SandRider by Angie Sage
Tod nodded again.
Septimus stood up. “Now get yourself down to the Sled Shed and win the Apprentices’ Cup for the Wizard Tower.” He took a small card from his pocket and quickly scribbled something on it. “I hear Drammer Makken is your substitute,” he said. “Give him that and he won’t make trouble.”
“Thanks . . .” Tod took the card reluctantly. The sled race seemed rather frivolous after Dandra’s story.
“And I shall look for that jinnee of mine. If I’ve not found him by the time the race is over—and you have won, of course—I will Summon him. I don’t want to do that—it might damage him—but if it’s a choice between a damaged jinnee and none at all, then I shall have to take the damaged one.”
“Poor Jim Knee,” Tod murmured.
“Indeed,” Septimus said. “But don’t forget, this life—or series of lives—was a choice she freely made.”
“She?” Tod asked.
“Yes. I understand that Jim Knee was a woman married to a turtle trader when she decided to take the Path of the Jinn. Now, I have something for you.” Septimus took a small purple cloth from his pocket. “For the runners,” he said.
“Runners?” Tod asked, puzzled. She was still trying to imagine Jim Knee married to a turtle trader.
“For the Wizard Tower Sled. A secret weapon.” Septimus grinned.
Tod eyed at the cloth uncertainly. “But the rules say that no new Magyk is allowed.”
“Quite right too,” Septimus said. “But it’s not Magyk. It’s just a normal cloth that Beetle—I mean, the Chief Hermetic Scribe—gave me some years ago. He knew every way to get the best from a sled. He was a terrifyingly fast sledder. Still is, believe it or not.”
Tod did believe it. There was something boyish about the Chief Hermetic Scribe that she really liked. She often found herself about to call him “Beetle” and then remembered that a Year One Apprentice must be more respectful.
“The cloth removes even the smallest particle of dirt so the blade of the runner is smooth as glass,” Septimus explained. “You’ll need to take more care on the ice at the start as you’ll find the sled harder to control, but once you’ve got down to the deep snow on the other side of the Moat, you’ll be amazed the difference it makes. Trust me, I won my last Senior Apprentice Race because of it.”
Tod took the soft purple cloth and a swirl of butterflies fluttered through her stomach. Suddenly the race seemed very close.
“I will see you on the starting grid,” Septimus said. “But now I must be off to find that jinnee. Time is ticking away.”
THE EGG TIMER
The past few hours had seen a huge change at the starting grid. As Tod emerged from the Great Arch she found a large race board had been nailed to the outside of the courtyard wall. Foxy was writing in the names of the sleds in his looping writing and Rose, his girlfriend and recently qualified Ordinary Wizard, was reading the list of races out to him. Rose smiled at Tod as she emerged from the blue shadows of the archway. “Good luck,” she said.
“Oh! Thank you,” Tod replied. Tod liked Rose a lot. They shared an interest in Charms but Tod had the feeling that when she was with Septimus, Rose avoided her.
“I’ll be cheering for you,” Rose said. “We all will. Everyone loves the Apprentice Race.”
Tod smiled nervously. She was beginning to realize what a huge event this was. She pushed her way through the small crowd watching Foxy’s loopy writing slowly reveal the lane order of the sleds, and headed across the top of the starting grid, now marked out in squares and bedecked with a huge banner reading START strung across the torchposts. Tod squeezed through a group of teens dressed in black—she guessed they were from Gothyk Grotto—and headed for the alleyway that led to the Sled Shed. This now had a rope slung across it and Darius Wrenn was standing awkwardly behind it. He had a clipboard tucked under his arm and was gazing at the little Egg Timer glinting in his hand. Seeing Tod’s gaze, Darius quickly shoved it into his pocket, picked up his clipboard and tried to look official. “How bay I help you?” he asked.
“Gosh,” said Tod. “What have you done to your nose?”
Darius sniffed. “Nuffin,” he said. “How bay I help you?”
“I’m racing,” Tod said. “Can you let me through, please?”
Darius looked at Tod’s very fine Apprentice belt and asked, “Are you the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice?”
“Yes. I’m in the first race.”
