Septimus Heap Complete Collection

by Angie Sage

  Jenna watched with horror, all the while desperately trying to make a plan but unable to think of anything. She saw the hovering bird—the one that had brought her to Doom Dump—fly down to its companion and nudge it gently. The stunned bird fluttered its wings, shook its feathers and, a few moments later, both birds flew unsteadily off into a dark corner of the room. Jenna found herself envying them.

  The Witch Mother turned her attention to Jenna. “Well, well,” she said with a ghastly grimace. “We have our Princess.” She looked Jenna up and down as though she were buying a horse and trying to get it cheap. “It will do, I suppose.”

  “I still don’t see why we need one,” came a querulous voice from the shadows. It belonged to a young witch with a large towel wrapped around her head.

  “Dorinda, I have already told you why,” said the Witch Mother. “I’d have thought with those ears your memory might have improved.”

  Dorinda gave a loud wail. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t want elephant ears. And I don’t see why we want a Princess either. She’ll just spoil things. I know she will.”

  “Shut up, Dorinda,” snapped Linda. “Or else.”

  Dorinda shrank back into the shadows—it was Linda who had Bestowed the elephant ears upon her.

  “As I told you before, Dorinda—the possession of a Princess gives a coven the right to rule all other covens,” said the Witch Mother. She turned to Marissa and patted her arm. “You made the right choice to come to us, dearie.” Marissa looked smug.

  As if they had already lost interest in their new acquisition, the witches switched their attention from Jenna to the remains of their meal and carried on talking and arguing as though she was not there.

  Jenna watched them suck the rest of the mouse bones clean and then pick out the biggest earwigs and pop them into their mouths. The only thing that gave her any satisfaction was the expression on Marissa’s face as she tried to force down an earwig. Marissa’s old coven, the Wendron Witches, ate normal, forest-gathered food. Jenna had once had dinner there and had actually enjoyed it. That was, she remembered, the night they had tried to kidnap her.

  Once supper was over, the Witch Mother called out in a rasping voice, “Nursie! Nursie! Clear the plates. Nursie!”

  A rotund figure, whom Jenna recognized but could not place, bustled into the room carrying a bucket over the crook of her arm like a handbag. She stacked up the plates, scraping the revolting leftovers into the bucket, and staggered out, balancing the plates precariously. A few minutes later she returned with the same bucket, but this time it contained a concoction of foul-smelling Witches’ Brew, which she ladled into cups for the witches. Nursie glanced at Jenna briefly, showing no interest in her, but as she left the room once again, Jenna remembered where she had seen her before. Nursie was the landlady of The Doll House—a guesthouse next door to the coven’s residence in the Port, where Jenna had once had the misfortune to spend a night.

  The witches slurped their Witches’ Brew and continued to ignore Jenna. The Witch Mother tipped her head back and noisily drained her cup, then she patted her stomach and regarded Jenna with a satisfied sigh. Mouse and maggot casserole followed by a slug of Witches’ Brew always improved her temper—the coven’s new acquisition wasn’t so bad, all things considered.

  “Welcome, Princess,” the Witch Mother said, pulling at a piece of mouse ear stuck in a gap between her teeth. “You are one of us now.”

  “I am not,” retorted Jenna silently, causing the rest of the coven to fall about laughing.

  “As near as makes no difference, dearie,” said the Witch Mother who, after many years of goldfish spells, was a wiz at lip-reading. “By midnight tonight you will be one of us, like it or not.”

  Jenna shook her head violently.

  The Witch Mother rubbed her hands together and perused Jenna once more. “Yes. You’ll do nicely.” She gave Jenna her best smile—formed by parting her lips and showing two rows of blackened teeth. “Very nicely.”

  Jenna was not sure how to take this. She wasn’t sure that being considered good witch material was exactly a compliment.

  Linda looked irritated. “You’re such a toady, Witch Mother. She’ll be a rotten witch. We wouldn’t even look at her if she wasn’t a Princess.”

  The Witch Mother glared at Linda and turned to Marissa, who was rapidly becoming her new favorite. “Now, this is a special job for you, Marissa dearie. Take the Princess to the room we’ve prepared and make her put on her witch robe. Take all that she has away from her. You can have her nice circlet if you want, it will suit you.”

