StarChaser

by Angie Sage

  Suddenly Oskar was at his side. “But Ormie hasn’t gone into Stasis,” Oskar burst out. “I know she hasn’t. Please, please don’t put her away. She’ll be better soon.”

  “Oskar,” Septimus said gently, “you mustn’t grieve. This is the Ormlet’s natural way of being.”

  Tod put her arm around Oskar. “Hey, Oskie,” she said. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay!” Oskar shouted. “And it’s not Stasis. It’s not!”

  Septimus looked Oskar in the eye. “Oskar, why are you so sure? Do you know something we don’t?”

  Tod said nothing. It was for Oskar to say—or not.

  Oskar could not bring himself to tell Septimus what he’d done. It sounded so wrong. And stupid. And nasty. And besides, he told himself, the Charms were part of the Manuscriptorium’s stock and so he would be breaking the Manuscriptorium Promise. Oskar stared at his feet and said nothing.

  Septimus knew Oskar was hiding something and he did not like being lied to. “Oskar, the Ormlet is going into the Orm Pit, and that is final,” he said. “If it upsets you I suggest you go home now. I’m sure they’ll wonder where you are at the Manuscriptorium.”

  Oskar stared at Septimus in dismay. The Manuscriptorium was not home—home was his PathFinder village. And right now that was the only place he wanted to be. He’d failed the Ormlet, he’d lied to Septimus and he’d helped Drammer Makken do something bad. He’s messed up all his chances. It was time to go.

  “Okay,” Oskar said quietly. “I’ll go home.” He shook away Tod’s comforting arm and then, to Septimus’s surprise—but not Tod’s or Ferdie’s—Oskar did not turn around to walk back to the Manuscriptorium. Instead he ran past Spit Fyre to the base of the Wizard Tower where it joined the white marble steps, took a sharp left and disappeared into the white marble.

  “Oskie!” Ferdie yelled, and raced after her twin.

  Tod listened to the sound of her friends’ retreating footsteps and then the silence as they stepped into the Vanishing Point and were gone. It was so strange, Tod thought, that right now they were both already hundreds of miles away, in Marcia’s Hub—the first of many on their way back home. Tod turned around to look at the courtyard; she saw a shower of brilliant blue Sprites drifting down and smiled. She was sad that Oskar and Ferdie had gone, but there was no way she wanted to run after them. She was in a Magykal place—and there was an Ormlet to attend to.

  “Hey! Sep!” A shout came from beneath the Great Arch and suddenly there was Marissa, running across the courtyard, her green cloak flying behind her. She looked, Septimus thought, wild in a rather interesting way. As she scooted to a halt in front of him, trying to catch her breath, Septimus sternly told himself that Marissa was trouble. “What do you want?” he snapped.

  Marissa looked surprised. “What’s got your goat?” she said.

  “It’s more a question of what got his Orm,” said Edd.

  Marissa bestowed a smiley giggle upon Edd. She turned back to Septimus and her expression darkened. “Septimus Heap. I risked my life to get that Orm away from Bryony’s crew and bring the revolting little creature to you. Do I get any thanks? No. Not one little Oh, thank you, Marissa, for saving our Orm and bringing it back to us. Not one. Well, Septimus, that is the last time I ever do anything to help you out. Ever.” With that she spun around and began to stalk out of the courtyard. But not too fast, because she wanted to be within earshot when Septimus called her back, as she knew he would.

  “Marissa!” Septimus yelled. “Wait a minute!”

  Marissa walked five more steps just to keep him guessing and then turned around. “What?” she demanded. She folded her arms and did not move. If Septimus wanted to apologize, he could come to her. Which he did.

  Septimus was pretty sure now that Marissa would soon be Witch Mother of the Wendron Witches and he had no wish to fall out with her. Life was so much easier if the Wendrons were, if not actively on the Castle’s side, then at least not plotting against it. So Septimus hurried over and said, “Marissa, I’m sorry. This Orm has been nothing but trouble right from the start. And we have to get it under the Wizard Tower fast—now, before it explodes.”

  “Explodes?” Marissa sounded horrified.

  “Well, first it makes a cocoon, then it explodes and out comes an Orm. Well, that’s the idea, anyway.”

  “A proper Orm? One that makes lapis lazuli?” Marissa asked just to make sure.

