SandRider

by Angie Sage

  Oskar was looking doubtfully at the sleds. “But there’s hardly any snow under the trees,” he whispered. “They will slow us down.” Tod knew that Oskar was right. Reluctantly, she pushed the Wiz and the Beetle into some bushes and hoped they would be safe. Then, under the cover of Sarah’s raised voice in which the words “witch” and “silly old man” could easily be heard, Tod led the way along the path that she had taken the night before, while the sounds of Silas’s indignant responses faded into the distance as they moved through the trees.

  Some ten minutes later, as they stood before the first two sentinels of the avenue of trees, they heard more voices. This time it was their names being hallooed in the distance, with Ariel and Star’s exuberant, whooping the loudest. The calls sounded anxious and Tod felt bad. She was for a moment tempted to head back, but as the towering trees slowly raised their branches, she was overcome by the sense that they were on an essential mission, and calling voices or no, they were going to complete it. They would return to the Castle with the Orm Egg. And then everyone would understand.

  THE FOREST WAY

  They walked through the avenue with a feeling of awe as the boughs rose before them in a magnificent wave. The previous night Tod had not seen the astounding height of the trees nor understood how strange it was to see branches move like limbs of a massive beast. Now, as she walked silently along with Kaznim, her feet padding on the soft carpet of fine fir needles, Tod had goose bumps running up and down her neck. Behind her came Oskar and Ferdie, staring up in amazement at the moving cage of boughs. The last two trees raised their branches and Tod led the way into the clearing. “Here we are,” she whispered. “It’s the middle one.”

  Oskar and Ferdie looked disappointed. “It’s just a pile of sticks with a door,” Ferdie said.

  “I know,” Tod agreed. “But that’s what everyone came out of. That’s right, isn’t it, Kaznim?”

  Kaznim nodded cautiously. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back into the hut. Suppose the sorcerer was waiting for her? Suppose this was all a trick? She could not help remembering that the Apprentice girl had picked her pocket while she slept. How could she trust someone who did that?

  Tod saw the mistrust in the girl’s eyes and guessed the reason. “Kaznim,” she said. “I’m sorry I took your cards. But I did it because the cards were our only clue to where the Orm Egg is. You see, Oraton-Marr is waiting for the Egg to hatch and when it does he will Imprint the baby Orm so that it belongs to him. And then, when it grows up it will begin to eat rock and turn it into lapis lazuli for him and Oraton-Marr will become the most powerful sorcerer ever.”

  Kaznim frowned. “Why?” she asked.

  “Because lapis lazuli makes Magyk powerful.”

  “Even Darke Magyk?”

  “Especially Darke Magyk,” Tod said.

  Now Kaznim understood why the Orm Egg was so important, and why Tod needed to find it before it hatched. But that did not make things any better for her. “The sorcerer said that Bubba will die if he does not hatch the Egg and get the Orm,” she whispered.

  “We won’t let your sister die,” Tod said. “No way. Will we?” She turned to Ferdie and Oskar for support.

  Ferdie put her arm around Kaznim. “We will keep her safe. We will rescue Bubba just like we rescued my little brother, Torr.”

  “We promise,” Tod said. She looked at Oskar and Ferdie. “A Tribe of Three promise.”

  “You really do promise?” Kaznim asked, still doubtful.

  “We promise,” Ferdie, Oskar and Tod repeated together.

  Tod knew there was one last thing she had to do to be totally honest with Kaznim. She took the Egg Timer from her Apprentice belt and held it out to Kaznim, who stared at it in surprise.

  “Darius, the boy in the Manuscriptorium, gave it to me,” Tod said, “but I know it belongs to you really.”

  Kaznim stared at the jewel-like hourglass nestling in Tod’s palm, but she did not reach for it. “It is not mine,” she said. “I stole it.”

  “So, we’re even,” Tod said with a smile, pressing the Egg Timer into Kaznim’s hand.

  Kaznim looked down at the tiny hourglass. She watched a grain of silver leave its few companions in the nearly empty section and burrow its way through the center to submerge itself in the sea of grains on the other side. She knew that another grain gone meant it was three hours closer to the Egg hatching, three hours closer to her sister being safe.

