Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kindlepitch) wrote2020-06-14 04:53 pm
kindlepitch) wrote2020-06-14 04:53 pm
Info from Fangirl
The Simon Snow Series
From Encyclowikia, the people’s encyclopedia
This article is about the children’s book series. For other uses, see Simon Snow (disambiguation).
Simon Snow is a series of seven fantasy books written by English philologist Gemma T. Leslie. The books tell the story of Simon Snow, an 11-year-old orphan from Lancashire who is recruited to attend the Watford School of Magicks to become a magician. As he grows older, Simon joins a group of magicians—the Mages—who are fighting the Insidious Humdrum, an evil being trying to rid the world of magic.
Since the publication of Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir in 2001, the books have been translated into 53 languages and, as of August 2011, have sold more than 380 million copies.
Leslie has been criticized for the violence in the series and for creating a hero who is sometimes selfish and bad tempered. An exorcism scene in the fourth book, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, triggered boycotts among American Christian groups in 2008. But the books are widely considered modern classics, and in 2010, Time magazine called Simon “the greatest children’s literary character since Huckleberry Finn.”
An eighth book, the last in the series, is set to be released May 1, 2012.
Publishing history
Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, 2001
Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, 2003
Simon Snow and the Third Gate, 2004
Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, 2007
Simon Snow and the Five Blades, 2008
Simon Snow and the Six White Hares, 2009
Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, 2010
Simon Snow and the Eighth Dance, scheduled to be released May 1, 2012
---
There was a boy in Simon’s room.
A boy with slick, black hair and cold, grey eyes. He was spinning around, holding a cat high in the air while a girl jumped and clutched at it. “Give it back,” the girl said. “You’ll hurt him.”
The boy laughed and held the cat higher—then noticed Simon standing in the doorway and stopped, his face sharpening.
“Hullo,” the dark-haired boy said, letting the cat drop to the floor. It landed on all four feet and ran from the room. The girl ran after it.
The boy ignored them, tugging his school jacket neatly into place and smiling with the left side of his mouth. “I know you. You’re Simon Snow … the Mage’s Heir.” He held out his hand smugly. “I’m Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. But you can call me Baz—we’re going to be roommates.”
Simon scowled and ignored the boy’s pale hand. “What did you think you were doing with her cat?”
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
He was so focused—and frustrated—he didn’t even see the girl with the red hair sit down at his table. She had pigtails and old-fashioned pointy spectacles, the kind you’d wear to a fancy dress party if you were going as a witch.
“You’re going to tire yourself out,” the girl said.
“I’m just trying to do this right,” Simon grunted, tapping the two-pence coin again with his wand and furrowing his brow painfully. Nothing happened.
“Here,” she said, crisply waving her hand over the coin.
She didn’t have a wand, but she wore a large purple ring. There was yarn wound round it to keep it on her finger. “Fly away home.”
With a shiver, the coin grew six legs and a thorax and started to scuttle away. The girl swept it gently off the desk into a jar.
“How did you do that?” Simon asked. She was a first year, too, just like him; he could tell by the green shield on the front of her sweater.
“You don’t do magic,” she said, trying to smile modestly and mostly succeeding. “You are magic.”
Simon stared at the 2p ladybird.
“I’m Penelope Bunce,” the girl said, holding out her hand.
“I’m Simon Snow,” he said, taking it.
“I know,” Penelope said, and smiled.
—from chapter 8, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“But, sir,” Simon pushed, “do I have to be his roommate every year, every year until we leave Watford?”
The Mage smiled indulgently and ruffled Simon’s caramel brown hair. “Being matched with your roommate is a sacred tradition at Watford.” His voice was gentle but firm. “The Crucible cast you together. You’re to watch out for each other, to know each other as well as brothers.”
“Yeah, but, sir…” Simon shuffled in his chair. “The Crucible must have made a mistake. My roommate’s a complete git. He might even be evil. Last week, someone spelled my laptop closed, and I know it was him. He practically cackled.”
The Mage gave his beard a few solemn strokes. It was short and pointed and just covered his chin.
“The Crucible cast you together, Simon. You’re meant to watch out for him.”
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, copyright © 2003 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Words are very powerful,” Miss Possibelf said, stepping lightly between the rows of desks.
“And they take on more power the more that they’re spoken.…
“The more that they’re said and read and written, in specific, consistent combinations.”
She stopped in front of Simon’s desk and tapped it with a short, jeweled staff. “Up, up and away,” she said clearly.
Simon watched the floor move away from his feet. He grabbed at the edges of his desk, knocking over a pile of books and loose papers. Across the room, Basilton laughed.
