Queste

T he ghost of DomDaniel was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he had been out anywhere interesting. The loss of the Two-Faced Ring had taken him out of a kind of limbo that he and his ghost had existed in after Marcia's Identify. The Call to the Gathering had been so strong that at last his ghost was set free - a little shaky maybe, but out in the world at last.

DomDaniel was particularly enjoying the dramatic effect of his entry into the Wizard Tower. The look on the face of that awful woman, what was her name - Ghastlier Overland? Nastier Underhand? - well, that was worth waiting for. And it was good to see old Fume again. There were others he recognized too: that scruffy boy with the Dragon Ring - an Apprentice by the look of it. He'd seen him before...somewhere...what was his name? Oh, his memory was terrible. Almost wiped out by the...thingy. It was so unfair. What was that - what, what? Was someone saying his name?

Marcia Overstrand was indeed saying DomDaniel's name. "DomDaniel - it can't be! I do not believe it.

It is absolutely not possible."

Tertius Fume was triumphant. "Clearly, Miss Overstrand, it is perfectly possible. The Gathering is now Complete."

Pleased that all eyes were upon him, the ghost of DomDaniel bowed extravagantly to his audience and, forgetting that he was a ghost, he tried to sweep off his cylindrical hat but his ghostly hand went right through it. A little flustered, he straightened up and, aiming for the middle of the action, DomDaniel shuffled over to Septimus and Marcia, who were perched uncertainly on the spiral stairs, watching the crowd part to allow the rotund ghost room to advance toward them. DomDaniel favored the three occupants of the spiral stairs with another bow, this time remembering to leave his hat alone. Marcia returned his oily smile with a fierce glare.

Tertius Fume began to speak. "This Gathering has been Called on the momentous occasion of the Draw for the twenty-first Apprentice Queste."

A gasp came from the assembled ghosts - particularly loud from the nineteen who had lost their Apprentices to the Queste.

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Marcia.

"I would not call the Gathering ridiculous if I were you, Miss Overstrand." There was a general murmur of agreement from the floor and Marcia realized she had to tread carefully.

"You deliberately misunderstand me, Mr. Fume. It is the very idea that Septimus should make the Draw for the Queste that is ridiculous. That - as even you must know, Mr. Fume - happens in the very last hour of the Apprenticeship. My Apprentice, Septimus Heap, is only just beginning his third year - thus he is not eligible for the Queste Draw."

Tertius Fume laughed. "It is no more than mere tradition that the Draw takes place at the end of an Apprenticeship. A Draw may be called at any time." The ghost raised his voice and called out the password for the doors. A gasp of dismay came from the Ordinary Wizards. No one ever shouted out the password to the Wizard Tower - it was considered highly unlucky and extremely rude. But the doors to the Wizard Tower did not have the finely turned sensibilities of the Wizards and they opened obediently to reveal - to Tertius Fume's surprise - the Questing Pot standing forlornly on the top step, like the last guest to arrive at a party. Suppressed giggles erupted from some of the younger Ordinary Wizards.

What, wondered the Ghost of the Vaults angrily, was the Pot doing there on its own? Where was that idiot of a scribe?

Tertius Fume jumped down from the stairs in an athletic leap he never would have dared make when Living. He strode through the Gathering and positioned himself in the very center of the Great Hall.

"You!" he bellowed to Hildegarde, who was closest to the door. "Bring in the Questing Pot!"

"Not so fast, Fume," said Marcia. "You are forgetting something - one voice among many. Your voice may be extremely loud but it is still only one. What about the many? What does the Gathering have to say?"

Tertius Fume sighed loudly and reluctantly addressed the Hall. "All ye Ghosts Gathered here - is it your wish that the Questing Pot be brought in?"

Over seven hundred and fifty ghosts had not left their cozy haunts on a windy evening - the one kind of weather that a ghost finds difficult - for nothing. There were only twenty-one against - the nineteen ExtraOrdinary Wizards who had lost their Apprentices to the Queste, plus Alther Mella and Marcia.

The resounding vote was to bring in the Pot.

A large blue circle with a Q in the center began to appear in the illuminated floor right beneath the feet of Tertius Fume, who hastily stepped back. With an apologetic glance at Marcia, Hildegarde placed the Pot on the circle.

