Septimus Heap 4 - Queste (8 page)

“We just call him Old Goat-Face,” said Beetle.

“Do you?” Marcia laughed. “Well, I don’t suppose he would like that. Now, Beetle, I would like The Live Plan of What Lies Beneath, please.”

“Oh, right.” Beetle sounded surprised. “Um, let me get you a seat.” Beetle placed the lamps on a great lump of a table that looked as though it was carved out of stone, and rubbed the dust off the seat of the old chair beside it with the end of his sleeve. Marcia sneezed. She sat down and wrapped her purple cloak tightly around her against the damp air of the Vaults. “Oh, and Beetle—could you bring the most recent ExtraOrdinary Apprentice Urn?”

“No problem. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Marcia watched the flame from his lamp guttering in the drafts that blew through the ancient ventilation system, as Beetle disappeared into the farthest reaches of the Vaults. Beetle knew his way around the Vaults with his eyes closed—something that he had actually done for his Intermediate Manuscriptorium Management Exam—and he was back quickly with his arms clasped around a huge lapis lazuli blue and gold urn. The lamp hung from a spare finger and on top of the urn a long cylinder wrapped in cloth was balanced precariously.

Extremely carefully, Beetle set the urn and the cylinder down on the table, and he placed his lamp beside it. In the light of the flame the lapis lazuli gleamed a beautiful deep dark blue and the streaks of gold that ran through it shone with a warm glow.

“Would you like to take these up to the Hermetic Chamber?” Beetle asked Marcia.

“No, thank you, Beetle,” Marcia replied. “I have no wish to go to the Chamber. In fact I am glad that Miss Djinn is not here. I would like to speak to you in confidence.”

“Me?” gasped Beetle.

“Indeed. In your capacity as Inspection Clerk. And because I trust you.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Beetle flushed.

“Of course I trust your Chief Hermetic Scribe implicitly,” Marcia said. “But she does have a tendency to complicate matters, if you know what I mean?”

Beetle nodded. He knew exactly what Marcia meant.

“Would you take out the Plan, please?”

Beetle unwound the discolored cloth from the long silver tube. The end of the tube was sealed with purple wax, which was stamped with the imprint of the Akhu Amulet. The amulet, which hung around Marcia’s neck, had been the symbol and source of the power of the ExtraOrdinary Wizards since Hotep-Ra himself.

From her ExtraOrdinary Wizard gold and platinum belt, Marcia unclipped what appeared to be a long silver lozenge.

She muttered something under her breath and, like the claws of a cat unsheathing, a shiny, slightly curved silver blade silently shot out. Beetle watched, fascinated, as Marcia ran the razor-sharp blade around the wax on the end of the tube so that it parted like butter. She drew out a thick roll of paper and unrolled it. From a shelf under the table Beetle took four ornate gold paperweights with silver handles and placed one on each corner.

Marcia took out the tiny spectacles that she used for close work. She perused the complex diagram, running her finger along the path of the Ice Tunnels, muttering to herself. Beetle had politely stepped away but Marcia beckoned him over.

“You know the two tunnel ghosts—the brothers who were trapped in the Emergency Freeze and have been looking for a way out ever since?”

“Eldred and Alfred Stone?”

“That’s them. Well, apparently they have

found a way out. Alther—you know the ghost of Alther Mella? You’re too young to remember but he was our last ExtraOrdinary Wizard.” Beetle nodded. He had met Alther many times recently while Septimus had been learning to use the Flyte Charm. “Well, Alther saw them a couple of nights ago.”

“Actually,” said Beetle, “now I think about it, I haven’t seen them in the tunnels for some time.”

“Really? This is not good news, Beetle. Not good news at all…aha. Now come and have a look. There is something going on here.” Marcia stabbed a long finger at a fuzzy area on what appeared to be a tangle of worms, snaking and folding in and out of one another.

Beetle had never seen a Live Plan before. As he looked he was sure he saw something on the edge of the Plan move.

“Did you see that?” gasped Marcia. “It moved.”

“It’s doing it again,” said Beetle. “I think it’s the hatch under old Weasal’s place.”

“I thought

you’d know what you were looking at,” said Marcia. “Beetle, I need you to go and check this out. Urgently. That hatch and this fuzzy bit here…wherever that is.”

Beetle whistled between his teeth. “That’s under the old Alchemie Chamber.”

