by Angie Sage
“That, Septimus Heap, is what I think of your letter!” Driffa said.
Septimus knew his letter wasn’t great, but he didn’t think it was that bad. “Driffa . . . I mean, Princess Driffa. I apologize if my letter offended you. I—”
Driffa’s blue eyes seemed to darken. “It is not your letter that offended me, ExtraOrdinary Wizard. It is your treachery.”
Septimus shook his head in bewilderment. “Treachery? What treachery?”
“Ha!” Driffa snorted. “You promise me that you will return our sacred Orm Egg to us. You even tell me not to send our own sorcerers after it, for you will do that yourself. And then you betray us. You find the Egg but you do not bring it back. Instead, you hatch it. How could you?”
Tod longed to tell Driffa that this was not what happened, that the hatching of the Egg had nothing to do with Septimus at all, but Tod knew the argument was not hers to interrupt. She must let Septimus speak for himself.
But Septimus was dumbstruck.
It was Marcia who spoke. “Princess Driffa. As I tried to explain before, it was not Septimus who hatched your Egg. It was Oraton-Marr—the sorcerer who enslaved your people and destroyed your sacred places. It was in fact Septimus’s dragon, Spit Fyre, who snatched the hatchling from the sorcerer’s grasp. All Septimus did was bring the creature here and keep it safe.”
Driffa glared at Septimus. “I do not listen to excuses,” she said. “The fact is you gave me your promise, upon your own Magyk, that you would bring back our sacred Egg of the Orm. And I hear nothing from you—not a word—until your letter inviting me to see the hatchling—the very results of you breaking your promise!”
“But—” Septimus just managed to slip in before Driffa continued.
“And now we, in the Eastern SnowPlains, are condemned to live with the results of your broken promise. This.” In a sudden movement, Driffa jabbed her hands outward like two fans, splaying her fingers.
Tod gasped. The silver bands of her rings glinted, but what Tod remembered as brilliant blue lapis stones within them were now dull, powdery gray.
Septimus looked blank. “What?” he asked.
“Your Apprentice understands what you do not,” Driffa snapped.
Septimus threw Tod a questioning glance.
“The lapis in Princess Driffa’s rings isn’t blue anymore,” Tod explained. Septimus still looked puzzled, so Tod continued. “Princess Driffa lent me the big ring so I could find the Heart of the Ways. It’s the same ring. But the lapis has changed. It’s turned gray.”
A chill ran through Septimus and the color drained from his face. He stared at Driffa’s rings in horror, while in his mind he saw once again the ball of sticky gray dust in Simon’s eye socket.
Driffa was pleased to at last get a reaction from Septimus. She managed a doleful smile for Tod. She felt sorry for her, being Apprenticed to such a useless Wizard.
“Septimus,” Marcia said quietly. “All of the lapis in Driffa’s home has undergone this change.”
“All,” said Driffa. “All of our beautiful lapis. The blue Pinnacle is a pile of gray dust. Our sacred Orm Chamber collapsed a few days ago. The Heart of the Ways is crumbling as I speak.”
“No!” Septimus said. “This can’t be possible. It . . . it can’t be.” But even as he spoke, he knew that it was.
“This, Septimus Heap,” Driffa said, “is what happens to our Enchantment without the Orm Egg.” She looked at Marcia. “I do not wish to speak to him. Please, tell him what you told me. Tell him the reason for this.”
Marcia did not want to undermine Septimus’s position as ExtraOrdinary Wizard by instructing him like a student. “I am sure the ExtraOrdinary Wizard knows the reason,” she demurred.
Septimus was not sure that he did know the reason. He looked at Marcia. “Please, tell us all,” he said. “My Apprentice would like to hear.”
“Very well,” Marcia said. “Septimus, as you know, there are consequences of the kind of massive Earth Enchantment that Driffa’s people have in the SnowPlains. The bigger the Enchantment, the more delicate and finely balanced it becomes. The most complex of these ancient Magyks—and the one of the Eastern SnowPlains is probably the most complex there has ever been, for it spreads across the whole world—are often held in equilibrium by a KeyStone, just like any archway. These Earth Enchantments are remarkably stable—until the KeyStone goes, then they tumble like ninepins. It is called an UnRaveling.”