The Questing Pot was a beautiful thing. Tall and elegant, the blue lapis lazuli shone in the bright candlelight and the burnished gold bands that ran around it had a deep glow - as did the large golden stopper that sat in the top. With a shudder Marcia remembered drawing out the very same stopper on her last morning as Apprentice to Alther Mella - her whole future suddenly hanging in the balance.

Marcia remembered her relief and joy as she had drawn out a plain lapis pebble with no sign of the gold Q that would have sent her away from the Castle forever.

"Now, boy," Tertius Fume said. He fixed his gaze on Septimus. "It is time for you to make the Draw.

Come hither."

"No!" said Marcia. She put her arm protectively around Septimus's shoulder. "I will not allow Septimus to make the Draw."

"What you will or will not allow is of no consequence," Tertius Fume told her. "Each of us is - as you so rightly pointed out - but one voice among many. However, as Convener I am required to put it to the Gathering if you so wish."

Marcia did wish, although with little hope of success.

Tertius Fume addressed the Hall. "All ye Ghosts Gathered here - is it your wish that the Apprentice make the Draw?"

Again it was an overwhelming vote in favor, with, once again, the same twenty-one against. Septimus was to make the Draw.

"I'll do it," Septimus said to Marcia. "I probably won't get the Questing Stone anyway. Then at least I won't have to do it at the end of my Apprenticeship like you did."

"No, Septimus," said Marcia. "No. There's something not right about this."

"I'll be okay." Septimus smiled at Marcia. "Anyway, we'll never get rid of this bunch if I don't do it."

Without waiting for her reply, Septimus plunged into the crowd of ghosts, which parted respectfully.

As Septimus drew near to the Questing Pot, a ghost with copious bloodstains running down the side of his face put his arm across his path. Septimus stopped, unwilling to Pass Through.

"Apprentice," whispered the bloodstained ghost, "I fear you will not be able to escape this Queste.

But heed this: when you have the Stone, escape the Questing Guards and you will escape the worst of the Perils. I wish you well." The ghost let his arm fall to allow Septimus to pass.

"Oh," whispered Septimus, the danger of the situation beginning to dawn on him. "Um...thank you."

"You should not have told him that, Maurice," said a neighboring ghost as Septimus walked on, more hesitantly now, toward the Questing Pot.

Maurice McMohan - ExtraOrdinary Wizard some three hundred years ago, who had lost a much-loved Apprentice to the Queste - shrugged. "I don't see why not," he said. "There are too many secrets around here. I'd have told mine if I had known at the time. Give the boy a fighting chance."

"On your own head be it," replied his neighbor. "Oh, sorry, Maurice. I didn't mean it like that." For Maurice McMohan had been killed by a candlestick that had fallen from a window on the eighteenth floor of the Wizard Tower, and he had a very nasty candlestick-shaped dent on the top of his head.

As Septimus moved through the now silent ghosts, Alther appeared beside him and told him all he could about the Queste - for Alther knew what would happen if Septimus Drew the Questing Stone.

There would be no time then for talking.

As Septimus and Alther moved toward the Questing Pot, the walls of the Wizard Tower, which usually showed uplifting pictures of important events in the life of the Wizard Tower, began to show scenes of previous Apprentices setting off upon the Queste. These were anything but uplifting. Sad farewells were said as the Apprentice was escorted away by Tertius Fume and seven heavily armed Questing Guards. Some Apprentices went bravely, others were in tears, and one girl - forgetting in the heat of the moment that Tertius Fume was a ghost - had tried to punch him in the nose, which gave rise to a few sniggers from the floor. But at the sight of the pictures many of the ghosts remembered the reality of an Apprentice embarking on a Queste and began to regret their support of the Draw.

However, it was too late to change their minds now.

Alther dropped back into the throng of ghosts and, to the accompaniment of excited murmers, Septimus reached the Questing Pot. The atmosphere in the Wizard Tower was electric. Septimus looked at the Pot, which was almost exactly the same height as he was, and it seemed to him that it looked back at him. He hesitated, remembering Marcia's words. Something was wrong - there was something Darke nearby. No - not nearby. There was something Darke inside the Pot.

Tertius Fume was losing patience. "Make the Draw," he commanded.

Septimus did not move.

"Are you deaf, boy?" demanded Tertius Fume. "Make the Draw!"

