Queste

T he excited hub- bub was replaced by an eerie silence.



"What's going on, Marcia?" A lone shout came from the Wizard who had been running the bets and, with this unexpected turn of events, could see a windfall coming his way. "Is this part of the Projection too?"



"Don't be ridiculous. Of course it's not," Marcia snapped. And then, as a small flicker of doubt crossed her mind she muttered to Septimus, "This isn't still your Projection, is it?"



"No, it's not," replied Septimus, who wished that it were. He had a bad feeling about Tertius Fume.



On the threshold of the Wizard Tower, Tertius Fume regarded Marcia with a mocking gaze. "Well,"



he said, "aren't you going to invite us in? It is customary, you know. In fact, as I understand it, it is obligatory."



"Obligatory?" said Marcia, peering into the gloom behind the ghost, wondering why he had said us.



And then she saw the reason - behind Tertius Fume was a sea of purple. It covered the white marble steps and flowed down into the Courtyard shifting like water in the dim light as hundreds of ExtraOrdinary Wizard ghosts floated about. Marcia went pale. "Oh," she whispered.



"Oh indeed." Tertius Fume said with a smirk.



With a shock Marcia recognized what this was - the Gathering of the Ghosts. It was something she had not expected to see until the very last day of Septimus's Apprenticeship - the day when the Gathering would arrive and the Apprentice must draw a stone from the Questing Pot. That was a terrible moment. Everyone knew that if the Apprentice drew one of the Questing Stones, then he or she would be sent off on the Queste immediately - and no one had ever returned. Like all ExtraOrdinary Wizards before her - apart from DomDaniel, who had been rather looking forward to his Apprentice getting his comeuppance - Marcia dreaded that day; indeed it was one of the reasons why Marcia had hesitated in taking on an Apprentice for many years.



Marcia knew that the Gathering, which consisted of the ghosts of all previous ExtraOrdinary Wizards, must be admitted to the Wizard Tower at all times. She also knew that its unexpected Appearance only happened in times of peril in order to give the Living ExtraOrdinary Wizard the benefit of all her predecessors' collective wisdom. As she looked at the long line of ExtraOrdinary Wizard ghosts flowing down the steps, Marcia felt sick with apprehension - and Tertius Fume was pleased to see it.



Tertius Fume was hovering well above the broad white marble step - he had been short in Life and liked to float about eight inches above the ground to give an impression of height. He pressed his advantage, his booming voice echoing through the Great Hall of the Wizard Tower. "It is considered polite for the Living ExtraOrdinary Wizard to invite the Gathering over the threshold of the Wizard Tower," he informed Marcia. "But it is not essential, for we have a right to enter. Indeed, there have been some misguided ExtraOrdinary Wizards in the past who have not invited us in and they always regretted it. Always. I will ask you for the last time - are you going to invite us in?"



"Tertius Fume, you are no ExtraOrdinary Wizard," Marcia retorted. "I have no obligation to invite you in."



The ghost looked triumphant. "I am afraid you are mistaken there, Miss Overstrand," he declared. "I held the office in locum tenens for seven days, in honor of which I was given purple to wear upon my sleeve. There." He pointed to the bands at the end of his sleeves. Reluctantly Marcia looked. There, between the two gold strips set on the dark blue was a color that could, she supposed, have been purple. "Added to which, Miss Overstrand, it is I who have convened the Gathering and as Convener I demand entry."



"You convened it? But why - what has happened?"



Tertius smiled, pleased that it was now Marcia asking the questions. "You are forgetting procedure, Miss Overstrand. First the Gathering is admitted. Then - possibly - we may answer your questions."



Marcia knew she had no choice. "Very well," she said.



Tertius Fume smiled with his mouth but not with his eyes. "Very well what, Miss Overstrand?"



Marcia knew what she had to say. It was one of the many Articles of Conduct that she had had to memorize in the frantic few days following her sudden appointment as ExtraOrdinary Wizard. But she didn't want to say it, and Tertius Fume knew it. And she knew that he knew it. She could tell by his mocking smile and the way he folded his arms, just as he had done the morning she had paid a visit to the Vaults.



