Septimus Heap, Book One: Magyk

by Angie Sage

  “If—if you have any news, you can find us at Galen’s tree house. I am staying there with Sarah and the boys.”

  “You have more boys?”

  “Er, yes. Five more. We had seven altogether, but…”

  “Seven. A gift. A seventh son of the seventh son. Magykal indeed.”

  “He died.”

  “Ah. I am sorry, Silas. A great loss. To us all. We could do with him now.”

  “Yes.”

  “I will leave you for now, Silas. I will take the tree house and all who are in her under our protection, for what it may be worth with the encroaching Darkenesse. And tomorrow, all in the tree house are invited to join us for our MidWinter Feast.”

  Silas was touched.

  “Thank you, Morwenna. That is very kind.”

  “Until the next time, Silas. I bid you good speed and a joyful Feast Day tomorrow.” With that the Wendron Witch disappeared back into the Forest, leaving Silas standing alone under the tall elm tree.

  “Good-bye, Morwenna,” he whispered into the darkness and hurried off through the snow, back to the tree house where Sarah and Galen were waiting to hear what had happened.

  By the next morning Silas had decided that Morwenna was right. Simon must have been Taken into the Castle. Something told him that Simon was there.

  Sarah was not convinced.

  “I don’t see why you are taking so much notice of that witch, Silas. It’s not as though she knows anything for sure. Suppose Simon’s in the Forest and you end up being Taken. What then?”

  But Silas would not be swayed. He Changed his robes to the short gray hooded tunic of a worker, said good-bye to Sarah and the boys and climbed down from the tree house. The smell of cooking from the Wendron Witches’ MidWinter Feast almost persuaded Silas to stay, but he resolutely set off in search of Simon.

  “Silas!” Sally called after him as he reached the Forest floor. “Catch!”

  Sally threw down the KeepSafe Marcia had given her.

  Silas caught it. “Thank you, Sally.”

  Sarah watched as Silas pulled his hood down over his eyes and set off through the Forest toward the Castle, his parting words thrown over his shoulder, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. With Simon.”

  But she did.

  And he wasn’t.

  26

  MIDWINTER FEAST DAY

  No, thank you, Galen. I’m not going to those witches’ MidWinter Feast. We Wizards don’t celebrate it,” Sarah told Galen after Silas had left that morning.

  “Well, I shall go,” said Galen, “and I think we all should go. You don’t turn down a Wendron Witch invitation lightly, Sarah. It’s an honor to be asked. In fact, I can’t imagine how Silas managed to get us all an invitation.”

  “Humph” was Sarah’s only response.

  But as the afternoon wore on and the delicious smell of roast wolverine drifted through the Forest and up to the tree house, the boys became very restless. Galen only ate vegetables, roots and nuts, which was, as Erik had pointed out in a loud voice after their first meal with Galen, exactly what they fed the rabbits at home.

  The snow was falling heavily through the trees as Galen opened the tree house trapdoor. Using a clever pulley system she had devised herself, she pulled down the long wooden ladder so that it was resting on the blanket of snow that now covered the ground. The tree house itself was built on a series of platforms running across three ancient oak trees and had been part of the oaks ever since they had reached their full height, many hundreds of years ago. A higgledy-piggledy collection of huts had been put up on the platform over the years. They were covered with ivy and blended in with the trees so well that they were invisible from the floor of the Forest.

  Sam, Edd and Erik, and Jo-Jo were sharing the guest hut at the very top of the middle tree and had their own rope down to the Forest. While the boys fought over who was going down the rope first, Galen, Sarah and Sally made a more sedate exit down the main ladder.

  Galen had dressed up for the MidWinter Feast. She had been asked to one many years ago, after she had healed a witch’s child, and she knew it was quite an occasion. Galen was a small woman, somewhat weather-beaten after years of outdoor living in the Forest. She had cropped tousled red hair, laughing brown eyes and generally wore a simple short green tunic, leggings and a cloak. But today she wore her MidWinter Feast dress.

  “Goodness, Galen, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble,” said Sarah, slightly disapprovingly. “I haven’t seen that dress before. It’s…quite something.”

