Septimus Heap 4 - Queste (27 page)

“Give her a couple of minutes more, Marissa. She had to clean the cooking pot. Which is more than you did this morning. It’s disgusting.”

“Well, I hate

cleaning the pot. No one notices a bit of breakfast in their wolverine stew. Oh, I’m tired of waiting. I’m going to go get her. She can come now or forget it.”

“Okay. We’ll come with you.” The tallest shadow left the group and the three other shadows quickly followed.

Beetle and Septimus stared at each other, goggle-eyed. “Did you hear that?” mouthed Beetle.

Septimus nodded. “We’ve got to get Jen out of here,” he whispered.

CAMP HEAP

T hirty seconds later

a very drowsy Jenna was outside the tepee with Septimus and Beetle standing on either side of her like sentries. She blinked into the bright moonlight and looked around, puzzled. Ullr yawned and stretched, digging his claws into the damp grass.

Far on the other side of the Summer Circle an argument about a cooking pot was developing. Under the cover of the raised voices Septimus whispered, “Jen—we’ve got to get out of here. Right now. Come on.”

“But why? I’m so tired, Sep.”

“Too bad, Jen. You can’t stay here. Come on.”

“But where to? I’m not going into the Forest at night. No way.”

“Come on, Jen.” Septimus gave Beetle a look—then they both grabbed an arm and lifted her off her feet.

“Hey!” Jenna protested.

“Shhh…” Septimus and Beetle hissed.

“Put…me…down,” Jenna whispered, and then, veering into Princess voice, “Right now.” Beetle and Septimus put Jenna down.

“Come on, Jen,” Septimus pleaded. “You have to trust us. Please.”

Jenna trusted Septimus completely, but what she did not trust was the Forest at night. Reluctantly, she walked down the hill with Septimus and Beetle, leaving behind the warmth of the campfire and the circle of illuminated tepees like upturned yellow cones on the hilltop, and headed to the dark uncertainty of the Forest. Even with the NightUllr by her side, Jenna felt fearful—and then she saw something that made her feel very afraid. Far below, half hidden in the trees, was a flickering flame coming toward just the point they were heading for. Jenna stopped and glared at Septimus and Beetle, daring them to even think

about picking her up again. “There’s a Forest Wraith,” she whispered. “It’s heading straight for us.”

“It’s not a Forest Wraith, Jen.” The moonlight caught Septimus’s grin and Jenna saw his green eyes shine. “It’s Sam.”

“Jo-Jo will kill me,” said Sam, sounding remarkably cheerful about the prospect.

“I’m really sorry,” said Septimus as they followed him along the track between the tall Forest trees.

“I’m

not,” Sam replied. “I’ve had enough of those giggling witches keeping me awake at night. They’re a pain. I don’t know what Jo-Jo, Edd and Erik see in them.”

Beetle thought he did know, but he didn’t say anything. He was too busy trying to keep up. Sam set a fast pace. He was carrying a long branch of oak that had been dipped in tar and burned with a strong flame, and Beetle wanted to keep as close to it as he possibly could. The track narrowed and plunged into a particularly dark patch, and the group was forced to travel single file, with Beetle the last in line. Stories about wolverines picking off the weakest stragglers kept going through his head, and he was determined not to give the slightest impression of straggling.

Sam was a confident leader. He strode on steadily and slowed only once when a long, rolling growl rumbled out of the darkness in front of them. Despite an answering snarl from Ullr, the growl continued and on the path ahead Beetle saw the yellow glint of two pairs of eyes. Suddenly Sam jabbed his torch into the dark—there was a sharp yelp and a smell of singed fur. Quickly, they hurried on, with Beetle almost treading on Septimus’s heels in an effort to keep up. But he kept glancing behind just in case the yellow eyes had decided to try their luck.

A few minutes later the track broadened and Beetle began to feel much better—he could see the dancing flames of a campfire flickering through the trees and he knew they must be approaching Camp Heap. As they followed Sam into the wide clearing, three gangly figures jumped up from where they had been lolling around the fire and ran to greet them.

Beetle had never met Septimus’s Forest brothers before, although Septimus had told him all about them. Beetle was surprised; he realized he had been expecting larger versions of Septimus but they were all young men—tall, thin and gangly with a wild look to them. They wore an assortment of furs and colorful tunics, woven by various admiring young witches, and they looked, thought Beetle, as though they belonged in the Forest even more than the witches did. The only similarity between Septimus and his brothers was the Magykal green eyes and the Heap hair—straw-colored curls that the Forest Heaps had turned into long, matted rat tails.