Miss Possibelf nudged Simon’s trainer with her staff—“Hold your horses”—and his desk hovered three feet in the air.
“The key to casting a spell,” she said, “is tapping into that power. Not just saying the words, but summoning their meaning.…
“Now,” she said, “open your Magic Words books to page four. And Settle down there, Simon. Please.”
—from chapter 5, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Agatha Wellbelove was the loveliest witch at Watford. Everyone knew it—every boy, every girl, all the teachers … The bats in the belfry, the snakes in the cellars …
Agatha herself knew it. Which you might think would detract from her charm and her beauty. But Agatha, at fourteen, never used this knowledge to harm or hold over others.
She knew she was lovely, and she shared it like a gift. Every smile from Agatha was like waking up to a perfect sunny day. Agatha knew it. And she smiled at everyone who crossed her path, as if it were the most generous thing she could offer.
—from chapter 15, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, copyright © 2007 Gemma T. Leslie
---
Sneaking around the castle, staying out all night, coming home in the morning with leaves in his hair …
Baz was up to something; Simon was sure of it. But he needed proof—Penelope and Agatha weren’t taking his suspicions seriously.
“He’s plotting,” Simon would say.
“He’s always plotting,” Penelope would answer.
“He’s looming,” Simon would say.
“He’s always looming,” Agatha would answer. “He is quite tall.”
“No taller than me.”
“Mmm … a bit.”
It wasn’t just the plotting and the looming; Baz was up to something. Something beyond his chronic gittishness. His pearl grey eyes were bloodshot and shadowed; his black hair had lost its luster. Usually cold and intimidating, lately Baz seemed chilled and cornered.
Simon had followed him around the catacombs last night for three hours, and still didn’t have a clue.
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Maybe I’m not supposed to have a wand. Maybe I’m supposed to have a ring like you. Or a … a wrist thingy like mangy old Elspeth.”
“Oh, Simon.” Penelope frowned. “You shouldn’t call her that. She can’t help her fur—her father was the Witch King of Canus.”
“No, I know, I just…”
“It’s easier for the rest of us,” she said, soothing. “Magicians’ instruments stay in families. They’re passed from generation to generation.”
“Right,” he said, “just like magic. It doesn’t make sense, Penelope—my parents must have been magicians.”
He’d tried to talk to her about this before, and that time it had made her look just as sad.
“Simon … they couldn’t have been. Magicians would never abandon their own child. Never. Magic is too precious.”
Simon looked away from her and flicked his wand again. It felt like something dead in his hands.
“I think Elspeth’s fur is pretty,” Penelope said. “She looks soft.”
He shoved the wand into his pocket and stood up. “You just want a puppy.”
—from chapter 21, Simon Snow and the Third Gate, copyright © 2004 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“I’m sorry, Penelope.”
“Don’t waste my time with sorries, Simon. If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other’s toes, we’ll never have time to be friends.”
—from chapter 4, Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, copyright © 2003 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“But I don’t understand,” Simon stammered, “what is the Insidious Humdrum? Is he a man?”
“Perhaps.” The Mage wiped the grit from his eyes and swept his wand out in front of them. “Olly olly oxen free,” he whispered. Simon braced himself, but nothing happened.
“Perhaps he’s a man,” the Mage said, recovering his wry smile. “Perhaps he’s something else, something less, I should think.”
“Is he a magician? Like us?”
“No,” the Mage said severely. “Of that we can be certain. He—if indeed he is a he—is the enemy of magic. He destroys magic; some think he eats it. He wipes the world clean of magic, wherever he can.…
“You’re too young to hear this, Simon. Eleven is too young. But it isn’t fair to keep it from you any longer. The Insidious Humdrum is the greatest threat the World of Mages has ever faced. He’s powerful, he’s pervasive. Fighting him is like fighting off sleep when you’re long
past the edge of exhaustion.
“But fight him we must. You were recruited to Watford because we believe the Humdrum has taken a special interest in you. We want to protect you; I vow to do so with my life. But you must learn, Simon, as soon as possible, how best to protect yourself.”
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
The Humdrum wasn’t a man at all, or a monster. It was a boy.
Simon stepped closer, perhaps foolishly, wanting to see its face.… He felt the Humdrum’s power whipping around him like dry air, like hot sand, an aching fatigue in the very marrow of Simon’s bones.
The Humdrum—the boy—wore faded denims and a grotty T-shirt, and it probably took Simon far too long to recognize the child as himself. His years-ago self.
“Stop it,” Simon shouted. “Show yourself, you coward. Show yourself!”
The boy just laughed.