  “Shh!” Oskar suddenly hissed. There was a sound like a distant wind in the avenue of trees and they could hear the soft creaking of the branches rising once more. “There’s someone—something—coming!” Oskar whispered.

  “We’ve got to go,” Tod said. “Now.”

  She headed toward the middle hut and with some trepidation, pushed open the door. It moved easily on well-greased hinges. Leaves crunched under her feet as Tod stepped into a conical space not unlike Galen’s tree-pod. She stopped and waited for the others to follow. Oskar was last. He quickly closed the door and at once the atmosphere inside the hut changed. The sounds of the Forest vanished and a fierce light and heat replaced the damp chill. Tod took another two steps forward and she, Kaznim, Ferdie and Oskar walked out into the heat of the sun.

  PART IX

  TWENTY-TWO HOURS TO HATCHING

  GHOSTLY GLOAT

  Back at the Wizard Tower, Septimus had a visitor. He had come back from visiting Sam in the Sick Bay and had walked into his rooms to find a small, round ghost in dark blue robes sitting on the purple sofa. She was happily swinging her feet, which did not quite touch the floor.

  Septimus was not pleased. “Good morning, Miss Djinn,” he said stiffly. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

  “You mean an unwelcome surprise,” Jillie Djinn replied tartly—and correctly.

  Septimus remained standing by the door as if waiting to usher the ghost out, even though he knew there was nothing he could do to make her leave. “A ghost will go where a ghost will go,” was a saying wearily repeated in the Castle by those who could not get rid of unwelcome ghostly visitors.

  “Don’t worry,” the ghost told him. “I’m not staying. I’ve come to say what I’ve come to say and then I will go.”

  “What have you come to say?” Septimus asked. From the little smirk playing around the ghost’s lips, he guessed it was not something that would be welcome.

  “I consider it my duty to tell you that yesterday the Chief Hermetic Scribe violated the solemn agreement he made with you.”

  “What solemn agreement?” Septimus asked, his heart sinking.

  “The solemn agreement to keep the newly discovered Hidden arch, the third Castle entrance to the Ancient Ways, untraveled. Yesterday, on his watch, a child Went Through.”

  “What?” Septimus was immediately annoyed with himself. He had been determined not to give Jillie Djinn any satisfaction, but the news had caught him totally by surprise. He had never, ever dreamed that Beetle could betray his trust in this way.

  The ghost’s small, neat features wore a quiet look of triumph. “I will not repeat myself,” she said. “Once said is quite enough. I don’t like to gossip.” With that, still in a sitting position, she rose vertically from the sofa and then straightened up and walked out, her feet so high off the ground that when she passed Septimus—now leaning against the doorway in shock—she was actually taller than he was.

  “I like to do my duty, ExtraOrdinary Wizard,” Jillie Djinn said, looking down at him. “Someone has to.”

  Septimus stared at the ghost as she wafted down the corridor. “Wait!” he called out after her.

  Greatly enjoying the drama of the moment, the ghost stopped and slowly turned around.

  “Who Went Through?” Septimus asked.

  Jillie Djinn shrugged. “Oh, just a little kid. Going home, she said. I expect she got lost.” The ghost could not suppress a smirk.

  Something made Septimus ask, “Was she wearing a long red coat?”

  “Hmm. Let me think n
ow . . . I rather suspect she was.” And with that Jillie Djinn stepped onto the silver spiral stairs and traveled with them as they slowly wound their way down. Septimus heard a few shouts of surprise drifting up and a distant yell of the classic warning cry: “Bewares, bewares, ghost on stairs!” (It was considered bad luck to ride the stairs when a ghost was on them.)

  Septimus waited until the shouts had died down, then he took a deep breath and set off for the Manuscriptorium.

  SHOWDOWN

  In the Manuscriptorium, the scribes were finding it difficult to settle to work. They were sitting at their desks quietly, but longing to discuss the excitement of the previous day’s races and the unprecedented loss of the two sleds complete with riders. Unnoticed by all, the ghost of Jillie Djinn had sidled in and was lurking in a dark corner. She was biding her time, waiting for her plans to bear fruit.

