Septimus Heap 4 - Queste (26 page)

a werewolf that she had found lurking in the heaps of mouldy clutter at the back of her cave.

One of the first things Morwenna had done when she became Witch Mother was to start the Witches’ Summer Circle on the hill. It put an end to all the petty feuds and personal hexes that had been rife among the witches, which life in the oppressive Quarry had encouraged. Morwenna liked to oversee all the details of the move—and one of these details was making the Old Quarry safe and welcoming for their eventual return on the day of the Autumn Equinox.

Morwenna took the shortcut to the Old Quarry—a hidden path that descended into the secret valley of the Blue Star Firs, trees that grew nowhere but there. As she entered the valley a heady scent of Blue Fir resin filled the air, a scent that made unprepared travelers sleepy and easy prey for the blue snakes that infested the high branches of the firs. But Morwenna was well prepared. She took out her green-spotted handkerchief, shook a few drops of peppermint oil onto it and pressed it against her nose. Morwenna emerged from the valley and stopped for a moment by the Green Pool—an ancient pond cut deep into the stone floor of the Forest. She kneeled down, dipped her hands into the cold water and drank. Then she filled a small water bottle and continued on her way.

About half an hour later, Morwenna was clambering down the end of the steep, rocky path that led to the Old Quarry.

She jumped nimbly from the last boulder and stepped onto the smooth Quarry floor. She stood for a moment to catch her breath and looked up at the expanse of rock rising up in front of her. The Old Quarry was roughly semicircular in shape.

Although it was formed from the pale yellow stone that had built many of the Castle’s older houses—and indeed, the Palace—the rough-hewn walls that stretched up into the tops of the trees were ominously dark, streaked and blackened with soot from the fires from hundreds of years of occupation by the Wendron Witches. The walls were also home to a local Forest slime-lichen, which was a nasty greenish-black color and gave off a dismal smell whenever it got damp.

Dotted here and there in the rock face were the even darker shapes of entrances to various caves that had been exposed by the quarrymen all those years ago. Each cave had steps leading up to it that the witches had laboriously hacked from the rock when they first took over the Quarry. It was in these caves, safe from the marauding night creatures of the Forest—most of the time at least—that the Wendron Witches lived in winter.

Today Morwenna wanted to check and secure the lower caves. It was no fun to return to the Quarry on a cold, wet Autumn day, laden with grubby tepees and damp bedding, to find that a pack of Forest wolverines had decided that your caves suited them much better than you—and were ready to prove it.

The only thing Morwenna actually liked about the Old Quarry was that it was one of the few places in the Forest with some flat, open ground. She headed purposefully across its wide, yellow stone floor. She approvingly noted that all looked swept and tidy and nothing had been left outside—or if it had, something had already eaten it and saved her the trouble of clearing it away. As she neared the bluish-black shadows at the foot of the rock face, a sudden movement inside a large cave startled her. Morwenna stopped dead. Very, very slowly, she drew her green cape around her so that the mottled underside showed, making her blend into the shadows. And then she waited, chanting under her breath the witchy words, “Though you may see, you see not me…not me…not me…”

But Morwenna made sure that she

saw. Her piercing blue eyes took on a bright glow as she stared into the shadows, searching, scanning—and suddenly a flash of white caught her eye. Morwenna caught her breath—what was it? What great white creature was inside the cave?

Morwenna saw the white shape move toward the front of the cave. Quickly she did a basic Safe Shield Spell—one of the organic witch ones. She was preparing to do a Freeze

on the creature as soon as she could see it properly when the large white shape almost fell out of the cave. Morwenna gasped and dropped the Safe Shield.

“Ephaniah!” she cried out. “Ephaniah!” For there was no mistaking the rat-man even from a distance.

Ephaniah Grebe stopped and blinked into the light. He looked startled at hearing his name, but he recognized the voice immediately. “Morwenna,” he squeaked excitedly. “I had so hoped to find you. And here you are!” He set off toward the witch, limping as he went.

They met halfway. Morwenna hugged Ephaniah so tightly that the rat-man coughed, his little rat lungs squashed by the witch’s grasp.

Morwenna stepped back and looked Ephaniah up and down. “You’re limping,” she said, concerned.

“Oh, just my bumblefoot,” muttered Ephaniah.

