T he ghost of DomDaniel was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he had been out anywhere interesting. The loss of the Two-Faced Ring had taken him out of a kind of limbo that he and his ghost had existed in after Marcia's Identify. The Call to the Gathering had been so strong that at last his ghost was set free - a little shaky maybe, but out in the world at last.
DomDaniel was particularly enjoying the dramatic effect of his entry into the Wizard Tower. The look on the face of that awful woman, what was her name - Ghastlier Overland? Nastier Underhand? - well, that was worth waiting for. And it was good to see old Fume again. There were others he recognized too: that scruffy boy with the Dragon Ring - an Apprentice by the look of it. He'd seen him before...somewhere...what was his name? Oh, his memory was terrible. Almost wiped out by the...thingy. It was so unfair. What was that - what, what? Was someone saying his name?
Marcia Overstrand was indeed saying DomDaniel's name. "DomDaniel - it can't be! I do not believe it.
It is absolutely not possible."
Tertius Fume was triumphant. "Clearly, Miss Overstrand, it is perfectly possible. The Gathering is now Complete."
Pleased that all eyes were upon him, the ghost of DomDaniel bowed extravagantly to his audience and, forgetting that he was a ghost, he tried to sweep off his cylindrical hat but his ghostly hand went right through it. A little flustered, he straightened up and, aiming for the middle of the action, DomDaniel shuffled over to Septimus and Marcia, who were perched uncertainly on the spiral stairs, watching the crowd part to allow the rotund ghost room to advance toward them. DomDaniel favored the three occupants of the spiral stairs with another bow, this time remembering to leave his hat alone. Marcia returned his oily smile with a fierce glare.
Tertius Fume began to speak. "This Gathering has been Called on the momentous occasion of the Draw for the twenty-first Apprentice Queste."
A gasp came from the assembled ghosts - particularly loud from the nineteen who had lost their Apprentices to the Queste.
"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Marcia.
"I would not call the Gathering ridiculous if I were you, Miss Overstrand." There was a general murmur of agreement from the floor and Marcia realized she had to tread carefully.
"You deliberately misunderstand me, Mr. Fume. It is the very idea that Septimus should make the Draw for the Queste that is ridiculous. That - as even you must know, Mr. Fume - happens in the very last hour of the Apprenticeship. My Apprentice, Septimus Heap, is only just beginning his third year - thus he is not eligible for the Queste Draw."
Tertius Fume laughed. "It is no more than mere tradition that the Draw takes place at the end of an Apprenticeship. A Draw may be called at any time." The ghost raised his voice and called out the password for the doors. A gasp of dismay came from the Ordinary Wizards. No one ever shouted out the password to the Wizard Tower - it was considered highly unlucky and extremely rude. But the doors to the Wizard Tower did not have the finely turned sensibilities of the Wizards and they opened obediently to reveal - to Tertius Fume's surprise - the Questing Pot standing forlornly on the top step, like the last guest to arrive at a party. Suppressed giggles erupted from some of the younger Ordinary Wizards.
What, wondered the Ghost of the Vaults angrily, was the Pot doing there on its own? Where was that idiot of a scribe?
Tertius Fume jumped down from the stairs in an athletic leap he never would have dared make when Living. He strode through the Gathering and positioned himself in the very center of the Great Hall.
"You!" he bellowed to Hildegarde, who was closest to the door. "Bring in the Questing Pot!"
"Not so fast, Fume," said Marcia. "You are forgetting something - one voice among many. Your voice may be extremely loud but it is still only one. What about the many? What does the Gathering have to say?"
Tertius Fume sighed loudly and reluctantly addressed the Hall. "All ye Ghosts Gathered here - is it your wish that the Questing Pot be brought in?"
Over seven hundred and fifty ghosts had not left their cozy haunts on a windy evening - the one kind of weather that a ghost finds difficult - for nothing. There were only twenty-one against - the nineteen ExtraOrdinary Wizards who had lost their Apprentices to the Queste, plus Alther Mella and Marcia.
The resounding vote was to bring in the Pot.
A large blue circle with a Q in the center began to appear in the illuminated floor right beneath the feet of Tertius Fume, who hastily stepped back. With an apologetic glance at Marcia, Hildegarde placed the Pot on the circle.
The Questing Pot was a beautiful thing. Tall and elegant, the blue lapis lazuli shone in the bright candlelight and the burnished gold bands that ran around it had a deep glow - as did the large golden stopper that sat in the top. With a shudder Marcia remembered drawing out the very same stopper on her last morning as Apprentice to Alther Mella - her whole future suddenly hanging in the balance.
Marcia remembered her relief and joy as she had drawn out a plain lapis pebble with no sign of the gold Q that would have sent her away from the Castle forever.
"Now, boy," Tertius Fume said. He fixed his gaze on Septimus. "It is time for you to make the Draw.
Come hither."
"No!" said Marcia. She put her arm protectively around Septimus's shoulder. "I will not allow Septimus to make the Draw."
"What you will or will not allow is of no consequence," Tertius Fume told her. "Each of us is - as you so rightly pointed out - but one voice among many. However, as Convener I am required to put it to the Gathering if you so wish."
Marcia did wish, although with little hope of success.
Tertius Fume addressed the Hall. "All ye Ghosts Gathered here - is it your wish that the Apprentice make the Draw?"
Again it was an overwhelming vote in favor, with, once again, the same twenty-one against. Septimus was to make the Draw.
"I'll do it," Septimus said to Marcia. "I probably won't get the Questing Stone anyway. Then at least I won't have to do it at the end of my Apprenticeship like you did."
"No, Septimus," said Marcia. "No. There's something not right about this."
"I'll be okay." Septimus smiled at Marcia. "Anyway, we'll never get rid of this bunch if I don't do it."
Without waiting for her reply, Septimus plunged into the crowd of ghosts, which parted respectfully.
As Septimus drew near to the Questing Pot, a ghost with copious bloodstains running down the side of his face put his arm across his path. Septimus stopped, unwilling to Pass Through.
"Apprentice," whispered the bloodstained ghost, "I fear you will not be able to escape this Queste.
But heed this: when you have the Stone, escape the Questing Guards and you will escape the worst of the Perils. I wish you well." The ghost let his arm fall to allow Septimus to pass.
"Oh," whispered Septimus, the danger of the situation beginning to dawn on him. "Um...thank you."