Tod blew her whistle. No sound came out, but Marcia’s whistle sounded, thin and sweet on the other side of the room. Marcia smiled. “I won’t be long.” And with that, she was gone.
Tod listened to the tippy-tappy sounds of the purple python shoes disappearing downward. She leaned back in the sun, the silver whistle warm in her hand, contentedly watching the activity that always accompanies a boat returning to her home port.
Marcia UnSealed Way VII and headed off to the Wizard Tower to speak to Septimus. But she arrived too late. He was already gone. Finding Dandra still occupied in the Sick Bay, Marcia settled down in the Great Hall to await Septimus’s return.
Septimus was at Bott’s Cloaks with Beetle, Chief Hermetic Scribe and unsuccessful remover of Grula-Grulas. It was Beetle’s second day at Bott’s Cloaks but this time he had with him an unusual display of force: the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, accompanied by his twin brothers, Senior Apprentices Edd and Erik Heap.
They were met by Miranda Bott—a large, irritable woman who had recently inherited the shop. Although Miranda dutifully continued the family business of selling Magykal cloaks (both preloved and soon-to-be cherished) she was not very welcoming toward Wizards.
The previous day with Beetle had not been a success—the Grula-Grula had thrown a spectacular temper tantrum and had ruined the last of Miranda’s precious ancient cloaks. Finally, with her business in tatters and the stink of old cheese filling the shop, Miranda had agreed to allow the Wizard Tower to be involved. “I’m not having any old Wizard, mind,” she had told Beetle. “You can bring the ExtraOrdinary or forget it.”
Miranda sniffed disdainfully at the sight of the ExtraOrdinary Wizard in his impressive purple accompanied by what she took to be two bodyguards. Edd and Erik Heap were powerfully built and had a wild air about them, gained from years of living in the Forest. Miranda wasn’t keen. “You can leave them outside,” she said.
There was no way Septimus was going to leave Edd and Erik outside, but since becoming ExtraOrdinary Wizard he had learned a lot about the art of diplomacy. “Miss Bott,” he said, “I would so much like you to meet my brothers Edd and Erik Heap.”
“How do you do, Miss Bott,” Edd and Erik murmured politely.
“Humph,” harrumphed Miranda.
“And of course, you have already met the Chief Hermetic Scribe, Mr. Beetle.”
Miranda Bott was not to be mollified. “Of course I’ve bloomin’ met him. He practically moved in here yesterday. Fat lot of good he was too. I hope you are going to do better, ExtraOrdinary.”
“We work as a team,” Septimus said smoothly. “The Chief Hermetic Scribe performed stage one of the removal yesterday and all went as planned.”
Beetle quickly mastered his look of surprise. Sometimes the new, ExtraOrdinary Wizard Septimus took him aback. His old friend had turned out to be a natural politician.
Miranda Bott was less impressed. “Rubbish!” she declared.
“So now, Miss Bott,” Septimus was saying, “in stage two we all need to attend to your uninvited guest. And I promise we shall do our very best.”
The sincere expression in Septimus’s clear green eyes and his calm manner began to soothe Miranda Bott’s frazzled temper. So Miranda smiled and said, “Thank you, ExtraOrdinary, I do believe you will do your best. Please come in.”
The Grula-Grula removal party stepped inside and Miranda bolted the door behind them. The smell was atrocious. Even Erik and Edd, who were used to Forest smells, wrinkled their noses in disgust.
“It’s the most revolting creature I’ve ever set eyes on,” Miranda declared. “Its personal hygiene is nonexistent. Follow me, please.” She set off through the shop, past tables sporting piles of neatly folded cloaks of various shades of blue and green. The increasingly queasy group followed Miranda through a succession of interconnecting rooms full of the more expensive cloaks—a forest of green, blue and the very occasional purple hanging neatly on rails suspended from the ceiling.
They emerged from behind the last of the cloaks to find Miranda Bott standing in front of a door marked Ancient Archive. “It’s in there,” she told them. “It’s ruined them. All those beautiful exhibit pieces—destroyed.” She sniffed dramatically and Beetle wondered how she managed to breathe in so deeply.
“At least there is no other harm done,” Septimus said. “Remind me, Miss Bott, what form has it taken today?”