Marcia frowned. “I think,” she said, “that it might be a good idea if you take Septimus with you. There’s safety in numbers. I’ll send him over. You do understand that this is highly confidential, don’t you?”

Beetle nodded.

“I particularly do not want the Ghost of the Vaults to know. He is not to be trusted. You know who he is, I suppose?”

“Tertius Fume?”

“Quite. I thought you would have figured it out. Septimus did too.” Marcia smiled fondly. “Very well, you can put the Plan away now. It’s not good to have it out in the light for too long.”

Beetle began rolling up the Plan. “Do you still want the Apprentice Urn?” he asked.

Marcia snapped out of her thoughts. “Oh! I’d quite forgotten. Yes, please, Beetle.”

Marcia unsealed the urn and plunged her arm deep inside. She drew out a roll of vellum tied with purple and green ribbons and sealed with purple sealing wax, which also bore the imprint of the Akhu Amulet. Marcia checked the signature written along the length of the roll. Septimus’s young, wobbly writing was unmistakable, but Marcia was amazed how it had changed in such a short time. Now, Septimus’s signature was sprawling and confident—if a little overcomplicated. Satisfied that she had the right urn, Marcia replaced the roll of indentures. She took out from her ExtraOrdinary Wizard belt a beautiful tiny gold and silver arrow. For a moment she held it in her palm and both she and Beetle gazed at it.

“Sep’s Flyte Charm,” breathed Beetle.

“Half right, Beetle,” corrected Marcia. “It is the Flyte Charm but it does not belong to Septimus. The Flyte Charm is one of the Ancient Charms; it belongs to no one.” With that she dropped the Charm into the depths of the urn.

“Oh!” said Beetle. “Um…did you mean to do that?”

“I most certainly did,” said Marcia. “Septimus needs to settle down and get on with his work. Recently he has been rushing around all over the place—which is, I understand, one of the effects of having the Flyte Charm. People become

unsettled, always wanting to be off. Of course, he says

he’s been seeing his mother, but Sarah tells me she hasn’t seen him for ages and I believe her. The Flyte Charm can stay here until he is old enough to handle it. It is not a toy. You may reseal now, Beetle.”

One of the skills Beetle had learned in the Manuscriptorium was when to say nothing. He could tell that right then was just such a moment. He took the candle from his lamp and set it under a small tripod with a tiny brass saucepan perched upon it. From a drawer in the table he took out a knife and a great chunk of purple sealing wax, then he began to shave off some wax, allowing the shavings to drop into the pan. Marcia and Beetle watched the wax slowly melt into a dark purple puddle. Very carefully, Beetle poured half the wax over the end of the Plan and the other half so that it covered the ridge between the top of the urn and its gold stopper. When the wax was nearly set Marcia took off the Akhu Amulet and pressed it deep into the wax, leaving the unmistakable dragon imprint on the seals.

Marcia watched Beetle disappear into the depths of the Vaults. Somewhere surprisingly distant, she heard the faint scrape of lapis lazuli against stone as Beetle pushed the urn back into its place on a dark shelf far away from prying eyes, then the click of the lock as Beetle laid The Live Plan of What Lies Beneath back in its ebony chest.

“A successful visit?” said Tertius Fume grumpily as they left the Vaults. “I do hope you found nothing too Alarming?”

“I knew

he’d try to listen,” Marcia spluttered indignantly as she followed Beetle back along the zigzag passage. “Serves him right. I put a Sting in the Alarm.”

Beetle chuckled. You don’t mess with Marcia, he thought.

A ROOM WITH A VIEW

A bored Thing slowly chewed the tops of its fingers, pulling at long bits of skin with its blackened teeth. It glared at its Master—a waste of space in the opinion of the Thing—and cursed its ill fortune at having been Engendered for such a fool. Its Master, blissfully unaware of the waves of loathing coming his way, was also busy chewing.

Merrin was leaning nonchalantly against the old clock tower opposite the Palace, eating a licorice snake, enjoying his first ever taste of a sweet. After his contretemps with Beetle in the Manuscriptorium, Merrin had wandered back through The Ramblings and had discovered Ma Custard’s All-Day-All-Night Sweet Shop, tucked away on the far side of the Castle down Sugar Cone Cut beside the Old Dock. While the Thing and its sack of bones had loitered outside, creating an oppresive haze that put off other customers, Merrin had spent ages gazing at all the sweets. Ma Custard, who was used to people dithering for hours between lemon lumps and ferocious fizzes, had let him linger. Eventually Merrin had chosen the licorice snake because it reminded him of the black snake that Simon Heap kept, and Merrin had always wondered what snake tasted like.

