“The Bridge Boy’s gone ’ome,” Gringe growled. “I can’t be doing this on my own at my age. Come back tomorrow.” He began to close the door but Septimus stopped it with his foot.
“You are obliged by your terms of employment to operate the drawbridge whenever I require it,” Septimus told Gringe. “And I require it now.” Septimus fixed Gringe with what he hoped was a steely stare.
Gringe—who still thought of Septimus as the annoying Apprentice kid who used to play chicken on the bridge—was not happy. “It’ll cost you,” he said.
Septimus was ready: he knew he had to pay for out-of-hours bridge use. He held out a heavy shining silver coin—a crown, no less—and Gringe’s eyes widened. He hadn’t seen one of those for a long time. Mrs. Gringe would be thrilled. She might even heat up his stew again if he asked nicely.
Fifteen minutes later the drawbridge was down and Gringe was hot, sweaty and out of breath. “You . . . staying out all . . . night?” he asked. “Or are you . . . comin’ back?”
“We’re coming back,” Septimus told him.
Gringe sighed. “An’ I suppose you’ll want the bridge down again?”
“You suppose correctly,” Septimus assured him.
Gringe shook his head. He’d found the last ExtraOrdinary Wizard difficult at times, but she was nothing like this one. This one was crazy. What did he think he was doing, taking three kids and two of his daft brothers dressed like wolverines into the Forest at night?
As soon as they reached the far side of the Moat, Gringe wearily began the work of raising the bridge. At last he staggered into the gatehouse and slumped down in his chair by the fire. He was not impressed by Mrs. Gringe’s comment that he’d catch his breath better if he’d only stop swearing for a few minutes. He had, he told her, a lot to swear about. And for once Mrs. Gringe did not disagree.
ILL MET BY TORCHLIGHT
Tod heard the clanking of the drawbridge chains and glanced back. She saw the massive bridge slowly rising into the air, leaving the bare bank of the dark Moat behind. It was an impressive sight, but not a comfortable one. The sight of their way back into the safety of the Castle disappearing gave her a bad feeling.
Sandwiched between the two wolverine Heaps, Tod, Oskar, Ferdie and Septimus walked swiftly along the winding path that led through the outlying trees, heading toward the dense darkness beyond. Tod noticed that the twins had adopted a loping gait that suited their costumes well—possibly a little too well. It seemed to her as though the Heap twins were transforming into actual Forest wolverines. Tod slipped between Oskar and Ferdie and linked arms; it was good to keep your friends close in the Forest.
Soon the moonlight was gone and densely packed, tall trees lined their narrow path. When Tod looked up she saw nothing but a thick canopy of leaves, and when she looked ahead she saw darkness. She felt as though the Forest was engulfing them. The Tracker ball began to push impatiently against her grip as if to remind her why she was there. “Shall I let Bing go now?” she asked Septimus.
“Bing is a Tracker ball,” Septimus hastened to assure his brothers.
“Yeah,” said Edd with a grin. “So we heard.”
“Won’t be easy following that in the nighttime Forest,” Erik added.
“I know,” Septimus said. “But we can do it. Okay, Tod, time to—”
Edd interrupted him. “Wait a moment, Sep. There is something I want to say to our three young ones here. From now on we must practice what is known as Forest Mindfulness. With every step we take, we will think of ourselves as part of the Forest. We will plant our feet with care, understanding that we tread upon many tiny, living creatures and being aware that we walk through the territory of much larger ones. We will respect the trees and wish them well, but remember that as we go deeper into the Forest, not all trees will wish us well. Do you understand?”
Tod, Ferdie and Oskar nodded solemnly. Edd’s words had given them a sense of awe, which took the edge off the fear they had been feeling.
“Thank you, Edd,” Septimus whispered. He switched on his Forest FlashLight. A dull red beam lit up their immediate surroundings but did not spread far. It would allow them to see where they were going without alerting the nighttime inhabitants. “Okay, Tod,” Septimus said. “It’s time to release Bing.”
