Physik (Septimus Heap #3)

The Great Doors of Time swung silently closed behind them.

"Nicko," sobbed Jenna. "Nicko!"

"It's no good, Jen," said Septimus wearily. "He's five hundred years away now."

Jenna looked at Septimus in disbelief. She had expected to walk straight out into the Castle - not find herself in a dingy tunnel lit with weird glass globes. "What ... you mean we're already back - back in our own Time?"

Septimus nodded. "We're home now, Jen. This is the Old Way. It's really, really old. It runs far below even the Ice Tunnels."

"So where's the old Marcellus?" Jenna asked wearily. "You'd think he'd be waiting for us, since he knows we're coming."

"Five hundred years is a long time to remember stuff, Jen. I don't think he knows what's going on anymore, really. He'll be around somewhere. Come on, let's get out of here."

With the air of a seasoned traveler, Septimus set off along the Old Way, with Jenna, clutching Ullr to her, trudging behind. They walked along in silence, each deep in their own thoughts about Nicko.

After a while Jenna said, "If Nicko ever does Come Through, how will he find his way back?"

"Nicko will find a way, Jen. He always does," replied Septimus, sounding more hopeful than he really was, for it was not long since Nicko had mistaken an ant for a footpath and gotten them both lost in the Forest.

"And Snorri ..." said Jenna. "I really liked Snorri."

"Yeah. So did Nik. That was the trouble." Septimus sounded mad.

All the time, Ullr made no sound. The small orange cat with the black-tipped tail sat quietly in Jenna's arms, his spirit elsewhere - with his mistress in a distant Time. Five hundred years away, Snorri Snorrelssen was sitting lost and miserable on a riverbank. But, as she gazed into the distance, she Saw the Old Way and the long lines of globes of Everlasting Fyre, and though she did not understand what it was she was Seeing, she knew that she was Seeing through Ullr's eyes.

It was bitterly cold in the Old Way. Jenna and Septimus pulled their UnderCooks' coats around them, but still the chill worked its way through and made them shiver. The rough fabric of the coats brushed along the wide, smooth pavement, and the faint rustling sounds filled the air like the flapping of bats' wings at twilight.

Marcellus was waiting for them at the foot of the lapis steps, slumped against the stone with his deep-set eyes closed. Jenna jumped at the sight of the ancient man and squeezed Ullr tightly to her - so tightly that far away, Snorri gasped at the sudden pain around her ribs.

"He ... he's not dead, is he?" Jenna whispered.

"Not yet," came a quavery voice. "Though there is not much difference, 'tis true." Old Marcellus licked his dry lips and stared at Septimus as if trying to remember something. "You are the boy with the Tincture?" he asked, looking at them with his rheumy eyes. Septimus thought he could still see something of the young Marcellus's expression in those eyes.

"I am going to make it tomorrow at the Conjunction," said Septimus. "Don't you remember? You told me to drop it in the Moat inside a gold box marked with the sun?"

The old man snorted. "What care I for the sun?"

"I shall put it in the box, just as I said I would," said Septimus patiently. "And then - do you remember? - you will let me know you have it by returning the Flyte Charm."

Marcellus smiled and his tombstone teeth glowed red in the flames of the globes. "I remember now, Septimus. I do not forget my promises. Be you a fisherman?"

Septimus shook his head.

"Methinks you will become one." Marcellus chuckled.

"Good-bye, Marcellus," said Septimus.

"Fare thee well, Septimus. Thou wert a good Apprentice. Fare thee well, my dear ... Esmeralda." The ancient man closed his eyes once more.

"Good-bye, Marcellus," said Jenna.

At last they reached the top of the long, winding lapis steps and came face to face with the Glass. Septimus remembered the last time he had stood there, and could hardly helieve that this time he would be able to go through it. He looked at the Glass, hardly daring to place the Keye into the indentation above it. He could see that this Glass was not the same as the True Glass of Time. Gone were the heady sense of depth and the intricate swirling patterns of Time - this Glass looked dull and empty, seeming to be nothing more than a poorly silvered glass.

"Time to go home," whispered Septimus. "So ... we just go through here and come out into the Robing Room?" asked Jenna.

"I guess so. Come on, let's go." Septimus took hold of Jenna's hand, but Jenna resisted, glancing behind her one last time. "Nik hasn't Come Through, Jen," Septimus said quietly. "I've been listening for him all along, and he's not here. There is no human heartbeat in the Old Way apart from you and me and - about every five minutes - Marcellus."

Septimus tentatively placed his hand against the Glass. It went through as easily as putting his hand into an icy bowl of water. "Come on, Jen," he said, gently.

