Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [27]
“Hey, Beetle!” came a shout.
A tall, impossibly thin young man was walking toward them from the upper reaches of Wizard Way. He waved and picked up speed.
“Good morning . . . Princess Jenna,” the young man said, out of breath. He bowed his head and Jenna felt embarrassed.
“Wotcha, Foxy,” said Beetle.
“Wotcha, Beet,” replied Foxy, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together. His long, pointy nose glowed like a bright red triangle set in his thin, pale face and his teeth chattered. He looked cold in his gray scribe’s tunic. “Ser-sausage sandwich?” he asked.
Beetle shook his head. “Not today, Foxy. Gotta go and get a SafeCharm from the Wizard Tower.”
Foxy grinned, his slightly pointy teeth shining in the warm light from Wizard Sandwiches’ windows. “Hey, don’t go to the competition. You’re talking to the Chief Charm Scribe here.”
“Since when?”
“Since this morning at eight fifty-two precisely,” Foxy replied with a grin, mimicking his boss, Miss Jillie Djinn, Chief Hermetic Scribe, to perfection.
“Wow. Hey, congratulations,” said Beetle.
“And it would be an honor, Mr. Beetle, if you would consent to be my first commission.”
“Okey dokey.” Beetle grinned.
“We’ll just run through the formalities, shall we?”
Beetle looked uneasy. “Actually Foxy, I don’t really want to go into the Manuscriptorium.”
“No need. I have, as of this moment, in my capacity as Chief Charm Scribe, instigated the Manuscriptorium’s pioneering mobile Charm service.” Foxy took what Beetle recognized as a standard-issue scribe notebook from his book pocket and unclipped the pencil from its holder.
“Okay,” said Foxy, pencil poised. “Just a few questions, Mr. Beetle, and then I guarantee we will have the perfect SafeCharm for you. Unlike the WT Charm Desk One-Charm-Fits-All policy, we tailor our Charms to your personal requirements. Inside or out?”
“Um . . . inside,” answered Beetle, somewhat taken aback by Foxy’s sales patter.
“Up or down?”
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno. Sounds good though, don’t you think?”
“Foxy.” Beetle laughed. “For a weird moment I thought you actually knew what you were doing.”
“I do know what I’m doing,” protested Foxy. “Just trying to make it more exciting, that’s all. Inside is all I need to know.”
“What about the strength?” asked Beetle.
“Hmm . . .” said Foxy. “Forgot that. Small, medium or large . . . no, I don’t mean that.”
“Minor, major or maximum,” Beetle supplied.
“Yeah, that’s it. So waddyou want?”
Beetle glanced at Jenna. “Maximum,” said Jenna. “Just in case.”
“Okey dokey. I’ll see what we got. Delivery to place of work in one hour okay?”
“Thanks. Just ask for me. Say it’s business.”
“Will do, Beet. Sausage sandwich tomorrow then?”
“Yep. See you, Foxo.”
With that, Foxy—looking not unlike a large heron picking its way through the shallows—headed for the multicolored door of Wizard Sandwiches.
Ten minutes later Jenna was wandering through the Northern Traders’ Market. She was looking for a fun birthday present for Septimus, but she was also avoiding going home until her appointment with Beetle. Jenna knew that if she went back to the Palace, Sarah would find her and she would end up in yet another discussion about the letters from Simon. Unlike Sarah Heap, Jenna had read her letter from Simon only once and had left it screwed up on her bedroom floor. When Sarah had asked her what he’d said, Jenna had been curt. “Sorry,” she’d replied.
Every year the Castle inhabitants flocked to the Traders’ Market to stock up on winter provisions of woolen cloth, candles, lanterns, salted fish, dried meats and fruits, fur and sheepskins before the Big Freeze blew in and cut off the Castle for six weeks or so. People also ate the hot pies, roasted nuts, and crumbly cakes and drank gallons of the huge varieties of spiced mulled drinks for sale. And when they were weary of shopping, they would sit and