Tod took Bing out of her pocket, cradled it in her hands and whispered, “Track.” She let the ball go and, unlike its behavior with the Captain of the Guard, it bounced on the spot, waiting for Tod to follow—because Tod had Named it, the ball considered her to be part of the Track. Bing set off at a low, slow bounce, regulating its pace so that Tod was easily able to keep up with it, keeping to paths that she could follow.
Bing took them slowly up into the less-explored northern plateau of the Forest. They walked silently with Tod and Edd in the lead, then Septimus, Oskar and Ferdie, with Erik at the back. Both of the Forest Heaps were on the alert, their eyes flicking from side to side, forever on guard.
They now began to hear shouting and see glimpses of the red glow of flames through the trees.
“Witch fire,” Edd muttered.
They were nearing a blind bend in the path when suddenly, hurtling around it came a cloaked figure carrying a familiar flash of blue.
“Ormie!” Oskar gasped. “Oh! That’s Ormie!”
It was also Marissa. Cloak flying, eyes flashing brilliant witch blue, she came thudding toward them with the Ormlet tucked under her arm.
Tod caught Bing on an upward bounce and shoved the Tracker ball deep into her pocket. Edd and Erik positioned themselves on the path, arms folded, an impenetrable wolverine barrier through which Marissa was not going to pass.
But there was no need. Marissa skidded to a halt in front of them. “Oh, thank goodness you’ve come,” she said breathlessly. “Here’s your Orm thingy. Septimus, take it. Quick!” She pushed past Edd and Erik and thrust the Ormlet into Septimus’s arms. “Keep it safe. It needs to go under the Wizard Tower as soon as you can get it there.”
Septimus was dumbstruck. He stood holding the limp Ormlet, unable to believe that Marissa had actually given it to him. Marissa was in no mood for explaining anything. She grabbed Septimus’s arm and hissed, “Come on, Wiz, get a move on. There’s a whole swarm of witches after it.” She pointed back into the trees. The flames were coming closer and the shouts getting louder.
“I thought they were with you,” Septimus said.
“No way, dumbo,” Marissa said. “They are chasing me. So get a move on. Or do some wiz-bang spell or something to stop them. See ya!” Marissa darted into the shadows of the trees and was gone.
Septimus looked anxiously at the rapidly advancing flames. “We must get back to the Castle right now.”
“But the drawbridge is up,” Tod said.
“I know,” Septimus said. “I’ll do a Transport back and get Gringe to start lowering it. Edd, Erik, can you find a safe way to get everyone down to the bridge?”
“No worries,” said Edd and Erik together.
“Oskar—for you.” Septimus thrust the Ormlet into Oskar’s arms. Oskar was shocked at how heavy it was.
“Now go,” Septimus said, looking anxiously back through the trees at the rapidly advancing flames.
Edd and Erik beckoned Tod, Oskar and Ferdie into the trees, leaving Septimus alone on the track. When Tod glanced back she saw Septimus enclosed in a haze of purple mist. She longed to hang back and watch the Transport, but a brusque “Come on, Tod” from Erik set her running to catch up. When she next looked around, Septimus was gone.
ON THE RUN
Oskar was struggling to keep up. The Ormlet was a dead weight. Its smooth blue scales were slippery; its wings were spiky yet delicate, and Oskar was afraid of damaging them. Its spiny legs swung awkwardly, hitting his knees as he hurried along.
Edd saw that Oskar was in trouble. “Hey, let me take it,” he said.
“No, I can do it,” Oskar insisted.
“No, you can’t,” Ferdie told Oskar sternly.
“I can!”
“Oskie,” Ferdie hissed. “Give it to Edd.”
“But—”
“Oskie, you are slowing us down. The witches will catch us and then they’ll have the Ormlet. And it will be all your fault.”
Sullenly Oskar handed the Ormlet to Edd, who slung the creature around his shoulders with ease. The Ormlet lay there like a shimmering blue stole.
“Whoooooo-hoo!” A wild, ululating whoop, high and piercing, shocked them all. The witches had left the path and were plunging into the undergrowth, following their trail, the flames of their torches sending up showers of sparks into the darkness.