“That was quick,” said one with feathers woven into his rat tails.

“Yeah,” replied Sam, “and a lot quieter than usual.”

“Marissa…Marissa?” Another Heap with a collection of plaited leather headbands around his rat tails peered at the group behind Sam. “Hey, he’s brought a load of kids. Where’s Marissa?”

“For your information, Jo,” said Sam, “this load of kids

is your brother and sister, not to mention your sister’s panther.” Sam waved his hand at Ullr, who was almost invisible in the shadows. The boys whistled, impressed. “Oh…” Sam tried to remember what Septimus had called the older boy with the black hair. “Oh yeah, and there’s Cockroach.”

“No, actually it’s Bee—” But Beetle’s protests were lost in the argument that was rapidly developing between Jo-Jo and Sam.

Jo-Jo Heap looked angry. “So you haven’t brought Marissa?”

“No.”

“Pigs, Sam. It’s been ages. All that time Dad was hanging around here I couldn’t see her and then when he was up at the Circle I couldn’t, and now he’s gone and I can and you haven’t brought Marissa.”

“Well, you

go get her, then,” said Sam, thrusting the burning torch into Jo-Jo’s hands. “I’m tired of doing all the night stuff anyway.

You can do it.”

“All right, then, I will.” Jo-Jo strode off with the branch and Sam watched him go with a surprised look.

“Will he be okay?” asked Septimus.

Sam shrugged. “Yeah. I expect so.” Then he grinned. “He’ll be fine on the way back that’s for sure. Marissa will scare anything away.”

The two remaining brothers—Edd and Erik—laughed. Then one of them said, a little shyly, “Hello, Jen.”

“Hello, Edd,” said Jenna, equally shyly.

“Hey, you can tell.”

“Of course I can. I never got you muddled up, did I? Not even when you tried to fool me.”

Edd and Erik both laughed. “No, you didn’t, not once,” said Erik, remembering that they could sometimes fool even their mother—but never Jenna.

Sitting by the warmth of the campfire, with the comforting snap and crackle of the logs and the faint sizzle of a row of tiny fish cooking in the background, Jenna listened to Septimus and Beetle as they related what they had heard that night from the other side of the tepee.

“Well, that’s just stupid,” she said. “Ephaniah wouldn’t do that. Anyway, he couldn’t. No one can give a person to someone.”

“It’s different with witches,” said Septimus.

“I’d like to see them try,” said Jenna scornfully.

“He’s right, Jen,” said Sam. “It is different with witches. There are different rules—their rules. You think you are doing what you want, but then you find out that all along you’ve been doing what they want. Look at Jo-Jo.”

“Jo-Jo’s doing exactly what he wants,” sniggered Edd and Erik.

“Yeah. He thinks,” Sam muttered.

There was silence. Septimus picked up a stick and began to poke it into the fire.

“What about Ephaniah?” Jenna suddenly said.

“He’ll understand,” said Septimus.

“He won’t. All he’ll know is that we’ve gone.”

“We had to go, Jen. You were going to end up as a Wendron Witch.” Jenna snorted in disbelief. “Well, you were.”

Jenna sighed. She, too, picked up a stick and jabbed at the fire angrily. She felt as if Nicko was forever just slipping out of reach. And somehow it was always something to do with her.

“You want some fish?” asked Sam, who had a great belief in the power of fish to keep the peace around the campfire.

No one felt very hungry after the wolverine stew, but they nodded anyway.

Sam had his own system of cooking fish. He threaded each one onto a thin skewer of damp wood and laid it on the Sam Heap Fish-Cooker—a rickety metal tripod set up over the fire that had an alarming habit of collapsing when least expected. Sam selected the three best fish and passed them to Jenna, Septimus and Beetle. Beetle took his fish-on-a-stick a little reluctantly; he was not a great fish fan and it didn’t help that his fish seemed to be staring at him reproachfully.

Beetle stared back at the fish and steeled himself to take a bite.

“Something wrong with your fish, Cockroach?” asked Sam.

“’S not Cockroach, Sam,” said Septimus with a mouth full of what was, in fact, extremely good fish. “It’s Bee—” He was interrupted by a sudden crashing through the trees behind them. With well-tuned Forest reflexes, Sam, Edd and Erik leaped to their feet brandishing sticks, ready to defend the camp. A small Forest leopard shot out of the trees, ran straight at the campfire in a blind panic, swerved to avoid it—and Ullr—and disappeared into the Forest on the other side.

“That’s weird,” said Sam. “What got into him?”

