Fyre (42 page)

“I take it there is nothing to report?” Marcia said briskly.

“No, Madam Marcia,” came the gloomy chorus.

“Can we go now?” came a brave voice from the back. “We’re perished.”

Others chimed in.

“Frozen.”

“Totally, utterly
frozzled
.”

“I think my toes have fallen off.”

Marcia sighed. Wizards were not what they used to be. She could see they would be no use at all in the state they were in. “Yes. You can go. Thank you all very much. I realize it hasn’t been the most interesting night’s work.”

To a background of mutterings—“You can say that again”; “I’ve had more fun having my teeth taken out”; “Bloomin’ waste of time”—the Ordinary Wizards climbed up the ladder they had fetched after Larry had refused to answer the door for them, and clambered over the wall. The soggy Wizards then trailed back to the Wizard Tower, their job done.

Beetle’s job of guiding Marcia through Larry’s warren of a house was also done, and there was somewhere else he very much wanted to be. “I think it would be a good idea,” he said, “if I went down to the Palace landing stage and met Jenna.”

“A
very
good idea,” said Marcia. “Bring her straight here.”

Beetle clambered up the ladder and over the wall. Then he was gone, hurrying down to the river, feeling more excited about meeting Jenna than he thought he should be.

Marcia rubbed her hands together in the early morning chill of the dark courtyard. “Right, Septimus, let’s have a look, shall we?” Gingerly, she opened the door of the rickety old hut and peered inside. “It’s clever,” she said, her voice muffled by the hut. “You wouldn’t think anything of it. Just an empty old privy with a wooden floor. But when you look closer you can see that the entire floor is a trapdoor.”

Marcia stepped back to let Septimus see.

“We should make sure it really does lead to Smugglers’ Bolt and isn’t just a hiding place for contraband,” she said. “There are a few of those around, apparently. I suggest you lift the trapdoor and have a look.”

Warily, Septimus unfastened the bolts and lifted the trapdoor up a few inches. A smell of damp and mold wafted out. Marcia kneeled down and got out her
FlashLight
. She shone it into the gap and saw a line of narrow steps leading down into darkness. Suddenly she switched off the
FlashLight
.

“Something’s coming,” she whispered.
“I can feel it.”

Very carefully, Septimus let the trapdoor down. “That’s
way
too fast,” he said.

Marcia stood up, brushing the dirt from her robes. “Septimus, I am so sorry. This must mean that Ernold and Edmund have been . . .” She stopped, unable to bring herself to say anything more.

Septimus said it for her.
“Consumed.”

36

T
O THE
C
ASTLE

“W
e must prepare ourselves,” Marcia
said. “I doubt that Jenna will get here in time. We need to keep the
you-know-who
at bay until she arrives.”

“Encapsulate?”
asked Septimus.

“Precisely. It must be done very carefully. We can’t risk any fissures forming.”

“So not too fast.”

“Indeed.”

“An even depth.”

“Precisely. About three inches all over.”

“That’s
thick
.”

“There’s a lot of power to keep at bay, Septimus. We must be sure.”

“Okay. Shall I pace it out?”

“Yes.” Marcia got out her pocket sextant and quickly calculated the height of the hut. “Seven point five eight recurring,” she said.

“Circumference: thirteen exactly,” said Septimus.

“Right. Let’s get this as good as we can!” Marcia did some rapid calculations. “Okay. Now, Septimus, I’ll need you to—”

“Got you!”
Larry’s angry face appeared at the top of the wall. “How
dare
you throw me out of my house, you interfering old witch!”

Marcia bristled.

Larry was treading on dangerous ground, but he clearly did not care. “Get out of my yard!” he yelled. “Or do I have to come over and drag you out?” Larry—or possibly his ladder—wobbled with indignation.

“If you value your safety,” Marcia said icily, “I suggest you do no such thing.”