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“You’re the most powerful magician in a hundred ages.” The Humdrum’s face, Simon’s own boyhood face, looked dull and tired. Nothing glinted in its blue eyes.… “Do you think that much power comes without sacrifice? Did you think you could become you without leaving something, without leaving me, behind?”
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Fried tomatoes at breakfast. Every lump in his bed. Being able to do magic without worrying whether anyone was watching. Agatha, of course. And Penelope. Getting to see the Mage—not often, but still. Simon’s uniform. His school tie. The football pitch, even when it was muddy. Fencing. Raisin scones every Sunday with real clotted cream … What didn’t Simon miss about Watford?
—from chapter 1, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, copyright © 2007 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“You’re finally going on a date with Agatha?” Penelope’s voice was soft, despite the surprise in her face. Neither of them wanted Sir Bleakly to hear—he was prone to giving ridiculous detentions; they could end up dusting the catacombs for hours or proofreading confiscated love notes.
“After dinner,” Simon whispered back. “We’re going to look for the sixth hare in the Veiled Forest.”
“Does Agatha know it’s a date? Because that just sounds like ‘Another Tuesday Night with Simon.’”
“I think so.” Simon tried not to turn and frown at Penelope, even though he wanted to.
“She said she’d wear her new dress.…”
“Another Tuesday Night with Agatha,” Penelope said.
“You don’t think she likes me?”
“Oh, Simon, I never said that. She’d have to be an idiot not to like you.”
Simon grinned.
“So I guess what I’m saying,” Penelope said, going back to her homework, “is we’ll just have to see.”
—from chapter 17, Simon Snow and the Six White Hares, copyright © 2009 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“That does it,” Simon said, charging forward, climbing right over the long dinner table.
Penelope grabbed the tail of his cape, and he nearly landed face-first on a bench. He recovered quickly—“Let go, Penny”—and ran hard at Basil, both fists raised and ready.
Basil didn’t move. “Good fences make good neighbors,” he whispered, just barely tipping his wand.
Simon’s fist slammed into a solid barrier just inches from the other boy’s unflinching jaw.
He pulled his hand back, yelping, still stumbling against the spell.
This made Dev and Niall and all the rest of Basil’s cronies cackle like drunk hyenas. But Basil himself stayed still. When he spoke, it was so softly, only Simon could hear him. “Is that how you’re going to do it, Snow? Is that how you’re going to best your Humdrum?” He dropped the spell with a twitch of his wand, just as Simon regained his balance. “Pathetic,” Basil said, and walked away.
—from chapter 4, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
The Humdrum bounced a small red ball in its hand.
Simon had carried that ball everywhere, for at least a year. He’d lost it when he came to Watford—he hadn’t needed it anymore.
“You’re lying,” Simon said. “You’re not me. You’re no part of me.”
“I’m what’s left of you,” the Humdrum said. And Simon would swear his own voice was never so high and so sweet.
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
He’d have to tell the Mage what he saw.
I’ve finally seen the Humdrum, sir. I know what we’re fighting—me.
“What’s left of you,” the monster had said.
What is left of me? Simon wondered. A ghost? A hole? An echo?
An angry little boy with nervous hands?
—from chapter 24, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Agatha wrung her fingers in her cape miserably. (But still prettily. Even Agatha’s tear-stained face was a thing of beauty.) Simon wanted to tell her it was all right, to forget the whole scene with Baz in the forest.… Agatha standing in the moonlight, holding both of Baz’s pale
hands in her own …
“Just tell me,” Simon said, his voice shaking.
“I don’t know what to say,” she wept. “There’s you. And you’re good. And you’re right. And then there’s him.… And he’s different.”
“He’s a monster.” Simon clenched his square jaw.
Agatha just nodded. “Perhaps.”
—from chapter 18, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Do you know what the most disappointing thing is about being a magician?”
Penelope shook her head and rolled her eyes, a combination she’d gotten terribly good at over the years. “Don’t be silly, Simon. There’s nothing disappointing about magic.”
“There is,” he argued, only partly just to tease her. “I always figured we’d learn a way to fly by now.”
“Oh, pish,” Penelope said. “Anyone can fly. Anyone with a friend.”
She held her ringed hand out to him and grinned—“Up, up and away!”
Simon felt the steps drift away from him and laughed his way through a slow somersault.
When he was upright again, he leveled his wand at Penelope.
—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Morgan’s grace, Simon—slow down.” Penelope held an arm out in front of his chest and glanced around the weirdly lit courtyard. “There’s more than one way through a flaming gate.”
—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Third Gate, copyright © 2004 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Simon stepped toward the Humdrum. He’d never been this close. The heat and the pull were almost too much for him; he felt like the Humdrum would suck his heart through his chest, his thoughts from his head.
