Septimus Heap, Book One: Magyk

by Angie Sage

  “No trouble. Could do with a swim. Won’t be long,” said the Boggart. Jenna watched him waddle off down to the Mott and disappear into the water with a quiet splash.

  “While we’re waiting for Boggart we should get the Preserve Pots ready,” said Aunt Zelda. “Just in case.”

  “But Dad said you made the cottage Enchanted after the Brownie raid,” said Jenna. “Doesn’t that mean we’re safe?”

  “Only against Brownies,” said Aunt Zelda, “and even that’s wearing off by now. Anyway, whoever is coming across the marsh feels a lot bigger than a Brownie to me.”

  Aunt Zelda went to find the Shield Bug Preserves spell book.

  Jenna looked at the Preserve Pots, which were still lined up on the windowsills. Inside the thick green gloop the Shield Bugs were waiting. Most were sleeping, but some were slowly moving about as if they knew they might be needed. For who? wondered Jenna. Or what?

  “Here we are,” said Aunt Zelda as she appeared with the spell book and thumped it down on the table. She opened it at the first page and took out a small silver hammer, which she handed to Jenna.

  “Right, here’s the Activate,” she said to her. “If you could just go round and tap each Pot with this, then they’ll be Ready.”

  Jenna took the silver hammer and walked along the lines of Pots, tapping on every lid. As she did so, each Pot’s inhabitant woke up and snapped to attention. Before long there was an army of fifty-six Shield Bugs waiting to be released. Jenna reached the last Pot, which contained the ex-millipede. She tapped the lid with the silver hammer. To her surprise, the lid flew off, and the Shield Bug shot out in a shower of green goo. It landed on Jenna’s arm.

  Jenna screamed.

  The released Shield Bug crouched, sword at the ready, on Jenna’s forearm. She stood frozen to the spot, waiting for the bug to turn and attack her, forgetting that the bug’s only mission was to defend its Releaser from her enemies. Which it was busy looking for.

  The Shield’s green armored scales moved fluidly as it shifted about, sizing up the room. Its thick right arm held a razor-sharp sword that glinted in the candlelight and its short powerful legs moved restlessly as the bug shifted its weight from one large foot to the other while it sized up the potential enemies.

  But the potential enemies were a disappointing lot.

  There was a large patchwork tent with bright blue eyes staring at it.

  “Just put your hand over the bug,” the tent whispered to the Releaser. “It will curl up into a ball. Then we’ll try and get it back into the Pot.”

  The Releaser looked at the sharp little sword the bug was waving around, and she hesitated.

  “I’ll do it if you like,” said the tent and moved toward the bug. The bug swung around menacingly, and the tent stopped in her tracks, wondering what was wrong. They had Imprinted all the bugs, hadn’t they? It should realize that none of them was the enemy. But this bug realized no such thing. It crouched on Jenna’s arm, continuing its search.

  Now it saw what it was looking for. Two young warriors carrying pikestaffs, poised to attack. And one of them was wearing a red hat. From a dim and distant previous life the Shield Bug remembered that red hat. It had done him wrong. The bug didn’t know exactly what the wrong was, but that made no difference.

  It had sighted the enemy.

  With a fearsome screech, the bug leaped off Jenna’s arm, flapping its heavy wings, and set off through the air with a metallic clattering noise. The bug was heading straight for Boy 412 like a tiny guided missile, its sword held high above its head. It was squealing loudly, its wide-open mouth showing rows of little pointed green teeth.

  “Hit it!” yelled Aunt Zelda. “Quick, bop it on the head!”

  Boy 412 gave a wild swipe with his broom handle at the advancing bug but missed. Nicko aimed a blow, but the bug swerved at the last moment, shrieking and waving its sword at Boy 412. Boy 412 stared in disbelief at the bug, terribly aware of the bug’s pointy sword.

  “Keep still!” said Aunt Zelda in a hoarse whisper. “Whatever you do, don’t move.”

  Boy 412 watched, horrified, as the bug landed on his shoulder and advanced purposefully toward his neck, raising its sword like a dagger.

  Jenna sprang forward.

  “No!” she yelled. The bug turned toward its Releaser. It didn’t understand what Jenna said, but as she clamped her hand over it, the bug sheathed its sword and curled itself obediently into a ball. Boy 412 sat down on the floor with a bump.