“Today?” Miranda sounded flummoxed. “I dunno, I haven’t looked. It was a lovely, polite gentleman when it came in. Spent ages trying on all the most interesting cloaks, and he was charming. He even gave me back a five-crown note he found in one of the pockets.” She sighed. “You don’t get many customers like that.”
“Fortunately not,” said Septimus briskly, sounding, he thought to himself, rather like Marcia.
“So, when he asked to look at the Ancient Archive I thought that, what with him being such an honest gentleman, I could trust him. I let him in and then a customer came in the shop and I had to go and see to them. And then . . .” She gave a shudder. “And then, when I came back, I popped my head around the door all friendly-like, to see how he was getting on, and there was this great orange hairy blob squatting on a pile of the most valuable cloaks. I must have screamed—well, actually, I know I screamed, because my neighbor came around and banged on the door to see if I was all right.”
“Why didn’t you come and tell us at the Wizard Tower straightaway?” Septimus asked.
“Well, I was so shocked I couldn’t believe it,” said Miranda. “So I counted to ten and looked back inside again, and there was no sign of the blob. I thought I’d imagined it.”
“The Grula-Grula had ShapeShifted into something else,” Septimus said. “Probably a mouse or something you wouldn’t notice.”
“Are you suggesting I am infested with mice?” Miranda demanded.
“Not you personally, Miss Bott,” Septimus replied. “Now, as I am sure you know, there are two ways of getting rid of a Grula-Grula visitation. The first is a little radical and may well lead to some peripheral impairment.”
“What?” asked Miranda.
“There may be some damage to the surroundings,” explained Septimus.
“I’ve had enough damage to my surroundings already, thank you very much,” Miranda said indignantly.
“So I suggest the second option, which is to persuade the Grula-Grula to exit of its own volition.”
“Of its own what?”
“Leave because it wants to,” Septimus said.
Miranda Bott looked exasperated. “But it doesn’t want to, does it? That is the problem.”
“Have you asked it?” Septimus inquired.
“No, of course I haven’t bloomin’ asked it. It’s a great fat smelly monster and it’s been sitting there pooing over all my most valuable cloaks for days. Why would I want to go and talk to it, eh? Sheesh!” Miranda Bott treated Beetle to a conspiratorial look of exasperation, but Beetle did not respond. He was not to be won over.
“So I suggest we ask it,” said Septimus. “Nicely.” He took a small piece of paper from his pocket and quickly scanned it, making sure he still knew every line. The Grula-Grula sonnet was only effective if proclaimed without breaking eye contact with the creature. “The Chief Hermetic Scribe and I are going in with the sonnet,” Septimus said. “I expect to be out with the Grula in two to three minutes. Please make sure we have a clear exit, Miss Bott.”
Septimus pushed open the door to the Ancient Archive and stepped inside with Beetle, leaving Edd and Erik on guard. A ten-feet-tall, roughly triangular mass of orange fur with no clear features—apart from what could possibly be two pink eyes at the top point of the triangle—sat in the middle of what was now a virtually empty room. It appeared to have eaten most of the cloaks and furniture and had begun on the walls, where it was, in some places, through to the brick. Taking care not to slip on the slime that pooled across the floor, Septimus and Beetle approached it warily.
The creat
ure watched them equally warily. It recalled its mother telling it that it must never look at anything purple, but it couldn’t remember why. And then, as soon as Septimus made eye contact with the two pink, watery circles at the top of its pointy head, it did remember—but too late. The Grula-Grula let out a high-pitched wail of dismay. Septimus launched into the sonnet at once.
“What, O Grula, is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you, fair Grula, tend?”
The Grula-Grula was successfully Transfixed. It stared at Septimus as in a low, steady voice, he spoke the Grula Sonnet. From somewhere underneath its fur, two little pink hands emerged and clasped together in utter delight. As Septimus drew toward the end, the Grula-Grula began to join in, singing softly in an ear-achingly high-pitched voice.
“And, O Grula, you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external Grula-grace you have some part,
But, fair Grula, you like none, none you, for constant heart.”
Beetle watched in amazement as the creature gazed down at Septimus in adoration. Its little hands wandered up to the point of its head and scraped its greasy hair into a neat parting, revealing a small, flushed face like a tiny pink plate.