  Galen didn’t get out much, but when she did, she really dressed up for it. Her dress looked as though it was made from hundreds of multicolored leaves all sewn together and tied in the middle with a brilliant green sash.

  “Oh, thank you,” said Galen, “I made it myself.”

  “I thought you had,” said Sarah.

  Sally Mullin pushed the ladder back up through the trapdoor, and the party set off through the Forest, following the delicious smell of roasting wolverine.

  Galen led them through the Forest paths, which were covered with a thick fall of new snow and crisscrossed with all shapes and sizes of animal tracks. After a long trudge through a maze of tracks, ditches and gullies, they came to what had once been a slate quarry for the Castle. This was now where the Wendron Witches’ Moots took place.

  Thirty-nine witches, all dressed in their red MidWinter Feast robes, were gathered around a roaring fire down in the middle of the quarry. The ground was strewn with freshly cut greenery dusted by the snow that fell softly around them, much of it melting and sizzling in the heat of the fire. There was a heady smell of spicy food in the air: spits were turning, wolverines were roasting, rabbits were stewing in bubbling cauldrons and squirrels were baking in underground ovens. A long table was piled high with all kinds of sweet and spicy foods. The Witches had bartered for these treats with the Northern Traders and had saved them for this, the most important day of the year. The boys’ eyes opened wide with amazement. They had never seen so much food all in one place in their whole lives. Even Sarah had to admit to herself that it was impressive.

  Morwenna Mould spotted them hovering uncertainly at the entrance to the quarry. She gathered up her red fur robes and swept over to greet them.

  “Welcome to you all. Please join us.”

  The assembled witches parted respectfully to allow Morwenna, the Witch Mother, to escort her somewhat overawed guests to the best places by the fire.

  “I am so glad to meet you at last, Sarah.” Morwenna smiled. “I feel as if I know you already. Silas told me so much about you the night he saved me.”

  “Did he?” asked Sarah.

  “Oh, yes. He talked of you and the baby the whole night long.”

  “Really?”

  Morwenna put her arm around Sarah’s shoulder. “We are all looking for your boy. I am sure all will be well in the end. And with your other three who are away from you now. All will be well there too.”

  “My other three?” asked Sarah.

  “Your other three children.”

  Sarah did a hurried count. Sometimes even she could not remember how many there were.

  “Two,” she said, “my other two.”

  The MidWinter Feast carried on far into the night, and after a good deal of Witches’ Brew Sarah completely forgot her worries about Simon and Silas. Unfortunately they all came back to her the next morning, along with a very bad headache.

  Silas’s MidWinter Feast Day was altogether more subdued.

  He took the riverside track that ran along the outside of the Forest and then skirted around the Castle walls, and blown along by chill flurries of snow, he headed for the North Gate. He wanted to get to familiar territory before he decided what he was going to do. Silas pulled his gray hood right down over his green Wizard eyes, took a deep breath and walked across the snow-covered drawbridge, which led to the North Gate.

  Gringe was on duty at the gatehouse, and he was in a bad temper. Things were not ha
ppy in the Gringe household just then, and Gringe had been pondering his domestic problems all morning.

  “Oi, you,” grunted Gringe, stamping his feet in the cold snow, “get a move on. You’re late for the compulsory street cleaning.”

  Silas hurried by.

  “Not so fast!” barked Gringe. “That’ll be one groat from you.”

  Silas scrabbled around in his pocket and fished out a groat, sticky with some of Aunt Zelda’s cherry and parsnip delight, which he had shoved into his pocket to avoid eating. Gringe took the groat and sniffed it suspiciously, then he rubbed it on his jerkin and put it to one side. Mrs. Gringe had the delightful task of washing any sticky money each night, so he added it to her pile and let Silas pass.

  “’Ere, don’t I know you from somewhere?” Gringe called out as Silas rushed by.

  Silas shook his head.

  “Morris dancing?”

  Silas shook his head again and kept walking.

  “Lute lessons?”

  “No!” Silas slipped into the shadows and disappeared down an alleyway.

