Septimus Heap, Book One: Magyk

by Angie Sage

  Eventually, after what felt like hours but was in fact only two minutes and fifteen seconds, Jenna felt the almost vertical drop level out, and her pace slowed to something that was bearable. She did not know it, but she now had left the Wizard Tower and was traveling below the ground, out from the foot of the Tower and toward the basements of the Courts of the Custodians. It was still pitch-black and freezing cold in the chute, and Jenna felt very alone. She strained her ears to hear any sounds that the others might be making, but everyone knew how important it was to keep quiet and no one dared to call out. Jenna thought that she could detect the swish of Marcia’s cloak behind her, but since Maxie had hurtled past her she had had no sign that there was anyone else with her at all. The thought of being alone in the dark forever began to take hold of her, and another tide of panic started to rise. But just as Jenna thought she might scream, a chink of light shone down from a distant kitchen far above, and she caught a glimpse of Boy 412 huddled into a ball not far in front of her. Jenna’s spirits lifted at the sight of him, and she found herself feeling sorry for the thin, cold sentry boy in his pajamas.

  Boy 412 was in no state to feel sorry for anyone, least of all himself. When the mad girl with the gold circle on her head had pushed him into the abyss he had instinctively curled himself up into a ball and had spent the entire descent down the Wizard Tower rattling from side to side of the chute like a marble in a drainpipe. Boy 412 felt bruised and battered but no more terrified than he had been since he awoke to find himself in the company of two Wizards, a Wizard boy and a Wizard ghost. As he too slowed down when the chute leveled out, Boy 412’s brain began to work again. The few thoughts that he managed to put together came to the conclusion that this must be a Test. The Young Army was full of Tests. Terrifying Surprise Tests always sprung on you in the middle of the night, just as you had fallen asleep and made your cold narrow bed as warm and comfortable as was possible. But this was a Big Test. This must be one of those Do-or-Die Tests. Boy 412 gritted his teeth; he wasn’t sure, but right now it felt horribly like this was the Die part of the test. Whatever it was, there wasn’t much he could Do. So Boy 412 closed his eyes tightly and kept rolling along.

  The chute took them ever downward. It turned left and traveled underneath the Custodian Council Chambers, bore right to take in the Army Offices and then straight on where it burrowed through the thick walls of the underground kitchens that served the Palace. This was where things became particularly messy. The Kitchen Maids were still busy clearing up after the Supreme Custodian’s midday banquet, and the hatches in the kitchen, which were not far above the travelers in the rubbish chute, opened with alarming frequency and showered them with the mixed-up remains of the feast. Even Maxie, who had by now eaten as much as he possibly could, found it unpleasant, especially after a solidified rice pudding hit him square on the nose. The youngest Kitchen Maid who threw the rice pudding caught a glimpse of Maxie and had nightmares about wolves in the rubbish chute for weeks.

  For Marcia it was a nightmare too. She wrapped her gravy-splattered purple silk cloak with the custard-coated fur lining tightly around her, ducked a shower of brussels sprouts and tried to rehearse the One-Second Dry Clean Spell to use the moment she got out of the chute.

  At last the chute took them away from the kitchens, and things became slightly cleaner. Jenna briefly allowed herself to relax, but suddenly her breath was taken away as the chute dipped sharply down under the Castle walls toward its final destination at the riverside rubbish dump.

  Silas recovered first from the sharp dip and guessed they were coming to the end of their journey. He peered into the darkness to try to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but he could make nothing out at all. Although he knew that by now the sun had set, he had hoped that with the full moon rising some light would be filtering through. And then, to his surprise, he slid to a halt against something solid. Something soft and slimy that smelled disgusting. It was Maxie.

  Silas was wondering why Maxie was blocking up the rubbish chute when Boy 412, Jenna, Nicko and Marcia cannoned into him in quick succession. Silas realized that it was not just Maxie who was soft, slimy and smelled disgusting—they all did.