“I created you with my hunger,” Simon said. “With my need for magic.”
“With your capacity,” it said.
Simon shrugged, a Herculean effort in the presence and pressure of the Humdrum.
Simon had spent his whole life, well, the last eight years of it, trying to become more powerful, trying to live up to his destiny—trying to become the sort of magician, maybe the only magician, who could defeat the Insidious Humdrum.
And all he’d ever done was stoke the Humdrum’s need.
Simon took the last step forward.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
—from chapter 27, Simon Snow and the Eighth Dance, copyright © 2012 by Gemma T. Leslie
From Encyclowikia, the people’s encyclopedia
This article is about the children’s book series. For other uses, see Simon Snow (disambiguation).
Simon Snow is a series of seven fantasy books written by English philologist Gemma T. Leslie. The books tell the story of Simon Snow, an 11-year-old orphan from Lancashire who is recruited to attend the Watford School of Magicks to become a magician. As he grows older, Simon joins a group of magicians—the Mages—who are fighting the Insidious Humdrum, an evil being trying to rid the world of magic.
Since the publication of Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir in 2001, the books have been translated into 53 languages and, as of August 2011, have sold more than 380 million copies.
Leslie has been criticized for the violence in the series and for creating a hero who is sometimes selfish and bad tempered. An exorcism scene in the fourth book, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, triggered boycotts among American Christian groups in 2008. But the books are widely considered modern classics, and in 2010, Time magazine called Simon “the greatest children’s literary character since Huckleberry Finn.”
An eighth book, the last in the series, is set to be released May 1, 2012.
Publishing history
Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, 2001
Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, 2003
Simon Snow and the Third Gate, 2004
Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, 2007
Simon Snow and the Five Blades, 2008
Simon Snow and the Six White Hares, 2009
Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, 2010
Simon Snow and the Eighth Dance, scheduled to be released May 1, 2012
---
There was a boy in Simon’s room.
A boy with slick, black hair and cold, grey eyes. He was spinning around, holding a cat high in the air while a girl jumped and clutched at it. “Give it back,” the girl said. “You’ll hurt him.”
The boy laughed and held the cat higher—then noticed Simon standing in the doorway and stopped, his face sharpening.
“Hullo,” the dark-haired boy said, letting the cat drop to the floor. It landed on all four feet and ran from the room. The girl ran after it.
The boy ignored them, tugging his school jacket neatly into place and smiling with the left side of his mouth. “I know you. You’re Simon Snow … the Mage’s Heir.” He held out his hand smugly. “I’m Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. But you can call me Baz—we’re going to be roommates.”
Simon scowled and ignored the boy’s pale hand. “What did you think you were doing with her cat?”
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
He was so focused—and frustrated—he didn’t even see the girl with the red hair sit down at his table. She had pigtails and old-fashioned pointy spectacles, the kind you’d wear to a fancy dress party if you were going as a witch.
“You’re going to tire yourself out,” the girl said.
“I’m just trying to do this right,” Simon grunted, tapping the two-pence coin again with his wand and furrowing his brow painfully. Nothing happened.
“Here,” she said, crisply waving her hand over the coin.
She didn’t have a wand, but she wore a large purple ring. There was yarn wound round it to keep it on her finger. “Fly away home.”
With a shiver, the coin grew six legs and a thorax and started to scuttle away. The girl swept it gently off the desk into a jar.
“How did you do that?” Simon asked. She was a first year, too, just like him; he could tell by the green shield on the front of her sweater.
“You don’t do magic,” she said, trying to smile modestly and mostly succeeding. “You are magic.”
Simon stared at the 2p ladybird.
“I’m Penelope Bunce,” the girl said, holding out her hand.
“I’m Simon Snow,” he said, taking it.
“I know,” Penelope said, and smiled.
—from chapter 8, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“But, sir,” Simon pushed, “do I have to be his roommate every year, every year until we leave Watford?”
The Mage smiled indulgently and ruffled Simon’s caramel brown hair. “Being matched with your roommate is a sacred tradition at Watford.” His voice was gentle but firm. “The Crucible cast you together. You’re to watch out for each other, to know each other as well as brothers.”
“Yeah, but, sir…” Simon shuffled in his chair. “The Crucible must have made a mistake. My roommate’s a complete git. He might even be evil. Last week, someone spelled my laptop closed, and I know it was him. He practically cackled.”
The Mage gave his beard a few solemn strokes. It was short and pointed and just covered his chin.
“The Crucible cast you together, Simon. You’re meant to watch out for him.”
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, copyright © 2003 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Words are very powerful,” Miss Possibelf said, stepping lightly between the rows of desks.