  “I do know ’im,” muttered Gringe to himself. “And ’e ain’t no worker neither. Not with them green eyes shinin’ out like a couple o’ caterpillars in a coal bucket.” Gringe thought for a few moments. “That’s Silas ’eap! ’E’s got a nerve comin’ ’ere. I’ll soon sort ’im out.”

  It was not long before Gringe found a passing Guard, and soon the Supreme Custodian had been informed of Silas’s return to the Castle. But try as he might, he could not find him. Marcia’s KeepSafe was doing its job well.

  Silas, meanwhile, had scurried off into the old Ramblings, gratefully getting out of the way of both Gringe and the snow. He knew where he was going; he wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to see his old place once again. Silas slipped down the familiar dark corridors. He was glad of his disguise, for no one paid any attention to a lowly worker, but Silas had not realized how little respect they were given. No one stood by to let him pass. People pushed him out of the way, allowed doors to slam in his face, and twice he was roughly told he should be out cleaning the streets. Maybe, thought Silas, being just an Ordinary Wizard was not so bad after all.

  The door to the Heap room hung open forlornly. It appeared not to recognize Silas as he tiptoed into the room in which he had spent much of the last twenty-five years of his life. Silas sat down on his favorite homemade chair and surveyed the room sadly, lost in his thoughts. It looked strangely small now that it was empty of children, noise and Sarah presiding over the comings and goings of the days. It also looked embarrassingly dirty, even to Silas, who had never minded a bit of dirt here and there.

  “They lived in a tip, didn’t they? Dirty Wizards. Never did have no time for them meself,” said a rough voice. Silas spun around to see a burly man standing in the doorway. Behind him Silas could see a large wooden cart in the corridor.

  “Didn’t think they’d send anyone along to ’elp. Good thing they did. It ’ud take all day on me own. Right, cart’s outside. It’s all to go to the dump. Magyk books to be burned. Got that?”

  “What?”

  “Gawd. They sent me a daft one ’ere. Junk. Cart. Dump. It ain’t exactly Alchemy. Now give us that heap a wood you’re parked on and let’s get goin’.”

  Silas got up from his chair as if in a dream and handed it to the removal man, who took it and hurled it into the cart. The chair shattered and lay in pieces at the bottom of it. Before long it was underneath a huge pile of the Heaps’ lifetime accumulation of possessions and the cart was full to overflowing.

  “Right, then,” said the removal man. “I’ll get this down to the dump before it closes while you put them Magyk books outside. The firemen will collect ’em tomorrow on their rounds.”

  He handed Silas a large broom. “I’ll leave yer to sweep up all that disgustin’ dog hair and what-have-yer. Then you can get off ’ome. You look a bit done in. Not used to ’ard work, eh!” The removal man chuckled and thumped Silas on the back in what was meant to be a friendly manner. Silas coughed and smiled wanly.

  “Don’t forget them Magyk books” was the man’s parting advice as he trundled the teetering cart off down the corridor on its journey to the Riverside Amenity Rubbish Dump.

  In a daze, Silas swept up twenty-five years’ worth of dust, dog hair and dirt into a neat pile. Then he gazed regretfully at his Magyk books.

  “I’ll give you a hand if you like,” Alther’s voice said next to him. The ghost put his arm around Silas’s shoulder.

  “Oh. Hello, Alther,” said Silas gloomily. “What a day.”

  “Yes, it’s not good. I’m very sorry, Silas.”

  “All…gone,” mumbled Silas, “and now the books too. We had some good ones there. A lot of rare Charms…all going up in flames.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Alther. “They’d fit nicely into your bedroom in the roof. I’ll help you with the Remove Spell if you like.”

  Silas brightened a little.

  “Just remind me how it goes, Alther, then I can do it. I’m sure I can.”

  Silas’s Remove worked well. The books lined up neatly, the trapdoor flew open, and book by book they flew up through it and stacked up in Silas and Sarah’s old bedroom. One or two of the more contrary books headed out the door and were halfway down the corridor before Silas managed to Call them back, but by the end of the spell all the Magyk books were safely in the roof and Silas had even Disguised the trapdoor. Now no one could possibly guess what was there.