  “Dad?” Jenna’s scared voice came out of the darkness. “Is that you, Dad?”

  “Yes, poppet,” whispered Silas.

  “Where are we, Dad?” asked Nicko hoarsely. He hated the rubbish chute. Up until his leap into it Nicko had had no idea that he was terrified of confined spaces; what a way to find out, he thought. Nicko had managed to fight his fear by telling himself that at least they were moving and they would soon be out. But now they had stopped. And they weren’t out.

  They were stuck.

  Trapped.

  Nicko tried to sit up, but his head hit the cold slate above him. He stretched out his arms, but they both met the ice-smooth sides of the chute before he could straighten them. Nicko felt his breath coming faster and faster. He thought he might go mad if they didn’t get out of there fast.

  “Why have we stopped?” hissed Marcia.

  “There’s a blockage,” whispered Silas, who had felt past Maxie and come to the conclusion that they had fetched up against a huge pile of rubbish that was blocking the chute.

  “Bother,” muttered Marcia.

  “Dad. I want to get out, Dad,” gasped Nicko.

  “Nicko?” whispered Silas. “You okay?”

  “No…”

  “It’s the rat door!” said Marcia triumphantly. “There’s a grille to keep the rats out of the chute. It was put up after Endor found a rat in her hot pot. Open it, Silas.”

  “I can’t get to it. There’s all this rubbish in the way.”

  “If you’d done a Cleaning Spell like I’d asked you, there wouldn’t be, would there?”

  “Marcia,” hissed Silas, “when you think you are about to die, a spot of housekeeping is not a number-one priority.”

  “Dad,” said Nicko desperately.

  “I’ll do it, then,” snapped Marcia. She clicked her fingers and recited something under her breath. There was a muffled clang as the rat door swung open and a swish as the rubbish obligingly hurled itself out of the chute and tumbled down onto the dump.

  They were free.

  The full moon, which was rising above the river, shone its clear white light into the blackness of the chute and guided the six tired and bruised travelers out to the place they had all been longing to reach.

  The Riverside Amenity Rubbish Dump.

  9

  SALLY MULLIN’S CAFE

  It was the usual quiet winter’s evening in Sally Mullin’s cafe. A steady buzz of conversation filled the air as a mixture of regular customers and travelers shared the large wooden tables that were gathered around a small wood-burning stove. Sally had just been around the tables sharing jokes, offering some newly baked slabs of barley cake and refilling the oil lamps that had been burning all through the dull winter afternoon. She was now back behind the bar, carefully pouring out five measures of Springo Special Ale for some newly arrived Northern Traders.

  When Sally glanced over at the Traders she noticed to her surprise that the usual look of sad resignation Northern Traders were known for had been replaced by broad grins. Sally smiled. She prided herself on running a happy cafe, and if she could get five dour Traders laughing before they even had their first tankard of Springo Special, then she was doing something right.

  Sally brought the ale over to the Traders’ table by the window and set it skillfully down in front of them without spilling a drop. But the Traders paid no attention to the ale, for they were too busy rubbing the steamed-up window with their grubby sleeves and peering out into the gloom. One of them pointed at something outside, and they all broke out into raucous guffaws.

  The laughter was spreading around the cafe. Other customers began coming to the windows and peering out until soon the entire clientele of the cafe was pushing for a place by the long line of windows that ran along the back.

 
Sally Mullin peered out to see what was causing the merriment.

  Her jaw dropped.

  In the bright light of the full moon, the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, Madam Marcia Overstrand, was covered in rubbish and dancing like a madwoman on top of the municipal rubbish dump.

  No, thought Sally, that’s not possible.

  She peered through the smeary window again. Sally could not believe what she saw. There indeed was Madam Marcia with three children—three children? Everyone knew that Madam Marcia could not abide children. There was also a wolf and someone who looked vaguely familiar to Sally. Now, who was it?

  Sarah’s no-good husband, Silas I’ll-Do-It-Tomorrow Heap. That’s who it was.

