Septimus Heap 4 : Queste(22)

Jenna stopped him. “Sep—don’t! Please, just…don’t.”

“Apprentice, enough,” Marcellus chided. “You have a dismal turn of mind at times. We must hope that they quickly understood the Rule of the House of Foryx, which poor Demelza did not—until it was too late.”

“What rule?” asked Jenna.

“She did not realize that you have to Go Out when someone from your own Time arrives. They have to remain outside the House—they may not enter. Once you step across the threshold you belong to no Time at all.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” said Jenna, jumping up in excitement. “We shall go to the House of Foryx and Nicko can Go Out with us.”

“And Snorri. Don’t forget Snorri,” said Septimus.

Jenna looked unimpressed. “If it hadn’t been for Snorri, Nicko would be here now,” she said.

“Oh, Jen.”

“Well, it’s true,” Jenna said. “Of course we’ll get Snorri too,” she added generously. “We might as well while we’re there.”

Septimus sighed. “You make it all sound so easy. We just catch a passing donkey cart to the House of Foryx, knock on the door and ask for Nik. I wish.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I am going to do, Sep, whatever you say. You don’t have to come.”

“Of course I do,” said Septimus quietly.

With a small groan, Marcellus got up from his seat. He shuffled over to the cupboard in the chimney and took out a large, folded piece of paper, which he brought back to the table. “I was not going to show you this unless I was sure that nothing would stop you from going to the House of Foryx,” he said as he very carefully began to unfold the brittle, brown paper—to reveal a map.

The map was neatly drawn. Along the bottom were the words: FOR MARCELLUS, WITH THANKS. FROM SNORRI AND NICKO. “This is a copy that Snorri drew for me,” said Marcellus. “I thought that if I ever had a message that they were in trouble then at least I might have a chance of finding them.”

Feeling in awe of the fragile sheet of paper, they looked at the faint pencil lines that Snorri had drawn so precisely, so very long ago. “So this is the way to Nicko…” Jenna breathed.

“You must treat this with caution,” Marcellus urged, afraid that he had given too much encouragement. “Remember that Ells drew the original from her memory of things that had happened when she was only nine. She had had—although I would not have dared say this to her face—at least fifty years to forget the details. This may not be accurate.”

They were peering closely at the map, trying to make sense of the crowd of faded lines on the discolored paper when suddenly a loud clap of thunder sounded overhead. Marcellus jumped in surprise and caught his long trailing sleeves in the mass of candles in the middle of the table. The fine silk-edged sleeve caught fire and a horrible smell of burning wool filled the room. Marcellus yelled in panic and flapped his arms like an unwieldy bird. He succeeded only in fanning the flames and knocking over the candles, one of which set fire to the edge of the map.

“No!” yelled Jenna. She grabbed the map and smothered the flame with her hand, oblivious of the sharp sting of the burn.

“Help!” yelled Marcellus, dancing around the room, the flames licking up his sleeves. “Apprentice—help!”

“Bucket!” yelled Beetle.

“Bucket?” asked Septimus.

“Bucket!” Beetle grabbed the bucket of water he had noticed beside the grate—Marcellus, who had a horror of fire, had one in every room—and threw it over the Alchemist. A loud sizzle and copious amounts of smoke filled the room.

Marcellus collapsed onto a chair.

Marcellus sat sadly inspecting his ruined sleeves while Jenna refolded the precious map, and Septimus and Beetle retrieved Nicko’s notes from the floor.

“Are you all right, Marcellus?” Septimus asked the damp, slightly smoking Alchemist.

Marcellus nodded and got to his feet. “Fire is a terrible thing,” he said. “Thank you, scribe, for your speedy action.”

“You’re welcome,” replied Beetle. “Anytime.”

“I hope not,” said Marcellus.

Jenna placed the last of Nicko’s notes in a neat pile on the table and Marcellus went to pick them up. Jenna put her hand on them protectively.

“I’d like to keep them, please,” she said.

“Very well, Princess. They are yours.” Marcellus opened a drawer in the table and took out some tissue paper. With great care he wrapped up the brittle papers, tied them with a length of ribbon and handed them to Jenna. She tucked them under her cloak, then scooped up Ullr.