  And so Silas walked out of his empty, echoing room for the last time and took off down Corridor 223. Alther floated along with him.

  “Come and sit with us for a while,” Alther offered, “down at the Hole in the Wall.”

  “Where?”

  “I only recently discovered it myself. One of the Ancients showed me. It’s an old tavern inside the Castle walls. Got bricked up years ago by one of the Queens who disapproved of beer. Seems as long as you’ve walked the Castle walls—and who hasn’t?—a ghost can get in, so it’s packed. It’s got a great atmosphere—might cheer you up.”

  “I don’t know if I really fancy it, thanks all the same, Alther. Isn’t that the one where they bricked up the nun?”

  “Oh, she’s great fun, is Sister Bernadette. Loves a pint of beer. Life and soul of the party. So to speak. Anyway, I’ve got some news of Simon that I think you should hear.”

  “Simon! Is he all right? Where is he?” asked Silas.

  “He’s here, Silas. In the Castle. Come along to the Hole in the Wall. There’s someone you need to talk to.”

  The Hole in the Wall Tavern was buzzing.

  Alther had led Silas to a tumbledown pile of stones heaped up against the Castle wall just along from the North Gate. He had shown him a small gap in the wall hidden behind the pile of rubble, and Silas had barely managed to squeeze through. Once through he had found himself in another world.

  The Hole in the Wall was an ancient tavern built inside the wide Castle wall. When Marcia had taken her shortcut to the North Side those few days ago, part of her journey had taken her over the roof of the tavern, but she had been unaware of the motley collection of ghosts talking the long years away right beneath her feet.

  It took Silas a few minutes for his eyes to adjust from the brightness of the snow to the dull glow of the lamps that flickered along the walls. But as they did he became aware of a most amazing collection of ghosts. They were gathered around long trestle tables, standing together in small groups beside the ghostly fire or just sitting in solitary contemplation in a quiet corner. There was a large contingent of ExtraOrdinary Wizards, their purple cloaks and robes spanning the different styles fashionable through the centuries. There were knights in full armor, pages in extravagant liveries, women with wimples, young Queens with rich silk dresses and older Queens in black, all enjoying one another’s company.

  Alther led Silas through the crowd. Silas did his best not to walk through any of them, but once or twice he felt a cold bree
ze as he passed through a ghost. No one seemed to mind—some nodded to him in a friendly manner and others were too intent on their endless conversation to notice him—and Silas got the impression that any friend of Alther’s was a welcome guest in The Hole in the Wall.

  The ghostly landlord of the tavern had long ago given up hovering by the beer barrels, for the ghosts all nursed the same tankard of beer that they had been given when they first arrived, and some tankards had lasted for many hundreds of years. Alther bade a cheery hello to the landlord, who was deep in conversation with three ExtraOrdinary Wizards and an old tramp who had long ago fallen asleep under one of the tables and never woken up again. Then he steered Silas over to a quiet corner where a plump figure in a nun’s habit was sitting waiting for them.

  “May I introduce Sister Bernadette,” said Alther. “Sister Bernadette, this is Silas Heap—the one I was telling you about. He is the boy’s father.”

  Despite Sister Bernadette’s bright smile Silas felt a sense of foreboding.

  The round-faced nun turned her twinkling eyes to Silas and said in a soft lilting voice, “He’s quite a lad, your boy, isn’t he? He knows what he wants, and isn’t afraid of going out to get it.”

  “Well, I suppose so. He certainly wants to be a Wizard, I know that. He wants an Apprenticeship, but of course with the ways things are now…”

  “Ah, to be sure it’s not a good time to be a young and hopeful Wizard,” agreed the nun, “but that’s not why he came back to the Castle, you know.”

  “So he has come back. Oh, that’s a relief. I thought he had been captured. Or—or killed.”

  Alther put his hand on Silas’s shoulder. “Unfortunately Silas, he was captured yesterday. Sister Bernadette was there. She will tell you.”

  Silas put his head in his hands and groaned.

  “How?” he asked. “What happened?”

  “Well, now,” said the nun, “it would seem that young Simon had a girlfriend.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes indeed. Lucy Gringe is her name.”