“And they take on more power the more that they’re spoken.…
“The more that they’re said and read and written, in specific, consistent combinations.”
She stopped in front of Simon’s desk and tapped it with a short, jeweled staff. “Up, up and away,” she said clearly.
Simon watched the floor move away from his feet. He grabbed at the edges of his desk, knocking over a pile of books and loose papers. Across the room, Basilton laughed.
Miss Possibelf nudged Simon’s trainer with her staff—“Hold your horses”—and his desk hovered three feet in the air.
“The key to casting a spell,” she said, “is tapping into that power. Not just saying the words, but summoning their meaning.…
“Now,” she said, “open your Magic Words books to page four. And Settle down there, Simon. Please.”
—from chapter 5, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Agatha Wellbelove was the loveliest witch at Watford. Everyone knew it—every boy, every girl, all the teachers … The bats in the belfry, the snakes in the cellars …
Agatha herself knew it. Which you might think would detract from her charm and her beauty. But Agatha, at fourteen, never used this knowledge to harm or hold over others.
She knew she was lovely, and she shared it like a gift. Every smile from Agatha was like waking up to a perfect sunny day. Agatha knew it. And she smiled at everyone who crossed her path, as if it were the most generous thing she could offer.
—from chapter 15, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, copyright © 2007 Gemma T. Leslie
---
Sneaking around the castle, staying out all night, coming home in the morning with leaves in his hair …
Baz was up to something; Simon was sure of it. But he needed proof—Penelope and Agatha weren’t taking his suspicions seriously.
“He’s plotting,” Simon would say.
“He’s always plotting,” Penelope would answer.
“He’s looming,” Simon would say.
“He’s always looming,” Agatha would answer. “He is quite tall.”
“No taller than me.”
“Mmm … a bit.”
It wasn’t just the plotting and the looming; Baz was up to something. Something beyond his chronic gittishness. His pearl grey eyes were bloodshot and shadowed; his black hair had lost its luster. Usually cold and intimidating, lately Baz seemed chilled and cornered.
Simon had followed him around the catacombs last night for three hours, and still didn’t have a clue.
—from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Maybe I’m not supposed to have a wand. Maybe I’m supposed to have a ring like you. Or a … a wrist thingy like mangy old Elspeth.”
“Oh, Simon.” Penelope frowned. “You shouldn’t call her that. She can’t help her fur—her father was the Witch King of Canus.”
“No, I know, I just…”
“It’s easier for the rest of us,” she said, soothing. “Magicians’ instruments stay in families. They’re passed from generation to generation.”
“Right,” he said, “just like magic. It doesn’t make sense, Penelope—my parents must have been magicians.”
He’d tried to talk to her about this before, and that time it had made her look just as sad.
“Simon … they couldn’t have been. Magicians would never abandon their own child. Never. Magic is too precious.”
Simon looked away from her and flicked his wand again. It felt like something dead in his hands.
“I think Elspeth’s fur is pretty,” Penelope said. “She looks soft.”
He shoved the wand into his pocket and stood up. “You just want a puppy.”
—from chapter 21, Simon Snow and the Third Gate, copyright © 2004 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“I’m sorry, Penelope.”
“Don’t waste my time with sorries, Simon. If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other’s toes, we’ll never have time to be friends.”
—from chapter 4, Simon Snow and the Second Serpent, copyright © 2003 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“But I don’t understand,” Simon stammered, “what is the Insidious Humdrum? Is he a man?”
“Perhaps.” The Mage wiped the grit from his eyes and swept his wand out in front of them. “Olly olly oxen free,” he whispered. Simon braced himself, but nothing happened.
“Perhaps he’s a man,” the Mage said, recovering his wry smile. “Perhaps he’s something else, something less, I should think.”
“Is he a magician? Like us?”
“No,” the Mage said severely. “Of that we can be certain. He—if indeed he is a he—is the enemy of magic. He destroys magic; some think he eats it. He wipes the world clean of magic, wherever he can.…
“You’re too young to hear this, Simon. Eleven is too young. But it isn’t fair to keep it from you any longer. The Insidious Humdrum is the greatest threat the World of Mages has ever faced. He’s powerful, he’s pervasive. Fighting him is like fighting off sleep when you’re long
past the edge of exhaustion.
“But fight him we must. You were recruited to Watford because we believe the Humdrum has taken a special interest in you. We want to protect you; I vow to do so with my life. But you must learn, Simon, as soon as possible, how best to protect yourself.”
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
The Humdrum wasn’t a man at all, or a monster. It was a boy.
Simon stepped closer, perhaps foolishly, wanting to see its face.… He felt the Humdrum’s power whipping around him like dry air, like hot sand, an aching fatigue in the very marrow of Simon’s bones.