“Why don’t I take the papers, Jen?” asked Septimus. “You can’t carry them and Ullr.”

“Yes, I can,” Jenna insisted, and she set off purposefully out of the room as if she were already on her way to the House of Foryx.

As they clattered down the candlelit stairs in her wake, Septimus said, “Marcellus?”

“Yes, Apprentice? Oh! Watch your cloak on that candle.”

“Oops. Um…Do you think Nik and Snorri are still in the House of Foryx—after all this time?”

“Maybe…” said Marcellus slowly as they reached the third-floor landing. Jenna sped off down the next flight of stairs, her boots tapping lightly on the bare wood, while Marcellus stopped and considered the matter. “And maybe I shall be taking tea with the ExtraOrdinary Wizard at the top of the Wizard Tower,” he said. “Highly unlikely, but not totally impossible.”

Septimus wished Marcellus had chosen a different example. Given Marcia’s opinion of Marcellus Pye—and her complete ignorance of his present existence—totally impossible seemed more like it.

Jenna was waiting impatiently in the hallway. As Septimus, Beetle and Marcellus joined her, there was a furious knocking on the door. Everyone jumped.

“Prithee open the door, Apprentice,” said Marcellus, flustered and reverting to Old Speak.

“I don’t have to, not if you would rather not,” said Septimus, who had a horrible feeling that there was only one person in the Castle who would ignore a perfectly serviceable doorbell and attack a door knocker like that.

Marcellus made an effort to compose himself. “No, no. You are quite right, Apprentice. I must not hide away from this Time,” he said. “Open the door and we will be sociable, as you say.”

Septimus gave the door a halfhearted pull. “I think it’s stuck,” he said.

“Here, let me,” said Beetle, and he gave the handle a hefty tug. The door flew open to reveal Marcia Overstrand standing on the doorstep windswept, grumpy and soaked.

“Oh,” said Septimus. “Hello, Marcia.”





17


TROUBLE

W ell,” said Marcia icily. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

Septimus looked around in a panic and caught Marcellus’s eye. “With pleasure, Madam Marcia,” said Marcellus, bowing one of his old-fashioned bows. “Please, do come in.” He stepped to one side only just in time to avoid Marcia treading on his sodden shoes as she swept inside.

“Shut,” she instructed the door and it did so with a loud slam that rattled the fragile walls of the old house—but it did not rattle Marcellus. In his own Time, Marcellus had had many dealings with belligerent ExtraOrdinary Wizards; he knew the best thing to do was keep a cool head and be polite at all times—whatever the provocation. And right now, as he looked at Marcia fuming in the hall, the rain dripping off her purple winter cloak and her green eyes flashing angrily, Marcellus reckoned he was in for a fair amount of provocation.

All of Marcellus’s lack of confidence at living in a Time not his own suddenly left him. Some things in life were Timeless, and an ExtraOrdinary Wizard was one of them. Feeling quite at home, Marcellus said, “How kind of you to call. May I offer you some refreshment?”

“No,” snapped Marcia, “you may not.”

“Ah,” murmured Marcellus, thinking that this was going to be one of the tougher ones.

Marcia fixed her gaze on Septimus much in the way a snake might look at a small vole at suppertime. “Septimus,” she said icily, “perhaps you would like to introduce me to your…friend.”

Septimus desperately wished that he could be somewhere—anywhere—else. Even the bottom of a wolverine pit in the Forest would be just fine with him right then. “Um,” he said.

“Well?” Marcia tapped her right foot, which was encased in a pointy purple python shoe complete with new green buttons.

Septimus took a deep breath. “Marcia, this is Marcellus Pye. Marcellus, this is Marcia Overstrand, ExtraOrdinary Wizard.”

“Thank you, Septimus,” said Marcia. “That is precisely who I thought it was. Well, Mr. Pye, my Apprentice will not trouble you any longer. He will not

be returning and I am sorry for any bother he has been over these last few months. Come, Septimus.” With that Marcia made for the door but Marcellus got there first and barred her way.

“My old and greatly valued

Apprentice has been no bother,” he said. “It has been very kind of you to let me borrow him every now and then. I am most grateful.”