Encouraged by his correct identification, Darius peered at his clipboard and frowned; something did not make sense. “You’ll have to wait for the others,” he said.
“Other what?” Tod asked, confused.
“Other . . . people?” Darius asked. Who knew what the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice might want to bring? Yesterday afternoon an Ordinary Apprentice had brought in a ShapeShifted cat in the shape of a large and very hairy spider and just dumped it on the desk.
“But there aren’t any other people,” Tod said.
“Oh. Right. So which one are you?”
Suddenly Tod understood. “I’m all of them,” she said. “I am Alice and Tod and Hunter and Moon.”
Darius looked impressed. “Wow. Four people at once. That is an amazing spell.”
“So will you let me through now?”
Darius very carefully crossed all Tod’s names off. “Yes, you can all come in.”
Darius unclipped the rope and, emboldened by his success in letting in four people at once, said, “Excuse me. But, um, how can you tell if something is Magykal?”
Pleased to be asked something she could actually answer, Tod said, “Well, usually you can Feel the Magyk in it,” she said.
“Can everyone do that?” Darius asked.
“Not everyone,” Tod said.
“Can you?” Darius persisted.
“Yes, I can—well, most of the time,” Tod said.
Darius took the little Egg Timer out of his pocket. “Could you tell me if this is Magykal?” he asked. “I think it might be, because the grains inside behave kind of funny.”
Tod was surprised that such a scruffy little boy would have such an exquisite object in his pocket. “I’ll have to hold it,” she said. “Is that okay?”
Darius nodded and handed over the Egg Timer. A jolt of ancient foreign Magyk tingled through Tod’s palm. “It is Magykal,” she said. “And it’s not from here. Where did you get it?”
“A little girl gave it to me,” Darius said, feeling guilty. “I . . . I didn’t want it. But she made me take it. Honestly.”
Something that Kaznim had yelled at her as she had raced down the stairs came into Tod’s head: And if you had found it, you would have stolen my Egg Timer too. “Was the little girl wearing red?” Tod asked.
Darius nodded.
It had to be Kaznim, Tod thought excitedly. “Do you know where she is now?” she asked.
Darius shook his head. “She ran away. I think the ghost scared her.”
“Which ghost was that?” Tod asked.
“The horrible one we have in the Manuscriptorium,” Darius said.
Tod knelt down beside Darius. She could see he was timid and she didn’t want to frighten him. “You’re Darius, aren’t you?” she asked.
Darius nodded.
“Well, the thing is, Darius, that little girl has something very important that we need at the Wizard Tower. Something really, really important. And this might help us find it.”
Darius knew he should never have accepted such a wonderful thing. “Please,” he said, holding it out to Tod. “Please, you take it.”
Tod shook her head. She didn’t want to risk taking the Egg Timer on the sled race. “How about I tell the ExtraOrdinary Wizard?” she suggested. “Then you can give it to him and tell him about the little girl, too. Okay?”
Darius looked horrified. The thought of the ExtraOrdinary Wizard himself asking him questions was too terrifying for words. He shook his head and thrust the Egg Timer into Tod’s hand. “Take it, please,” he said. ?
Tod took the Egg Timer and, leaving Darius nervously clutching his clipboard, she hurried off along the cinder path that ran along the icy track toward the Sled Shed. Tod was longing to tell Septimus what she’d discovered, but she’d promised to meet Oskar and Ferdie and she mustn’t let them down. With the Tribe of Three versus the Wizard Tower playing in her head yet again, Tod pushed open the sliding door to the Sled Shed and stepped inside.
THE SLED SHED
The Sled Shed was buzzing with excitement. Large and newly built, it replaced the old Manuscriptorium boathouse. The care lavished on the interior, with its carved wooden beams and Perpetual Frost floor, reflected the Chief Hermetic Scribe’s love of everything to do with sledding.