Morwenna, like many witches, understood Rat and Cat Speak. “Come to our Circle. I’ll make you a compress,” she said sympathetically.

Ephaniah’s eyes smiled, but he shook his head regretfully. “Unfortunately I cannot stay. I have some small charges of my own to take care of,” he said.

Morwenna raised her eyebrows. “You have?” She sounded surprised, although she had not meant to.

Hastily Ephaniah said, “No, no. Not my own children. No, something has occurred at the Wizard Tower. I have the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice with me who is fleeing from the Queste.”

“The Queste?” said Morwenna. “So it is time again for that, is it? How very sad. Such a waste of young talent. What a terrible reward for seven years of hard work.” Morwenna stopped, confused. “But surely the boy is too young? He has not been Apprentice for three years yet.”

Ephaniah’s squeak fell to a whisper. “Morwenna, I have come to ask for your help. Although they are escaping the Queste, they are also—”

“They?” asked Morwenna.

“I also have the Princess and an ex-member of the Manuscriptorium staff with me.”

“Well, well. You don’t do things by halves, do you, Ephaniah? The Princess in the Forest, eh? That must be a first.”

“I need your advice. They have lost their brother.”

“In another Time, so it seems.”

“You know?”

“A witch must keep up with the gossip.” Morwenna smiled.

“I…have a favor to ask,” said Ephaniah hesitantly.

“There is no harm in asking.”

Ephaniah took a deep breath. “I have come to ask you to show them the Forest Way.”

“Ah.” Morwenna’s light-heartedness at seeing Ephaniah vanished. She took a step back as if to distance herself from him.

“Please.”

Morwenna sighed. “Ephaniah, this knowledge is not mine to give. It must be paid for.”

Ephaniah’s eyes pleaded. “But it may save two young lives—or more.”

“Then you have just raised the price.”

“Morwenna—please.”

Morwenna smiled, a little distant. “Ephaniah, enough,” she said. “Spend the day at our Circle. I will dress your foot and then we shall talk. Yes?”

Septimus and Beetle enjoyed the Summer Circle that afternoon—Jenna did not. While Morwenna was fussing with a large green poultice on Ephaniah’s swollen foot, Septimus and Beetle chatted with the young witches. Septimus even had some beads braided into his hair—much to Beetle’s amusement. But Jenna sat at the door of the guest tepee, keeping a tight rein on Ullr and watching with a marked air of disapproval. Jenna did not take to the young witches. She mistrusted their talk of goddesses and spirits and their haughty, confident attitude. Compared with the sober Castle inhabitants they seemed so foreign—with their bright beaded tunics, fingers heavy with silver rings, the tangles of beads and feathers woven into their hair and their general air of sunburned grubbiness.

Ephaniah sat by the campfire with his foot covered in an uncomfortably hot poultice, trying to think how he could persuade Morwenna to show them the Forest Way. Having—foolishly, he now realized—promised Morwenna’s help, he could not bear to let Jenna and Septimus down. He was willing to pay anything that Morwenna asked, but she would not name her price. “We will talk tonight under the moon,” was all she would say.

Darkness began to fall and—with the Transformation

of the DayUllr into the NightUllr—the atmosphere became electric. The witches crowded around Jenna and the panther.

They said not a word but their bright blue eyes glittered in the darkness: everywhere Jenna looked two points of blue would meet her gaze briefly and then look away. Ullr seemed unconcerned. He lay down at Jenna’s side and, apart from a watchful twitch of the end of his tail, he did not move a muscle.

At long last, the uncomfortable evening around the witches’ campfire came to an end and Jenna, Septimus and Beetle threw themselves gratefully onto the pile of rancid goat furs in the guest tepee. Exhausted, Jenna fell fast asleep with her arm around Ullr. But Septimus lay wide awake, listening to the desultory chatter of the witches settling down for the night and the sporadic screeches and screams of the nighttime creatures far below in the Forest.

Septimus was angry with Morwenna. His mother was right, he thought, as he lay under a damp goatskin and sneezed for the umpteenth time. You never really knew where you were with a Wendron Witch. The events of the evening kept going through his head. It had started well enough, even though Jen had seemed a bit twitchy. Morwenna had made them guests of honor. Rugs and cushions were spread for them to sit on and the entire Coven had been introduced and had joined them in a large circle around the campfire. Huge logs—needing three witches apiece to carry them—were hauled off the woodpile and thrown onto the fire. He had watched the flames and sparks leap into the night sky and felt the surge of hope and possibilities that an evening around a blazing campfire brings.

