spaces; Tod’s had recently acquired a new design—silver stars on dark blue in honor of a certain tent in a distant desert. Tod carried her much more substantial star into her tent and from her desk beside the bed she took a spare leather bootlace. She threaded it through the center of the StarChaser and put it around her neck. Tod already wore her PathFinder around her neck, and the two sat well together, as if they were old acquaintances. She put the StarChaser’s empty silver box into her pocket and hurried off. She was looking forward to spending the evening with her best friends from her home village, Oskar and Ferdie Sarn.

  On Wizard Way the torches atop their tall silver posts were being lit, and the smell of spices from the curry cart made Tod hungry for supper. She wandered along, enjoying the relaxed evening slowness. She was heading for Wizard Sandwiches—a café frequented by Apprentices, scribes and the occasional witch—where they had planned to meet.

  Tod spotted Ferdie and Oskar hanging around outside, their red curly hair shining in the twilight with the typical PathFinder sheen. She waved and the Sarn twins hurried to join her. Quickly Ferdie took one arm and Oskar the other.

  “We had to wait outside,” Oskar said.

  “You’ll see why when we go past the window,” Ferdie added.

  The twins walked Tod toward Wizard Sandwiches and as they went by, Tod glanced into the café window. “Oh!” she said.

  “See?” said Ferdie.

  “There’s no way we’re going in there to sit with witches,” Oskar said.

  “But aren’t those the nice ones?” Tod asked.

  Ferdie pulled a face. “There is no such thing as a nice witch,” she declared.

  Tod felt much the same. They had all suffered a terrifying time at the hands of the Wendron Witch coven. Tod willingly allowed Ferdie and Oskar to sweep her away, off to Snake Slipway, where Ferdie lodged with Lucy, Simon and William Heap.

  “We’ll have to be quiet,” Ferdie warned. “Simon’s not well. Something horrible has happened to his eye.”

  “What kind of horrible?” Oskar asked, sounding interested.

  Ferdie lowered her voice. “I don’t know. But don’t say anything. Lucy is really scared, and she doesn’t want William to know.”

  Tod said nothing. Her visit to Simon that morning had been Wizard Tower business, which was not for her to talk about.

  “I bet William does know,” Oskar said.

  Ferdie was inclined to agree. “I think he does. He was very quiet when he got home from school.”

  “So why don’t we take him out in a paddleboat?” Oskar suggested. “That should cheer him up.”

  And so the three friends—known to one another as the Tribe of Three—set off to extract William Heap from the sadness of a frightened household and hire one of his uncle Rupert’s paddleboats.

  From the other side of the window, Ariel and Star watched them go. “That’s those kids,” Ariel said. “You know, those snow sprites that Morwenna nearly threw in the fire.”

  “Yeah, they had a lucky escape,” Star said.

  “Thanks to us,” said Ariel.

  “Not that they bothered to actually say thank you,” said Star. “Ungrateful little tykes.”

  Ariel shrugged. “No one ever thanks witches. It’s a fact of life.”

  “Queen Jenna’s all right, though,” said Star.

  “Yeah, she’s okay. While she has a use for us, at least,” said Ariel. “Are you finishing that Tank or shall I?”

  One of the perks of their job for the Queen was free food at Wizard Sandwiches, and the witches were making the most of it. Between them was a large plate on which lay the remains of the biggest sandwich that the café produced: the Tank. The Tank was two loaves of bread, hollowed out and filled with a savory bean mixture then stuck together with thick gravy. The two witches had personalized the mix with extra chili and chunks of fried squirrel—which was, Star thought, a mistake. She had a squirrel bone stuck between her teeth. “You have it,” she said.

  While Ariel chewed her way through the last of the Tank, the remaining member of staff, the washing-up boy, began to close up. The witches had been there the whole afternoon keeping customers away; all the staff had gone except for him, and he wanted to go home. He had already wiped the tables, cleared away the menus and counted the takings. He now set about noisily putting the unoccupied chairs up on the tables and then in desperation started mopping the floor, spraying water everywhere.

  Ariel and Star watched him impassively as they very slowly finished their pudding: sweet banana rolls topped with chocolate sprinkles. Then they wiped their fingers on the tablecloth and sauntered out through the puddles.

  “So,” said Ariel, as the boy hastily locked the door behind them, “I suppose we had better go and deliver Marissa’s message to the Ormnap team.”

  Star looked at the lights of Wizard Way; she saw the happy pottering of people wandering along, taking in the evening air, gazing in the lighted shop windows. The thought of returning to the darkness of the nighttime Forest was not attractive. “Why bother?” she said.

  “Yeah,” Ariel agreed. “Rude cow. She can tell them herself.”

  Ariel and Star linked arms and set off for Gothyk Grotto, a shop selling what was known in the Castle as Witchery-Fakery. At night Gothyk Grotto—or the Grot as it was affectionately known—became a meeting place for the more goth-minded teens. It was a place where witches were always welcome. As the evening gave way to night, in a cobwebby corner at the back of the Grot, Ariel and Star began the Darke card game of Hangman Jack.

  THREE IN THE MORNING

  In the Junior Girls’ Apprentice Dorm in the Wizard Tower, Tod was asleep with the StarChaser under her pillow. In her dreams she moved slowly through a dark space dotted with tiny lights that guided her toward something familiar, but as yet unknown. Just before three in the morning Tod woke with a start, convinced she was falling. Dozily, she looked up at the stars on the tented canopy above her bed and then, as three tinny chimes from the Drapers Yard Clock drifted into the dorm, she slipped back into her quiet, purposeful dream.

  In Gothyk Grotto the candles were burning low, but Ariel and Star played on. As was so often the case with Hangman Jack, the game had expanded to include the onlookers—all teens, all dressed in varying shades of black. Thirteen were now gathered around the table: the Grot’s favorite number. The atmosphere was buzzing with tension, for the stakes were high: a minimum of five luminous eyeballs was now required to stay in the game. It was shaping up to be a long night—someone had just found a new box of eye
balls in the storeroom.

  Across the Moat in the Infirmary, Marissa was awake and sitting at the nurses’ desk in the middle of the empty ward. In front of her was the bag of Kraan and on the desk a dark brown scrap of paper that looked as though it had been scorched. On the paper was a spiral of tiny words written in black ink, very precisely lettered. This was the Engender and it was, as Marissa would have put it, freaking her out.

  Marissa was not the world’s best reader and there were some words she had never seen before and was unsure how to say. However, she knew enough about Darke Magyk to recognize one particularly terrifying word, written in all its horror, at the very end of the Engender. Marissa sat staring at the paper, her mind full of stories gleefully told around late-night campfires about stupid Wizards who had misread Engenders and the awful things that had happened to them as a result.

  Marissa yawned. She was too tired to concentrate, she told herself, that was the trouble. She’d have a nap and take another look in the morning. She put the Engender back into the bag of Kraan and shoved the bag into the desk drawer. Then she went back to her hard hospital bed, wrapped herself up in the thin blanket and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Thousands of miles away, in Hospitable Gard, someone else was also in a deep, dreamless sleep: Oraton-Marr.

  The Red Queen’s Guards had returned, as they had promised. They watched impassively as Mitza and the Lady yelled, shook and pinched the sorcerer in increasingly desperate attempts to wake him. But Oraton-Marr was deep in the dark pit of his green lozenge slumber, and nothing could reach him.

  At last, in desperation, Mitza and the Lady picked up the sorcerer’s bed, bumped it down the stairs, and then, escorted by the guards, they carried him, snoring, through the silent streets to the Palace.