One of the first things Beetle had done when he became Chief Hermetic Scribe was to search for the long-lost Manuscriptorium sled Charm. This was a piece of Magykal wood that, when a sliver was shaved off and embedded into a sled, gave it the ability to move not only downhill but also uphill and along the flat. Beetle had eventually discovered the Charm by happy accident. It had been used to repair a chair on which a scribe named Colin Partridge sat. However, when Partridge decided to impress Romilly Badger by reciting the sled Incantation, his chair had shot off around the room, slaloming between the desks, leaping over piles of books, before other scribes thoughtfully opened the doors and allowed Partridge to go whizzing off down Wizard Way—watched by the entire complement of the Manuscriptorium, helpless with laughter. Once Partridge and the chair were rescued from the Moat, Beetle had extricated the Charm and set about commissioning a new sled from the Castle boatbuilder, Jannit Maarten. Jannit discovered that sled-making was good practice for her Apprentices and one sled led to another. That morning, five of the finest sat beside the Wizard Tower sled and Beetle’s old but much-loved Ice Tunnel inspection sled, known by all as the Beetle.
Oskar was racing the Beetle and he had great hopes for his sled; it had what he called “attitude.” Watched by Ferdie, he was rubbing down a rough spot on the front of the runner when Tod came in. Oskar sat back on his heels and ran his hand through his springy red hair—a mannerism many of those who worked at the Manuscriptorium had caught from their Chief. “Hey, Tod,” he said, and gave her the Tribe of Three sign—three raised fingers of the right hand.
Tod returned it. “Wow,” she said. “It’s amazing in here.”
“Not bad,” Oskar agreed.
The Sled Shed was dazzlingly bright. A line of brilliant white lamps hung from the roof beams and the Perpetual Frost floor glittered and sparkled. Seven sleds were lined up, each one gleaming as a result of much love and attention. The Wizard Tower sled was beautiful, but it was by no means the most impressive. As a boy, Beetle’s hobby had been drawing fantasy sleds, and now the results of his drawings were there for all to see.
For the first race that day the five new sleds were raced by apprentices from the lucky shops, businesses or institutions that had won the Apprentice Race Draw. They also got to name and decorate the sled for that season. The Wizard Tower always raced its own sled, known as the Wiz, and the Manuscriptorium always raced the Beetle. In the last race of the day—the Midnight Massive—the Manuscriptorium raced all the sleds and Beetle always ran his old sled. It was the highlight of his year.
The Beetle stood nearest the door. One in from the door, guarded by a scowling Drammer Makken, was the Wiz—sleek and delicate like a racehorse, waiting patiently. The Wiz was made from a very dark, intricately carved wood, which was inlaid with strips of lapis lazuli. It sparkled in its Wizard Tower livery of purple, blue and gold. Its runners were narrow like skate blades, the metal was golden yellow with a thin strip of steel along the edge that had contact with the snow. At the front a gold bar ran between the two runners as they arched up toward the rider and on this hung a silver whistle, tied with a green ribbon. A long purple rope was also fixed to the bar and thrown casually across the seat. It looked much the same as it had when Septimus had used it in the Ice Tunnels below the Castle before the big Melt—except that the word “Wiz” was now painted along the side.
The next sled was a shimmering green with flashes of red. Raced by the new Palace Dragon Boy (employed in the hope of the return of the elusive Spit Fyre), it was, naturally, named Spit Fyre. The next in line was the Sarnie, raced by Wizard Sandwiches—a small and delicate sled like a fine spider, which looked as though it might fold up at any moment under the weight of its racer: the rather large washing-up boy. Next came Gothyk Grotto’s sled in matte black, called—of course—Grot. This was to be raced by the mask technician, who wore a tight-fitting black suit and matching full-face cat mask. Jannit Maarten’s boatyard was running Bucket, in honor of a little boat Nicko Heap had recently lost. Bucket was to be raced by the newest Apprentice, a girl from the port, who had painted two eyes on the front of the runners. Last came the Spurius Fatuus, in the hands of Doran Drew, a young apprentice from Larry’s Dead Languages. Named in honor of Larry himself, it was not a flattering tag, but the apprentice reckoned she was safe because Larry made a point of never watching the race. However, that year, Larry was secretly watching from an upstairs window.