Septimus bowed and said, “Fair Grula, come with me, I pray,” and when he began to walk toward the door, Beetle had to step smartly out of the way to avoid being mown down by a ton of ecstatic orange fur. They emerged into the sunlight and sweet air of Wizard Way, leaving Miranda Bott to clean up the mess. Septimus stole a quick glance up at the sky to see if Spit Fyre had returned—as he was getting into the habit of doing every time he went outside. But the sky was both cloudless and dragonless.
Slowly, for the Grula-Grula took very tiny steps, they made their way back to the Wizard Tower, to the delight of many onlookers. “What are you going to do with it now?” Beetle asked.
“Stranger Chamber,” said Septimus. And then, in case the Grula was listening, he added, “Only the best for our honored guest.” Septimus had long been fascinated by these creatures, which would very occasionally and inexplicably appear in the Castle. Hundreds of years had gone by since the previous confirmed sighting of a Grula-Grula (although recently there had been rumors of one seen drowned in the Moat) and Septimus was determined not to let this one go. Grula-Grulas were superb ShapeShifters, which fascinated Septimus. He wanted to find out more.
Flanked by its escort, the Grula-Grula made its entrance into the Wizard Tower courtyard in a manner that it found highly gratifying. The Wizard Tower was a hotbed of gossip and word had quickly spread. A large group of Wizards and Apprentices were now gathered at the top of the steps to watch the procession. The Grula-Grula was very impressed with its reception, especially when it stepped over the threshold to be greeted by the floor’s message: WELCOME, FAIR GRULA, MOST LOVELY OF THEM ALL. However, the Grula-Grula was less impressed when it was suddenly confronted by a figure in a multicolored cloak, wearing purple pointy shoes that smelled of snake.
“Goodness!” said the snake-shoed figure. “What is that ghastly thing?”
“Marcia,” snapped the Grula-Grula’s purple escort. “Please be quiet.”
Marcia was shocked at being spoken to like that. And then she remembered that she was no longer ExtraOrdinary Wizard, that she was only there because Septimus allowed her to be, and if she was not careful he might very well change his mind.
“It is an honor and a privilege to have such a glorious guest,” Septimus said very loudly, to make sure the Grula-Grula heard.
Marcia gave Septimus a look of astonishment. She saw the Grula-Grula’s little pink eyes peering out—somewhat shortsightedly—from its hair, which hung down like limp, greasy curtains, and the trail of molted fur it had left behind, sticking to the soft, sandlike multicolored floor of the Great Hall. She watched the ten-feet-tall hairy triangle being escorted into the Stranger Chamber, saw the Grula-Grula take one look at the deceptively beautiful room—and begin a slow, impressive ShapeShift.
A murmur of appreciation spread through the Wizards who had gathered to watch. The great bulk of fur and flesh began to shimmer and its boundaries grew indistinct. A fuzz of Magyk settled over the creature, there was a loud whoosh and the audience jumped back in surprise. In front of them stood a small, neat man in a dark suit. He wore a pair of thick, round spectacles through which peered tiny pink piggy eyes, and his pale-orange greasy hair was parted in the middle. He bowed, turned smartly on his heel and entered the Stranger Chamber.
Marcia waited while Septimus dealt with the usual problems and queries that were always thrown at an ExtraOrdinary Wizard whenever he or she ventured into the Great Hall. When at last people had drifted away, she pounced. “Septimus!”
Septimus looked weary. “Marcia,” he said unenthusiastically.
Marcia felt sorry for him. She remembered how many times as ExtraOrdinary Wizard she had longed to be left alone. But this could not wait. “Septimus, I am so sorry.”
The expression of weariness in Septimus’s eyes was replaced by shock—what was wrong? Marcia never apologized. But before he could ask what had happened, Marcia had launched into a rapid gabble.
“Septimus, you were right,” she was saying.
Septimus looked stunned. “Me? Right?” he said. “About what?”
Marcia sighed. “I’m sure Dandra has told you what happened last night.”
“Dandra? Haven’t seen her. The Sick Bay’s frantic, apparently.” Septimus looked at his timepiece. “Look, Marcia, I really must get on. I have an Apprentice Rotation Scheme meeting in a few minutes.”
“So you haven’t heard?” Marcia said.
“About what?”
“Oh, Septimus. I am so sorry. There was an Incursion. We must talk—oh!” A thin, high piping suddenly came from the silver whistle around Marcia’s neck. “Oh, goodness!” She put her hand on Septimus’s arm. “I have to go. Something’s wrong. Septimus, come with me. Please.”