  “So we hope,” Septimus said. “Which is why I have to get it safely into its reinforced pit beneath the Wizard Tower. Out of harm’s way.”

  “I know you do,” Marissa told him soothingly. “And this is where it must go. The Orm belongs here. I really feel that.” Marissa paused and placed her hand over her heart. “I feel it. Which is why, Septimus, I brought it back to you.”

  Septimus had a distinct feeling that, like Oskar, Marissa was not being entirely straight with him. He had noticed since becoming ExtraOrdinary Wizard that people did not always tell him the whole truth, but he had learned that there was little he could do about it. So he merely smiled and said, “Thank you, Marissa. Thank you very much indeed.”

  “You’re welcome,” Marissa said. “Just get that Ormlet of yours settled in its little nest under the dear old WT before anyone else tries to grab it, and then lock it in and keep it there.”

  “I intend to,” Septimus assured her.

  “Great. I hope it all goes well.” Marissa gave Septimus a hug and nearly drowned him in the scent of patchouli. Then she hurried away through the lapis-blue shadows of the Great Arch, leaving Septimus feeling quite bemused. It was only after Marissa had disappeared that Septimus realized that he had never asked her if she had seen Jenna’s circlet. He felt cross with himself for forgetting all about it, but the scent of patchouli had quite driven the circlet from his mind. Septimus comforted himself with the thought that even if Marissa did know anything about it, she wouldn’t have told him.

  Marissa ran across the brightly lit, almost-white limestone paving of Wizard Way and slipped into the welcome darkness of Sled Alley, where she stopped and looked furtively about her. When she was satisfied there was no one around, she fumbled deep into her secret pocket, which hung inside the lining of her cloak. She drew out a gleaming golden circlet and, holding it in two hands, she placed it almost reverently upon her head, as though crowning herself.

  Then she walked slowly, regally even, down Sled Alley to the Manuscriptorium boathouse. Tied to the mooring post were four rowboats bobbing gently, waiting patiently to ferry partygoers across to the Infirmary. A few minutes later Marissa was rowing across the Moat, heading for the Infirmary bank.

  In the East Gate Lookout Tower two rats were taking the night air. One—a tubby rat of advanced years named Stanley—was seated in a wheeled basket chair. The other, his adopted son, Morris, was perched on the battlements beside him. They had come to watch for shooting stars, one of Stanley’s favorite pastimes.

  While Stanley leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the sky, Morris’s attention was on more earthly matters. “Look, Da, Queen Jenna’s going off to that party,” he said.

  Stanley peered into the night. He saw the rowboat, the rower wearing a witch’s cloak and the glint of gold around dark hair. He shook his head sorrowfully. Royalty was not what it used to be, that was for sure.

  INTO THE ORM PIT

  Septimus walked slowly back to Spit Fyre, steeling himself for what he had to do. He approached carefully, while Spit Fyre kept an oblique, suspicious eye upon him, watching his every step. A few feet away from his dragon, Septimus stopped. He felt that any closer would intrude into Spit Fyre’s personal space. The last thing he needed was to spook Spit Fyre and send him rocketing away into the night with the Ormlet.

  Septimus and Spit Fyre looked studiedly past each other, each waiting for the other to make the next move. This might have continued for some time had it not been for a brilliant blue Magykal Sprite that drifted down and landed softly upon the Ormlet. It sat on t
he Ormlet’s pointy snout for some seconds, infusing the creature with a soft, Magykal light, and then it slowly faded away.

  Spit Fyre looked up and at last, he allowed Septimus to meet his gaze. A flash of Synchronicity passed between them and Septimus knew that Spit Fyre understood what must happen to his Ormlet.

  Septimus kneeled down beside his dragon and took the Ormlet from its bed on Spit Fyre’s scaly feet. Then with the Ormlet lying heavy in his arms, he walked over to his Apprentice. “Tod,” he said, “would you come with me into the Orm Pit?”

  It was a solemn procession that made its way around the base of the Wizard Tower—Tod, Septimus with the unconscious Ormlet, and behind them a slow, sad dragon. Behind the dragon came two giant wolverines: Edd and Erik, still on guard.

