from Gothyk Grotto in The Ramblings, they were the next Apprentice to old DomDaniel.
Beetle blamed Jillie Djinn. She had, much to his disapproval, put a notice up on the door to the Manuscriptorium a few weeks ago, seeking a new scribe. Beetle had objected, saying it would be an invitation to all kinds of weird people to apply. But Miss Djinn had insisted.
To Beetle’s relief, up until that moment no one had applied for the job. He had been busy trying to persuade the notoriously stingy Miss Djinn to pay for an advertisement in The Scribes and Scriveners Journal. That morning he had, in fact, left a copy of their special-offer reduced rates on her desk. But now it looked as if his worst fears had come true.
With a sigh, Beetle got out the standard Manuscriptorium job application form, licked the end of his pencil and asked,
“Name?”
“Septimus Heap,” said the boy.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Beetle.
“No one calls me stupid!” the boy shouted. “No one. Got that?”
“Okay, okay,” said Beetle. “But you are not Septimus Heap.”
“How do you know?” the boy said with a sneer.
“Because I know Septimus Heap. And he’s not you. No way.”
The boy’s dark eyes flashed angrily. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I know who I am. You don’t. So where it says
‘name’ on your little form you can write down ‘Septimus Heap.’”
“No.”
Beetle and the boy stared each other down. The boy looked away first. “Yeah, well,” he said. “I was called that. Once.”
Beetle decided to humor the boy in case he suddenly lost it—not that Beetle was concerned about coming off worse in a fight. Although the boy was a little taller than him, he was thin and had a weak look about him, whereas Beetle was sturdy and powerfully built. But Beetle did not want the front office trashed, particularly while he was in charge. “So what are you called now?” he asked quietly.
The boy did not answer right away. His black eyes, which Beetle noticed were flecked with green, flickered around like a lizard’s. It seemed to Beetle as if the boy was making up a name on the spot.
Beetle was right. Merrin needed a name fast and he wanted something special. He didn’t like being Merrin Meredith; it didn’t feel like him. Besides, it was a stupid name. Meredith was a girl’s name and he thought that Merrin was plain silly. He needed something scary. Quickly, Merrin chose the two scariest people he had known in his life—DomDaniel and the Hunter.
Beetle was getting impatient. “So what’s your name?” he asked.
“Dom—er, I mean, Daniel.”
“DomDaniel?” Beetle shook his head.
“Don’t be stupid. I said Daniel. Daniel. Got that?”
Beetle concentrated on keeping calm and said, “Daniel what?”
“Daniel Hunter.”
“Okay. I’ll put down ‘Daniel Hunter,’ all right?” asked Beetle with exaggerated patience.
“Yeah.”
“You sure? Don’t want to change your mind again, do you?”
“Look, it’s my name, right? So put it down,” the boy said with a snarl.
Deciding that the best thing to do was to get rid of the boy as soon as he could, Beetle hurriedly filled out the rest of the form. He made no comment when the boy told him he had had at least ten years experience as an Apprentice to two Wizards and a working knowledge of White Witchcraft. Beetle did not believe a word of what the boy said and would have written down that he had flown to the Moon and back if it would have sped up his departure.
At last the form was filled in. With some relish, Beetle viciously impaled it on the spike of paperwork awaiting Jillie Djinn’s return.
The boy showed no sign of leaving.
“That’s it,” said Beetle. “You can go now.”
“So when do I come for my interview?”
Bother, thought Beetle. Merrin watched him closely as he looked through the Daily Diary, a hefty ledger that lived on Beetle’s desk and was his job to keep up to date. “Two thirty-three precisely,” he said.
Beetle blamed Jillie Djinn. She had, much to his disapproval, put a notice up on the door to the Manuscriptorium a few weeks ago, seeking a new scribe. Beetle had objected, saying it would be an invitation to all kinds of weird people to apply. But Miss Djinn had insisted.
To Beetle’s relief, up until that moment no one had applied for the job. He had been busy trying to persuade the notoriously stingy Miss Djinn to pay for an advertisement in The Scribes and Scriveners Journal. That morning he had, in fact, left a copy of their special-offer reduced rates on her desk. But now it looked as if his worst fears had come true.
With a sigh, Beetle got out the standard Manuscriptorium job application form, licked the end of his pencil and asked,
“Name?”
“Septimus Heap,” said the boy.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Beetle.
“No one calls me stupid!” the boy shouted. “No one. Got that?”
“Okay, okay,” said Beetle. “But you are not Septimus Heap.”
“How do you know?” the boy said with a sneer.
“Because I know Septimus Heap. And he’s not you. No way.”
The boy’s dark eyes flashed angrily. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I know who I am. You don’t. So where it says
‘name’ on your little form you can write down ‘Septimus Heap.’”
“No.”
Beetle and the boy stared each other down. The boy looked away first. “Yeah, well,” he said. “I was called that. Once.”
Beetle decided to humor the boy in case he suddenly lost it—not that Beetle was concerned about coming off worse in a fight. Although the boy was a little taller than him, he was thin and had a weak look about him, whereas Beetle was sturdy and powerfully built. But Beetle did not want the front office trashed, particularly while he was in charge. “So what are you called now?” he asked quietly.
The boy did not answer right away. His black eyes, which Beetle noticed were flecked with green, flickered around like a lizard’s. It seemed to Beetle as if the boy was making up a name on the spot.
Beetle was right. Merrin needed a name fast and he wanted something special. He didn’t like being Merrin Meredith; it didn’t feel like him. Besides, it was a stupid name. Meredith was a girl’s name and he thought that Merrin was plain silly. He needed something scary. Quickly, Merrin chose the two scariest people he had known in his life—DomDaniel and the Hunter.
Beetle was getting impatient. “So what’s your name?” he asked.
“Dom—er, I mean, Daniel.”
“DomDaniel?” Beetle shook his head.
“Don’t be stupid. I said Daniel. Daniel. Got that?”
Beetle concentrated on keeping calm and said, “Daniel what?”
“Daniel Hunter.”
“Okay. I’ll put down ‘Daniel Hunter,’ all right?” asked Beetle with exaggerated patience.
“Yeah.”
“You sure? Don’t want to change your mind again, do you?”
“Look, it’s my name, right? So put it down,” the boy said with a snarl.
Deciding that the best thing to do was to get rid of the boy as soon as he could, Beetle hurriedly filled out the rest of the form. He made no comment when the boy told him he had had at least ten years experience as an Apprentice to two Wizards and a working knowledge of White Witchcraft. Beetle did not believe a word of what the boy said and would have written down that he had flown to the Moon and back if it would have sped up his departure.
At last the form was filled in. With some relish, Beetle viciously impaled it on the spike of paperwork awaiting Jillie Djinn’s return.
The boy showed no sign of leaving.
“That’s it,” said Beetle. “You can go now.”
“So when do I come for my interview?”
Bother, thought Beetle. Merrin watched him closely as he looked through the Daily Diary, a hefty ledger that lived on Beetle’s desk and was his job to keep up to date. “Two thirty-three precisely,” he said.
Similar Books