  Aunt Zelda was ready with the empty Pot, and Jenna tried to stuff the curled-up Shield Bug into it. It wouldn’t go in. First one arm stayed out, then another. Jenna folded both arms in, only to find that a big green foot had kicked its way out of the jar. Jenna pushed and squeezed, but the Shield Bug struggled and fought against going back into the Pot with all its might.

  Jenna was afraid it might suddenly turn nasty and use its sword, but desperate as the bug was to stay out of the Pot, it never unsheathed its sword. The safety of its Releaser was its prime concern. And how could the Releaser be safe if its protector was back in its Pot?

  “You’ll have to let it stay out,” sighed Aunt Zelda. “I’ve never known anyone able to put one back. I sometimes think they are more trouble than they’re worth. Still, Marcia was very insistent. As always.”

  “But what about Boy 412?” asked Jenna. “If it stays out, won’t it just keep attacking him?”

  “Not now that you’ve taken it off him. It should be all right.”

  Boy 412 looked unimpressed. “Should” was not quite what he wanted to hear. “Definitely” was more what he had in mind.

  The Shield Bug settled down on Jenna’s shoulder. For a few minutes it eyed everyone suspiciously, but every time it made a move, Jenna put her hand over it, and soon the bug quieted down.

  Until something scratched at the door.

  Everyone froze.

  Outside on the door something was scratching its claws down the door.

  Scritch…scratch…scritch.

  Maxie whined.

  The Shield Bug stood up and unsheathed its sword. This time Jenna did not stop it. The bug hovered on her shoulder, poised to jump.

  “Go see if it’s a friend, Bert,” said Aunt Zelda calmly. The duck waddled over to the door, cocked its head to one side and listened, then gave one short meow.

  “It’s a friend,” said Aunt Zelda. “Must be the Boggart. Don’t know why he’s scratching like that though.”

  Aunt Zelda opened the door and screamed, “Boggart! Oh, Boggart!”

  The Boggart lay bleeding on the doorstep.

  Aunt Zelda knelt down by the Boggart, and everyone crowded around. “Boggart, Boggart, dear. What has happened?”

  The Boggart said nothing. His eyes were closed, his fur dull and matted with blood. He slumped down onto the ground, having used his last ounce of strength to reach the cottage.

  “Oh, Boggart…open your eyes, Boggart…” cried Aunt Zelda. There was no response. “Help me lift him, someone. Quick.”

  Nicko jumped forward and helped Aunt Zelda sit the Boggart up, but he was a slippery, heavy creature, and everyone’s help was needed to get him inside. They carried the Boggart into the kitchen, trying not to notice the trail of blood that dripped onto the floor as they went, and they laid him on the kitchen table.

  Aunt Zelda placed her hand on the Boggart’s chest.

  “He’s still breathing,” she said, “but only just. And his heart is fluttering like a bird. It’s very weak.” She stifled a sob, then shook herself and snapped into action.

  “Jenna, talk to him while I get the Physik chest. Keep talking to him and let him know we’re here. Don’t let him slip away. Nicko, get some hot water from the pot.”

  Boy 412 went to help Aunt Zelda with the Physik chest, while Jenna held the Boggart’s damp and muddy paws and talked to him in a low voice, hoping that she sounded calmer than she felt.

  “Boggart, it’s all right, Boggart. You’ll be better soon. Yo
u will. Can you hear me, Boggart? Boggart? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

  A very faint movement of the Boggart’s webbed fingers brushed against Jenna’s hand.

  “That’s it, Boggart. We’re still here. You’ll be all right. You will…”

  Aunt Zelda and Boy 412 came back with a large wooden chest, which they set down on the floor. Nicko put a bowl of hot water on the table.

  “Right,” said Aunt Zelda. “Thank you, everyone. Now I’d like you to leave me and Boggart to get on with this. Go and keep Bert and Maxie company.”

  But they were unwilling to leave the Boggart.

  “Go on,” Aunt Zelda insisted.

  Jenna reluctantly let go of the Boggart’s floppy paw, then she followed Nicko and Boy 412 out of the kitchen. The door was closed firmly behind them.

  Jenna, Nicko and Boy 412 sat glumly on the floor by the fire. Nicko cuddled up to Maxie. Jenna and Boy 412 just stared at the fire, deep in their own thoughts.

