Septimus Heap 4 - Queste (42 page)

Catchpole was horrified. “No!” he pleaded. “No, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Ha!” said Marcia. “I’ve heard that one before. Believe me, Catchpole, it generally is exactly what it looks like—and then some.”

Catchpole produced his pen and waved it desperately. “But I was just—”

“I have no need to see what you’ve been writing with, thank you,” said Marcia. “I have better things to do. Stand aside, will you?”

“No! No, you don’t understand.” Catchpole threw himself in front of the door to stop Marcia from going inside. “Please, Madam Marcia, please. I didn’t do it. I can prove it. Please.” There was a break in Catchpole’s voice that caught Marcia by surprise.

“Very well,” she said. “Prove it.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“For heaven’s sake, stop groveling. Just get on with it.”

Oblivious to the soapy water, Catchpole kneeled down and wrote on the door, IT IS I, BORIS CATCHPOLE. WHO

ARE YOU?

Marcia tapped her foot impatiently, making little splashing noises. But as the words SEPTIMUS (BOY 412) appeared, the splashing noises stopped. Sarah Heap screamed.

“See?” said Catchpole. “It does it on its own. It’s said lots of things.”

“Like what?” asked Marcia.

“I don’t know,” Catchpole replied. “I was too busy washing them off.”

“You idiot! You washed them off?”

“But you told me to.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, give me your pen.” Marcia snatched the pen from Catchpole’s trembling hand and wrote: SEPTIMUS, IT’S MARCIA HERE. WHERE ARE YOU?

Far away in the House of Foryx a loud cheer went up.

IN TIME

A s they emerged, jubilant, onto

the balustrade landing, a reception committee was waiting. Two huge bodyguards leaped forward and grabbed Nicko.

Snorri screamed. These were the very same bodyguards—known as Fowler and Brat—who had taken her away after a neighbor had accused her of Ill-Wishing his cactus.

“Let go!” yelled Nicko, struggling furiously. A furor broke out. Snorri aimed a kick at Fowler—a huge man with a gleaming bald head—who had Nicko’s arms pinned behind his back. Septimus and Beetle weighed in, rapidly followed by Jenna. Brat, who was much the smaller of the guards but was surprisingly strong and sported a pair of impressive cauliflower ears, swatted them away like irritating flies.

The Guardian stood in the background, half obscured by the candle smoke, her arm swathed in bandages. “Take him to the fortified room,” she called out. “I do not wish to ever see him again!”

“Don’t worry, Madam Guardian, you won’t.” Fowler laughed. “You can be sure of that. Oof—get off, boy,” he snarled.

This was addressed to Beetle, who had succeeded in getting him in a headlock.

The bodyguards dragged Nicko across the landing, accompanied by Snorri yelling and kicking their shins, and Jenna hanging on to her brother like a limpet. Beetle still had Fowler in a headlock—but to no discernable effect—and Ullr followed the melee, hissing.

But Septimus had stepped back from the fray. From his Apprentice belt he took a small crystal shaped like a shard of ice. Holding it carefully between finger and thumb he pointed the thinnest end at Fowler, who was now trying to drag Nicko and his entourage through a dark archway on the far side of the landing.

“Freeze!” yelled Septimus.

Beetle Froze. Horrified, Septimus realized his mistake. However, having a Frozen Beetle dangling from his neck like a dead weight had put Fowler off his stride, and Nicko seized his chance. He struggled free, grabbed Snorri and in a moment they were running for the stairs. Furious, Fowler shrugged Beetle off, and Beetle toppled onto the floor like a felled tree. “Beetle!” cried Jenna. “Oh, Beetle!”

Nicko hurtled past Septimus, pulling Snorri behind him. “Come on, Sep!” Nicko yelled. “Let’s get out of this place. I’ve had enough—I don’t care what Time we end up in.”

“No, Nik!” shouted Septimus. “No—don’t.”

But Nicko and Snorri were racing down the wide, sweeping stairs, with Fowler and Brat in hot pursuit.

Septimus ran to Jenna. “You’ve got to stop Nik,” he told her. “He’s flipped. Stop him before he’s gone forever.”

Jenna leaped to her feet. “But, Beetle…”

“He’ll be okay. I’ll fix it. Now, go!”

Jenna sped off, pushing her way past the Guardian, who made a half-hearted grab for her, and raced down the stairs.

Septimus left the Frozen

Beetle and leaned over the balustrade. He saw Jenna flying down the stairs, her red cloak streaming out behind. Far below through the candle smoke, he could see the hazy outlines of Nicko and Snorri reach the crowded hall and begin to push their way through, heading for the silver doors. Closing fast were Fowler and Brat.