  “No!” Jenna gave a silent yell and her hand flew up to her head. “You are not having it. You are not.”

  “Oh, I so love goldfish spells,” spluttered the witch with her hair matted into a tall spike on top of her head.

  “Quiet, Veronica,” said the Witch Mother sternly. “Now, Marissa, take the Princess away.”

  Marissa looked very pleased with herself. She grasped Jenna’s arm and pulled her to her feet, then she propelled her toward a heavy curtain hanging at the far end of the room. Jenna tried to resist but her feet betrayed her and took her seemingly willingly along with Marissa. As they reached the curtain the Witch Mother called out, “Bring me her nice red furry cloak when you’re done, Marissa. It gets so cold here. Shakes my old bones, it does.”

  Linda glared at the departing Marissa; her long-nurtured position as Witch-Mother-in-waiting was looking precarious. She got to her feet. The Witch Mother looked up suspiciously.

  “Linda, where are you going?” she asked.

  Linda passed a hand wearily across her forehead. “It’s been a long day, Witch Mother. I think I’ll take a little nap. I do so want to be at my best for tonight’s . . . proceedings.”

  “Very well. Don’t be late. We start at midnight on the dot.”

  Gimlet-eyed, the Witch Mother watched Linda leave. She listened to the witch’s footsteps clumping loudly up the stairs; she heard the creaking of the bedroom floorboards above and the squeak of Linda’s bedsprings.

  However, although Linda’s footsteps had gone upstairs to bed, Linda had not. The Witch Mother had never mastered the art of Throwing footsteps and consequently did not believe it was possible. But it was. When Linda left the room, her footsteps had stomped up the stairs and into her bedroom, then they had jumped up and down on her bed and squeaked the bedsprings. Linda herself, however, had some-where else to go.

  Unaware of Linda’s deception, the Witch Mother surveyed the remaining three witches with an air of satisfaction. “We are on the up,” she said. “Not only are we now six in our coven, we will soon be seven—and our seventh member will be a Princess.”

  From somewhere at the back of the house came the sound of a scream.

  “Goodness me, what is Marissa doing to our dear Princess?” the Witch Mother said with an indulgent smile. But the Witch Mother was—as Linda often commented—getting forgetful. And what she had forgotten was that Jenna was still Silent.

  It was Marissa’s scream.

  Chapter 16

  Call Out

  Beetle arrived at the Wizard Tower breathless and flustered. Hildegarde opened the door to him. She looked surprised.

  “What are you doing here?” she said. “You and Princess Jenna have just been the subject of a nine-nine-nine from Gothyk Grotto. You should be there waiting for the Emergency Wizard.”

  Beetle fought to get his breath back. “I . . . she . . . they . . . let us go. Must see Marcia . . . now . . . urgent.”

  Hildegarde knew Beetle well enough to send an express messenger straight up to Marcia’s rooms. While the messenger set the stairs on emergency and disappeared in a whirl of blue, Beetle paced the Great Hall impatiently, not daring to hope that it would have any result. He was as amazed as Hildegarde when, no more than a few minutes later, a flash of purple appeared at the top of the spiral stairs and whizzed its way down. In a moment Marcia was hurrying across to the agitated Beetle.

 
Marcia listened to Beetle’s story of Merrin in the Palace attic, the Two-Faced Ring, the Darke Domaine and finally, Jenna’s disappearance, with increasing concern.

  “I knew it,” she muttered. “I knew it.”

  Marcia heard Beetle out and then sprang into action. She sent Hildegarde up to the Search and Rescue Center on the nineteenth floor of the Wizard Tower to begin a Search for Jenna at once.

  “And now,” said Marcia, “we must do a Call Out to the Palace. There is no time to lose.”

  It was a relatively easy matter to Call Out all the Wizard Tower Wizards. The Tower had an extremely ancient Magykal intercom system that no one understood anymore, but which still worked—although Marcia did not dare use it too often. A fine spiderlike web of Magykal threads connected all the private rooms and public spaces in the Tower. The control point was a tiny circle of lapis lazuli set high up in the wall beside the Wizard Tower doors. Beetle watched Marcia ball her right hand into a fist and then throw it open, letting go a well-aimed stream of Magykal purple that hit the center of the circle, whereupon a wafer of paper-thin lapis detached itself and floated down into Marcia’s outstretched hands. Marcia pressed the flimsy circle of blue into her left palm. Then she held her hand up to her mouth and addressed her palm in an oddly flat monotone.