  What on earth was Silas Heap doing with Marcia Overstrand? With three of the children? On the rubbish dump? Did Sarah know about this?

  Well, she soon would.

  As a good friend to Sarah Heap, Sally felt it was her duty to go and check this out. So she put the Washing-up Boy in charge of the cafe and ran out into the moonlight.

  Sally clattered down the wooden gangway of the cafe pontoon and ran through the snow up the hill toward the dump. As she ran, her mind came to an inescapable conclusion.

  Silas Heap was eloping with Marcia Overstrand.

  It all made sense. Sarah had often complained about how Silas was obsessed with Marcia. Ever since he had given up his Apprenticeship to Alther Mella and Marcia had taken it over, Silas had watched her amazing progress with a mixture of horror and fascination, always imagining that it could have been him. And since she had become ExtraOrdinary Wizard ten years ago, Silas had, if anything, been worse.

  Completely obsessed with what Marcia was doing, that’s what Sarah had said.

  But of course, mused Sally, who had now reached the foot of the huge pile of rubbish and was painfully scrabbling her way up, Sarah was not entirely innocent either. Anyone could see that their little girl was not Silas’s child. She looked so different from all the others. And once when Sally had very delicately tried to bring up the subject of Jenna’s father, Sarah had very quickly changed it. Oh, yes, something had been going on between the Heaps for years. But that was no excuse for what Silas was doing now. No excuse at all, thought Sally crossly as she stumbled her way up toward the top of the dump.

  The bedraggled figures had started making their way down and were heading in Sally’s direction. Sally waved her arms at them, but they appeared not to have noticed her. They seemed preoccupied and were staggering a little as if they were dizzy. Now that they were nearer, Sally could see that she was right about their identities.

  “Silas Heap!” Sally yelled angrily.

  The five figures jumped out of their skins and stared at Sally.

  “Shush!” four voices whispered as loud as they dared.

  “I will not shush!” declared Sally. “What do you think you are doing, Silas Heap? Leaving your wife for this…floozie.” Sally waggled her forefinger disapprovingly at Marcia.

  “Floozie?” gasped Marcia.

  “And taking these poor children with you,” she told Silas. “How could you?”

  Silas waded through the rubbish to Sally.

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “And will you please be quiet!”

  “Shush!” said three voices behind him.

  At last Sally quieted down.

  “Don’t do it, Silas,” she whispered hoarsely. “Don’t leave your lovely wife and family. Please.”

  Silas looked bemused. “I’m not,” he said. “Who told you that?”

  “You’re not?”

  “No!”

  “Shushhh!”

  It took most of the long stumble down the dump to explain to Sally what had happened. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open as Silas told her what he had to in order to get her on their side—which was pretty much everything. Silas realized that they not only needed Sally’s silence; they could do with her help too. But Marcia wasn’t so sure. Sally Mullin was not exactly the first person she would have chosen to help. Marcia decided to step in and take charge.

  “Right,” she said authoritatively as they reached the solid ground at the foot of the dump. “I think we can expect the Hunter and his Pack to be sent after us any minute now.”

  A flicker of fear passed over Silas’s face. He had heard about the Hunter.

  Marcia was practical and calm. “I’ve filled the chute back up with rubbish and done a Lockfast and Weld Spell on the rat door,” she said. “So with any luck he’ll think we’re still trapped in there.”

  Nicko shuddered at the thought.

  “But it won’t delay him long,” continued Marcia. “And then he’ll come looking—and asking.” Marcia looked at Sally as if to say, And it will be you he’ll be asking.

  Everyone fell quiet.

  Sally returned Marcia’s gaze steadily. She knew what she was taking on. She knew it would be big trouble for her, but Sally was a loyal friend.

  She would do it.

  “Right, then,” said Sally briskly. “We’ll have to get you all far away with the pixies by then, won’t we?”

