StarChaser

by Angie Sage

  “Are you totally crazy? Do two weeks’ work in twenty-four hours?”

  A placating murmur came from Septimus.

  “I don’t care how ‘essential to safety’ it is, Septimus,” Lucy told him. “Unlike you, I cannot just snap my fingers and make things happen. And neither can my builders.”

  More murmuring followed and Lucy seemed conciliatory. “Well . . . I suppose it might be just possible. But I’ll need extra help. And I can’t promise anything. Understand?”

  “Thank you, Lucy,” Septimus said. “I’m sorry to ask this. I know you have enough to worry about already. How is Simon?”

  Lucy looked like she might burst into tears. She bit her lip and said tersely, “Just the same.”

  “Lucy,” said Septimus, “I was thinking that maybe he should be in the Sick Bay, where we can look after him.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Si wants to be at home.” She lowered her voice. “He has nightmares. Shouts in his sleep. It wouldn’t be good for the others in Sick Bay.”

  Septimus gave Lucy a hug. “Well, you know best. Just tell me if there is anything I can do.”

  Lucy nodded and strode off, the ribbons on her cuffs flowing behind her as she went. She didn’t want anyone to see the tears running down her face.

  “Hey, Oskar.” The voice behind Oskar made him jump. It was Jenna. She smiled and said, “It’s a lovely day. Too sunny for sighing.”

  Oskar smiled shyly. He liked Jenna, but he still felt a little overawed by the Castle Queen. He was trying to think of a suitable reply when Septimus appeared.

  Septimus nodded to Oskar and then turned to Jenna. “The Ormlet is out of control; we can’t risk it being at large a moment longer. It will be going into the Orm Pit tomorrow afternoon.”

  Jenna laughed. “If you can catch it.”

  Oskar knew it was rude to interrupt a conversation between the Queen and the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Please don’t lock Ormie up,” he begged. “Please. Let her have her last days of freedom. She won’t be able to fly for much longer.”

  Septimus looked cross at being interrupted, but Jenna was more understanding. “It’s true, Sep. This stage won’t last long. And after that the poor creature’s going to spend the rest of its life like a blind mole beneath the ground, eating rock.”

  Septimus was not to be convinced. “The Ormlet is a pest, Jen—and besides, there are other considerations. We must be careful not to lose it at the very last minute. Its behavior has become so erratic that I would not be surprised if it suddenly flew away and we never saw it again.”

  “Spit Fyre would soon be after it,” Jenna said. “He’s besotted with the creature; you know he is.”

  Septimus sighed. “Yes. And then we’d lose Spit Fyre again.” He turned to Oskar. “I’m sorry, Oskar. My mind is made up. For the good of the Castle, it is time for the Ormlet to enter the Orm Pit.”

  Oskar bit his lip and stared at the ground.

  Tod and Ferdie had joined them and heard the last few exchanges. “Please, Septimus,” Tod said, “would you consider giving the Ormlet one more chance?”

  “Please?” Ferdie and Oskar added for good measure.

  Under the combined onslaught Septimus weakened. “What kind of chance?” he asked warily.

  “Suppose it gave the circlet back?” Tod said.

  Septimus laughed. “And apologized and said it would never do it again?” he asked. “Well, that might do, I suppose.”

  “I could talk to Ormie and tell her she has to be good from now on,” Oskar offered. “And then tomorrow when you come to take her to the Orm Pit, if she lets you take the circlet, would that be okay? That would really prove she was behaving better, wouldn’t it?”

  Jenna weighed in. “I would like to get my circlet back, Sep. And Oskar does seem to have a way with the Ormlet. So how about it—one last chance?”

  Septimus could never say no to Jenna for long. “All right,” he said. “One last chance.” He looked at Oskar. “That Ormlet has to give the circlet back. And it has to be very well behaved from now on. No more dive-bombing, no more zigzagging down Wizard Way at knee height, no more pooping on people’s heads, okay?”

  “Okay,” Oskar said.

  Tod and Ferdie exchanged worried glances. There was no way Oskar could fix all that. No way at all.

