Septimus Heap 4 : Queste(42)

“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.





32


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.

“Don’t worry, Luce,” replied Simon Heap encouragingly. “I’ve known worse.” He hadn’t, but now was not the time for strict accuracy, he thought.

Lucy said nothing more. She thought if she did speak she would probably be sick, and she didn’t want Simon to see that.

A girl had to keep up appearances even in a rotten little rowboat. Lucy closed her eyes tight and sat concentrating on her thoughts. She could not get out of her head the expression of horror on Simon’s face as they had walked into the Observatory that afternoon. “Luce,” he had whispered in a panic. “Get straight back down those steps and get Thunder.