  Sally took them down to the bunkhouse at the back of the cafe where many an exhausted traveler had found themselves a warm bed for the night, and clean clothes too if they needed them. The bunkhouse was empty at this time of day. Sally showed them where the clothes were kept and told them to take as much as they needed. It was going to be a long, cold night. She quickly filled a bucket with hot water so that they could wash off the worst of the mess from the chute and then rushed out, saying, “I’ll see you down at the quay in ten minutes. You can have my boat.”

  Jenna and Nicko were only too pleased to get rid of their filthy clothes, but Boy 412 refused to do anything. He had had enough changes that day, and he was determined to hang on to what he had, even if it was a pair of wet and filthy Wizard pajamas.

  Eventually Marcia was forced to use a Clean-Up Spell on him, followed by a Change of Dress Spell to get him into the thick fisherman’s sweater, trousers and sheepskin jacket plus a bright red beanie hat that Silas had found for him.

  Marcia was cross at having to use a spell for Boy 412’s outfit. She wanted to save her energy for later, as she had an unpleasant feeling that she might need it all to get them to safety. She had of course used a little energy on her One-Second Dry Clean Spell, which, due to the disgusting state of her cloak, had turned into a One-Minute Dry Clean Spell and still hadn’t got rid of all the gravy stains. In Marcia’s opinion, the cloak of an ExtraOrdinary Wizard was more than just a cloak; it was a finely tuned instrument of Magyk and must be treated with respect.

  Ten minutes later they were all down at the quay.

  Sally and her sailing boat were waiting for them. Nicko looked at the little green boat approvingly. He loved boats. In fact, there was nothing Nicko loved better than being out in a boat on the open water, and this looked like a good one. She was broad and steady, sat well in the water and had a pair of new red sails. She had a nice name too: Muriel. Nicko liked that.

  Marcia looked at the boat dubiously. “How does it work, then?” she asked Sally.

  Nicko butted in. “Sails,” he said. “She sails.”

  “Who sails?” asked Marcia, confused.

  Nicko was patient. “The boat does.”

  Sally was getting agitated.

  “You’d better be off,” she said, glancing back at the rubbish dump. “I’ve put some paddles in, just in case you need them. And some food. Here, I’ll untie the rope and hang on to it while you all get aboard.”

  Jenna scrambled in first, grabbing Boy 412 by the arm and taking him with her. He resisted for a moment but then gave in. Boy 412 was getting very tired.

  Nicko jumped in next, then Silas propelled a somewhat reluctant Marcia off the quay and into the boat. She sat down uncertainly by the tiller and sniffed.

  “What’s that awful smell?” she muttered.

  “Fish,” said Nicko, wondering if Marcia knew how to sail.


  Silas jumped in with Maxie, and Muriel settled a little lower down in the water.

  “I’ll push you off now,” said Sally anxiously.

  She threw the rope to Nicko, who skillfully caught it and stowed it neatly in the prow of the boat.

  Marcia grabbed at the tiller, the sails flapping wildly, and Muriel took an unpleasantly sharp turn to the left.

  “Shall I take the tiller?” Nicko offered.

  “Take the what? Oh, this handle thing here? Very well, Nicko. I don’t want to tire myself.” Marcia wrapped her cloak around her and, with as much dignity as she could muster, shuffled awkwardly around to the side of the boat.

  Marcia was not happy. She had never been in a boat before, and she had no intention of ever getting in one again if she could possibly help it. There were no seats for a start. No carpet, no cushions even and no roof. Not only was there far too much water outside the boat for her liking, but there was a little too much inside too. Did this mean it was sinking? And the smell was unbelievable.

  Maxie was very excited. He managed to tread on Marcia’s precious shoes and wag his tail in her face at the same time.

  “Shove over, you daft dog,” said Silas, pushing Maxie up to the prow where he could put his long wolfhound nose into the wind and sniff all the water smells. Then Silas squashed himself in beside Marcia, much to her discomfort, while Jenna and Boy 412 curled up on the other side of the boat.

  Nicko stood happily in the stern, holding on to the tiller, and confidently set sail for the open reaches of the river.