Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [56]
Marcia Overstrand’s Emissary was having none of it. He tried—not entirely successfully—to suppress a smile as the exact words he needed scrolled up before him. Savoring the moment, Beetle slowly read them out.
“Please be advised that Call Out Conditions state that Manuscriptorium scribes will be available as and when required. Failure to provide them on demand will invalidate your Terms of Office.”
Jillie Djinn sneezed into her overqualified handkerchief. “Why are they required?” she demanded in an indignant splutter.
The words on the Emissary scroll continued to roll up, all gaining Beetle’s approval—he could not have put it better himself.
“Please be informed that I am not at liberty to divulge that information. Any questions or complaints relating to this matter may be addressed in writing to the Wizard Tower once the Call Out is stood down. You will receive an answer within seven days. I now require you to make your scribes available immediately. So be it.”
Jillie Djinn spun on her heel and flounced off into the Manuscriptorium, slamming the flimsy door behind her. Beetle glanced at his two escorts, who looked taken aback.
“We’d heard she was difficult,” whispered Pascalle.
“But we didn’t know she was that bad,” finished Thomasinn.
“She’s gotten worse,” said Beetle. “Much worse.”
From behind the partition Beetle heard a sudden burst of excited chatter, followed by the thudding of twenty-one pairs of boots as the scribes jumped down from their desks.
Above the hubbub came Jillie Djinn’s squawk, “No, Mr. Fox, this is not time off. You will all stay two hours, thirty-nine minutes and seven seconds later tomorrow.”
The door to the front office burst open and Foxy emerged at the head of the scribes. At the sight of Beetle he looked startled.
“Hey, Beet. I’d make yourself scarce. We’re on a Call Out practice and you-know-who is in a foul temper.”
“I know.” Beetle grinned, waving his scroll at Foxy. “I’ve just told her.”
Foxy gave a low whistle. He grinned too. “Wish I’d thought of that. So we’ve got the Longest Night off after all. Thanks, Beet!”
“No, Foxy. This is for real. You are on a Call Out.”
“And you’re running it? I’m impressed.”
“I’m just the messenger, Foxo.” With a flourish, Beetle twice-tapped the end of the scroll and popped the Reduced—and now very cold—version safely into his pocket. He raised his voice. “Outside please, everyone, and join the Ordinaries. We are to make our way to the Palace Gate, where we will assemble and await further instructions. Once outside, please be quiet—this is a silent Call Out. Fast as you can please—ouch! Partridge, mind where you’re putting your fat feet, will you?”
“Nice to see you too, Beetle.” Partridge grinned as he and Romilly Badger squeezed by in the crush of eager scribes. The excitement of the Call Out was infectious, and no one seemed to mind that they would have to work late the next day. Beetle counted the scribes out until it was just himself and Foxy left in the Front Office.
“D’you want Miss Djinn too?” asked Foxy warily. “I can go and get her if you do.”
“Thanks, Foxo, but Marcia said she’d rather not.”
“Yeah. Quite understand,” said Foxy. “Look, I gotta go and Lock the Charm cupboard. Part of the job. Not that I got any Charms to Lock up, but it doesn’t look good if I don’t.”
Beetle glanced outside. The crowd of Wizards, Apprentices and scribes were waiting, looking expectantly at him. “Be quick,” he said.
Foxy nodded and scooted off. A minute later, Foxy was back, beckoning frantically to Beetle.
“Beetle—he’s here. Again.”
“Who’s here?”
“Who do you think? Daniel Dingbat Hunter.”
“Merrin?”
“Yeah. Whateverhecallshimself. Him.”
Beetle asked his two Wizard escorts to take the waiting Wizards and scribes down to the Palace. “I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can,” he promised. “Okay,” he said to Foxy. “Quick. Show me.”
Very quietly Foxy pushed open the door into the Manuscriptorium and pointed inside. Beetle