  At the dark circle of the gaping mouth that was soon to swallow Spit Fyre’s baby, Septimus stopped. He turned to his dragon and held the Ormlet out for a last good-bye. Spit Fyre nuzzled the Ormlet and then shuffled back, his head bowed.

  It was time to go.

  Tod opened the grille and stepped inside. She took out her FlashLight and its cool blue light showed how beautifully the tunnel was made—smooth bricks laid to create an almost perfect circle, apart from a narrow strip of limestone for the floor shining white like a backbone.

  Septimus squeezed in and the tunnel was suddenly full. He was too tall to stand upright and was forced to hunch down over the Ormlet. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go.”

  The tunnel dropped steeply downward and wound around in a very tight curve, its coils reflecting what the Ormlet would soon become—an empty rock-transforming worm. After seven turns the brick walls gave way to lapis lazuli and Tod knew that they were now burrowing through the bedrock of the Wizard Tower. Down, down, down she went, her boots throwing a tinny echo as she walked ever deeper into the chill of the rock. Tod had lost count of the turns when the tunnel leveled out and showed a smaller dark circle ahead.

  “This is it,” Septimus said, his voice hissing along the tunnel like a snake. “The entrance to the Orm Pit.”

  The Orm Pit was tiny—an egg-shaped chamber carved to fit what was still, when curled up, an egg-shaped reptile.

  “Do you mind going in?” Septimus asked. “I don’t think I’ll fit.”

  Tod wasn’t at all keen, but she didn’t think that Septimus would fit either. And even if he did squeeze in, she doubted he would be able to get out again. So she rolled her FlashLight into the Orm Pit and crawled in after it. Then she shuffled around to face Septimus and he passed her the Ormlet. Tod took its dead weight in her arms and very carefully she laid it upon the bare lapis lazuli. The FlashLight threw misshapen shadows of the Ormlet up to the curving roof, turning it into a spiny, spiked demon. Tod shivered. She wanted to get out as soon as possible.

  Septimus stuck his head through the entrance, his face made eerie by the shadows cast by the FlashLight.

  “Tod,” he whispered, “I didn’t want to say this in front of Spit Fyre, but I think the Ormlet has died.”

  “No!” Tod was horrified.

  “It’s not breathing. But it’s best to put it here, just in case.”

  Tod was speechless. She and Oskar had killed the Ormlet.

  “Anyway, I’ll just say good-bye . . . for Spit Fyre,” Septimus whispered. He reached in and laid his hand on the chubby shape of the reptile, smooth and ice-cold to his touch. “Rest in peace,” he murmured, then he looked at Tod and smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  Tears in her eyes, Tod shook her head. You wouldn’t have had to do this at all without me, she thought.

  They emerged into the chill of a cloudless night. Tod watched miserably while Septimus walked over to his waiting dragon and patted him gently on his velvety snout. Then she accompanied Septimus around the base of the Wizard Tower, unable to stop thinking of the little blue body of the Ormlet, once so vibrant, now lying cold and dulled in the darkness deep below. She sniffed and rubbed the tears from her eyes and Septimus silently passed her his handkerchief.

  As they headed toward the Hidden arch beneath the steps, Septimus said, “I thought you might have wanted to go after Oskar and Ferdie.”

  “No,” Tod said. “I want to stay here. I’m your Apprentice now.” But not a good one, she thought.

  “And I’m very glad you are,” Septimus said. He saw Tod’s troubled expression. “I know it’s sad about the Ormlet, but what really matters is that Oraton-Marr doesn’t have it.”

  Tod said nothing. She thought that if Oraton-Marr had kept the Ormlet at least it would still be alive.

  As they drew level with the Hidden arch it began to glow with a bright purple light. Tod and Septimus exchanged glances. Someone was Coming Through. But who?

  PART VI

  SNOWSTORM

  Snow Princess Driffa, the Most High and Bountiful—and the most exceedingly furious—came storming out of the arch in a flurry of snow. From within the swirling whiteness of the snowflakes, Tod could see the distinctive form of the Snow Princess, encased in her Emotoclime (a personal weather bubble manifested when a person becomes highly emotional, the use of snow being particular to the inhabitants of the Eastern SnowPlains). The Blizzard swirled off across the courtyard, with Septimus in pursuit.