Septimus nodded. He knew now what was coming.
“It seems,” Marcia said, “that the Orm Egg was such a KeyStone.”
“How, er, how fast is it collapsing?” Septimus asked.
“Driffa?” asked Marcia.
Driffa addressed her answer to Marcia alone. “It began slowly. One day a few weeks after our Sacred Egg was stolen, I was looking at our beautiful blue Pinnacle from the battlement walk and I noticed that its tip was no longer sharp. When I looked through my Enlarging Glass I saw why. It had crumbled to dust. I asked our sorcerers what was happening and they went away to think about it. When they returned they told me that it was because we had lost the Egg.” Driffa looked angrily at Septimus. “The sorcerers we have left are not very good ones, but even they are better than you, Septimus Heap. Our sorcerers begged to be allowed to search for the Egg, but I told them that you would soon bring it back and I did not want them to hinder your search in any way. The Pinnacle continued to crumble. Our people were frightened, afraid that soon their homes would be nothing more than dust.”
Driffa gave a bitter laugh. “I told them not to worry. I told them you were a powerful sorcerer and you would find the Egg and bring it back to us. But you didn’t bring it back. Instead you kept it for yourself, while we watched our Enchanted snows turn to slush and our beautiful lapis crumble to dust. You lied to me. And because of that I have lied to my people.”
Septimus looked stunned. “Driffa, please believe me. I did not take the Egg. It was already hatched when I found it.”
Driffa glared at him. “You betrayed us.”
“I have an idea.” Milo’s voice made everybody jump. All eyes turned toward him. “How about letting the Princess here have the Ormlet?”
Tod and Septimus exchanged glances. This was not a good time to mention that the Ormlet was dead. They were saved by Driffa herself.
“The hatchling is no good to us,” Driffa told Milo. “The Enchantment was within the Egg. It was released with the hatching of the creature.”
Milo looked at Marcia. “Would it be possible to restore the Enchantment with another egg?”
“Yes, it would,” Marcia replied. “It needs to be placed exactly where it was before. And then there must be a reenactment of the original Incantation.”
“So if you have a new Orm, then surely, one day, it will create a new egg?” asked Milo.
“Ha!” Driffa said scathingly. “One little egg. Buried deep in thousands of miles of rock. How do you suggest we find that?”
Milo was not to be deterred. “But surely, Princess, there are other Orm Eggs from ancient Orms still to be found?”
“There are none,” Driffa told him. “They were plundered thousands of years ago by a pack of thieving shamans.” Driffa looked down at her ring. Very deliberately, she stuck her long blue fingernail into the soft gray rock and flicked it. Gray grit skittered onto the table. “So much for your Magyk, Septimus Heap. You are not as powerful as you think you are.” Driffa was silent for a moment. “Or as I thought you were either,” she said a little sadly.
Driffa pushed back her chair and stood up. A few snowflakes began to fall. “Septimus Heap,” she said. “I came here only to tell you about your future destruction, so that you will be as miserable as we are. Because, like a slow fire inside a wall, the crumbling of our Enchantment will spread through the Ancient Ways. And because you are joined to our Heart of the Ways it will reach you eventually. One day the rock on which your tower is built will turn to dust. Your lapis will be gone, your Magyk—such as i
t is—will be gone, and your precious Tower will be gone. All will be dust. And there is nothing you can do about it. Nothing at all.”
Trailing snowflakes, Driffa strode to the door. It threw itself open with a flourish—the large purple door had a fine sense of drama—and the Snow Princess was gone, leaving a cloud of snow and her last angry words hanging in the air.
Septimus looked stricken. He jumped to his feet.
“Let her go, Septimus,” Marcia said.
“I can’t let her go without hope,” he said. “I can’t . . .” He rushed off to his study. There was the loud hiss of a Safe being UnSealed, and in seconds Septimus reappeared holding a shard of lapis. “It’s from the Heart of the Ways, one of the pieces that Simon picked up. I kept it in my Safe. To remind me. Oh, it must go in a box. A Sealed box. To protect its Enchantment.”