  Boy 412 was thinking about his Magyk ring. If he gave the ring to Aunt Zelda, he thought, maybe it would cure the Boggart. But if he did give her the ring, she would want to know where he had found it. And something told Boy 412 that if she knew where he had found it, she would be mad. Really mad. And maybe send him away. Anyway, it was stealing, wasn’t it? He had stolen the ring. It wasn’t his. But it might save the Boggart…

  The more Boy 412 thought about it, the more he knew what he had to do. He had to let Aunt Zelda have the dragon ring.

  “Aunt Zelda said to leave her alone,” said Jenna as Boy 412 got up and walked toward the closed kitchen door.

  Boy 412 took no notice.

  “Don’t,” snapped Jenna. She jumped up to stop him, but at that moment the kitchen door opened.

  Aunt Zelda came out. Her face was white and drawn, and she had blood all over her apron.

  “Boggart’s been shot,” she said.

  33

  WATCH AND WAIT

  The bullet was lying on the kitchen table. A small lead ball with a tuft of Boggart fur still stuck to it, it sat menacingly in the middle of Aunt Zelda’s newly scrubbed table.

  The Boggart lay quietly in a tin bath on the floor, but he looked too small, thin and unnaturally clean to be the Boggart they all knew and loved. A broad bandage made of a torn sheet was wrapped around his middle, but already a red stain was spreading across the whiteness of the cloth.

  His eyes fluttered slightly as Jenna, Nicko and Boy 412 crept into the kitchen.

  “He’s to be sponged down with warm water as often as we can,” said Aunt Zelda. “We mustn’t let him dry out. But do not get the bullet wound wet. And he needs to be kept clean. No mud for at least three days. I’ve put some yarrow leaves under his bandage, and I’m just boiling him up some willow bark tea. It will take the pain away.”

  “But will he be all right?” asked Jenna.

  “Yes, he’ll be fine.” Aunt Zelda allowed herself a small, strained smile as she stirred the willow bark around a large copper pan.

  “But the bullet. I mean who would do this?” Jenna found her eyes drawn to the ball of black lead, an unwelcome and threatening intruder that posed too many nasty questions.

  “I don’t know,” said Aunt Zelda in a low voice. “I’ve asked Boggart, but he’s in no state to speak. I think we should keep watch tonight.”

  So, while Aunt Zelda tended the Boggart, Jenna, Nicko and Boy 412 took themselves and the Preserve Pots outside.

  Once they were in the chill night air, Boy 412’s Young Army training took over. He scouted around for somewhere that would give a good view of all the approaches to the island but at the same time give them somewhere to hide. He soon found what he was looking for. The chicken boat.

  It was a good choice. At night the chickens were safely shut away in the hold of the boat, leaving the deck free. Boy 412 clambered up and crouched down behind the dilapidated wheelhouse, then he beckoned Jenna and Nicko to join him. They climbed into the chicken run and passed the Preserve Pots up to Boy 412. Then they joined him in the wheelhouse.

  It was a cloudy night, and the moon was mostly hidden, but every now and then it appeared and shone a clear white light over the marshes, giving a good view for miles around. Boy 412 cast an expert eye over the landscape, checking for movement and telltale signs of disturbance just as he had been taught to by the ghastly Deputy Hunter, Catchpole. Boy 412 still remembered Catchpole with a shudder. He was an extremely tall man, which was one of the reasons he had never made it to be Hunter—he was just too visible. There were also many other reasons, such as his unpredictable temper; his habit of clicking his fingers when he got tense, which often gave him away just as he had reached his prey; and his dislike of too many baths, which had also saved those he hunted who had a keen sense of smell—provided the wind was blowing in the right direction. But the main reason Catchpole had never made it to Hunter was due to the simple fact that no one liked him.

  Boy 412 didn’t like him either, but he had learned a lot from him, once he had got used to the temper tantrums, the smell and the clicking. And one of the things that Boy 412 remembered was watch and wait. That’s what Catchpole used to say over and over again, until it stuck in Boy 412’s head like an irritating tune. Watch and wait, watch and wait, watch and wait, boy.

  The theory was that if the watcher waited long enough, the prey would surely reveal itself. It may be only the slight movement of a small branch, the momentary rustling of leaves underfoot or the sudden disturbance of a small animal or bird, but the sign would surely come. All the watcher had to do was wait for it. And then, of course, recognize it when it came. That was the hardest part, and the bit that Boy 412 was not always very good at. But this time, he thought, this time without the pungent breath of the revolting Catchpole breathing down his neck, he could do it. He was sure he could.