  Beetle was trying to set a good example by quietly discussing the finer points of an old translation of a book of Charms with Romilly Badger, although neither had the heart for it. Suddenly, the door in the flimsy partition to the front office burst open, sending the windowpanes rattling. It was the ExtraOrdinary Wizard and he looked furious. A smile of pure glee appeared on Jillie Djinn’s face, and she settled down to enjoy the show. It was beginning well.

  Open-mouthed, the scribes watched the ExtraOrdinary Wizard stride across to their Chief. “I want a word with you,” he snapped. “Right now!”

  Beetle looked up, stunned. “What?” he said.

  “You heard,” Septimus told him.

  Beetle had been Chief Hermetic Scribe a good deal longer than his old friend had been ExtraOrdinary Wizard, and he was used to being treated with respect. There was an old rivalry between the Wizard Tower and the Manuscriptorium. Beetle’s professional pride was not going to put up with such rudeness from the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, whoever he might be. He glared at Septimus. “ExtraOrdinary Wizard. The Manuscriptorium is a place of work and study and you will respect it as such. If you wish to speak to me in private, I suggest you follow me to the Hermetic Chamber.”

  Septimus did not want to follow the Chief Hermetic Scribe anywhere. “On the contrary,” he snapped. “You will follow me. To the basement.” With that he strode through the ranks of desks, his every move followed by the gazes of silent scribes who watched the angry purple robes disappear down the wide steps that led to the Conservation Scribe’s domain and heard the flap-flap-flap of the swing doors, and he pushed through them.

  Beetle was also good at power games. He made no attempt to follow Septimus but resumed his conversation with Romilly in a studiedly natural manner, well aware that Romilly wasn’t hearing a word he said. Beetle then made a show of checking up on other scribes’ work and only when he could find nothing else he could reasonably do did he finally head purposefully down to the Conservation basement.

  Silence fell in the Manuscriptorium. It was so quiet that when a pin actually did drop, everyone jumped—and then went back to listening. What, they wondered, was the boss meant to have done?

  As soon as the doors at the foot of the steps had stopped flapping, the hiss of whispered conversations broke out in the Manuscriptorium. No one dared talk too loudly for fear of missing any clue to what might be going on in the basement. They did not have long to wait. Soon Beetle’s angry voice came loud and clear.

  “How dare you come marching into the Manuscriptorium like you own the place? How dare you speak to me like that? I will not have the office of Chief Hermetic Scribe treated with such disdain. If, in your capacity of ExtraOrdinary Wizard, you have something to say to me, you will say it in private, not in front of my scribes. I would never, never speak to you like that in public in the Wizard Tower.”

  Up in the Manuscriptorium approving glances were exchanged along with whispers of: You tell him, Chief!

  Septimus’s voice came sharply in response. “And I would never go back on a solemn agreement and put the entire future of the Castle at risk. Never.”

  “And neither would I, Septimus.”

  Of course he wouldn’t susurrated around the Manuscriptorium.

  “Oh, but you have. Yesterday you allowed someone to travel the Manuscriptorium Hidden Way—the very Way you promised me faithfully that you would keep closed to all. I took you at your word, Beetle. I trusted you. But yesterday you allowed our only chance of finding the Egg of the Orm before it hatches to walk away—through the Manuscriptorium Way.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Rubbish. He’s talking rubbish, the scribes whispered.

  “I am talking about Kaznim Na-Draa—the girl who came with Sam and Marwick. The girl whose home is, Beetle, in case you didn’t know, the very place where the Orm Egg lies. She was our one chance to find the Egg in time.”

  Why is he talking about eggs? He’s flipped. Egg-flip. Ha-ha. The scribes grinned at one another.

  “But—but this is ridiculous,” Beetle protested. “This just did not happen.”

  “Unfortunately, Beetle, it did. Yesterday, not only did you allow Kaznim Na-Draa to travel through the Way, but you actually watched her go!”

  “I most certainly did not!” Beetle spluttered.

  Yeah, you tell him! Beetle’s fans upstairs gave one another thumbs-up signs.

  “I have a witness who saw it,” Septimus said.

  “Who?” Beetle demanded.