  DRAMMER MAKKEN

  Oskar knew Drammer Makken was trouble. And he knew from the way Drammer was staring that he wanted to talk. But Oskar did not want to talk to Drammer. The boy scared him. In the last month or so Drammer Makken had broadened out and grown a good few inches taller. He was now bigger than his older brother, Newt, and a whole lot nastier, too. So as Tod hurried away with Septimus, Oskar hung back with Ferdie. He watched Drammer walk away with his distinctive rolling gait, like a sailor looking for trouble on a night ashore. Oskar wanted to give him plenty of time to get ahead.

  Once Drammer was safely out of sight, Oskar and Ferdie headed up Wizard Way. They stopped outside a small shop with the sign above reading: Number Thirteen, Magykal Manuscriptorium and Spell Checkers Incorporated.

  “Have a nice day, Oskie,” Ferdie said. And then she added, “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” asked Oskar.

  “Um. Well. I promised Lucy I’d help her today. With the Orm Pit. And I know how you feel about that place.”

  “Hey, Ferd, that’s okay,” Oskar said. “I know it has to be done. But the Ormlet’s not going in there just yet.”

  Ferdie smiled. She hoped Oskar was right.

  Acting more confident than he felt, Oskar gave Ferdie a cheery wave and pushed open the Manuscriptorium door with its distinctive ping. He walked jauntily through the front office, giving Foxy, who was on the desk, the PathFinder sign for “hello.” Foxy returned the sign—a flat outward palm with splayed fingers held at a 45-degree tilt away from the body. Foxy smiled. He liked Oskar and his weird signs.

  Oskar headed through the door in the screen that divided the front office from the actual Manuscriptorium and stepped into a high-ceilinged room where twenty-one desks were arranged in rows, each with a long, dangling light above it. This was where the scribes worked, copying spells, Charms and any other documents that were too Magykal or complicated to be printed. Oskar padded quietly around the edge, gathering murmured hellos as he went. Although he did not work upstairs with the scribes but helped out in the basement in the Conservation and Preservation department, Oskar was a popular member of the Manuscriptorium. He had made the Conservation department much more accessible by happily explaining what they did there and persuading its incumbent, the reclusive Ephaniah Grebe, to set up a course in making automata.

  As Oskar headed around the dimly lit edge of the Manuscriptorium, someone laid a heavy hand on his arm. “Hey.” Drammer Makken’s voice came out of the gloom.

  Oskar jumped. “What are you doing here?”

  Drammer contrived to look hurt. “I hoped we might have walked back together, Oskie.”

  Oskar bridled. “Only my friends call me that.”

  Drammer steadfastly maintained his expression. “Well, I hope we are friends. Seeing as we’re workmates for the next month.”

  Oskar’s face fell. In a scheme set up to foster understanding between both institutions, Apprentices from the Wizard Tower now did a month’s rotation in the Manuscriptorium, while every scribe did a month at the Wizard Tower.

  Drammer looked pleased with the effect he was having. “Yeah, a whole month away from the Wizzer.” “The Wizzer” was a new slang for the Wizard Tower, favored by the more senior Apprentices. Drammer, who hung out with many of his older brother’s friends, used it whenever he could. He grinned at Oskar. “Of course I won’t be spending much time with you backroom boys down in the basement.”

  “Ah.” Oskar tried not to sound relieved.

  “My skills are more suitable for the complexities of the Hermetic Chamber.”

  “Right.” Oskar did not sound convinced. Beetle, the Chie
f Hermetic Scribe, was very picky about who he allowed into the innermost sanctum of the Manuscriptorium. “Gotta go,” Oskar said, edging toward the basement stairs. “I’m a bit busy.”

  Drammer stepped in front of him. “Shame about the Ormlet,” he said.

  “Oh. Yes,” Oskar muttered. He didn’t want to talk about something he cared for so much with Drammer Makken.

  “It’s not going to like being put in prison,” Drammer said.

  “No.”

  Drammer pushed the point home. “It’s so sad. Losing its last precious moments of freedom.”

  Oskar looked at Drammer closely. Was he mocking him? Or was he genuine? “Yes, it is,” Oskar agreed. “But it might not happen. I’m going to ask for the afternoon off and then I’ll try to explain to Ormie—I mean the Ormlet—how important it is for her to behave.”

  “Think that will work?” asked Drammer in a voice that skirted the edges of scathing.