Mistaking Septimus’s apparent lack of concern, the Guardian joined him. “We will soon have the troublemaker.” She smiled. Septimus did not reply. The Guardian felt suddenly uncomfortable and moved away. She didn’t like the strange unfocused look in Septimus’s eyes and she particularly did not like the peculiar purple mist that was beginning to surround him—she was afraid it might be catching.

Down in the Great Hall of the House of Foryx, Brat had overtaken Fowler and was within an arm’s length of Nicko. He reached out to grab him but at the last second Nicko eluded him by darting behind a large man in a tall, pointy hat.

Suddenly Fowler stopped, looked puzzled, then yelled, “Idiot—he’s over there!” Brat wheeled around to see his quarry heading back up the stairs—how had the boy managed that?

Leaning over the balustrade, Septimus was concentrating harder than he had ever done before. To Project a living person is one of the hardest Projections to do. Septimus was struggling using Magykal powers he never believed he had but, like all Projections, it was not totally perfect. There were fuzzy edges and momentary gaps. Luckily the candle smoke covered up any imperfections and Septimus was careful to make sure the Projected Nicko was running just far enough ahead of the guards for them not to get too close a look. Exhilarated now by his mastery of Magyk, Septimus took the Projection

up the stairs. As the mirror image of Nicko came closer, he stepped back to give himself some distance—for the nearer a Projection

was, the harder it was to maintain. The Guardian noted approvingly that Septimus watched the young thug rush past but did nothing; she had misjudged the Apprentice, she thought. Her long nose shone with excitement as she watched her faithful Fowler and Brat—sweating profusely and bright red in the face—close in. They would have the boy any moment now.

Septimus sent his Projection racing into Nicko and Snorri’s turret and then relaxed. All he had to do now was Project the sound of running footsteps and let the guards exhaust themselves. He looked down to see if Jenna had managed to stop Nicko from leaving, but the candle smoke obscured his view. Septimus longed to rush down and talk some sense into Nicko, but he knew he had to trust Jenna to do it. He had something else to do—something that could not wait. Beetle needed DeFrosting.

The Guardian watched Septimus lead a shaky Beetle down the long sweeping staircase and as they disappeared into the haze of candle smoke she heard Fowler and Brat thudding back down the turret steps. She smiled the kind of smile that you might expect from a horse that, determined to unseat its rider, sees a low tree branch come into sight.

Jenna had caught up with Nicko and Snorri in the checkerboard lobby. “No, Nik!” she yelled. “No, don’t go. Please. Not on your own. Please.”

“I’m not staying here,” said Nicko. “I’m not spending the rest of my life—and then some—locked in a filthy hole under the ground. They took Snorri there for ages. It was awful.”

“It was only a few days, Nicko,” said Snorri.

“Who knows how long it was,” Nicko growled. “This place messes with your head. No one knows how long any Time is—it’s crazy. I can’t stand it anymore.” He lunged for the door to the outside Time but Jenna caught his hand in midair.

“Nik! Just promise one thing. Please.”

“What?”

“That you’ll wait for Sep and Beetle.”

“If they turn up. You don’t understand, Jen. It’s weird here. People disappear.”

“They will turn up. They will.” As if in answer, the silver doors to the lobby suddenly flew open and Septimus and Beetle rushed in.

“They’re coming!” gasped Septimus. “My Projection broke down when I DeFrosted Beetle.”

“Okay, that’s it,” said Nicko. “I’m off.”

“Nik—wait!” said Jenna. She unclipped the key to the Queen’s Room that hung from her belt and shoved it into a small keyhole almost hidden in the middle of a hieroglyph on the right-hand silver door. As soon as she turned it they heard the sound of the doors Barring.

“That won’t stop her,” said Nicko. “She’s got a key too.”

“It will if I leave it in the lock,” said Jenna with a smile.

“Good one, Jen,” Septimus said with a grin.

They sat in the checkerboard lobby, poised between two worlds. Like her Aunt Ells before her, Snorri was seated on the tall dragon chair. She rested her feet on the thick, curled tail, and her thin frame almost disappeared into the carved dragon wings that formed the back of the chair. Nicko perched on the broad dragon-head arms. Both he and Snorri looked tense and worn.

Jenna, Septimus and Beetle had retrieved their backpacks and were sitting on the cold marble floor, leaning against them.