  “Calling all Wizards, Calling all Wizards. This is a non-optional Call Out. Please make your way immediately, I repeat, immediately, to the Great Hall.”

  Marcia’s monotone sounded in every room in the Wizard Tower, as loud and undistorted as though she were there in person—much to the dismay of one elderly Wizard taking a bath.

  The effect was immediate. The silver spiral stairs slowed to steady mode—a setting that allowed easy access for all—and a few seconds later, Beetle saw the blue cloaks of the first Wizards descending.

  Wizards and Apprentices gathered in the Hall—the Wizards grumbling that the ExtraOrdinary Wizard had chosen to do a Call Out practice just as they were about to have tea, the Apprentices chattering with excitement. Beetle kept an eye on the stairs for Septimus, but although plenty of green robes were mixed in with the blue, his was not among them.

  The last Wizard stepped off the stairs and Marcia addressed the crowd. “This is not a Call Out practice,” she said. “This is the real thing.”

  A surprised murmur greeted her announcement.

  “All Wizards are required to form a Cordon around the Palace within the next half hour. I intend to put the Palace into Quarantine as soon as possible.”

  A collective gasp of shock echoed through the Great Hall, and the lights inside the Tower—which, if there was nothing else to do, reflected the Wizards’ collective feelings—turned a slightly surprised pink.

  Marcia continued. “To that effect I am asking you to exit the Tower with Mr. Beetle. En route to the Palace you will provide backup to Mr. Beetle while he Calls Out the Manuscriptorium Scribes.”

  It was Beetle’s turn to look shocked.

  Marcia continued. “You will then proceed to the Palace Gate and assemble there silently please. I must impress the need for absolute silence upon you all. It is imperative that our target in the Palace does not realize what is happening. Understood?”

  A murmur of assent ran through the Hall.

  “Raise your arm, Beetle, so that they all know who you are.”

  Beetle obeyed, thinking that it was pretty easy to see who he was, as he was the only one wearing an Admiral’s jacket. But right then—after learning that Merrin had been living in the Palace for nearly two years and Silas Heap had not noticed—Marcia had a poor opinion of the observational powers of the average Ordinary Wizard. She was taking no chances.

  “Beetle, I now declare you to be my Call Out Emissary,” Marcia said rather formally. From her ExtraOrdinary Wizard belt she took a tiny scroll tied in a wisp of purple ribbon and gave it to Beetle.

  The scroll lay in Beetle’s palm, surprisingly heavy for its size.

  “Gosh . . .” he said.

  “The scroll is a twice-tap,” Marcia informed him. “Make sure you hold it at arm’s length when it is Enlarging, as they can get a bit hot. Once it’s full size, all you have to do is read out what it says. Emissary scrolls are reasonably intelligent, so this one should respond to most things Miss Djinn throws at you. I have given you the adversarial model.” Marcia sighed. “I suspect you will need it.”

  Beetle suspected he would too.

  “Also Beetle, although the Chief Hermetic Scribe is obliged to let all Indentured Scribes go on a Call Out, she herself does not have to attend. And frankly I would prefer it if she didn’t. Understood?”

  Beetle nodded. He totally understood.

  Marcia raised her voice and addressed the assembled Wizards and Apprentices. “Now, please leave the Tower with Mr. Beetle in an orderly fashion.”

  “But Septimus hasn’t come down yet,” said Beetle.

  “No, indeed Septimus hasn’t.” Marcia sounded annoyed. “At the very moment when I should be relying on my Senior Apprentice, he has chosen to absent himself and go listening to some ridiculous twaddle peddled by Marcellus Pye. I shall be sending a Wizard to get him.” And, thought Marcia, to tell him that he will most certainly not be beginning his Darke Week that night.

  Now Beetle understood why he was Emissary—once again, he was Septimus’s replacement. It took the shine off it a little. But only a little.