  It was cold up in the wheelhouse, but there was a pile of old sacks stacked up there, so they wrapped themselves in them and settled down to wait. And watch. And wait.

  Although the marshes were still and calm, the clouds in the sky were racing past the moon, one moment obscuring it and plunging the landscape into gloom, the next rolling away and allowing the moonlight to flood over the marshland. It was in one of these moments, when the moonlight suddenly lit up the crisscross network of drainage ditches that covered the Marram Marshes, that Boy 412 saw something. Or he thought he did. Excited, he grabbed hold of Nicko and pointed in the direction where he thought he had seen something, but just at that moment the clouds covered the moon again. So, crouched in the wheelhouse, they waited. And watched and waited some more.

  It seemed to take forever for the long, thin cloud to wander across the moon, and as they waited, Jenna knew that the last thing she wanted to see was someone, or something, making its way through the marsh. She wished that whoever it was who had shot the Boggart had suddenly remembered that they had left the kettle boiling on the fire and had decided to go home and take it off before their house burned down. But she knew they hadn’t because suddenly the moon had come out from behind the cloud, and Boy 412 was pointing at something again.

  At first Jenna couldn’t see anything at all. The flat marshland stretched below her as she peered through the old wheelhouse like a fisherman searching the sea for the sign of a shoal of fish. And then she saw it. Slowly and steadily, a long black shape was making its way along one of the distant drainage ditches.

  “It’s a canoe…” whispered Nicko.

  Jenna’s spirits rose. “Is it Dad?”

  “No,” whispered Nicko, “there’re two people. Maybe three. I can’t be sure.”

  “I’ll go and tell Aunt Zelda,” said Jenna. She got up to go, but Boy 412 put his hand on her arm to stop her.

  “What?” whispered Jenna.

  Boy 412 shook his head and put his finger to his lips.

  “I think he thinks you might make a noise and give us away,” whispered Nicko. “Sound travels a long way over the marsh at night.”


  “Well, I wish he’d say so,” said Jenna edgily.

  So Jenna stayed in the wheelhouse and watched the canoe make steady progress, unerringly picking its way through the maze of ditches, passing by all the other islands and heading straight for theirs. As it came closer Jenna noticed that something about the figures looked horribly familiar. The larger figure in the front of the canoe had the concentrated look of a tiger stalking its prey. For a moment Jenna felt sorry for the prey until, with a jolt, she realized who that was.

  It was her.

  It was the Hunter, and he had come for her.

  34

  AMBUSH

  As the canoe drew closer the watchers in the chicken boat could see the Hunter and his companions clearly. The Hunter sat in the front of the canoe paddling at a brisk pace and behind him was the Apprentice. And behind the Apprentice was a…Thing. The Thing squatted on the top of the canoe, casting its eye around the marsh and occasionally making a grab for a passing insect or bat. The Apprentice cowered in front of the Thing, but the Hunter appeared to take no notice. He had more important things to think about.

  Jenna shuddered when she saw the Thing. It scared her almost more than the Hunter did. At least the Hunter was a human, albeit a deadly one. But what exactly was the creature squatting on the back of the canoe? To calm herself she lifted the Shield Bug off her shoulder, where it had been sitting quietly, and holding it carefully in the palm of her hand, she pointed out the approaching canoe and its grim trio.

  “Enemies,” she whispered. The Shield Bug understood. It followed Jenna’s slightly trembling finger and locked its sharp green eyes, which had perfect night vision, on to the figures in the canoe.

  The Shield Bug was happy.

  It had an enemy.

  It had a sword.

  Soon the sword would meet the enemy.

  Life was simple when you were a Shield Bug.

  The boys let out the rest of the Shield Bugs. One by one, they undid each Preserve Pot lid. As they took each lid off, a Shield Bug leaped out in a shower of green gloop, sword at the ready. With each bug Nicko or Boy 412 pointed out the rapidly approaching canoe. Soon fifty-six Shield Bugs were lined up, crouching like coiled springs on the gunnels of the chicken boat. The fifty-seventh stayed on Jenna’s shoulder, fiercely loyal to its Releaser.