Marcia took a deep breath and began to speak, her defiantly confident voice filling the Great Hall.



"As ExtraOrdinary Wizard I hereby invite the Gathering into the Wizard Tower. Upon your entry I do declare that I lay down my authority as ExtraOrdinary Wizard and become but one voice among many. We are all equals in this place."



"That's more like it," said Tertius Fume. He stepped over the threshold and waggled his forefinger at Marcia. "Remember, one voice among many. That's all you are now." The ghost strode in and gazed around the Great Hall as though he owned it.



Taking advantage of everyone's attention being focused on Tertius Fume, Septimus slipped away from Marcia, into the shadows at the edge of the Great Hall. He made his way around to the doors, where he had just noticed Jenna and Beetle.



"Hello, Jen, Beetle," he whispered.



"Oh, Sep," said Jenna, "thank goodness you're okay. Tertius Fume is - "



"Shh..." Septimus laid a finger on his lips.



"But he's - "



"Shh! I've got to concentrate, Jen." Septimus looked so fierce that Jenna did not dare go on.



Septimus was rapidly running through his memory of the gigantic Rule Book that governed all aspects of being an ExtraOrdinary Wizard. Marcia made Septimus read a section each day and he had just gotten to Gebblegons: Health and Safety Regulations part ii. As he watched the river of purple ghosts begin to flow into the Wizard Tower, Septimus rewound some pages back to Gathering: Rules of Convening, concentrating hard on each ghost as it stepped over the threshold.



As the Great Hall of the Tower began to fill, the Living Ordinary Wizards respectfully drew back to make room for the ghosts - no one wanted to Pass Through an ancient ExtraOrdinary Wizard. Still the ghosts kept on pouring into the Great Hall, until the Ordinary Wizards were pressed against the walls, a thin rim of blue around a huge circle of purple. A surprising number of Ordinary Wizards were crammed into the various cupboards and alcoves that led off the hall. In fact the record for Wizards in the broom closet - set by eighteen Wizards at the end of a memorable banquet some years previously - was broken that night.



As each ExtraOrdinary Wizard ghost stepped over the threshold, as a matter of courtesy, he or she Appeared to all inside the Tower, and Septimus watched each and every one. Some were faded and extremely ancient; some were newer ghosts who looked quite substantial. Some were old, some young, but all wore an expression of wistfulness as they stepped inside the Wizard Tower once again.



Fascinated, Beetle watched too. At the sight of so many ghosts he could not help recalling some calculations that Jillie Djinn had once made. Although an inpidual ghost is always somewhat transparent, the combined density of a group of ghosts will soon add up to enough to block an object from view. The number of ghosts necessary for this will depend upon their age, for ghosts become more transparent over the years. Jillie Djinn had worked on a formula to predict this, but she had had trouble with it, as a ghost's emotional state can also affect how transparent he or she becomes. This, like emotional states in general, irritated Miss Djinn; but she had calculated that the number of ghosts of average range of years of age and stable emotional state needed to obscure a Living being was five and a quarter. Which was why, as the ghosts poured in, Septimus soon lost sight of Marcia at the far side of the hall, but he made sure he did not lose sight of any of the ghosts as they filed in one by one.



There were two he was particularly looking out for - one that he wanted to see and one that he did not.



His job was made easier by the bottleneck that had begun to build up at the doors, as virtually each ghost stopped for a moment and gazed at the place he or she had left so long ago. A patient line formed on the steps, each ghost eventually floating through the doors, looking around and finding a place to be. The very last ghost was the one that Septimus had been longing to see - Alther Mella. A tall and relatively new ghost, Alther stood out. He still had a bright look to his robes, and a purposeful way of moving. He was neat and tidy, much more so than he had been when Living, due to the fact that - as he often joked - the upkeep was considerably easier. His hair stayed neatly tied back in its long gray ponytail and his beard remained a manageable length and no longer got bits of food stuck in it.



Alther stepped almost reluctantly into the Wizard Tower, leaving the white marble steps behind him empty and glistening in the rain.



"Alther!" whispered Septimus.



Alther's face lit up. "Septimus!" Then his expression darkened. "You know what this is?" he muttered.



