The Infirmary was a bleak place, despite the best efforts of the healers who worked there. It was a long, low wooden building, hidden under the outlying trees of the Forest, covered with moss and mold after years of water dripping from the trees above and mists seeping up from the Moat below. The Infirmary was not often used, except for cases of sickness that were thought to be contagious, but there were now so many Castle inhabitants who had become ill that no one was taking any chances.
Marcia and Septimus approached the Infirmary along the now well-worn path on the far bank of the Moat. The afternoon light was fading, and as they approached, they could see the flicker of the first candles being placed in the tiny windows. The door was open, and with some trepidation, Marcia and Septimus went inside.
"Septimus! Is that you? What are you doing here?" Sarah Heap leaped up from her work. She had been sitting at a small table by the door, measuring out doses of ground-up leaves into rows of tiny pots neatly lined up in front of her. Sarah had not been out of the Infirmary since she had arrived and Silas had decided not to worry her about Septimus's disappearance and just hope for the best, which, for once, had been the right thing to do.
Sarah looked at her youngest son. "What have you done to your hair?" she asked. "It's a terrible mess. Really, Marcia, I know he's getting to that awkward age, but you should make him comb his hair once in a while."
"We haven't come to discuss Septimus's hairstyle, Sarah," said Marcia, who guessed, with some relief, that Sarah knew nothing of what had happened. "We have come on urgent business."
Sarah took no notice of the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. She had not taken her eyes off Septimus and wore a puzzled frown. "You look ... different, Septimus," she said. "Have you been ill? Is there something you haven't told me?" she asked, beginning to get suspicious.
"No," said Marcia, far too quickly.
"I'm fine, Mum," said Septimus. "Really fine. Look, I've made an Antidote to this Sickenesse."
Sarah looked at Septimus fondly. "That's very sweet of you, love," she said, "but lots of people have tried and it's no good, nothing seems to work."
"But this will work, Mum - I know it will."
"Oh, Septimus," said Sarah gently, "I know how worried you must be about Beetle, I know how much you liked him - "
"Liked?" asked Septimus, suddenly scared. "What do you mean liked? I still like Beetle - lots. H-He's okay ... isn't he?"
Sarah looked serious. "He's not well, Septimus. He ... oh, dear. He is very ill and we don't have much hope. Would you like to see him?"
Septimus nodded. He and Marcia followed Sarah through some swinging doors into the Infirmary ward, a long room that occupied the entire building. A row of narrow beds lined each side of the ward. The beds were crowded close together and every single one was occupied. The figures lay still and deathly pale in their beds, some had their eyes closed and some gazed at the ceiling, seeing nothing. The ward was hushed and still, full of late-afternoon shadows, which were slowly being dispersed by a young helper, who moved down the ward carrying a tray of candles, placing one in each window to keep the night at bay a little longer, as well as any stray Forest creatures. Septimus found it strange that for so many people crammed together in such a small space, there was very little noise; in fact, the only sound that he could hear was the occasional metallic ping as a drip of water found its way through the rotten shingles on the roof and hit one of the assortment of metal buckets placed at strategic points.
"Beetle's over here," whispered Sarah, putting her hand on her son's shoulder and guiding him toward a nearby bed. "He's near the door so that we can keep an eye on him."
If Sarah had not taken them to Beetle's very bedside, Septimus would never have found his best friend. The only thing that was recognizable was Beetle's shock of thick black hair, which his mother, who had only just left, had lovingly combed flat in a particular way that Septimus just knew Beetle would hate. The rest of Beetle was a pale white rag of a boy with wide staring eyes that saw nothing.
Sarah looked with concern at Septimus. "I'm so sorry, love," she said. "Would you like to sit with Beetle for a while? His mother will be back soon with his father, but you'll have a little time with him before they get here." Sarah brought an extra chair for Marcia, and she and Septimus sat down at Beetle's bedside. "I must get on now, Septimus," said Sarah. "I'll come back in a few minutes."
Septimus was suddenly horribly afraid that the Antidote would not work. He glanced nervously at Marcia, who whispered, "It will work, Septimus. You must believe in it."
"Physik isn't like Magyk," said Septimus unhappily. "It doesn't matter whether you expect it to work or not. Either it does or it doesn't."