Tod’s substitute, Drammer Makken, glared at her. The newest Apprentice in the Wizard Tower, Drammer was a tall fourteen-year-old already gaining a reputation for being truculent. He wore a white bandanna around his thick brown hair. It should have read The Best, Sucker! but punctuation skills were not Drammer’s strong point and he had left out the comma. Tod went up to him nervously. “Hi, Drammer,” she said.
Drammer scowled. “What you doing here?” he demanded.
“I’m racing today,” Tod said. “Sorry.” She handed him the card Septimus had given her. It said: Alice TodHunter Moon to race the Wiz in the Apprentice. Septimus Heap. EOW.
Drammer looked at the card and swore under his breath. Then without saying a word, he strode out of the Shed.
Oskar watched him go, then turned to Tod. “I’m really glad it’s you,” he said. “That guy didn’t understand the Wiz at all.”
“Thanks, Oskie,” Tod said.
“Hey, Tod,” Benjy Pot, the Dragon Boy, butted in excitedly. “So you’re racing? Sure you’re ready?”
Everyone knew that the race really began in the Sled Shed, with the banter, the showing off, the technical tweaks. Tod was feeling increasingly nervous but knew well enough not to show it. “You bet!” she said brightly, slipping onto the Wiz and feeling for any looseness in the joints. It was not unknown for sleds to be tampered with—especially the Wiz, which was seen as “swanky.” But the sled felt good and Tod could sense the energy within, waiting to be set free. She gave the runners a quick wipe with Septimus’s purple cloth and then, acting as relaxed as she could, she got up and wandered off.
Oskar and Ferdie were waiting for her by the door. They exchanged signs and walked out into the chill of Sled Alley. Thoughts of Septimus and the Wizard Tower began to fade and Tod felt as though she had come home: the Tribe of Three was together again.
TIGER EYES
Septimus had found Jim Knee. It had been relatively easy—all he’d had to do was to follow the screams. He had ended up in Gothyk Grotto, where the tiger was enjoying terrorizing some young teens who had come to buy the latest craze: Death Wings. These were tiny black fluttering wings, which when thrown behaved like a boomerang and came back to the thrower. They had nothing whatsoever to do with death but Jo-Jo Heap had thought of the name and it had stuck. A mass throw was planned for the start of the Apprentice Sled Race. No one knew about the plan except the rider of the Grot sled, and it was hoped a shower of Death Wings would give the rider—race name: Daemon Kraan—a good start.
Septimus took his jinnee back on the end of a Gothyk Grotto rope-trick rope. As they walked toward the starting grid, Wizard Way fell quiet, all eyes following the young man in purple striding up the Way with his apparently faithful big cat. People were less impressed once it became known that the tiger was
Suddenly Septimus caught sight of the Queen on the other side of the course, heading toward the Castle Walls. “Jen!” he called out.
Jenna gave him a wave, hesitated and then hurried over to him. As she drew nearer, she stopped. “You’ve got a tiger,” she said.
“Yes. I found him at last. Jim Knee.”
Jenna relaxed into a smile. “Ah. I see the yellow eyes now. But . . . are you sure it’s Jim Knee? Don’t all tigers have yellow eyes?”
“Do they?” Septimus looked down at the tiger, who lazily opened his mouth to display some very long teeth and then closed it with a growl. “Well, I’m pretty sure it is him. I mean, how many tigers do we have loose in the Castle right now? I suppose that’s something the Queen always knows?”
“Goodness, Sep. None, I hope!” Jenna said. She put her arm through his. “You are a silly tease sometimes,” she said. “I’m glad I saw you. I’ve been trying to get away all morning but there has been so much Queen stuff today, you would not believe.”
“Well, you’re just in time for the start of the Apprentice,” Septimus said. “I’ve saved a seat for you in the stand.”
Jenna shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sep, I’m going to have to miss it.”
“But you can’t. Everyone’s expecting you.”
Jenna looked miserable. “I know. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, Sep. Beetle’s upset enough already. But there’s only three more hours of good daylight and I want to get to Galen’s before dark.”
Galen, a healer who had taught Sarah Heap all she knew about herbs and healing and with whom Sarah and Silas Heap were staying, lived in a rambling treehouse deep in the Forest. Septimus was shocked. “You’re not going into the Forest, Jen?”