  Oskar didn’t, but he was not going to admit it. He shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

  “Yeah. But I’ve got a better idea. I can get you”—Drammer looked around and dropped his voice to a whisper—“some stuff.”

  “What stuff?” Oskar asked suspiciously.

  “I was in the Wild Book Store yesterday. There are some Charms there that would do the trick. You know. Calm it down a bit.” Drammer leaned close to Oskar in a confidential manner. “You know it’s never going to give that circlet back, don’t you?”

  Oskar feared as much. But he was not going to give Drammer the satisfaction of agreeing.

  Drammer continued in a low murmur. “We all know that the EOW only made a fuss to impress the Queen. But if you get the circlet back, you can give it to him, then he can give it to the Queen and she’ll think he’s wonderful and all the Ormlet trouble will be forgotten. Am I right or am I right?”

  Oskar looked blank. He was trying to work out what an EOW was.

  Drammer gave a heavy sigh to indicate that he was a paragon of patience dealing with a fool. “EOW? ExtraOrdinary Wizard? Septimus Heap? Got it now? Give him the circlet and all will be fine. Am I right or am I right?” Drammer folded his arms and looked very pleased with himself. “So, Oskie, I have the perfect solution: Languid Lizard Charms.”

  “What do you mean?” Oskar asked, despite himself.

  “I can get you some if you want,” Drammer said. “I’ve still got my pass. See?” Drammer showed Oskar his Wild Book Store pass—a clawed animal foot on a blue rope. Only one pass was available at any time, but it was not exactly sought after. No one chose to go into the Wild Book Store more than once. Except, it seemed, Drammer Makken.

  Oskar did not trust Drammer, but the offer of the Charms was too tempting. Deep down he knew that merely talking to the Ormlet would do nothing. “All right, then,” he said reluctantly. And then, because it felt rude not to, he added, “Thanks.”

  “Any time, kiddo. Any time at all,” Drammer said with a smirk.

  Drammer headed back to the front office with Oskar in tow. As they came in, Foxy looked up. He smiled at Oskar. “Back again?” he said.

  “I’ve got the pass for the Wilds,” Drammer said, using the Manuscriptorium slang, much to Foxy’s obvious annoyance. “And Oskar wants something in there. Can I take him in?”

  “No, you can’t,” Foxy told him curtly. “You’ve not done your safety certificate yet.” Foxy would have offered to take Oskar in himself, but that would have meant leaving Drammer Makken in charge of the front office. And, after what Beetle had called “serious office protocol malfunctions,” the Chief was insistent that only senior scribes staffed the desk. Besides, Foxy thought, he didn’t trust the Makken kid as far as he could throw him—and that was not far at all: Drammer was a heavy, square-set boy and Foxy a thin, somewhat weedy young man.

  Drammer gave Oskar a sharp nudge in the ribs. “Um,” said Oskar. “Please, Foxy. Drammer promised to . . . um . . . look something up for me.”

  “Look up what, exactly?” Foxy asked suspiciously.

  “Lizards,” Drammer said. “Something about how their tails drop off. For the Ormlet project. Eh, Oskie?”

  Oskar nodded. He felt really bad about lying, especially to Foxy. But then he thought of the Ormlet bound for its prison and he knew he had to do it.

  Foxy knew about Oskar’s fascination with lizards and that he was building an automaton Orm with Ephaniah Grebe. “Okay, I’ll take you in,” he said, a little reluctantly. “Wait there and I’ll get someone to take over the desk.” With that Foxy hurried into the Manuscriptorium to find a senior scribe.

  To Oskar’s dismay, Drammer sprang into action. He pressed the key into a claw-shaped depression in the door. It swung open, and from inside the Wild Book Store came a musty smell and a feral rustle that put Oskar in mind of creatures fighting in undergrowth. And then Drammer was inside and the door shut. Oskar watched both the door to the Manuscriptorium and that to the Wild Book Store nervously. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to appear first—Drammer or Foxy.

  It was Drammer. No more than thirty seconds later, Drammer was back in the front office, hastily brushing off some small black feathers stuck in his hair. “Blasted Pteragon,” he muttered. “It was guarding the Lizard Section. But I got the stuff. Want to see?” With that Drammer was out of the front door and into the open, with Oskar following on his heels.