Merrin savored his last sticky mouthful of licorice. He stared up at the windows that ran the length of the Palace—a long, low, mellow old building—and began to count them. It was then that the idea came to him. Why waste his money on renting a room? Just think how many licorice snakes he could buy with a whole week’s rent. Anyway, he belonged in the Castle—it was his right to live anywhere he wanted. So there. And where better than the Palace? Merrin swallowed the snake’s tail with a decisive gulp. Problem solved.

Merrin was good at finding ways into places—especially places he should not go. So it was easy for him to sneak unnoticed along the narrow high-walled alleyway that led around the outside of the Palace grounds to the small door in the wall of the Palace kitchen garden. The door was open as usual. Sarah Heap liked to leave it open so her friend Sally Mullin could drop by and have a midmorning chat before she got back to the lunchtime rush in her café.

Although Merrin planned to one day have the entire Palace at his disposal—just as DomDaniel’s deputy, the Supreme Custodian, once had—for now things were, regrettably, a little different. Closely followed by the Thing, he slipped in through the open door and found himself in the kitchen garden.

Merrin liked the kitchen garden; it appealed to his sense of order. It was the one place where Sarah Heap was tidy. The garden was bounded on all sides by a high redbrick wall. It was neatly laid out with close-mown grass paths running between well-tended beds where Sarah was in the process of planting early lettuce, peas, beans and all kinds of vegetables that Merrin did not even recognize, let alone dream of eating. The paths all led to a large well in the center of the garden, where Sarah drew the water for her plants. At the far end of the garden was a low brick arch, which Merrin could see led into a covered way.

Keeping close to the wall, Merrin carefully walked the grass paths, resisting the urge to count the newly sewn lettuce seedlings. As he got near the arch, he could not believe his luck. At the end of the covered way was a half open door that led straight into the Palace. His new home beckoned.

It was then that Merrin felt something

breathing down his neck. He had had the feeling of being followed for a while. He had felt it outside the Grateful Turbot, again when he had come out of the Manuscriptorium and particularly outside Ma Custard’s—something had been Waiting

for him, but every time he had turned around he had seen nothing. But now Merrin was sure. He spun around and caught the Thing unawares.

“Got you!” he yelled and then clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. Someone would hear. Merrin and the Thing froze, staring at each other, listening for footsteps. None came.

“You stupid Thing, I told you to look for my cloak,” hissed Merrin. “What are you doing here?”

“I am come to help you, Master,” the Thing replied in a low, mournful whisper.

“Just you?” asked Merrin suspiciously.

“Just me, Master,” replied the Thing dolefully.

Merrin felt relieved. “Well, you can wait outside. I’m not having you tiptoeing behind me in the Palace—ohcrumbswhydidyoubringthose?” Merrin had caught sight of the sack of bones.

“For yoooooou, Master,” said the Thing in its low, insinuating voice.

Merrin stared at the Thing. He hated the way he could not quite see the Thing’s expression; it made him think it was mocking him. But Merrin knew that, whatever the Thing

might think, it had to obey him. “I don’t want those disgusting bones,” he told the Thing. “You can…” Merrin cast around for somewhere to put them. His eyes lighted on the well. “You can chuck them down the well.”

The Thing looked horrified but all Merrin saw was a faint flash of red from the lizard eyes. Leaving the Thing staring at its precious sack of bones in disbelief, Merrin slipped through the arch and crept along the covered way. He flitted from pillar to pillar until he had reached the half open door. The door looked as if it could have a nasty squeak, so he squeezed through the gap into the cool, musty shade of the old building. And there he was—inside the Palace.

Not long after, Sarah Heap came into the garden through a small gate near the old kitchens. She still wore Jannit’s battered sailor’s boater. Sarah rather liked it, as it made her feel quite jaunty and carefree, which was something she had not felt for some time. But as she walked past the well on her way to her greenhouse to collect the seedlings for that day’s planting, a horrible feeling of gloom came over her. She stopped in her tracks—something Darke was by the well.

Sarah Heap had not been interested in Magyk for many years. She had trained as a healer and thought she had left Magyk far behind her. But she still had the telltale Magykal green eyes and knew quite enough to do a See. So when, to her horror, Sarah Saw the Thing perched on the edge of her