  And so, while Marcia embarked on the more time-consuming Castle Call Out, Beetle led the Wizards and Apprentices out of the Wizard Tower. Like a gooseherd with a gaggle of disorderly geese, he took them down the wide, white marble steps, across the cobbles of the courtyard, shining and slippery with watery sleet, and through the lapis lazuli-lined Great Arch into Wizard Way.

  Beetle’s entourage created quite a stir amongst the Longest Night promenaders. Even the brightest window display could not compete with the impressive sight of a Wizard Tower Call Out. The gold braid on his Admiral’s jacket glinting in the torchlight, Beetle walked proudly along Wizard Way at the head of a sea of blue flecked with green, and the crowds parted respectfully to let them through. It was a wonderful moment but all he could think about was—where was Jenna?

  On the nineteenth floor of the Wizard Tower, Hildegarde was sitting at the huge Searching Glass, scanning the Castle. The three portly and somewhat self-important Search and Rescue Wizards were annoyed at not being asked to conduct the Search themselves, especially as Hildegarde was only a mere sub-Wizard, but as she had been sent by the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, there was nothing they could do but proffer patronizing advice and hover irritatingly close by.

  Hildegarde studiously paid them no attention. She focused all her energy on the Searching Glass, bringing her slowly growing Magykal powers to guide it. But all the Glass did was insist on focusing on Doom Dump, which was where Hildegarde knew that Beetle had last seen Jenna. She wasn’t very good at this, she thought gloomily. Jenna was sure to be far away by now.

  Chapter 17

  Witch Princess

  While Hildegarde was peering through the Searching Glass at the decrepit roof of Doom Dump, deep inside the house itself Linda was skulking in the shadows outside the scullery where Marissa had taken Jenna.

  Linda needed a few minutes to get her spell ready for the upstart Marissa—a spell that would make Dorinda’s elephant ears look like a party trick. And as she went over the spell in her mind for the last time, strengthening it, making it just that little bit nastier (more warts), Linda heard the same scream from the scullery that the Witch Mother had heard. Preoccupied with her spell, Linda was not thinking straight. She too assumed the scream came from Jenna, so she waited a few seconds more so that Marissa could finish whatever she was doing. But as the sound of choking came through the door, Linda began to get worried. It wouldn’t do to have their Princess throttled just yet—not until they had thoroughly defeated the Wendron Witches. She threw open the scullery door and stopped in amazement. Linda was impressed. She couldn’t have done better
herself.

  Jenna had Marissa in a headlock—and it was a good one too, Linda noticed. In her younger days Linda had been a big fan of headlocks, although now she let her spells do the work for her.

  Marissa’s face was an interesting shade of purple. “Lemme go!” she was gasping. “Lemme . . . aaah . . . go!”

  Jenna looked up and saw Linda. Marissa was in no position to look up, but she knew from the pointy boots with the dragon spikes up the back who it was.

  “Get her . . . off me,” Marissa gasped in a hoarse whisper.

  You touch her and you’ll regret it, Jenna mouthed Silently at Linda.

  Linda looked amused. She liked fights, and one between a witch and a Princess was pretty much top of her fight wish list. Unfortunately however, there was business to attend to and she needed to get on with it before the Witch Mother came tottering along to see what was happening.

  “Well done,” Linda told Jenna. “Very impressive. You continue like this and I might just change my mind about Princesses. Possibly. Now just keep holding her right there. Perfect.”

  Jenna saw that Linda was eyeing Marissa like a snake working out where to strike. Something was about to happen and she could see it wasn’t going to be good—particularly for Marissa.

  Linda raised her hands up to her face and then pointed both index fingers at Marissa’s head, squinting down them like a marksman. It reminded Jenna horribly of how the Hunter had once lined her up in the sights of his pistol.

  “Keep her still,” Linda instructed Jenna. “Hold her right there.”

  Marissa whimpered.

  Jenna did not like the turn events had taken. Suddenly she was Linda’s accomplice. She knew that Linda was about to do something very bad to Marissa and she did not want to be part of it, but she dared not let go. If she did, Marissa would immediately turn on her—as would Linda. She was stuck.