  It was at that moment Septimus felt a little less confident of his ground. “Jillie Djinn,” he said, lowering his voice.

  Upstairs the scribes were whispering: Who . . . Who did he say . . . Did you hear who it was?

  At this point Romilly got up and walked out to the office where Darius Wrenn was sitting, shivering. He jumped up guiltily when he saw her. “Darius,” she said. “I think you have something to tell the Chief, don’t you?”

  Darius nodded. He got up and trailed miserably through the Manuscriptorium in Romilly’s wake, acutely aware that every scribe was watching him.

  BOLTED

  Beetle and Septimus were standing in front of the heavy iron door that covered the Hidden arch of the Way. With four automatically relocking bolts drawn across it and the key and its lock separately hidden behind secret bricks, Septimus was forced to admit that Beetle’s security looked good.

  “So what exactly did that wretched ghost say?” Beetle was asking.

  “She said . . .” Septimus searched his memory for Jillie Djinn’s exact words. The impressive state of the door and Beetle’s utter incredulity had shaken Septimus’s confidence. He was beginning to wonder if he had acted too precipitously. “She said it had happened on your watch.”

  “Well, that is totally different from me actually watching it,” Beetle pointed out.

  Septimus had to admit that was true. “But it doesn’t change the fact that our only chance of getting to the Orm Egg has walked out through here and it must have been with help from someone in the Manuscriptorium. There is no way Kaznim could have done it on her own.”

  “But no one knows where the keys are—apart from myself,” Beetle said. He was beginning to understand the enormity of what had happened. “Septimus, I am as horrified as you are. And that wretched ghost was right about it being on my watch. Everything is on my watch. Night and day, it is all my responsibility.” Beetle sighed. “But I just can’t figure out how a little girl who had never been here before would know about the Way, let alone know how to open the door.”

  Septimus, who had noticed Jillie Djinn lurking on the steps, remembered the expression of glee on her face. “Following instructions given by a spiteful ghost, maybe?” he asked.

  Beetle looked horrified. “Surely not. Surely not even she would compromise the Manuscriptorium like that.”

  Septimus shook his head. “I don’t know. It seems to me that some ghosts who went unwillingly into ghosthood—as I suspect your ex-Chief did—do take a delight in messing up the lives of those who come after them. Especially if they may not have had, let us say, a particularly happy re
lationship with that person during Life.”

  Beetle nodded. Jillie Djinn had once sacked him. “Well, she’s certainly not made life easy for me since I’ve become Chief. I hate to say this, Septimus, but I think you are right.” Beetle shook his head. “But how a former Chief Hermetic Scribe could betray the Manuscriptorium is beyond me. Oh! Romilly, hello.”

  Romilly had just appeared around the corner. She was pushing Darius in front of her like a reluctant trolley. “Excuse me, Chief. Darius Wrenn has something to tell you.”

  Darius blinked a few times.

  “Haven’t you, Darius?” Romilly prompted.

  “I gave the Kaznim girl the—the numbers,” he stammered.

  Beetle was puzzled. “What numbers?” he asked.

  “The numbers for how to get to . . . to where she wanted to go. It was the place where we sent the leaflets before the door was locked.”

  “But those are secret,” Beetle said. “You should never, ever have told her.”

  Darius hung his head. “I know. I am really sorry. But she wanted her mother. And . . . I wanted to help her.”

  “So, Darius,” Septimus said briskly. “Did you see Kaznim go into the Way?”

  Darius shook his head. “No! Honestly I didn’t. I didn’t know she came down here. I thought she had run outside with the horrible ghost. They both disappeared together.”

  “Ahem.” A gentle cough interrupted him. It was Ephaniah Grebe, the Conservation Scribe. Ephaniah, half man, half rat, had lost the power of human speech, but he understood it perfectly well. He handed Beetle a hastily scribbled-upon piece of paper. His deep brown human eyes looked anxiously from his furry face as he watched Beetle read his writing.

  Oskar Sarn saw the girl. He wanted to check what she was doing, but I called him back. Did not realize importance. Very very sorry.

  “You have no need to apologize, Ephaniah,” Beetle said. “The fault is mine and mine alone.”