Septimus Heap, Book One_ Magyk - Angie Sage [107]
She nearly was.
But Nicko was not going to let his sister go without a fight. He hurtled after the Apprentice and threw himself onto him. The Apprentice landed on top of Jenna, and there was a scream. A trickle of blood ran from underneath her.
Nicko yanked the Apprentice out of the way.
“Jen, Jen!” he gasped. “Are you hurt?”
Jenna had jumped up and was staring at the blood on the path.
“I—I don’t think so,” she stammered. “I think it’s him. I think he’s hurt.”
“Serve him right,” said Nicko, kicking the knife out of the Apprentice’s reach.
Nicko and Jenna hauled the Apprentice to his feet. He had a small cut on his arm but apart from that seemed unharmed. But he was deathly white. The Apprentice was frightened by the sight of blood, particularly his own, but he was even more frightened at the thought of what the Wizards might do to him. As they dragged him back into the cottage the Apprentice made one last attempt to escape. He twisted out of Jenna’s grasp and aimed a hefty kick at Nicko’s shins.
A fight broke out. The Apprentice landed a nasty punch to Nicko’s stomach and was just about to kick him again when Nicko twisted his arm painfully behind his back.
“Get out of that one,” Nicko told him. “Don’t think you can try and kidnap my sister and get away with it. Pig.”
“He’d never have got away with it,” mocked Jenna. “He’s too stupid.”
The Apprentice hated being called stupid. That was all his Master ever called him. Stupid boy. Stupid birdbrain. Stupid beetlehead. He hated it.
“I’m not stupid.” He gasped as Nicko tightened his grip on his arm. “I can do anything I want to. I could have shot her if I’d wanted to. I already have shot something tonight. So there.”
As soon as he said it, the Apprentice wished he hadn’t. Four pairs of accusing eyes stared at him.
“What exactly do you mean?” Aunt Zelda asked him quietly. “You shot something?”
The Apprentice decided to brazen it out.
“None of your business. I can shoot what I like. And if I want to shoot some fat ball of fur that gets in my way when I am on official business, then I will.”
There was a shocked silence. Nicko broke it.
“Boggart. He shot the Boggart. Pig.”
“Ouch!” yelled the Apprentice.
“No violence, please, Nicko,” said Aunt Zelda. “Whatever he’s done, he’s just a boy.”
“I’m not just a boy,” said the Apprentice haughtily. “I am Apprentice to DomDaniel, the Supreme Wizard and Necromancer. I am the seventh son of a seventh son.”
“What?” asked Aunt Zelda. “What did you say?”
“I am Apprentice to DomDaniel, the Supreme—”
“Not that. We know that. I can see the black stars on your belt only too well, thank you.”
“I said,” the Apprentice spoke proudly, pleased that at last someone was taking him seriously, “that I am the seventh son of a seventh son. I am Magykal.” Even though, thought the Apprentice, it hasn’t quite shown itself yet. But it will.
“I don’t believe you,” Aunt Zelda said flatly. “I’ve never seen anyone less like a seventh son of a seventh son in my life.”
“Well, I am,” the Apprentice insisted sulkily. “I am Septimus Heap.”
37
SCRYING
He’s lying,” Nicko said angrily, pacing up and down while the Apprentice dripped dry slowly by the fire.
The Apprentice’s green woolen robes gave off an unpleasant musty odor, which Aunt Zelda recognized as being the smell of failed spells and stale Darke Magyk. She opened a few jars of Stink Screen, and soon the air smelled pleasantly of lemon meringue pie.
“He’s just saying it to upset us,” said Nicko indignantly. “That little pig’s name is not Septimus Heap.”
Jenna put her arm around Nicko. Boy 412 wished he understood what was happening.
“Who is Septimus Heap?” he asked.
“Our brother,” said Nicko.
Boy 412 looked even more confused.
“He died when he was a baby,” said Jenna. “If he had lived, he would have had amazing Magykal powers. Our dad was a seventh son, you see,” Jenna told him,