The answer to Sam’s question emerged from the trees brandishing a torch, and strode into Camp Heap with a proud air.

Beside him was the young witch, Marissa. Marissa was as tall as Jo-Jo with long wavy brown hair held back with a plaited leather headband that was identical to the one Jo-Jo wore. She allowed Jo-Jo to usher her to the campfire, where he tossed the burning torch into the flames with a triumphant flourish.

Jo-Jo threw himself down beside the fire and pulled Marissa down with him. Marissa settled, fussing with her dark green witch’s cloak—over which she had sewn dozens of little bunches of colored feathers. She looked like an exotic bird roosting with a troupe of scruffy sparrows. Still on a high from his successful and scary—though he would be the last to admit it—trip through the nighttime Forest, Jo-Jo grabbed a fish and gulped it down in one bite. A little late, he remembered his manners and offered one to Marissa, but the young witch did not notice. Her eyes were fixed on Jenna, Septimus and Beetle on the other side of the campfire. “What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously.

“Same as you,” said Septimus, determined to give nothing away.

“But you’re the Witch Mother’s guests.” Marissa was indignant. “You can’t leave just like that. No one does that.”

Septimus shrugged and said nothing, the ways of Camp Heap rubbing off on him. He was learning from his brothers that you didn’t have to explain yourself if you didn’t want to—and that sometimes, with a witch, it was better not to.

Marissa sat frowning at the fire. Jo-Jo offered her the fish once again but she angrily shook her head. “I ought to go back,” she muttered.

“Back?” asked Jo-Jo, incredulous.

“Yes. Back. Take me back, Joby-Jo.”

Jo-Jo looked stunned. “What—now?”

“Now.” Marissa’s lower lip stuck out crossly and her witch-blue eyes flashed in the firelight.

“But—”

Jo-Jo’s protests were interrupted by Sam. “Jo-Jo is not going anywhere tonight. It’s too dangerous. It’s past midnight and it’s time for bed.” Jo-Jo flashed Sam a grateful glance but Sam ignored him. He stood up and said, “Sep, Jenna and Cockroach can have Wolf Boy’s old bender. Come on, you guys,” he said, looking in their direction. “I’ll show you where it is.”

Septimus was about to tell Sam that there was no need, he remembered where it was, when Sam caught his eye with a meaningful glance. “Yeah. Okay,” muttered Septimus.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the campfire, Sam said quietly, “You’ll have to be off at dawn tomorrow. Marissa will go straight back to Morwenna, you can bet on that. And if Morwenna wants Jen for the Coven she’ll get her—one way or another.”

“No, she won’t!” said Beetle vehemently. “Not while me and Sep are here.”

“Look, Cockroach,” said Sam patiently, “you two don’t stand a chance against a Witch Mother, believe me. You need to

be out of here first thing before the witches realize you’ve gone.”

“I suppose we could try to catch the Port barge,” said Septimus doubtfully. “But it doesn’t usually stop at the Forest.”

“What do you want to do that for?” asked Sam, puzzled. “I thought you were taking the Forest Way.”

“Yeah. Well, that was the idea. Until Morwenna got nasty and wouldn’t show us where it is.”

“You don’t need that calculating old witch,” said Sam. “I’ll show you.”

“You?” Septimus gasped.

“Shh…”

Sam glanced at the group silhouetted around the campfire. “Don’t give that Marissa any ideas we’re planning something. I’ll come wake you first thing. Okay?”

Septimus nodded. And then said, “Night, Sam. And thanks.”

“’S all right. Got to look after my little brother and sister, haven’t I?” Sam said with a grin.

It was warm and comfortable in Wolf Boy’s bender after Sam had thrown in a pile of thick blankets. Feeling very, very tired, Jenna, Septimus and Beetle burrowed under the blankets and curled up on the bed of leaves.

“G’night,” whispered Beetle.

“G’night, Cockroach.”

“Night, Cockroach,” came the replies.

NIGHT CROSSINGS

W hile Jenna, Septimus and

Beetle slept dreamlessly in Wolf Boy’s bender and the NightUllr listened to the sounds of the Forest, a small ferryboat was making a perilous crossing to the Castle. The ferryman had extracted a high fee for the trip but even so he was beginning to regret it—the tide was running fast against the wind, and as they reached the middle of the river, water was splashing into his boat with every wave it hit.

His passengers were beginning to regret it too.

“We should have waited till morning,” Lucy Gringe moaned as the boat dipped alarmingly and her stomach seemed to go in the opposite direction.