  The rush of freezing air in Driffa’s wake brought another traveler through the Way, someone Tod was very pleased to see: Marcia Overstrand. Marcia smiled at Tod, took in the scene in the courtyard and hurried after Septimus.

  “Septimus. Listen—” she said, grabbing his arm.

  “Marcia, let go,” Septimus said.

  Marcia faltered as she saw the lack of welcome in Septimus’s eyes. “Septimus. Please. Driffa has something very important to tell you. Please listen to her.”

  Septimus did not reply. He turned on his heel and strode away after Driffa.

  Meanwhile, another figure emerged from the arch: a swarthy man sporting a cluster of gold earrings and wearing a red silk padded jacket with a large knife sheathed in a scabbard hanging from his belt. He was Milo Banda, Marcia’s husband of just over a year. After giving a conspiratorial wink to Tod, Milo hurried over to Marcia, who was walking dejectedly back from her brush-off by Septimus.

  “I tried to explain,” she said miserably. “But he won’t listen.”

  “You stay right here,” Milo said. “I’m having a word with that young Heap.”

  Septimus was hovering anxiously on the edge of the snowstorm. It was a dramatic sight. The swirling snowflakes sparkled and glistened, shining with the blues, greens and occasional pinks and oranges of the Magykal lights of the Wizard Tower.

  “Septimus, a word, please.” Without waiting for a reply, Milo said what he had come to say. “There are times in one’s life when you look back and wish someone had given you some fatherly advice. And this, Septimus, is one of those times you will look back on. And now I’m giving you that advice. So listen, if you don’t mind.”

  Septimus frowned. He didn’t like Milo’s tone at all.

  Milo continued. “I know I’m not your father—”

  “No, you’re not,” Septimus agreed curtly.

  “However, I am the father of your adoptive sister and as such I hope you will take this as well-meant.”

  “Take what as well-meant?” Septimus asked snappily.

  “Advice,” Milo snapped back. “Listen to Marcia. Don’t shut her out. I know you’ve disagreed on all this wretched Orm stuff, but it seems to me she might actually have a point. I suspect you might think so too, once you’ve heard what Princess Driffa has to say.”

  “If I ever get to hear it,” Septimus said, staring at the Blizzard and irritably brushing the snowflakes from his cloak.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Milo said with a wry smile. “You’ll get to hear it, all right.”

  A ROUND TABLE

  At the top of the Wizard Tower in Septimus’s rooms was a new, round table. Septimus had installed it in order to make discussio
ns flow better, but that evening the table didn’t seem to be working.

  It had taken all of Milo’s persuasive powers to get Driffa to consent to even sit down, and now the Snow Princess sat silently simmering with rage. Her face was so pale as to be almost translucent and her hair hung in snow-white braids. The only color about her was blue: ice-blue eyes, thin blue ribbons threaded through her braids and bright blue fingernails.

  Beside Driffa sat Marcia, a colorful contrast with her dark wavy hair, deep green eyes and multicolored cloak. Marcia too was quiet: subdued and deadly serious. Next to her was Milo, tipping back in his chair, trying to look nonchalant but succeeding only in looking like he was about to fall backward. Tod was sitting next to the empty chair that should have held Septimus. She excused herself to go and help him.

  Insisting on making hot chocolate for them all, Septimus had taken refuge in the kitchen. As Tod came in he looked up anxiously. “All right?” he whispered.

  “No one’s saying anything,” Tod whispered in return. “They’re waiting for you. Can I help?”

  Septimus gave Tod the mugs to carry in and followed her with the steaming jug of hot chocolate. Aware of Driffa’s gimlet gaze upon him, Septimus carefully poured her the first drink and placed the mug in front of her. “You must be cold,” he said, “after being in all that snow.”

  “Snow! Huh!” Driffa snorted with derision. She sounded, Septimus thought, not unlike her rather haughty horse.

  The mugs were soon full and Septimus knew he could delay no longer. He sat down, took a deep breath and said, “Princess Driffa, welcome to the Wizard Tower. It is good to see you. I trust you received my letter?”

  Driffa raised her fist and for a moment Septimus thought she was going to punch him. He did not move a muscle. In a sudden movement, Driffa flung open her fingers and threw a balled-up piece of paper high over everyone’s head. With deadly accuracy, it hit the middle of the fire. The flames flared up around it, momentarily bright green, then died away.