The Humdrum—the boy—wore faded denims and a grotty T-shirt, and it probably took Simon far too long to recognize the child as himself. His years-ago self.
“Stop it,” Simon shouted. “Show yourself, you coward. Show yourself!”
The boy just laughed.
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“You’re the most powerful magician in a hundred ages.” The Humdrum’s face, Simon’s own boyhood face, looked dull and tired. Nothing glinted in its blue eyes.… “Do you think that much power comes without sacrifice? Did you think you could become you without leaving something, without leaving me, behind?”
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Fried tomatoes at breakfast. Every lump in his bed. Being able to do magic without worrying whether anyone was watching. Agatha, of course. And Penelope. Getting to see the Mage—not often, but still. Simon’s uniform. His school tie. The football pitch, even when it was muddy. Fencing. Raisin scones every Sunday with real clotted cream … What didn’t Simon miss about Watford?
—from chapter 1, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, copyright © 2007 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“You’re finally going on a date with Agatha?” Penelope’s voice was soft, despite the surprise in her face. Neither of them wanted Sir Bleakly to hear—he was prone to giving ridiculous detentions; they could end up dusting the catacombs for hours or proofreading confiscated love notes.
“After dinner,” Simon whispered back. “We’re going to look for the sixth hare in the Veiled Forest.”
“Does Agatha know it’s a date? Because that just sounds like ‘Another Tuesday Night with Simon.’”
“I think so.” Simon tried not to turn and frown at Penelope, even though he wanted to.
“She said she’d wear her new dress.…”
“Another Tuesday Night with Agatha,” Penelope said.
“You don’t think she likes me?”
“Oh, Simon, I never said that. She’d have to be an idiot not to like you.”
Simon grinned.
“So I guess what I’m saying,” Penelope said, going back to her homework, “is we’ll just have to see.”
—from chapter 17, Simon Snow and the Six White Hares, copyright © 2009 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“That does it,” Simon said, charging forward, climbing right over the long dinner table.
Penelope grabbed the tail of his cape, and he nearly landed face-first on a bench. He recovered quickly—“Let go, Penny”—and ran hard at Basil, both fists raised and ready.
Basil didn’t move. “Good fences make good neighbors,” he whispered, just barely tipping his wand.
Simon’s fist slammed into a solid barrier just inches from the other boy’s unflinching jaw.
He pulled his hand back, yelping, still stumbling against the spell.
This made Dev and Niall and all the rest of Basil’s cronies cackle like drunk hyenas. But Basil himself stayed still. When he spoke, it was so softly, only Simon could hear him. “Is that how you’re going to do it, Snow? Is that how you’re going to best your Humdrum?” He dropped the spell with a twitch of his wand, just as Simon regained his balance. “Pathetic,” Basil said, and walked away.
—from chapter 4, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
The Humdrum bounced a small red ball in its hand.
Simon had carried that ball everywhere, for at least a year. He’d lost it when he came to Watford—he hadn’t needed it anymore.
“You’re lying,” Simon said. “You’re not me. You’re no part of me.”
“I’m what’s left of you,” the Humdrum said. And Simon would swear his own voice was never so high and so sweet.
—from chapter 23, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
He’d have to tell the Mage what he saw.
I’ve finally seen the Humdrum, sir. I know what we’re fighting—me.
“What’s left of you,” the monster had said.
What is left of me? Simon wondered. A ghost? A hole? An echo?
An angry little boy with nervous hands?
—from chapter 24, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Agatha wrung her fingers in her cape miserably. (But still prettily. Even Agatha’s tear-stained face was a thing of beauty.) Simon wanted to tell her it was all right, to forget the whole scene with Baz in the forest.… Agatha standing in the moonlight, holding both of Baz’s pale
hands in her own …
“Just tell me,” Simon said, his voice shaking.
“I don’t know what to say,” she wept. “There’s you. And you’re good. And you’re right. And then there’s him.… And he’s different.”
“He’s a monster.” Simon clenched his square jaw.
Agatha just nodded. “Perhaps.”
—from chapter 18, Simon Snow and the Seventh Oak, copyright © 2010 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Do you know what the most disappointing thing is about being a magician?”
Penelope shook her head and rolled her eyes, a combination she’d gotten terribly good at over the years. “Don’t be silly, Simon. There’s nothing disappointing about magic.”
“There is,” he argued, only partly just to tease her. “I always figured we’d learn a way to fly by now.”
“Oh, pish,” Penelope said. “Anyone can fly. Anyone with a friend.”
She held her ringed hand out to him and grinned—“Up, up and away!”