Erik glanced back. “Too many to fight,” he said, sounding a little regretful. Better do a rabbit run, yeah? There’s one down there. By the three stones.”
“I know,” said Edd. “I found it, remember?” He turned to Tod, Oskar and Ferdie. “Okay, guys, this is how we disappear in the Forest. There are secret paths everywhere. The trick is to get into one without anyone seeing you. Once we’re in it, keep dead quiet and follow me, got that?”
They followed Edd. He wove past a couple more trees and then, at three big round stones covered in moss, like a rabbit diving for its burrow, he plunged into the undergrowth.
Tod fought her way in after him. She fended off a barrage of sharp twigs and skidded down a slope to find a low corridor, clear of undergrowth, that ran beneath the bushes. Ferdie and Oskar, then Erik came tumbling after her. They set off silently following Edd, who stooped low as he loped along, carrying the Ormlet easily on his shoulders. Erik was last, watchful as ever.
As they hurried through the rabbit run, the whoops and shouts of the witches became ever louder. Soon it seemed to Tod that the witches were so close she only had to push her arm through the undergrowth and she would touch them. Edd stopped and turned, putting a finger to his lips. They all stood silent, hearts thumping, while, to their relief, the noise of the chase passed by.
They set off once more through the run with Edd keeping a fast pace along the twists and turns that took them around densely packed trees. Oskar felt as though they were traveling through the inside of a giant bracken snake and quite forgot his disappointment in not holding the Ormlet. He loved every moment of the rabbit run, and as he padded along he became determined to make one in his home forest, the Far.
The run finished on top of a small hill overlooking the Castle. They stumbled into the night air with burrs on their clothes and twigs in their hair, and stopped to take stock. Below, the lights of the Castle shone clear, but it was too dark to see whether the drawbridge had been lowered. They decided to take the track down and hope for the best. As they descended toward the flat grassy area beside the Moat, a movement above made them all look up.
“Spit Fyre!” Edd and Erik said together.
“He wants Ormie,” Oskar said.
Edd shifted the dead weight that lay across his shoulders. “He’s welcome to it,” he growled. “It’s like carrying a sack of dead fish.”
Oskar didn’t like the sound of that. “Ormie’s not . . . dead, is she?” he whispered.
“The dog breath in my ear tells me not, Oskar,” Edd replied.
Spit Fyre began to descend, but at the sounds of a high-pitched whistle from Septimus in the Castle the dragon stopped. He hovered for some seconds, considering what to do—the Ormlet won. Spit Fyre dropped through the air and landed on the grass in front of them.
“Great,” said Edd, “he can get us out of here. Come on, you guys.”
They headed off fast toward Spit Fyre, loud whoops from the Forest spurring them on. Edd thrust the Ormlet at Spit Fyre, who reached out his great head and gently took the Ormlet in his mouth. Then, before anyone had a chance to clamber aboard, Spit Fyre raised his wings and brought them down with a great rush of air that knocked Oskar, hovering anxiously beside the Ormlet, off his feet. And then the dragon was gone, rising up and flying swiftly across the Moat. They watched his dark shape disappear over the North Gate.
“Maybe he’s going to come back with Sep and get us?” Edd asked hopefully.
“And maybe he’s not,” Erik suggested. Loud shouts from the North Gate and a rumble of falling masonry stopped the discussion.
“Doesn’t sound good,” Edd said. “We’d better shift for ourselves.”
As they hurried across the grass toward the Moat they heard the welcome clanking of the drawbridge chains. They ran fast, watching the massive shape of the drawbridge slowly descending. They were halfway across the open grass when there was a loud clang and the drawbridge juddered to a halt.
“It’s stuck,” Tod said.
Erik swore. From across the Moat the unmistakable voice of Gringe echoed his sentiments.
“Bother,” said the more restrained Edd. “What say, Erik? Go for the bridge and hope it gets free?”
An ululating cry came from the Forest. “Yeah,” said Erik said. “Go for it.”
All eyes upon the drawbridge, they raced across the open space. They reached the resting plate—the long, flat stone on which the end of the drawbridge should sit—and looked up. As they stared at the dark underbelly of the bridge looming high above, willing it to move, a great scream of triumph came from the outskirts of the forest. All five wheeled around to see the witches, torches ablaze, breaking out from the cover of the trees.
