Septimus needed no excuse to change his mind. “Okay, Beetle. Just one.”
The new Chief Hermetic Scribe took the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice through the Manuscriptorium with a proudly proprietorial air. The large room with the tall desks was empty. Unlike the previous Chief Hermetic Scribe, Beetle did not believe in keeping scribes at work after dark had fallen. It was brightly lit with fresh candles placed in the ancient candleholders set into the wall and the room no longer had the air of suppressed boredom and gloom that had pervaded it in Jillie Djinn’s time. Beetle and Septimus headed toward the short flight of steps that led up to a battered blue door.
The rooms of a Chief Hermetic Scribe were modest in comparison with the rooms of an ExtraOrdinary Wizard, but Beetle loved them. There was one long, low-ceilinged room with a multitude of beams that spread almost the entire length of the Manuscriptorium. The room had a line of three low dormer windows on either side. One side looked out across the rooftops to the Moat and the dark Forest beyond, and the other looked out on Wizard Way. Off the main room was a small, beamed bedroom, a bathroom and a tiny kitchen where Beetle kept his stash of FizzBom cubes to make up the FizzFroot.
“Wow,” said Septimus, admiring the minute kitchen dominated by the large bucket of refurbished FizzBom cubes on the shelf. “You can do just what you want. Without Marcia banging on your door telling you not to.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Beetle with a grin. “Chocolate Banana, Apricot Ginger or a weird blue one—no idea what it is.”
“Weird blue one, please.”
“Thought you’d say that. Cheers, Sep.”
“Cheers, Beetle. Happy new home.”
It was much later when Septimus finally left the Manu-scriptorium and headed back to Marcellus’s house in Snake Slipway. As he approached the tall, thin house, with its windows ablaze with lighted candles, Septimus felt very guilty for being so late. He looked up to the little attic window where his bedroom was and saw the lighted candle in the window, which Marcellus always placed there at night. He thought of the welcoming fire in the grate, the sloping eaves, his desk and his bookshelf full of Physik books, and he felt a stab of sadness. He realized he had loved being there too. He thought about the great Chamber of Alchemie and Physik where the Fyre was ready to be lit—which he was going to miss. He sighed. There were two places in the Castle where he belonged, but he had to choose one. And he had chosen. But it didn’t mean he liked the other any less. And it didn’t make it any easier to tell Marcellus.
Septimus let himself into the house with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Marcellus was waiting. “You look frozen,” he said as he ushered Septimus into the small front room. “Your lips are quite blue.” He made Septimus sit beside the fire and drink some of his special hot ginger. While Marcellus was putting another log on the fire, Septimus took the opportunity to rub the FizzFroot blue off his lips.
“That’s better,” said Marcellus, settling into his old armchair opposite Septimus. “You’ve got some color back now.”
Septimus took a deep breath. “I have to leave tomorrow,” he said.
“Ah,” said Marcellus.
“I’m sorry,” said Septimus.
Marcellus gave a rueful smile. “I am not surprised, Apprentice. I had a little, ah, contretemps with Marcia recently and to tell the truth, I was not expecting anything else.” He raised his glass to his old Apprentice. “Here’s to you, Septimus. And my thanks to you for all your work. I know this last month has not been quite what you had hoped for, but I have so enjoyed having you to help me.” Marcellus paused. “I did hope you might decide to . . . what is the phrase . . . jump ship. Become my permanent Apprentice.”
“I did think about it,” said Septimus. “A lot.”
“But you decided not?”
“Yes.”
Marcellus nodded. “I understand. One has to make choices. You will be difficult to replace, Apprentice. However, I do have someone in mind.”
Septimus looked surprised. It had not occurred to him that Marcellus would replace him with someone else. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Late that evening, when Septimus had gone up to his room to pack his bag, the new residents of the house opposite Marcellus Pye got an unexpected visit from their neighbor.