  Ten seconds later Foxy returned. “Oh!” he said to his companion, a senior scribe named Romilly. “They’ve gone. That’s most unlike Oskar. He’s usually so considerate.”

  Romilly picked a small black feather off the desk. “Hmm,” she said. “He is. Unlike that Drammer boy . . .”

  “Who is bad news,” Foxy finished.

  Romilly regarded the feather quizzically. “If I were you, Foxy, I’d put a second lock on the Wild Book Store.”

  “Yeah, so would I,” Foxy said. He grinned at Romilly. “So, seeing as I am me, I will do just that. Right now.”

  LANGUID LIZARDS

  At five o’clock the next morning, in the Junior Girls’ Apprentice Dorm of the Wizard Tower, a small, highly irritable Alarm bug jumped off its perch and landed with a soft thump on Tod’s pillow. The bug proceeded to emit a loud buzz while jumping up and down and flashing a bright blue light that lit up the tented curtains surrounding Tod’s bed. Blearily, Tod opened her eyes and found herself staring into the unblinking pinpoint brilliance of the bug’s single eye. She shot out a hand and trapped the bug beneath her fingers. As soon at it was safely enclosed, it switched off its light and lay in Tod’s hand, pulsing just enough to let Tod know that it was still on duty. Tod yawned and sat up. She felt along the shelf at the back of her bed for the Alarm box, shoved the bug into it and snapped the lid closed.

  Five minutes later, dressed in her green Apprentice tunic and leggings, Tod was heading out of the Junior Apprentice Dormitory along the corridor to the silver spiral stairs, which were turning slowly on nighttime mode. They took her down through the gently shimmering ceiling showing the constellations of the night sky to the Great Hall below, which Tod was relieved to find was empty. She stepped off the spiral stairs and glanced down at the floor. GOOD MORNING, APPRENTICE, it said. YOU’RE UP EARLY. Tod always felt slightly unsettled by the floor, which made comments that seemed kind of nosy. She hurried over its soft, sandlike surface hoping that it wouldn’t make any remarks later to Septimus about her being up so early—Tod was pretty sure that Septimus would not approve of her mission that morning. In fact, Tod was not sure that she herself approved. But she had been unable to resist Oskar’s plea for help. And besides, she saw no harm in what they were about to do. No harm at all. She just didn’t want anyone to know about it.

  With these uneasy thoughts in her mind, Tod headed for the tall silver doors, the tops of which disappeared into the misty blue nighttime light of the Great Hall. Tod loved the predawn atmosphere of the Wizard Tower, its purposeful soft hum of sleeping Magyk, the lingering scent of the previous day’s spells combined with the mus
ty scent of dead-of-night forays into the Darke that Septimus occasionally allowed the Senior Apprentices.

  Tod murmured the password and the doors swung slowly open. The crisp early-morning air blew in and swept the guilty feelings right out of her head. It was, she could tell, going to be another beautiful day. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her thick wool jacket, Tod hurried down the wide, white marble steps and headed into the courtyard. She took the long way around the base of the Wizard Tower to look at progress on the Orm Pit. This was the place where the Ormlet would, if Septimus had his way, be taken this very afternoon, never to fly free in the summer sky again.

  Tod stopped in front of a sheet of wood nailed over the Orm Pit entrance on which was painted Keep Out. Beside it was a pile of rubble, on top of which lay an upturned wheelbarrow, an empty milk bottle and a pair of boots. On the other side of the notice was a large stack of bricks and the locked shed that contained the builders’ tools and, more important, their tea-making equipment. It did not look to her as though Oskar had anything to be concerned about. It seemed impossible that the Orm Pit was going to be finished any time soon. But Tod had promised to help Oskar, and help him she would.

  Tod completed her circle of the broad base of the Wizard Tower and hurried across the courtyard to the Great Arch. When she reached the cool lapis interior of the arch she turned, as she always did, to look up at the Wizard Tower. It still gave her a strange mixture of awe and happiness. This morning the Wizard Tower looked particularly striking. The great buttresses that supported the building glowed deep silver as they reared up to the crowning golden pyramid. The shape of the tower reminded Tod of the ancient PathFinder drawings of ships that had flown to the stars, which she had once glimpsed in a secret drawer in her father’s room. She wondered if that was why she loved the Wizard Tower so much—because it felt like shared history.