Septimus turned to run back to the study, but Tod stopped him. “Please,” she said, hurrying over to him. “Please, have my StarChaser box. It’s from the Charm chamber.”
Septimus took it gratefully. “Perfect,” he said. Hurriedly, he flipped the lid open, put in the lapis shard and handed it to Marcia. “Please, will you Seal it? To keep the lapis free of the UnRaveling? I’m not thinking straight right now.”
Marcia took the little silver, star-strewn box and enclosed it in her hands. Murmuring words that Tod could not quite hear, Marcia focused her brilliant green eyes upon her hands. When a purple mist began to flow up from between her fingers Marcia gently placed the box on the table. It lay there, a few wisps of purple floating across its soft silver sheen. “All done,” she said.
“Thank you!” Septimus snatched up the box and raced out of the room. They heard the emergency siren sound on the stairs, and then all was silent.
Marcia sighed and walked over to the fire. “Well,” she said. “It’s a bad business.”
“But it’s not true, what Driffa said,” Tod said.
“Unfortunately, I suspect it might be,” Marcia replied.
“I meant what she said about there being nothing at all that we could do,” Tod explained. “That’s not true. There is always something you can do. Always.”
Marcia looked at Tod with approval. Here was an Apprentice after her own heart.
Septimus caught up with Driffa just as she was about to Go Through the Hidden arch. He pushed the starry box into her unwilling hand.
“I want nothing from you,” Driffa said.
“Please,” Septimus said. “Take it. Nothing here is from me. The box is from my Apprentice, the Enchantment is from Marcia, and inside is something that belongs to you anyway: a shard of lapis from the Heart of the Ways. Keep the box closed and the Enchantment will stay safe within.”
Driffa took the box. “A shard,” she said scornfully. “That is all you have left me.” She turned and walked into the Hidden arch, leaving Septimus staring at a blank, cold wall.
A WALK UPON THE WALLS
It was past midnight. Tod was asleep in her starry tent in the dorm, dreaming of her home village. Her Alarm was set and her backpack ready. Inside were the presents she had collected over the past weeks for her father and the Sarn family and her Ancient Ways travel kit. To her delight Septimus had told her that she could go home early for her birthday. Tod had Marcia to thank for that, for she had told Septimus that he should allow Tod to use the Ways while they were still there to be traveled.
Upstairs, in Septimus’s rooms, Milo was also asleep. He lay stretched out on Marcia’s old sofa. Marcia looked at both Milo and her old sofa affectionately. “Milo can sleep anywhere,” she whispered to Septimus. “It comes of all those years of seafaring, I suppose.”
“I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight,” Septimus said.
“Me neither,” Marcia agreed. She thought back to when the rooms had belonged to her, and Septimus had been her young Apprentice. Things had been so much simpler then.
“It all seems so complicated now,” Septimus said.
Marcia flashed him a quizzical look. “I could almost believe you were doing a MindRead there, Septimus.”
“I wouldn’t dream of intruding,” Septimus protested. “But I am allowed to read your expression, I hope?”
“Of course you are.” Marcia smiled. “Shall we go for a walk to clear our heads?”
They left Milo snoring and took the slow, dimly lit stairs down through the Wizard Tower. Ten minutes later Marcia and Septimus were wandering along the top of the Castle walls, heading toward the East Gate Lookout Tower. It was a cloudy night, the air was still, and as they walked they heard the sounds of a party coming from the old Infirmary on the other side of the Moat.
Marcia made no comment. Feeling a little uncomfortable, Septimus risked a few glances over to the Infirmary. There were candles burning in all the windows, and beneath the shouts, squeals and laughter came the sound of Forest pipes—a strange, unearthly wailing noise—and the insistent beat of tambours and drums.
After some minutes, Marcia said, “Septimus, I hope you will excuse me, but there is something I must say.”
“Go ahead,” Septimus said, and waited for Marcia’s opinion on parties. He got something rather different.
“The Ormlet.”
“Ah, that,” said Septimus.
“Yes, that. Septimus, I know you disagree with me about the danger of putting it under the Tower. But please, listen.”