“Are you threatening me?” Larry demanded. “Because if you are I—”

There was a loud crack of splitting wood and Larry was gone.

“Never trust a ladder,” said Marcia. “Now, let’s get on. I dread to think how close they are.”

One hundred and eighty seconds later the old privy hut had taken on a very different appearance. It was covered with a glowing skin of purple light, which was slowly hardening, like a chrysalis. Septimus watched, enthralled—he had never seen a real
Encapsulation
. It was a tough piece of
Magyk
to get right. Septimus had practiced on a few small objects but the
Capsules
either collapsed like a burst balloon or ended up lumpy like an old potato. But Marcia’s was perfect. It covered the hut evenly and smoothly, and as it hardened it began to lose its purple sheen and turn a delicate blue. Soon the color would leave it and a transparent glasslike substance would cover the entire structure, forming a barrier so impenetrable that not even a ghost would be able to get through.

But until all color was gone, the
Capsule
could be breached. It was an anxious time. Just in case, Marcia stationed Septimus around the back of the little hut, and she watched the front.

Suddenly a gasp came from behind the hut. “There’s something . . . coming through . . .”

A flash of fear shot through Marcia. She raced around to Septimus in time to see a tall purple ghost pushing itself through the hardening
Capsule
.

Marcia was extremely relieved. “It’s an old ExtraOrdinary,” she murmured. “How very . . .
extraordinary
.”

An elegant figure emerged, his cropped gray hair banded by an old-fashioned ExtraOrdinary Wizard headband, his thin features and sharp, beaky nose giving the impression of a gaunt bird of prey.

“Oh,” said Septimus. “It’s Julius Pike!”

“That,” said Marcia, “is extremely good timing.”

As Julius Pike
Composed
himself after the unpleasant
Passing Through
of the back of the hut—wondering why someone had decided to put the door on the other side from where it always had been—the
Capsule
lost its last tint of blue and became completely clear. Marcia smiled. Nothing was going to get out of there now.

Julius bowed to Marcia in the old-fashioned formal style. “ExtraOrdinary,” he said. “Forgive my intrusion in your most excellent
Magyk
. I am sorry to have interrupted your tutorial.”

“No apologies necessary, I assure you,” said Marcia.

It was a tradition among ExtraOrdinary Wizards that whenever they met an ExtraOrdinary Wizard ghost for the first time (
Gatherings
did not count) the Living must introduce themselves and, bizarrely, inquire after the health of the ghost. With the immediate threat lifted, Marcia proceeded to introduce herself and then Septimus.

The ghost of Julius Pike stopped her. “No need, ExtraOrdinary, for Septimus and I have met before. In another Time—my Living Time.” The ghost smiled sympathetically at Septimus. “I am very glad to see you safe here, Apprentice. I would like to say that when we met before I was not aware of what had happened to you. I merely assumed you were yet another mildly deranged Alchemie Apprentice.” The ghost turned to Marcia. “Marcellus Pye was, at that time, my very good friend, but even then there were things he did that I could not endorse.”

“Indeed?” said Marcia.

“Kidnapping a boy from another Time was one of them.”

“Quite,” said Marcia. Every word the ghost spoke made her like him more. Marcia remembered her manners. “I trust you are well?” she inquired.

Julius gave the standard reply: “As well as any ghost may be.” The ghost continued, “I have come to warn you”—like everyone who spoke of the Ring Wizards, he dropped his voice to a whisper—“that two most
Darke
and foul Wizards are, at this very moment, on their way to the Castle through the Bolt. It is extremely fortuitous that you have chosen this very place for your
Capsule
tutorial.”

“It’s not one little bit fortuitous,” said Marcia. “It is totally deliberate.”

“Ah. So you know. So it is
your
scorpion following them?”

“It’s mine, actually,” said Septimus.

“Well, well.” Julius was impressed. He turned to Marcia. “ExtraOrdinary, these
Darke
Wizards are from the Two-Faced Ring, which I know of old. In the early hours of the morning I
Felt
them heading for the Castle. I have come to warn you.”

