The scribes had gone to lunch, leaving Septimus behind. Marcellus approached his Apprentice with an anxious look.
"A moment of thy time, Apprentice," he said, sitting down on the stool beside Septimus, which was normally occupied by Septimus's personal scribe. "For surely the Tincture neareth completion and doth require thy attention." Marcellus nodded toward a glass cabinet that stood on a golden plinth on one of the ebony tables at the edge of the Chamber. Inside the cabinet, on a delicate three-legged stand of gold, was a small phial filled with a thick blue fluid. Although Septimus was tired from his morning's work he did not mind the chance to work with Marcellus on some real Physik. He nodded and got up.
Next to the glass cabinet was a new oak chest with gold-covered corners, bound with two thick gold bands. This was Septimus's personal Physik Chest and he was very proud of it. Marcellus had given it to him at the start of their work on modifying the Tincture for Everlasting Life. It was the only possession that Septimus had in that Time, and it contained his carefully written notes on Mixtures, Linctuses, Remedies and Cures. Most precious of all, it contained his copy of Marcellus's Antidote to the Sickenesse, carefully folded at the bottom. His Physik Chest was the only thing he would regret leaving behind if he ever got a chance to try his escape plan - and if it actually worked.
But though the chest belonged to him, Septimus did not hold the Keye. Like all things in the Great Chamber of Alchemie and Physik, it was opened by only one key - the Keye that hung around Marcellus's neck on a thick gold chain, securely fastened inside his tunic by a large gold pin. Keeping a wary eye on Septimus, Marcellus unpinned the Keye and pulled out the chain, the same thick gold disc embossed with seven stars surrounding a circle with a dot in the middle that the old Marcellus had worn. Septimus eyed the disc longingly, knowing it opened the Great Doors of Time and was the key to his freedom. But short of ambushing Marcellus and grabbing it - which was impossible given their difference in size - he could see no way of getting it. Marcellus placed the gold disc in a round indentation on the front of the chest and the lid swung open as if lifted by ghostly fingers.
Septimus selected a thin glass rod from the chest, his pining rod, which when dipped into a substance would tell him whether it was what Marcellus called Entire. Then he opened the door to the glass cabinet and took out the Tincture. He removed the cork, dipped the rod into the contents, turned it seven times and then held it up to a nearby candle flame.
"What thinkest thou, Apprentice?" Marcellus asked Septimus anxiously. "Are we yet ready for the venom?"
Septimus shook his head.
"When thinkest thou it may be so?" Marcellus asked anxiously.
Septimus said nothing. Although he had become used to the oddly circuitous way of speaking that Marcellus and indeed everyone in this Time used, he found it hard to speak like that himself. If he did say anything, people would look puzzled; if they thought about it for a few moments, they understood what he had said, but they knew there was something very odd in the way he had said it. Septimus had lost count of the number of times people had asked where he came from. It was a question he did not know how to answer and one that he did not wish to think about. The worst thing was that now, at the rare times he spoke, his accent and intonation sounded odd even to him, as if he no longer knew who he was anymore.
Normally Marcellus did not mind having such a silent Apprentice - particularly as the only subject that Septimus seemed willing to talk about was Marcellus's future decrepitude - but there were times when it could become irritating. This was one of them. "Oh Prithee, Apprentice, speak," he said.
The truth was, the Tincture had been ready almost immediately, but at the time Septimus had not had the skills to recognize it. But then, as is the way with complex tinctures and potions, it had quickly become unstable, and Septimus had spent the next few months patiently coaxing it back to being Entire, for he knew that Marcellus believed that his future depended on this.
Try as he might, Septimus could not dislike Marcellus Pye. Even though Marcellus had taken him from his own Time and was keeping him against his will, the Alchemist had always been kind to him and, more important, had taught him everything Septimus had asked about Physik - and more.
"Thou knowest how this is a matter of Life and Death to me, Apprentice," said Marcellus quietly.
Septimus nodded.
"Thou knowest also that this small amount of Tincture is all I have left. There is no more and none can be made, for the Planetary Conjunction will not come again."
Septimus nodded again.
"Then I Pray you think hard on this and answer me, for this is my only hope to Change my Terrible Fate. If I can drink of the Tincture which thou hast made I hope that I may not grow Old and Foul as I have seen."
Septimus didn't see how Marcellus could change things. He had already seen him as an old, decaying man and that was how it would be, but Marcellus was determined to cling to this one hope. "So Pray tell me when we may add the venom, Apprentice," said Marcellus urgently. "For I fear the Tincture will decay ere long."
Septimus spoke. Briefly, it is true, but he spoke.
"Soon."
"Soon? How soon? Tomorrow morn? Tomorrow eve?"
Septimus shook his head again.
"When?" asked an exasperated Marcellus. "When?"
"In forty-nine hours exactly. Not a moment before."
Marcellus looked relieved. Two days. He had waited so long already that he could manage another two days. He watched Septimus carefully place the phial back in the glass cabinet and gently close the door. Marcellus breathed out and smiled.
Relieved about his Tincture, Marcellus took time to notice his Apprentice. The boy was pale and thin, with dark circles under his eyes. Of course his appearance wasn't helped by his refusal to cut or comb his bird's nest of hair, but even so, Marcellus felt a pang of guilt.
"Apprentice," he said, "it is not good that thou sitteth here like a Mole beneath his Mound. Though it be chill and Snow still layeth upon the ground, outside the Sunne doth shine." Marcellus fished out two small silver coins and pressed them into Septimus's unwilling and inky palm. "The last Winter Faire is set up upon the Way. Take thee two groats for thy Pleasure and hie thee there."
