Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [155]
Now it was time for the Pick. All the scribes had gathered, robes freshly washed, hair combed. They filed into the dimly lit Manuscriptorium, glancing at each other, wondering who among them would be the next Chief Hermetic Scribe. Partridge had been running bets but no clear favorite had emerged.
A small, beautifully patterned square of carpet had been laid on the floor and Marcia told the scribes to gather around. The older ones looked puzzled—there had been no square of carpet at the last Pick.
Marcia began with a few carefully chosen words about Jillie Djinn, to which the scribes listened respectfully, and then she made a surprise announcement.
“Scribes. It has been a terrible time and, although most have weathered the storm, some people did not. Our thoughts go out to all who have lost anyone.”
There were sympathetic glance at scribes who still had relatives and friends unaccounted for. Marcia waited a little and then continued.
“However, I do believe good has come of this. Since The Great UnDoing yesterday, we in the Wizard Tower have seen many stubborn pockets of Darke Magyk disappear and I think the same will have happened here. We have, I hope, at last got our Magyk back in balance with the Darke.”
Marcia paused as a small round of applause broke out.
She continued. “During the last few days in the Wizard Tower, when I was trying to find a way to defeat the Darke Domaine, I made many important discoveries. One of them affects us all here today. Recently, in my opinion, the choice of Chief Hermetic Scribe has not been exactly . . . ideal. I believe there may be a reason for this. Over the years the Hermetic Chamber has seen much Darke Magyk, and I suspect the Pick has become corrupted. Now, with everything back as it should be, I am expecting the Pick to take a different form and give us a true result.”
The scribes glanced at each other. What did Marcia mean?
Marcia allowed her comment to sink in and then she announced—loudly, to quell the murmuring—“Will the youngest scribe please step forward?”
Romilly Badger, blushing bright red, was pushed forward by Partridge and Foxy.
“Go on,” whispered Partridge. “You’ll be fine. Really, you will.”
“Romilly Badger,” said Marcia, sounding very official. “As youngest scribe I ask you to enter the Hermetic Chamber and bring out the Pot.”
A muttering spread around the room. Normally the youngest scribe was told to bring out the pen that lay on the table, not the Pot.
“These are the original words as laid down in The Undoing of the Darkenesse,” Marcia told the scribes. “And if—as I hope—the Pick has reverted to its original form, there will be one pen only left in the Pot, with the rest thrown out onto the table. The pen in the Pot will belong to your next Chief Hermetic Scribe. Of course, if there is only one pen on the table and all the rest are in the Pot, then we will have to accept that choice as we have done in the past—though personally I believe this method to be flawed. Does everybody agree?”
There was some general muttering and discussion, the upshot of which was agreement.
“So, Romilly,” said Marcia, “if there is only one pen on the table, you will bring that out. But if there is a pile of pens, bring out the Pot. Understand?”
Romilly nodded.
Marcia carried on with the prescribed words.
“Romilly Badger, I ask you to do this so that the new Chief Hermetic Scribe may be lawfully and properly Picked. Do you accept the task? Yea or Nay?”
“Yea,” whispered Romilly.
“Then enter the Chamber, scribe. Be true and tarry not.”
Romilly walked self-consciously into the seven-cornered passage. After what felt like an hour—but was less than a minute—her