“Marcia, there’s no point in discussing this—”
Marcia cut Septimus off. “Please, let me explain. Our Magyk, just like Driffa’s Enchantment, is a matter of a fine balance. However much lapis is under the Wizard Tower, it is the perfect amount for us. It works with the people we have in the Tower, it works with the Magyk we—or now you—do. But if we change that balance by adding new lapis, who knows what might happen? Maybe anyone with a few spells at hand could walk into the Wizard Tower and have tremendous power.”
“I think that’s unlikely,” Septimus said. “Anyway, they’d have to get in first, wouldn’t they?”
“It might be someone you already know, someone you would happily allow into the Wizard Tower. What about that awful witch you went out with once—oh, what was her name?”
“Marissa,” Septimus mumbled. “And I didn’t ‘go out’ with her, as you put it. And anyway, I was only seventeen.”
“Whatever,” Marcia replied, using a word that had infuriated her when Septimus used it, but which she now found rather useful—and had a certain satisfaction in returning the favor. “So just imagine for a moment that Marissa decides she’d like to become ExtraOrdinary Wizard—”
A snort of derision burst from Septimus. “Marissa!”
“Shh,” Marcia hissed. “Sound travels over the water. Anyway, suppose Marissa walks into the Wizard Tower one day and starts spinning all kinds of spells to enable her to take over. And by then, courtesy of your Orm, you’ve got tons of nice fresh lapis underneath. New lapis is unpredictable. It has no loyalty: it will soak up anyone’s Magyk. Marissa’s spells might even work.”
“Marcia,” Septimus said, “trust me, you have nothing to worry about on that score. There won’t be any new lapis. I think the Ormlet is dead.”
“What?”
“Dead. I don’t know why. Oskar Sarn knows something, but he’s not telling. I suspect it might have been poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” Marcia exclaimed. “Well, that is a shock. And a great shame. Because I was going to suggest keeping the Ormlet in the Castle, although not under the Wizard Tower, of course. Maybe under the Palace. You know, just in case this is indeed the beginning of an UnRaveling.”
“Which I think,” Septimus said, “it very well might be.”
Marcia looked at her ex-Apprentice. “There’s something you haven’t told me yet,” she said.
“Simon’s eye has turned to dust,” Septimus said.
“What?” Marcia looked at Septimus as though he had gone crazy.
“You remember that the iris of his right eye turned to lapis. In the H
eart of the Ways.”
“Are you going to tell me what I think you are?” Marcia asked.
“I am. I went to see him. His eye is a ball of gray dust.”
Marcia looked horrified. “The whole eye? Oh, how terrible. Poor Simon. And Lucy.”
“He’s afraid the dust will spread into his head.”
“I suppose,” Marcia said, “that depends on whether he has lapis fragments in there too.”
“I suppose it does,” Septimus agreed.
Marcia sighed. “I think Simon has given us our answer. This must indeed be an UnRaveling. Everything connected to the Enchantment disintegrates, however far away it may be.” She turned to look at the Wizard Tower. “I suspect Simon’s brush with the Darke has sped up the effect for him personally, but we will have to face it. The UnRaveling will reach the Wizard Tower. And very possibly sooner rather than later.”
Septimus felt sick. He too turned and looked back at the Wizard Tower. It rose up into the night, topped with its golden pyramid, shining with silvery, Magykal light and clothed with indigo, nighttime Sprites lazily floating around it. Its beauty and power took his breath away. He struggled to speak. “We . . . we can’t lose this. We can’t.”
Marcia sighed. “One day, maybe sooner than we think, we will lose it. And, even though your superb Apprentice thinks otherwise, there is actually nothing we can do to stop it.”
“Except put back the KeyStone.”
“Indeed. With an Orm Egg,” Marcia said.
“Which is utterly impossible,” Septimus said, “because there aren’t any. Anywhere.”
“And we don’t even have an Orm anymore.”
Septimus said nothing. Marcia linked her arm through his and they walked on in silence for a while, looking across to the lights in the old Infirmary, which now seemed threatening to Septimus, as if they too were encroaching upon all he loved and held dear.
On the roof of the East Gate Lookout Tower, headquarters of the Castle Message Rat Service, the two rats were still sitting out under the stars. “Hey, Da,” Morris said, “there’s the new EOW down there, walking along the walls with the old one.”
