A small groan escaped Beetle.
“My new scribe, Daniel Hunter, informed me of a conversation he overheard between you and Mr. Fox. I understand that two days ago you took Mr. Fox on an unauthorized errand into the Ice Tunnels to retrieve the Inspection sled, which you had neglected to secure in the approved manner. I also understand that Mr. Fox then spent the remainder of the day in the sick room after encountering the Ice Wraith and thus we were yet again one scribe short that afternoon. Is that correct?”
Beetle nodded miserably.
“Answer me!”
“Yes. It is correct,” mumbled Beetle. Jenna gave Beetle a sympathetic glance, but Beetle, who was staring wretchedly at his boots, did not notice.
Unfortunately, Jillie Djinn was still not finished. “Normally, on receipt of a written apology and an undertaking to conform to the regulations of the Manuscriptorium at all times, I would be prepared to overlook such poor behavior.”
Beetle glanced up at Jillie Djinn but she looked straight through him. Even in the red glow from the torchlight through the window, Beetle looked pale. He knew there was a but coming. A big but.
It came.
“But,” said Jillie Djinn, “one thing I am not
prepared to overlook is my Inspection Clerk colluding with a successful attempt to UnSeal a hatch. And then, so I understand, entering through the hatch into a forbidden area.”
Beetle felt sick. Jillie Djinn had found out—just as he had known she would.
Jillie Djinn looked down from her lofty height. She seemed unwilling to get down from the desk—possibly, thought Jenna, because Beetle was a good six inches taller than she. But right then, Beetle could not have felt any smaller. He just wanted to curl up and disappear somewhere for a very long time.
“Mr. Beetle.” Jillie Djinn drew herself up straight and, like a judge about to deliver a particularly harsh sentence, she announced, “I give you notice that I hereby terminate your employment at the Manuscriptorium immediately. Your Indentures shall be burned. You will leave now and take your personal effects with you.”
Both Jenna and Beetle gasped. “What?”
“You’re fired,” snapped Jillie Djinn, who could be horribly concise when she wanted to be.
“You can’t do that!” protested Jenna. “Beetle is brilliant
here. This place couldn’t run without him. You’re crazy to get rid of him—he’s the best person here.” Jenna stopped, realizing too late what she had said.
“It is no concern of yours, Princess Jenna,” Jillie Djinn replied coldly. “I shall run the Manuscriptorium as I see fit and will not be dictated to by anyone. Not even you.”
Beetle could not speak. The great looming shapes of the desks seemed to dance mockingly around him as he struggled to take in what had just happened. Jenna took Beetle’s arm and led him toward the front office. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “She doesn’t mean it. She can’t mean it.”
But Beetle knew better. He knew that once Jillie Djinn got an idea into her head that was it—nothing could change it.
As Jenna pulled open the door to the front office, Jillie Djinn’s voice echoed through the empty Manuscriptorium: “You have five minutes to clear your desk, Mr. Beetle.”
After that the Chief Hermetic Scribe said nothing more—for she had just caught sight of the NightUllr padding through the shadows behind Jenna. Jillie Djinn had a horror of wild animals. She remained motionless, marooned on Partridge’s desk until well past midnight, when she finally plucked up the courage to make a run for it to the safety of her upstairs chamber.
Jenna propelled Beetle—who moved as if he were sleep-walking—into the front office and angrily slammed the door.
One look at Beetle told her that he was not going to be doing any desk clearing. Beetle just stood and gazed around the office, taking in all the things he loved: the great stacks of papers and books piled up in the window, his desk, his swivel chair, the sausage sandwich that Foxy had bought him that morning and he had forgotten to finish—even the door to the Wild Book Store. All these things Beetle stared at, knowing that he would never see them again in the same way. Even if he ever dared to venture into the Manuscriptorium—which he didn’t think he would—they would not be the same.
They would belong to another clerk who would be sitting at his desk, eating Foxy’s sausage sandwiches.
“Is there anything you want to take with you?” asked Jenna.
Beetle shook his head.
Jenna looked at Beetle’s desk, which he had tidied and made ready for the end of the day. His Manuscriptorium pen sat in its pot along with other, more workaday pens. “I’ll bring your pen. You don’t want to leave that behind.”
But Beetle didn’t want to take anything to remind him. “Foxy,” he croaked. “Give it to Foxy.”
“Okay.”
Quickly, Jenna wrote a brief note to Foxy, found some Spell-Binding twine and tied the note to Beetle’s Manuscriptorium pen—a beautiful black onyx with an ornate jade green inlay that, if you looked closely, you could see that the complicated swirls spelled out BEETLE
along the length of the pen. Jenna left it on the desk and hoped that Foxy would notice his name, which she had written on the outside of the note in her large, looping handwriting, which her essay tutor complained got bigger every day.
Gently, Jenna took Beetle by the elbow and steered him toward the door. She tugged the handle hard and the door flew open with a pi-ing. Outside the wind whined and spots of cold rain spattered onto the windowpanes. The evening was oppressively dark, almost untouched by the light from the torch flames, some of which had blown out. Eddies of litter and leaves came skittering into the Manuscriptorium and swirled around their feet. Beetle stood motionless on the doorstep until Jenna linked her arm through his and stepped outside, taking him with her.
Behind them the door slammed with a great crash.
23
THE PROJECTION
H igh on their silver
torch posts, the last pair of torches at the end of Wizard Way struggled to stay lit in the wind, their flames thrown about like wet rags in a storm.
“Come on, Beetle, you’ve got to fight this!” Jenna yelled above the howl of the gale as they approached the Great Arch.
“She can’t just dump you like that. You wait—when Marcia hears about this Jillie Djinn won’t stand a chance.”