Septimus looked at them without much interest. " 'Tis true what they say, Septimus: A Surfeit of Ink Maketh the Spirit to Sink. Begone." Marcellus wandered back to the large table and picked up the pad of blotting paper that rested at Septimus's place, revealing a red rose carved into the wood - which Septimus stared at gloomily. "Go," insisted his master, shooing Septimus out.
Septimus took the scribes' exit from the Chamber. He made his way up a steep flight of steps and emerged into the network of tunnels that would take him to the WizardTower. This was the one treat that Septimus allowed himself: Every so often he would walk through the Great Hall of the WizardTower, as the Alchemie Apprentice was entitled to do. It was a bittersweet experience, but nevertheless it reminded him of home in a way that nothing else in that Time could. He knew the way well now and walked slowly along the rush-lit tunnels. Before long he reached a small underground archway through which could be seen a flight of steps.
"Good day, Septimus Heap," said the ghost sitting at the foot of the steps - a fairly recent ghost of an ExtraOrdinary Wizard, judging by the brightness of his robes.
Septimus nodded, but he said nothing.
"Turn left at the top and say the password," instructed the ghost slowly and extremely clearly. Since Septimus had never spoken a word, the ghost had decided that he was not the brightest of Apprentices and made a point of loudly giving Septimus the same instructions whenever he saw him.
Septimus nodded again politely and headed for the steps with the usual strange feeling lurking in the pit of his stomach. At the top of the steps, he turned left as he always did and went through a small cloakroom, which he still thought of as the broom closet. This was the part that still raised his hopes, no matter how many times he told himself not to be so ridiculous. He pushed open the door and walked out into the Great Hall of the WizardTower.
The first time that Septimus had visited the WizardTower, he had stepped into the Great Hall and was convinced that he had somehow come back to his own Time. Everything was the same. The walls had their brilliant, fleeting Magykal pictures floating over them, the same air of Magyk permeated the atmosphere and made him feel dizzy with relief. Even the floor of the Great Hall had the same strange sandy feel as he had run across it, too excited to glance down at the welcome message it was writing him. He had jumped on the silver stairs and ridden to the top of the Tower, just as he had done every day for nearly two years. He had not noticed the confused glances of the Ordinary Wizards on the various landings; all he had wanted to do was see Marcia and tell her what had happened - and to promise her that he would never go along the Outside Path again. Never, ever, ever. On the twentieth floor he had leaped off the stairs and dashed toward the great purple door at the entrance to the ExtraOrdinary Wizard's rooms.
The door would not open.
Septimus had pushed it impatiently, feeling that he could not possibly wait another second to see Marcia, but the door had stayed firmly shut. He could not understand it. Maybe Marcia was in trouble. Maybe she had Barred the door...
As Septimus stood wondering what could possibly be the matter, the door had suddenly opened and a purple-robed fig-ure stepped out.
"Marcia, I'm - "
The ExtraOrdinary Wizard had peered down at Septimus, regarding him with a puzzled air, asking, "How did you get up here, boy?"
"I - I - " Septimus had stammered, staring uncomprehendingly at the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, a thin man with straight fair hair, which flopped over his green Wizard eyes. Around his neck hung Marcia's Akhu Amulet, and around his waist he wore Marcia's platinum and gold ExtraOrdinary Wizard belt. Suddenly Septimus realized the truth of what he was seeing.
"Be not afraid, child," said the ExtraOrdinary Wizard kindly, noticing Septimus's sudden gray pallor. "You are newly come, are you not?" The ExtraOrdinary Wizard looked Septimus up and down, taking in his black and red tunic with the planetary symbols embroidered in gold thread down the sleeves. "Surely, you are the new Alchemie boy?"
Septimus had nodded, utterly miserable for having had his hopes raised and then dashed.
"Come now, child. I will take you down to the Great Hall and show you the way out. Follow me." Septimus followed the ExtraOrdinary Wizard onto the silver spiral stairs, and they stood together in silence as the stairs slowly made their way down through the WizardTower.
Now Septimus knew that he no longer belonged in the WizardTower, or rather, as he had realized after the first few desperate days, he had yet to belong. But, even so, he found it hard to keep away.
As Septimus walked through the Great Hall, a message in shimmering red and gold saying, WELCOME, ALCHEMIE APPRENTICE, flashed briefly around his feet before moving on to a more important message saying, WELCOME, EXTRAORDINARY APPRENTICE. A slim figure in a green tunic, wearing the silver - Septimus's silver - ExtraOrdinary Apprentice belt, had just come in through the great doors to the Wizard Tower, the ones that he was no longer entitled to use. Septimus had taken an immediate dislike to the Apprentice, a girl not many years older than himself. He knew it was unfair to dislike her. She was friendly enough and nodded to him in a distant way when she saw him, but she had taken his place. Or was it, he asked himself, that he will have taken her place - eventually? At that point Septimus's brain refused to think anymore.
Not wishing to have to explain his presence, Septimus slipped into the shadows and headed down the crumbling stone steps at the back of the WizardTower. Then he skirted the great base of the Tower and set off across the snow-covered cobblestones of the courtyard toward the Great Arch. It was as Marcellus had said, a beautiful day; the air was chill but the bright, low sunlight glinted off the gold streaks that ran through the lapis lazuli, which lined the Arch. However. Septimus paid it little attention as he wandered through and emerged into a thronged Wizard Way. He stood for a moment and pulled his thick red and gold woolen cloak around him against the frosty air, breathing in the strange smells and listening to the unfamiliar sounds. He shook his head in disbelief, he felt so tantalizingly near to home and yet so impossibly far away - five hundred years away, to be precise.
As Septimus stood in the chill winter sun, a realization stole over him. At last he had a few hours of freedom - he had time to try out his plan. It was a desperate plan but it might - just might - work.