“We know,” said Marcia. And then, thinking she had been a little curt, she said, “But thank you. I very much appreciate your concern.”

There was something Septimus had to ask. “What did the Wizards look like?”

“It is very sad,” said Julius Pike. “They are
InHabiting
two old tramps, probably found them sleeping in a ditch somewhere.
Darke Magyk
is not kind to—”

Marcia cut in. “How long have we got?”

“I overtook them using an old passing place in the Bolt some two hours ago, but the tramps are being pushed forward at a merciless pace. I estimate possibly an hour.”

“An hour!” Marcia was horrified. “Septimus, go! As soon as Jenna arrives bring her here. There must be no delay.
None whatsoever
. Hurry, hurry!”

Septimus was halfway up the ladder when he realized that leaving Julius with Marcia was not a good idea. He was pretty sure that Marcia knew that Julius Pike had been the ExtraOrdinary Wizard at the time of the Great Alchemie Disaster. It would not take her long to start asking the ghost a lot of awkward questions—and getting even more awkward answers. Septimus now shared Marcellus’s opinion that Marcia would close down the
Fyre
, even at this late stage, if she knew about it. He also knew from Marcellus that it was Julius who had closed it down previously. It was not safe to leave the ghost of Julius Pike alone with Marcia.

Septimus looked down from the ladder. “Um, Marcia,” he said. “I wonder if Julius could come with me?”

“Whatever for?” Marcia asked.

Septimus felt bad about what he was going to say, but he told himself it was actually the truth. “I’d just feel happier, that’s all. It’s hard to explain.”

Marcia had never heard Septimus talk like that. It worried her.

“Yes, of course. Now, hurry,
hurry
!” Marcia watched Septimus climb up the wall and drop down the other side, avoiding the broken ladder. He was followed by Julius Pike, who had done the very same thing in his time as an Apprentice. With the backyard to herself, Marcia fretted. She hated waiting but there was nothing else to be done.

Septimus and the ghost of Julius Pike hurried along Wizard Way toward the Palace. The warmth of the sun and the spring tweeting of birds made Septimus’s spirits rise: soon all would be back to normal. He had no doubt that the Capsule would hold the Wizards securely until Jenna got there. Then all she had to do was say the
Committal
—which, knowing Jenna, she would have been practicing all night—then the Wizards would be back in the ring and Marcellus could
DeNature
it in the
Fyre
. It could all happen that very day, he thought. And he was really looking forward to seeing the
Fyre
with Marcia. It would be good to have no more secrets. Septimus pushed to the back of his mind the thought of Ernold and Edmund. Right then he did not want to think about that.

They headed across the Palace lawns toward the Palace landing stage, where Septimus could see Sarah, Silas and Beetle waiting. Beetle and Silas were shading their eyes against the glare of the sun and Sarah was jumping up and down, waving. Septimus knew that Nicko’s boat must be in sight. He raced the last hundred yards to the landing stage and saw Jannit Maarten’s supply boat speeding toward it, dancing through the sparkling water. Nicko was windswept and smiling at the helm, Jenna and Simon leaning out, waving.

Septimus turned to Julius with relief. “Jenna’s back,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.”

Unconcerned about the safety of royalty, the ghost was staring at Beetle. “Why is the Chief Hermetic Scribe not in the Manuscriptorium?” he asked.

Septimus remembered that Julius Pike had a reputation for being picky about protocol. It seemed a little misplaced right then. “A Chief Scribe doesn’t have to always be at the Manuscriptorium—does he, Beetle?” Septimus raised his voice to include Beetle in the conversation.

Beetle turned and saw the unfamiliar ExtraOrdinary Wizard ghost approaching. The first-time greeting etiquette applied also to Chief Hermetic Scribes. Beetle bowed politely.