Septimus reached out as if to pull out the stopper of the Questing Pot, but instead he raised his right hand and made a circle with his index finger and thumb - the classic symbol that accompanies a See Spell - the advanced kind that can See through precious metals and stones.

"Cheat!" cried Tertius Fume. "You are trying to See inside the Pot. Cheat!"

"I am not the cheat," said Septimus, his voice carrying clear through the shocked silence. "It is not I who have placed a Thing inside the Pot ready to put the Questing Stone into my hand."

Tertius Fume was almost speechless with rage. "How dare you? I shall give you one last chance to redeem yourself. Remove the Stopper and make...the...Draw!"

"I will not."

"You will!" Tertius Fume looked as though he was about to explode.

"He will not." Marcia's voice came from beside her Apprentice.

"Are you telling me that you and your Apprentice are refusing the Rule of the Gathering?" Tertius Fume asked, incredulous.

"I am telling you that my Apprentice will not make the Draw. If that also means we refuse the Rule of the Gathering, then so be it," Marcia replied.

A loud muttering spread through the Great Hall - had this ever happened before? No one thought so.

Many sympathized with Marcia but there was a core of Rule-loving ghosts who were outraged. The muttering grew into a hubbub of heated discussion.

"Silence!" shouted Tertius Fume. He glared at Septimus. "I shall give you one last chance to accept the Rule of the Gathering or there will be serious consequences," he said. "Make...the...Draw!"

Septimus felt himself wavering. Maybe he should make the Draw. Would he be putting everyone in danger if he didn't? Then Marcia squeezed his shoulder and he heard her whisper, "No. Don't."

"No," replied Septimus, "I will not."

Tertius Fume's brief look of amazement was quickly replaced by fury. "Then I shall have no option but to put the Wizard Tower under Siege until you accept the Rule of the Gathering," he bellowed.

Marcia's green eyes flashed with rage. "You would not dare," she told Tertius Fume, her voice shaking with anger.

Tertius Fume mistook the shake in her voice for fear, and laughed. "I do dare," he said. He began to chant a fast and furious torrent of words. A cry of dismay rose from the Ordinary Wizards.

"Quick, Septimus," whispered Marcia, "you must get out of here. Out through the Ice Tunnels - you know the way. Get out of the Castle; go to Zelda's - or to your brothers in the Forest. When it's safe I'll come and Find you wherever you are - I promise."

"But - "

"Septimus - it takes only two minutes and forty-nine seconds to put us in a state of Siege. Go!"

"You must go," said Alther, suddenly behind him. "Now!"

Marcia Extinguished all the candles, and some of the more nervous Wizards screamed. The Hall was plunged into gloom, the only light coming from the depressing pictures flickering around the walls, but Tertius Fume did not even notice. Nearly halfway through the Siege Incantation now, his voice had an unstoppable rhythm as the ancient Magykal words filled the Wizard Tower and sent shivers down the spines of the Living and dread into some of the Dead.

"Sep!" Jenna grabbed Septimus's hand and pulled him into the crowd of ghosts. Some stepped back to let them go, but many did not and they were Passed Through, their complaints lost in the ever-rising volume of Tertius Fume's Incantation. Septimus was running now, behind him he could hear the heavy pad of Ullr's paws, and behind Ullr was Beetle, he was sure of that - he could smell the lemony hair oil that Beetle had unaccountably started using recently.

They reached the line of Living Ordinary Wizards and dozens of willing hands guided them into the broom closet. The closet was packed to bursting, but a path was rapidly made for them - and even more rapidly for Ullr. With the help of the glow from his dragon ring, Septimus quickly found the catch that opened the concealed door to the Ice Tunnels. As he pushed open the door, to his surprise Hildegarde was there. She pressed something into his hand with the words, "Take my SafeCharm."

"Thank you," muttered Septimus. He shoved it into his pocket and rushed through the door, closely followed by Jenna, Ullr and Beetle. As the cold air from the Ice Tunnels hit them, Tertius Fume bellowed triumphantly, "Siege!"

At once the door to the Ice Tunnels slammed shut and they heard the whirr-clunk of the door being Barred - just as at that very moment the occupants of the packed Great Hall were listening to the huge iron bars inside the doors to the Wizard Tower slide across and make them prisoners. Then, as all the Magykal lights and sounds of the Wizard Tower were Extinguished, they heard a muffled cry of dismay.

The Siege had begun.