Septimus Heap, Book One_ Magyk - Angie Sage [173]
“Do you know what these are?” Marcia asked.
Septimus nodded.
“Good. They are yours. I am making you Senior Apprentice.”
“What, now?”
Marcia smiled broadly. “Yes, now.”
“Now? Like, today?”
“Yes, Septimus, today. I trust the ends of your sleeves are still clean. You didn’t get any egg on them at breakfast, did you?”
Septimus inspected his sleeves. “No, they’re fine.”
Marcia stood up and so did Septimus—an Apprentice must never sit when his tutor is standing. Marcia picked up the ribbons and placed them on the hems of Septimus’s bright green sleeves. In a puff of Magykal purple mist, the ribbons curled themselves around the hems of the sleeves and became part of his tunic. Septimus stared at them, amazed. He didn’t know what to say. But Marcia did.
“Now, Septimus, you need to know a little about the rights and duties of a Senior Apprentice. You may determine fifty percent of your own projects and also your main timetable—within reason, of course. You may be asked to deputize for me at the basic-level Wizard Tower meetings—for which, incidentally, I would be very grateful. As Senior Apprentice, you may come and go without asking my permission, although it is considered courteous to inform me where you are going and at what time you intend to return. But as you are still so young, I would add that I do require you to be back in the Wizard Tower by nine P.M. on weekdays—midnight at the latest on special occasions—understood?”
Still gazing at the Magykal purple stripes shimmering on the ends of his sleeves, Septimus nodded. “Understood . . . I think . . . but why . . . ?”
“Because,” Marcia said, “you are the only Apprentice ever to return from the Queste. Not only did you return alive, but you returned having successfully completed it. And—even more incredible—you were sent on this . . . this terrible thing before you had even gotten halfway through your Apprenticeship— and you still did it. You used your Magykal skills to better effect than many Wizards in this Tower could ever hope to do. This is why you are now Senior Apprentice. Okay?”
“Okay.” Septimus smiled. “But . . .”
“But what?”
“I couldn’t have done the Queste without Jenna and Beetle. And they’re still stuck in that smelly little net loft in the Trading Post. So are Nicko and Snorri. We promised to go right back for them.”
“And we will,” Marcia replied. “I am sure they did not expect us to turn around and fly back immediately, Septimus. Besides, I haven’t had a moment since we returned. This morning I was up early getting some ghastly potion from Zelda for Ephaniah and Hildegarde—both of whom are still very sick. I need to keep an eye on Ephaniah tonight, but I shall set off on Spit Fyre first thing tomorrow morning to collect them all. They’ll be back very soon, I promise.”
Septimus looked at his purple ribbons, which had a beautiful Magykal sheen, like oil on water. He remembered Marcia’s words: “As Senior Apprentice, you may come and go without asking my permission, although it is considered courteous to inform me where you are going and at what time you intend to return.”
“I shall get them,” he said, swiftly getting into Senior Apprentice mode.
“No, Septimus,” Marcia replied, already forgetting that she was now talking to a Senior Apprentice. “It is far too risky, and you are tired after the Queste. You need to rest. I shall go.”
“Thank you for your offer, Marcia,” Septimus said, a trifle formally, in the way he thought Senior Apprentices probably should speak. “However, I intend to go myself. I shall be setting off on Spit Fyre in just over an hour’s time. I shall return the day after tomorrow evening by midnight, as this can reasonably be classified, I think, as a special occasion.”
“Oh.” Marcia wished she hadn’t informed Septimus quite so fully on the rights of a Senior Apprentice. She sat down and regarded Septimus with a thoughtful