“Sep! We need help!” Edd yelled across the Moat.
Septimus appeared in a gatehouse window. “Spit Fyre won’t leave the blasted Ormlet!” he yelled. “I’m getting a boat!”
“Too late for that,” Erik muttered, watching witches advancing toward them.
The witches were silent now. They had formed a semicircle and were walking slowly and deliberately toward them. The flames of their torches burned bright in the still night air, and as they came nearer, Tod, Oskar and Ferdie heard something they never wanted to hear again—the Witch Hum.
There was a splash from the other side of the Moat and the sound of oars being hastily pushed into rowlocks along with some muttered curses. Tod glanced around to see Septimus struggling with a large rowboat, and she longed to show him how to do it properly. To the background of splashing and the sound of clanking and shouting from within the gatehouse, the witch semicircle advanced in step, their low, menacing Hum growing louder.
Edd, Erik, Tod, Oskar and Ferdie turned to face the advance, standing shoulder to shoulder. “Stare them out,” Edd whispered.
“It spooks them,” added Erik.
The witches stopped a few feet away, close enough for them to feel the heat of the flames. Bryony and Madron stepped forward. “Hand over the creature and we will do you no harm,” said Bryony.
“We don’t have it,” Erik said steadily.
“As you see,” Edd added.
“We see nothing,” Bryony told him.
“Because you are hiding it,” Madron said.
“If you do not hand it over,” Bryony said icily, “we will take it from you.”
“I am sure you would rather we did not do that,” Madron added. “Because your dinky little suits of fur . . .” She giggled and Edd flushed. He realized he and Erik looked somewhat silly, and with an audience of young witches, he wished they didn’t. But what Madron went on to say made looking silly seem a minor problem. “. . . will burn beautifully.”
Edd and Erik exchanged anxious glances.
“We will count to seven,” Bryony said.
“And then we will set fire to a whole Heap of fur,” Madron finished.
Slowly, the witches began to count, “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . sev—”
Suddenly there was a flash of purple and Septimus was there, standing between his brothers and the flames, brandishing a long, shimmering sword with a rain of sparks flying from its tip. “You want to play with fire?” he yelled. “Then play with this!”
There were no takers. The witches threw down their torches in disgust. “That’s not fair, Septimus Heap,” Bryony
told him. “We don’t have any swords.”
“You don’t have any conscience,” Septimus reposted. “Now shove off, the lot of you.”
The witches shoved off.
Enclosed in a semicircle of abandoned burning torches like the footlights of a stage, the three Heap brothers and the Tribe of Three watched their audience straggle away into the night, throwing curses into the wind.
A sudden yell from the gatehouse brought them back to reality. “’Ware bridge, ’ware bridge!” And then, when they didn’t leap out of the way fast enough, “Get out of the blasted way, you nurdles! The bloomin’ bridge is comin’ down! Fast!”
A rapid rattling of chains ensued, there was a loud splash, and Edd slipped and fell into the Moat.
PATCHOULI
Spit Fyre was waiting for them in the Wizard Tower courtyard. The dragon was unusually subdued. He sat, head bowed, with the Ormlet lying limp across his two front feet. Septimus stopped a respectful distance away. “Hey, Spit Fyre,” he said gently.
Spit Fyre put his head on one side and snorted like an uncertain horse. Septimus took a step back. He resented how the Ormlet had come between him and his dragon, but he told himself that it was ridiculous to be jealous of a small reptile that was going to explode in a few days time. He also told himself that had it not been for the Ormlet, Spit Fyre would probably still be away on his search for a mate; it was the Ormlet that had brought Spit Fyre home. And so, with a more generous feeling he said, “Spit Fyre, your Ormlet is about to TransfOrm. It’s time for you to say good-bye.”
Spit Fyre would not meet Septimus’s eye. Septimus sighed—he knew that meant trouble. He decided to try to explain. “Spit Fyre, your Ormlet has gone into Stasis and—”