Septimus Heap, Book One_ Magyk - Angie Sage [175]
Wolf Boy nodded once more.
“You must trust me,” said Aunt Zelda. “You do trust me, don’t you?” Wolf Boy nodded more slowly this time. He looked at Aunt Zelda, puzzled. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright.
“I wouldn’t be sending you if I didn’t think you could do this Task. You do know that, don’t you?”
Wolf Boy nodded a little warily.
“And . . . oh, Wolf Boy, you do know how much I care for you, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” muttered Wolf Boy, beginning to feel embarrassed—and a little concerned. Aunt Zelda was looking at him as though she may never see him again, he thought. He wasn’t sure if he liked that. Suddenly he shook himself free from her grasp. “Bye, Aunt Zelda,” he said. He ran to catch up with the Boggart, who had already reached the new plank bridge over the Mott and was waiting impatiently.
Warmly swathed in her padded quilt dress, which she had spent much of the winter sewing, Aunt Zelda stood beside the Mott and watched Wolf Boy set off across the marshes. He took what appeared to be a strange, zigzagging route, but Aunt Zelda knew that he was following the narrow path that ran beside the twists and turns of Snake Ditch. She watched, shading her old eyes against the light that came from the vast skies above the Marram Marshes, the light uncomfortably bright even on an overcast day. Every now and then Aunt Zelda saw Wolf Boy stop in response to a warning from the Boggart, and once or twice he nimbly jumped the ditch and continued on his way on the opposite side. Aunt Zelda watched for as long as she could, until the figure of Wolf Boy disappeared into the bank of mist that hovered over the Doom Sludge Deeps—a bottomless pit of slime that stretched for miles across the only route to the Port. There was only one way through the Deeps—on hidden stepping stones—and the Boggart knew every safe step.
Aunt Zelda walked slowly back up the path. She stepped into Keeper’s Cottage, gently closed the door and leaned wearily against it. It had been a difficult morning—there had been Marcia’s surprise visit and her shocking news about Septimus’s Queste. The morning had not improved after Marcia had left, because Aunt Zelda had hated sending Wolf Boy off on his Task, even though she knew it had to be done.
Aunt Zelda sighed heavily and looked around her much-loved cottage. The unaccustomed emptiness felt strange. Wolf Boy had been with her for over a year now, and she had grown used to the feeling of another life being lived beside her in the cottage. And now she had sent him away to . . . Aunt Zelda shook her head. Was she crazy? she asked herself. No, she told herself sternly in reply, she was not crazy—it had to be done.
Some months before, Aunt Zelda had realized that she was beginning to think of Wolf Boy as her Apprentice—or Intended Keeper, as tradition had it. It was time she took one on. She was getting toward the end of her Keeping Time, and she must begin to hand over her secrets, but one thing worried her. There had never been a male Keeper in the long history of Keepers. But Aunt Zelda didn’t see why there shouldn’t be. In fact, she thought, it was about time that there was one—and so, with much trepidation, she had sent Wolf Boy away to do his Task, the completion of which would qualify him to become an Intended, providing the Queen agreed.
And now, thought Aunt Zelda, as she perused her rack of cabbage-trimmers, looking for the crowbar, while he was away she must do her very best to make sure the Queen did agree to Wolf Boy’s appointment.
“Aha! There you are.” Aunt Zelda addressed the lurking crowbar, reverting to her old habit of talking to herself when she was on her own. She took the crowbar from the rack, then walked over to the fire and rolled back the rug in front of the hearth. Huffing and puffing, she kneeled down, pried up a loose flagstone and then, gingerly rolling up her sleeve (because the Great Hairy Marram Spider made its nest under the flagstones, and this was not a good time of year to disturb it), Aunt Zelda cautiously drew out a