Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [62]
The Longest Night was one of Septimus’s favorite times. As a boy soldier in the Young Army, Septimus had looked forward to it; even though he had had no idea at the time that the day was also his birthday, it had felt special. He had loved seeing all the candles placed in every window in the Castle. The practice had been frowned on by the Supreme Custodian and his cronies, but it was too ancient a custom to dislodge and it had become a small symbol of resistance. That particular meaning had been lost on the young Septimus—all he knew was that seeing the lights made him feel happy.
But now the Longest Night had a much greater significance for him: it was a symbol of hope and renewal—the anniversary of his rescue from the Young Army by Marcia. Despite the task ahead of him that night, Septimus strode along the Rat Run with the familiar feeling of excitement and happiness running through him. A few cold specks of sleet settled briefly on his upturned face as he smiled at the ancient houses, all with a single, brave candle burning in each window. He breathed in the fresh air, ridding himself of the cloying fumes of the old Alchemist’s house and pushed away his feelings of guilt about Marcia and what he knew she would see as disloyalty with Marcellus.
Septimus was determined to do what he felt was right. It was his fourteenth birthday—a day recognized throughout the Castle as the beginning of independence. He was no longer a child. He was his own person and he made his own decisions.
A few streets away, the Drapers Yard Clock began to chime. Septimus counted six and picked up speed. He was late. He’d promised to be with his mother by six.
As Septimus hurried into Wizard Way he found that things were not quite as he had expected. The Way was crowded—as it usually was on the Longest Night—but instead of people wandering along, chatting and pointing out some of the more interesting windows (for the last few years there had been a serious outbreak of competitive tableaux in many of the shop fronts) everyone was standing quite still, gazing toward the Palace. That was in itself strange enough, but what really worried Septimus was the anxious silence.
“I’m surprised you’re not down there too, Apprentice,” a voice somewhere near his elbow said. At the word “Apprentice” several heads turned toward Septimus.
He looked around to find Maizie Smalls, who lived up—or was it down?—to her name, standing beside him. She looked worried. “You know, at the Cordon. Around the Palace,” she elaborated.
“Cordon? Around the Palace?”
“Yes. I do hope my cat’s all right. Binkie hates changes to his routine. He’s an old cat now, you see, and—oh . . .”
But Septimus had gone. He was off, heading for the Palace. He made his way through the crowd faster than he’d expected. As soon as anyone saw that it was the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice pushing past or treading on their toes, they stepped back respectfully—apart from Gringe, who stopped him and growled, “Better get a move on, lad. Bit late, aren’t you?” But he let him go when Lucy protested, “Leave it, Dad. Can’t you see he’s in a hurry?”
Septimus looked gratefully at Lucy and pushed on, catching as he went a glance of Nicko talking to Lucy’s brother, Rupert. But there was no time to lose saying hello to Nicko; Septimus was desperate to get to the Palace.
By the time he had reached the Palace Gate, Septimus knew that Gringe was right; he was indeed late—too late. Stretching across the Palace lawns, a few yards inside the Gate, was the Cordon: a long line of Wizards, Apprentices and scribes, encircling the Palace, each holding a piece of purple cord that linked them to the next person. From the stillness and the concentration of those forming it, Septimus knew the Cordon was complete. Septimus had never seen a Cordon for real, although the Wizard Tower occasionally held practices in the courtyard and some Apprentices had once—to Gringe’s disgust—placed a Cordon around the