The young witches on cooking duty had served an extremely tasty wolverine stew, and even the witches’ brew had tasted good. All was going well, until Ephaniah had once more made his request to Morwenna. In an instant—as though someone had thrown a switch—a frosty silence fell. Suddenly Septimus felt as though he was surrounded by a circle of wolverines rather than witches.

Recklessly, Ephaniah had repeated his question. “But, Morwenna, I beg you to show us the Forest Way. Surely, for me, you will do it?”

Septimus had not understood the squeaks, but the replies were clear enough.

“Have I not done enough for you already?” Morwenna snapped.

Ephaniah looked shocked and hurt. “Yes,” he squeaked. “You have done so much for me. I can never repay you.

Never.”

Morwenna’s witchy blue eyes pierced the dark. “I never asked for payment, Ephaniah,” she told him. “I freely gave what was mine to give. But the knowledge you ask is not mine to give. I am but the Guardian of the Forest Way.

Therefore, I must exact a price.”

“I shall pay whatever you ask,” he recklessly replied.

Morwenna looked surprised. “Very well. I shall give you my price in the morning. And when I ask it, you must pay it.”

Ephaniah nodded somberly. “I understand,” he squeaked.

With that the Witch Mother got to her feet and the whole circle of witches had silently followed suit. And that was the end of the evening.

Septimus sat up and threw off the disgusting goatskin. He was, he decided, allergic to goats—especially rancid ones. He wondered if he could swap his goatskin for Beetle’s blanket without Beetle waking up.

“You awake, Sep?” Beetle’s whisper came from the other side of the tepee.

“No. I always sleep sitting up.”

“Really?”

“Of course I’m awake, Beetle. You awake too?”

“Nah. Fast asleep.”

“Ha ha. Hey…what’s that?” Tall, distorted shadows had suddenly appeared in sharp focus on the side of the tepee. A bout of hastily smothered giggling gave the game away—a group of young witches were on the other side of the tepee.

“No…is that really what she’s going to ask the rat-man for?” an incredulous voice was asking.

“That’s what she said. She always tells me stuff when I help her get ready for bed. She likes to unwind and talk about things.”

“You’ll be Witch Mother-in-Waiting if you don’t watch out, Marissa.”

“Oh, ha ha. I don’t think so.”

An earnest voice chimed in. “But the rat-man doesn’t have to give what she asks for, does he?”

“He does. He agreed, didn’t he?”

A new voice said, “He squeaked. Could mean anything. Could mean get off my foot you great fat—”

“Shhh. You’re crazy

calling the Witch Mother fat. You know how touchy she is about her weight. You’ll end up a frog for a day—or worse.”

The earnest voice chimed in again. “But why would she want the Princess anyway?”

Septimus’s and Beetle’s eyes widened in shock. They both strained to hear what was coming next.

“She wants the panther.” This was Marissa. “Morwenna’s always wanted a Day to Night Transformer.”

“So why doesn’t she just ask for the panther?”

“Two for the price of one,” Marissa said, giggling. “If she asks for the panther that’s all she gets. But if she asks for the Princess the panther comes too. Clever, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“And having the Princess would make her really

powerful, wouldn’t it? Morwenna says that the Palace is full of tons of old Magyk stuff that the Queens pinched from us in the first place. She just wants back what’s rightfully ours.”

“So she really is going to ask for the Princess?”

“Yep. She is. First thing tomorrow. So we’ll have little Miss Royal Fusspot and her scrappy cat living here. She’ll soon learn. Ho-ho.”

There was another flurry of giggling—a little nastier this time—and to his dismay, Septimus felt another sneeze coming on. He grabbed hold of his nose and held his breath. He must not sneeze. He must not, not, not, ah…ah…ah…Beetle saw what was coming. He leaped up and shoved his hand over Septimus’s nose and suddenly Septimus most definitely did not want to sneeze anymore. He just wanted to breathe.

The young witches’ conversation continued, unaware of the listeners right next to them, divided only by a thick sheet of canvas. Marissa was speaking now. She sounded impatient. “Sam will be here soon. I can see his torch coming along the track. We can’t wait for Bryony much longer.”