Lucy Gringe, resplendent in a beribboned dressing gown she had just finished making, opened the door. “Oh!” she said. And then, remembering her manners, “Hello, Mr. Pye. Do come in.”
“Thank you.” Marcellus stepped inside. “Goodness,” he said. It was chaos.
“Excuse the mess. Wedding presents,” said Lucy cheerfully. “It’s nice to see you. Would you like some herb tea? Come through.”
“Oh, well, actually I wondered if Simon was—” But Lucy had already set off. Marcellus followed her along the dark, narrow corridor, catching his long pointy shoes on various objects strewn across the bare floorboards.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry, Mr. Pye. You okay?”
“Oof. Yes. Thank you, Lucy.”
They negotiated the obstacle course and reached the tiny kitchen, which consisted of a fire with a large pot hanging over it and a deep stone sink set on tree-trunk legs, in which sat the remains of supper. The kitchen was a jumble, covered with pots and pans that had nowhere to hang, half-open boxes and stacks of plates. Lucy saw Marcellus’s gaze travel around the room. “We’ll get it sorted,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll call Si; he’ll be really glad to see you.”
“Ah,” said Marcellus, still lost for words.
Lucy opened the back door and yelled into a tiny yard enclosed by a high brick wall, “Si . . . Si! Mr. Pye!”
Simon, who had been trying to unblock a drain, emerged from the shadows, wiping his hands on his tunic.
“Si, Marcellus is here to see you,” said Lucy.
Simon smiled. “Good evening, Marcellus. Good to see you. Would you like some tea?”
Marcellus, a fastidious man, had decided it might be safer not to risk the tea. “Your good lady wife . . .”
Lucy, still not used to being called Simon’s wife, giggled.
“. . . kindly offered me some, but I mustn’t stay long. I have a proposition to put to you, Simon.”
Lucy and Simon looked at each other.
Simon cleared a pile of plates off a rickety chair. “Please, do sit down, Marcellus.”
Marcellus saw the sticky ring left on the chair and shook his head. “No, no. I really must get back. This won’t take a moment.”
Five minutes later Simon and Lucy watched Marcellus Pye cross the snowy slipway back to his house, the moonlight glinting off the gold fastenings on the back of his shoes.
Simon was lost for words. In his hand was a precious copy of the Alchemist’s oeuvre, the I, Marcellus, with instructions to read it thoroughly and meet Marcellus at six o’clock the following evening.
“Well,” said Lucy. “Who’d have thought it?”
15
THE LAST DAY
Septimus awoke early in his little bedroom at the top of the house on Snake Slipway. Outside the snow was falling fast and the room was dull with the gray winter morning light. He lit his bedside candle and leaned back against the pillow, reluctant to get out of bed. That was one thing he would not miss. The Wizard Tower was always a perfect temperature. Marcellus’s house was, like all old Castle houses during the Big Freeze, bitterly cold.
An hour later Septimus was with Marcellus in an old lock-up at the end of Gold Button Drop—a dead-end alleyway just off the end of Alchemie Way. The lock-up was a cover for a secret entrance to Alchemie Quay, which Marcellus had recently reopened. After locking the little iron door behind them, Marcellus pulled open the circular manhole cover in the center of the earthen floor. A glow of red light shone upward, lighting the rough stones of the lock-up’s conical roof. Carefully, Marcellus unhooked a small Fyre Globe from its peg just below the manhole cover, clipped it onto his belt, and began the descent down the iron rungs set into the brick chimney. Septimus swung himself in after Marcellus and pulled the trapdoor shut with a clang.
There followed a long descent down a brick-lined shaft, eerily lit with the red light from the Globe. Eventually Marcellus and Septimus reached a wide, brick-lined tunnel and set off along it. Some minutes later, they emerged into the first curve of the Labyrinth, but instead of turning left, as they normally did for the Great Chamber, Marcellus turned right and led Septimus out onto Alchemie Quay.