Simon felt the steps drift away from him and laughed his way through a slow somersault.
When he was upright again, he leveled his wand at Penelope.
—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
“Morgan’s grace, Simon—slow down.” Penelope held an arm out in front of his chest and glanced around the weirdly lit courtyard. “There’s more than one way through a flaming gate.”
—from chapter 11, Simon Snow and the Third Gate, copyright © 2004 by Gemma T. Leslie
---
Simon stepped toward the Humdrum. He’d never been this close. The heat and the pull were almost too much for him; he felt like the Humdrum would suck his heart through his chest, his thoughts from his head.
“I created you with my hunger,” Simon said. “With my need for magic.”
“With your capacity,” it said.
Simon shrugged, a Herculean effort in the presence and pressure of the Humdrum.
Simon had spent his whole life, well, the last eight years of it, trying to become more powerful, trying to live up to his destiny—trying to become the sort of magician, maybe the only magician, who could defeat the Insidious Humdrum.
And all he’d ever done was stoke the Humdrum’s need.
Simon took the last step forward.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
—from chapter 27, Simon Snow and the Eighth Dance, copyright © 2012 by Gemma T. Leslie
Re: Fanfiction
Simon ignored him. He was thinking about the clues he’d found so far, trying to see a
pattern … the rabbit-shaped stone in the ritual tower, the stained glass hare in the cathedral,
the sigil on the drawbridge—
“Snow!” Baz shouted. A spell book sailed past Simon’s nose.
“What are you thinking?” Simon asked, genuinely surprised. Flying books and curses
were fair game in the hallways and classrooms and, well, everywhere else. But if Baz tried to
hurt him inside their room—“The Roommate’s Anathema,” Simon said. “You’ll be
expelled.”
“Which is why I missed. I know the rules,” Baz muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Did you
know, Snow, that if your roommate dies during the school year, they give you top marks, just
out of sympathy?”
“That’s a myth,” Simon said.
“Lucky for you I’m already getting top marks.”
Simon stopped pacing to really look at his roommate. Normally he liked to pretend that
Baz wasn’t here. Normally, Baz wasn’t here. Unless he was spying or plotting, Baz hated to
be in their room. He said it smelled like good intentions.
But Baz had hardly left the room in the last two weeks. Simon hadn’t seen him in the caf
or at football, he’d seemed drawn and distracted in class, and his school shirts—usually
pressed and bright white—were looking as manky as Simon’s.
“Is … something wrong?” Simon asked, then couldn’t believe he’d asked it. It’s not like
he really cared. If Baz said yes, Simon would likely say “Good!” Still, it seemed cruel not to
ask. Baz may have been the most despicable human being Simon had ever met … but he was
still a human being.
“I’m not the one pacing the room like a hyperactive madman,” Baz mumbled, his elbows
on his desk, his head resting in his hands.
“You seem … down or something.”
“Yes, I’m down. I’m down, Snow.” Baz raised his head and spun his chair toward Simon.
He really did look terrible. His eyes were sunken and shot with blood. “I’ve spent the last six
years living with the most self-centered, insufferable prat ever to carry a wand. And now,
instead of celebrating Christmas Eve with my beloved family, drinking mulled cider and
eating toasted cheese—instead of warming my hands at my ancestral hearth … I’m playing a
tortured extra in the bloody Simon Snow Show.”
Simon stared at him. “It’s Christmas Eve?”
“Yes…,” Baz groaned.
Simon walked around his bed glumly. He hadn’t realized it was Christmas Eve. He’d have
thought that Agatha would have called him. Or Penelope …
Maybe his friends were waiting for Simon to call them. He hadn’t even bought them gifts.
Lately, nothing had seemed as important as finding the white hares. Simon clenched his
square jaw. Nothing was as important; the whole school was in danger. There must be some
pattern he wasn’t seeing. He quickened his step. The stone in the tower, the stained glass
window, the sigil, the Mage’s book …
“I give up,” Baz whined. “I’m going to go drown myself in the moat. Tell my mother I
always knew she loved me best.”
Simon stopped pacing at Baz’s desk. “Do you know how to get down to the moat?”
“I’m not actually going to kill myself, Snow. Sorry to disappoint.”
“No. It’s just … you use the punts sometimes, don’t you?”
“Everyone does.”
“Not me,” Simon said. “I can’t swim.”
“Really…,” Baz hissed with a hint of his old vigor. “Well, you wouldn’t want to swim in
the moat anyway. The merwolves would get you.”
“Why don’t they bother the boats?”
“Silver punt poles and braces.”
“Will you take me out on one?” It was worth a try. The moat was one of the only places
left in the school that Simon hadn’t searched.