Nicko looked at them, shaking his head with amazement. “I still don’t believe it—that you’re really here. I just don’t.

We’ve waited so long, haven’t we, Snorri?”

Snorri nodded.

“I’m just very glad you’re here,” Jenna said quietly. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t be.”

“I very nearly wasn’t,” said Nicko. “There were so many times when I decided to leave. The doors are open and they don’t stop you, you know. But they tell you that you could go out into any Time at all. Even a time before”—Nicko shuddered—“before there were any people around. Before the House of Foryx existed—so you could never get back.

Snorri always said we should wait. She was right—but then she usually is.” Snorri blushed.

“Yes,” said Jenna, thawing a little toward Snorri. “She was right.”

A pensive silence fell in the checkerboard lobby, but it did not last long. Suddenly there was a loud rapping on the silver doors, followed by a frantic rattling—someone was trying to put a key into the lock.

“It won’t go!” came the Guardian’s angry voice. “Guards, break down the doors!”

At once Nicko was on his feet, his eyes wild. “They won’t get me,” he declared. “I’ll Go Out and take my chance rather than that.”

“I will come with you,” said Snorri. She picked up Ullr. “Ullr, too. He will come.”

“And so will we,” said Jenna solemnly. She looked at Septimus and Beetle. “Won’t we?”

Septimus glanced at Beetle. “Count me in,” said Beetle.

“And me,” said Septimus.

“Really?” asked Nicko. “But it’s me they’re after, not you.”

“We’re in it together now, Nik,” said Septimus. “Whatever happens.”

Now rhythmic thumping began. Fowler was hurling himself at the doors. Soon the lock, which was the weakest point, began to give.

“I’m Going Out now,” said Nicko, very composed and sure, his hand rested on the heavy iron latch that fastened the great ebony door of the House of Foryx. He looked at Jenna, Septimus and Beetle. “But I want you to stay,” he told them, raising his voice against the rhythmic thudding behind him. “You still have a chance to go home, to see Mum and Dad and tell them what has happened. To tell them I’m sorry…”

Septimus took a deep breath. “No, Nik. We’re coming with you,” he said, glancing around at the others. Four pairs of terrified eyes met his—the enormity of what they were about to do had just hit them.

Thud.

Nicko’s eyes felt blurry. He blinked. “Okay,” he said, “here we go.”

Thud. Thud.

Nicko went to lift the latch of the ebony door, which would take them to the outside Time—whatever that might be. And as his hand touched the latch, there came a furious knocking on the door that drowned out the thuds behind them.

Everyone jumped.

Septimus gave a loud whoop. There was only one person he knew who ignored a perfectly serviceable doorbell and attacked a door knocker like that. He threw open the door to the House of Foryx.

“Well,” said Marcia with a broad smile, “aren’t you going to ask me in?”

“No way,” Septimus replied. “We are coming out!”

From the wide sweep of the marble terrace, Sarah Heap watched her two youngest sons and her daughter walk out into the white, misty air and break into whoops of joy. She watched them envelop Marcia Overstrand in an onslaught of hugs and she hardly dared to believe what she was seeing. Sarah leaned against a solid dragon neck for support and Spit Fyre thumped his tail tiredly. It had been a long, cold flight.

The thud of the tail drew Nicko’s attention. “Mum?” he said, ignoring the dragon and seeing only a thin windswept figure wrapped in an old green cloak. “Mum?”

“Oh…Nicko,” was all Sarah could manage.

ALICE AND ALTHER

The ending of Alice’s life was in fact the beginning of Alther and Alice’s long and happy time together. During both their Living times, Alther in particular—but Alice too—had each been too busy with their own careers to be together.

Now Alther was determined that this would change.

Twenty-four hours after she was shot, Alice’s ghost Appeared on the Palace Landing Stage to find Alther waiting for her. All ghosts must spend the first year and a day of their ghosthood in the very place where they became a ghost. This is known as their Resting Time. It can be a difficult time for a ghost who has met an unexpected end, and Alther was determined that he would stay with Alice for the whole of her Resting Time and help her through it. He may not have been there for Alice when he should have been while they were Living, but he would be there for her from now on.

It did not matter to Alther and Alice whether they were indoors or out. Weather does not generally matter to a ghost—except blustery winds, when a ghost feels Blown Through. Even though Jenna knew this, she hated the idea of Alther and Alice spending a whole year and a day just drifting around the Palace Landing Stage, so she got Billy Pot to help her set up a large red-and-white-striped tent—or the Pavilion, as she liked to call it—on the very spot where Alice had been shot.