Septimus nodded.



Silence had fallen in the Great Hall and the huge silver doors were slowly closing. Marcia climbed up the first few steps on the Stopped spiral stairs so that she could look down upon the Gathering. Her mouth felt dry and her hands were shaking; she shoved them deep into her pockets, determined not to show any trace of fear.



A solemn, expectant atmosphere pervaded the Tower and all eyes were on the ExtraOrdinary Wizard.



Marcia scanned the sea of purple, looking for Septimus - where had he gone? There was no sign of him, which annoyed her. At a time like this, her Apprentice should be at her side. She would, she thought, be having words with him about his slap-dash attitude when all this was over. Marcia could see no sign of Alther, either. She felt disappointed and a little hurt. She had expected Alther to come find her, but he obviously hadn't bothered. She was on her own.



Marcia was not completely on her own, however. Standing close to her - far too close and deliberately invading her personal space - was Tertius Fume. The ghost had positioned himself on the spiral stairs and was hovering a good ten inches above the step in order to make himself taller than Marcia, who was a tall woman. Marcia looked down and noticed that the purple sea of ExtraOrdinary Wizards was parting to let a speck of green through. With a feeling of relief she watched Septimus make his way toward her - at least now she knew where he was.



Tertius Fume surveyed the scene with an air of satisfaction. "Aha," he said. "I do believe I see the very reason for our Gathering approaching."



Marcia frowned. What did Fume mean - the very reason?



Septimus reached the foot of the silver spiral stairs and Marcia looked at him, worried now. "Where have you been?" she asked.



Septimus did not want to say what he had to tell her in front of Tertius Fume. "Could you come down here a moment, please?" he asked Marcia.



There was something in Septimus's voice that made Marcia Pass Through Tertius Fume's cloak with no hesitation whatsoever and join her Apprentice at the foot of the stairs. "Unauthorized communication is not allowed," boomed Tertius Fume as Septimus whispered something to Marcia.



Unauthorized or not, the communication was just what Marcia wanted to hear. "You're absolutely sure?" she whispered in return.



"Yep."



"Thank goodness. I was so worried. It's his ring - the Two-Faced Ring. You see, I never took it out of the sludge after I did the Identify. I looked for it after I did the Deep Clean and it wasn't there so I thought it was all right. But, well, I have sometimes wondered if the reason it wasn't there was because it had put him back together and he'd actually gotten away."



"But he was just a puddle of sludge," said Septimus. "And he was all over the place. How could he get back together after that?"



"Well...you never know. That ring's a powerful thing. Got him back together after the Marsh Brownies ate him. Anyway, I was looking out for him coming in, but I couldn't tell from over here.



They all look the same."



"He doesn't."



"No. You're right. That awful old hat - he'd be wearing that, wouldn't he?"



Septimus grinned. "I guess he would."



Marcia rejoined Tertius Fume with a spring in her step. "I do not need any authorization to talk to my Apprentice," she informed the ghost.



Tertius Fume smiled. "That, Miss Overstrand, is where you are wrong. For you are no longer mistress of your own domain."



"Indeed?" Marcia replied, raising her eyebrows as though amused by what the ghost had to say.



"Indeed, Miss Overstrand. Those are the Rules. Once the Gathering is in the Wizard Tower we are - as you so rightly said - all equals in this place."



"I understand the Rules perfectly well, Mr. Fume. It seems that you are the one who does not. There is no Gathering in the Wizard Tower. As such a stickler for procedure, Mr. Fume, you will surely be aware that for a Gathering to exist it must be Complete. This one is not."



"Of course it is."



"It is not."



"Prove it!"



"A certain DomDaniel is not here."



A faint cheer went up from the thin blue line of Ordinary Wizards. Tertius Fume looked furious.



"And, Mr. Fume, he never will be. I DeepCleaned him last year. The Gathering is not Complete - and indeed it never can be. So I suggest, Mr. Fume, that you and all these delightful ExtraOrdinary Wizards - whom it is a great pleasure to see, thank you all so much for turning out in such nasty weather - you can all go back to your haunts and do far more interesting things with the rest of the evening. Good night, all."