“You want to go punting with me?” Baz asked.
“Yes,” Simon said, tilting his chin up. “Will you do it?”
“Why?”
“I … want to see what it’s like. I’ve never done it—why does it matter? It’s Christmas
Eve, and you obviously don’t have anything better to do. Apparently even your parents can’t
stand to be around you.”
Baz stood suddenly, his grey eyes glinting dangerously in the shadow of his brow. “You
know nothing about my parents.”
Simon stepped back. Baz had a few inches on him (for now), and when Baz made an
effort, he could seem dangerous.
“I’m … look, I’m sorry,” Simon said. “Will you do it?”
“Fine,” Baz said. The flare of anger and energy had already faded. “Get your cloak.”
“Your madness must be catching,” Baz complained, untangling a rope.
The boats were stacked and tied off for the winter. Simon hadn’t been thinking about the
cold.… “Shut up,” he said anyway. “It’ll be fun.”
“That’s the point, Snow—since when do we have fun together? I don’t even know what
you do for fun. Teeth-whitening, I assume. Unnecessary dragon-slaying—”
“We’ve had fun before,” Simon argued. Because he didn’t know how to do anything with
Baz but argue—and because surely Baz was wrong. In six years, they must have shared some
fun. “There was that time in third year when we fought the chimaera together.”
“I was trying to lure you there,” Baz said. “I thought I’d get away from the thing before it
attacked.”
“Still, it was fun.”
“I was trying to kill you, Snow. And on that note, are you sure you want to do this? Alone
with me? On a boat? What if I shove you over? I could let the merwolves solve all my
problems.…”
Simon twisted his lips to one side. “I don’t think you will.”
“And whyever not?” Baz cast off the last of the ropes.
“If you really wanted to get rid of me,” Simon said thoughtfully, “you would have by now.
No one else has had as many opportunities. I don’t think you’d hurt me unless it played into
one of your grand plans.”
“This could be my grand plan,” Baz said, shoving one of the punts free with a grunt.
“No,” Simon said. “This one is mine.”
“Aleister Crowley, Snow, are you going to help me with this or what?”
They carried the boat down to the water, Baz swinging the punt pole lightly. Simon
noticed for the first time the silver plating at one end.
“Snowball fights,” he said, following Baz’s lead as they settled the boat in the water.
“What?”
“We’ve had lots of snowball fights. Those are fun. And food fights. That time I spelled
gravy up your nose…”
“And I put your wand in the microwave.”
“You destroyed the kitchen,” Simon laughed.
“I thought it would just swell up like a marshmallow Peep.”
“There was no reason to think that.…”
Baz shrugged. “Don’t put a wand in the microwave—lesson learned. Unless it’s Snow’s
wand. And Snow’s microwave.”
Simon was standing on the dock now, shivering. He really hadn’t considered how cold it
would be out here. Or the fact that he’d actually have to get into a boat. He glanced down at
the cold, black water of the moat and thought he saw something heavy and dark moving
below the surface.
“Come on.” Baz was already in the punt. He jabbed Simon’s shoulder with the pole. “This
is your grand plan, remember?”
Simon set his jaw and stepped in. The boat dipped beneath his weight, and he scrabbled
forward.
Baz laughed. “Maybe this will be fun,” he said, sinking the pole into the water and
shoving off. Baz looked perfectly comfortable up there—a long, dark shadow at the end of
the punt—as elegant and graceful as ever. He shifted into the moonlight, and Simon watched
him take a slow, deep breath. He looked more alive than he had in weeks.
But Simon hadn’t come out here to watch Baz—God knows he had plenty of other
opportunities. Simon turned, looking around the moat, taking in the carvings along the stone
walls and the tile at the water’s edge. “I should have brought a lantern…,” he said.
“Too bad you’re not a magician,” Baz replied, conjuring a ball of blue flame and tossing it
at Simon’s head. Simon ducked and caught it. Baz had always been better than he was at fire
magic. Show-off.
The tile glittered in the light. “Can we get closer to the wall?” Simon asked. Baz obliged
smoothly.
Up close, Simon could see there was a mosaic that stretched beneath the water. Wizard
battles. Unicorns. Symbols and glyphs. Who knew how far down it went.… Baz guided them
slowly along the wall, and Simon held the light up, gradually leaning over the side of the
boat to get a better look.
He forgot about Baz in a way he normally wouldn’t allow himself to do outside the
protection of their room. Simon didn’t even notice at first when the boat drifted to a stop.
When he looked back, Baz had stepped toward him in the punt. He was curled above Simon,
washed blue by his own conjured fire, his teeth bared and his face thick with decision and
disgust.…