Septimus knew when Marcia was serious. He left a hasty message with the door duty Wizard and hurried after Marcia as she raced down the steps. He caught up with her outside Way VII, which to his surprise he could actually see. And then he realized why. Racing out of its misty depths was a familiar, slight figure. And as Tod hurtled into the bright morning sunshine, Septimus saw that she had snow on her shoes.
“Blizzard!” Tod gasped. “Horse! Mad girl! Hurry!”
SNOW GLOBE
Tod, Septimus and Marcia ran out of Way VII into the Hub and found themselves in a snowstorm. They stumbled forward, half deafened by a tumult of terrified whinnying and piercing shrieks, and suddenly Marcia found herself nose to nose with a set of tombstone horse teeth. Marcia leaped back, the horse reared up and Septimus lunged for the bridle and grabbed it. Through the blizzard he caught the shimmer of sparkling blue reins and a white, shining figure seated on the horse.
A sudden shout filled the Hub. “Garmin! Garmin!” yelled Tod.
Septimus spun around and briefly, through the blizzard he saw the unmistakable shape of a Garmin come leaping into the Hub. He saw it stop and crouch down, confused by the swirling snow, and he saw another spring from an arch and join it—then another. A cloud of snow whirled in front of his eyes and Septimus could see no more.
He did the only thing he could. Trusting Marcia’s quick reactions, Septimus threw up his arms and yelled, “Freezer!” A rush of white crystals tinged with purple streamed from his open palms, swirled around horse and rider and then spiraled out into the rest of the Hub, popping and snapping as they went.
Inside the blizzard, Marcia heard Septimus’s Freezer. She grabbed hold of Tod, held on to her tight and began muttering the AntiFreeze. Tod saw the crackling tide of ice rolling toward her, she felt coldness surround her and then the AntiFreeze kicked in. A rush of warmth spread through her and the crystal wave rolled harmlessly by.
With the Freezing of the horse and rider, the snow began to subside. Across the Hub Tod saw the three Gar
min, almost invisible, white against the snow. At the same time, they saw her. There was a long, seemingly endless moment when the Garmin launched themselves toward her and then the river of ice engulfed the creatures and they were frozen in midleap. One immediately toppled over. There was the sound of shattering, tinkling glass as it broke into thousands of sparkling crystalline shards, shining like diamonds in the light of the Hub torches. Another Garmin was held upright by one back leg welded into the ice that covered the snow. But as they watched, the ice gave way under the weight of the creature above and the second Garmin fell in another shower of crystals. The third lay Frozen, crouched as if to pounce.
“Stop Freezer!” Septimus’s command echoed around the Hub. He dropped his hands to his side, the light from his palms faded and the crystal wave—which was now heading around the Hub for a second circuit—stopped.
“Goodness, Septimus—that was a bit dramatic,” Marcia said, raising her voice above the background crackle of settling ice.
“But necessary,” Septimus replied.
“Oh, yes. Totally,” Marcia said hurriedly, not wanting Septimus to think she was criticizing. A Freezer was a rapid-reflex spell—indiscriminate but very effective, it was the kind of spell that was looked down upon by purists. But Marcia was no purist. She knew that when more than one danger must be disabled at once, such a spell was an essential tool. However, like all quick fixes, a Freezer has disadvantages—it Freezes every living thing in its path and can be dangerous to those who are Frozen.
The fizzing and snapping of ice crystals was fading now to a few isolated pops. Tod, Septimus and Marcia stood knee-deep in frozen snow, staring at the bizarre tableau surrounding them.
Tod had once owned a snow globe—a transparent dome filled with fluid in which there was a snowy scene. When she shook the globe, white flakes had swirled up through the fluid to create a snowstorm, which then slowly subsided. Right now Tod felt as though she were inside a big, bizarre snow globe. Captivated, she watched the snow gently subside around the Frozen shape of a huge white horse rearing up, its hooves pawing the air and its rider leaning back, trying to stay seated. The rider was striking—a girl not so many years older than she, dressed in a white fur jacket and thick white woolen pantaloons. What struck Tod was her pure white hair, which was braided into scores of thin plaits tied into a horse’s tail that hung down her back, all interlaced with blue ribbons that shimmered with ice. The girl’s blue eyes were wide open in terror as she stared sightlessly through the film of ice that had Frozen her and her horse.