Outside the Wizard Tower, a thin figure wearing a brand-new scribe's uniform stood in the shadows of the old dragon kennel, sheltering from the rain. He was clutching a beautiful urn of lapis lazuli bound with gold bands. The urn was almost as big as he was. It was also extremely heavy and the muscles in his arms felt as though they were on fire, but Merrin didn't dare put down the urn, as he was not sure he would be able to lift it again. He felt miserable and more than a little annoyed - this was not what he had had in mind when Tertius Fume promised him what the ghost had called a strategic role in the Darkening of Septimus Heap's destiny.



As the rain dripped from his hair and ran down his nose, Merrin knew that he could not hang on to the heavy pot much longer - he decided to dump it and go. Merrin was staggering across the Courtyard clutching the urn when a horribly familiar voice stopped him in his tracks. "Get out of my way, Apprentice. How many times do I have to tell you, boy?"



Terrified, Merrin dropped the urn; it landed on his foot. "Ouch!" he yelled. He grabbed hold of his foot and looked around in panic for the source of the terrifying voice from the past - where was he?



And then, very slowly, the owner of the disembodied voice began to Appear. Merrin screamed. He couldn't believe it - the cylindrical black hat...the piggy black eyes. He thought he might be sick - it was all his worst nightmares come true. DomDaniel had come back to haunt him.



Quickly Merrin shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn't want his old master to see the Two-Faced Ring.



"Take your hands out of your pockets and stand up straight," growled the ghost. "You're a disgrace."



With that, to Merrin's great relief, the ghost of DomDaniel continued on its unsteady way, floating haphazardly across the Courtyard and wobbling up the steps to the Wizard Tower. As DomDaniel reached the top step Merrin saw the silver doors open and a stream of bright light from the Great Hall illuminate the white marble steps. Even from where he was standing Merrin heard the collective gasp of surprise come from inside the Tower. He watched the doors slowly close and he smiled - he wouldn't want to be Septimus Heap in there now. No way.



Merrin's hand closed around a small bag of coins in his pocket - his advance pay for his first week at the Manuscriptorium. He brightened a little - the coins were enough to buy thirty-nine licorice snakes from Ma Custard's. The thought of Ma Custard's welcoming sweet shop and the memory of Ma Custard's kindly smile as she had watched him choose his first ever sweet made Merrin suddenly feel happy. Why stay where he wasn't wanted?



Merrin was not quite brave enough to completely disobey Tertius Fume so, with a huge effort, he lifted the urn and heaved it up the marble steps. As Merrin stood shakily on the top step, wondering how to drop the urn without it landing on his toes, two tall Magykal figures dressed in ancient chain mail stepped out of the shadows on either side of the door. In synchrony they each drew a dagger, took another step toward Merrin and then leveled their daggers at his throat, the purple lights from the Wizard Tower flashing on the sharp blades. Terrified, Merrin forgot any worries about his toes; he let the urn drop with a great thud and fled. The Questing Guards stepped back and melted into the shadows once more.



Merrin did not look back. He ran, leaping down the steps, tearing across the Courtyard, his footsteps echoing through the Great Arch. There he stopped and from his pocket he took what looked like a scruffy old tennis ball.



"Sleuth," he addressed the ball, "show me the quickest way to Ma Custard's." The tracker ball bounced slowly up and down as if thinking, then it shot off, taking a sharp left turn down Cutpurse Cut and then an immediate right into Dogbreath pe. It was a three-mile run to Ma Custard's but Merrin didn't mind. The farther away he was from his old boss, the better. He followed the ball through rush-lit tunnels, over tall brick bridges and through countless back gardens, and then, tiring at last, lost sight of it down a narrow, dark cut. But he was lucky - the cut led straight to the sweet shop and as he arrived, puffing and panting, Sleuth was bouncing on the spot, impatiently waiting for him.



Merrin caught the ball, shoved it into his pocket and barged into the sweet shop. He was going to need a whole truckload of licorice snakes to help him get over the shock of seeing his old master again. And maybe some slug sherbets, too. And some spider-floss - lots of spider-floss.