Taking Septimus's hand, Jenna followed him into the Glass - and out to the world where they belonged.

They were welcomed by an ear-splitting shriek. Marcia leaped up from her place at the table in the Hermetic Chamber and dropped a huge book of calculation charts on her foot. Jillie Djinn came running.

"What is it, Marcia?" gasped Jillie, emerging from the seven-cornered passage into the Hermetic Chamber. "The mouse catcher caught them all yesterday, he promised. There can't be any more - oh, my goodness, the Glass!"

"Septimus!" yelled Marcia, kicking the calculation charts away in abandon and rushing to the Glass. "Oh, Septimus, Septimus!" She swept up the emerging Septimus into her arms and swung him around, much to his complete amazement, for Marcia did not do hugs.

Jenna watched, happy that at last that she had put right the harm she had done Septimus. And then she remembered Nicko and burst into tears.

In the Manuscriptorium, twenty-one pale faces looked up as the tearful Princess, carrying a scraggy orange cat, and a disheveled boy, who looked a lot like the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice - but could not possibly be, because everyone knew that the ExtraOrdinary Wizard would never have allowed him to have his hair like that - came quietly out of the Hermetic Chamber with the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. No one had seen them go in, but some of the older scribes were used to that. People who went into the Hermetic Chamber did not always come out, and people who came out had not always gone in. It was just the way things were. The scribes also noticed that the ExtraOrdinary Wizard was smiling, which she most certainly had not been the day before when she had gone into the Chamber. Most scribes had, in fact, thought that, as part of her job, the ExtraOrdinary Wizard was not allowed to smile and were quite shocked. But whatever any of the scribes happened to be thinking at that moment, they all suddenly stopped when a loud crash shattered the pin-drop silence of the Manuscriptorium - and the front window.

Foxy, who had taken over from Beetle after he had been rushed to the Infirmary with the Sickenesse, threw himself through the flimsy door that separated the front office from the Manuscriptorium, white-faced and yelling, "Help, help! There's a dragon in the office!" Then he fainted.

There was indeed a dragon in the office - and not much else. The window was in a million pieces, the desk was firewood and the teetering stacks of pamphlets, papers, booklets and manuscripts were either trampled to the floor and covered in muddy dragon prints or were blowing down Wizard Way in the brisk early-morning breeze.

"Spit Fyre!" gasped Septimus, rubbing the dragon's nose. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"We did a Seek," said Jenna happily. "And it worked. Kind of."

Jillie Djinn surveyed the wreckage. She was not happy. "I would ask you to keep your dragon under control, Marcia," she said, "but it is obviously too late."

"It is not my dragon, Miss Djinn," snapped Marcia, her smile rapidly evaporating. "It belongs to my Apprentice here, who is a skilled and careful dragon keeper."

Jillie Djinn snorted dismissively. "Not quite skilled enough, apparently, Madam Marcia. I shall be sending you the bill for the window and the multitude of lost and destroyed papers."

"You may send as many bills as you wish, Miss Djinn. The nights are drawing in, and I shall take great pleasure in lighting the fire with them. Good day to you. Come, Jenna and Septimus, time to go home." Marcia stepped disdainfully over the chaos and swept out the door. Once safely in Wizard Way, Marcia clicked her fingers at Spit Fyre, who jumped obediently through the smashed window, for there was something about Marcia that still made Spit Fyre think Dragon Mother.

Barely able to believe that his dream had come true, Septimus wandered onto Wizard Way - his Wizard Way. He stopped and breathed in the air - the air of his Time, which smelled of wood smoke and baked pies from the meat pie and sausage cart that was approaching the Manuscriptorium just in time for the mid-morning break. He looked down the broad expanse of the Way, with the long, low Palace - Jenna's Palace - in the distance, and he could not stop smiling. This, thought Septimus, is where I belong.

But while Septimus was feeling glad to be alive and, after six months of near silence could not stop talking, Jenna was exhausted. "You are to come back with us and get some sleep," Marcia told her. "I will send a message to the Palace."

They walked through the Great Arch, Septimus closely tailed by Spit Fyre, who was suspiciously sniffing his strange-smelling tunic. "Ouch!" yelped Septimus as the dragon trod on the backs of his heels in an effort to keep as close as possible to his Imprinter.

"Goodness," said Marcia, "what have you got on your feet, Septimus?"

Septimus felt quite silly enough in his shoes without explaining them to Marcia. He quickly changed the subject. "I wish Beetle had seen Spit Fyre come in through the window. He'll be really sorry to have missed that. I wonder where he was."

"Ah, yes," Marcia sighed. "Beetle. Oh, dear. Septimus, there's something you ought to know..."