Fyre

by Angie Sage

  They set off along Footpad Passage toward the bright lights of Wizard Way and Beetle began to explain. “At first I thought it was a drawing of a spider’s web, but then Romilly pointed out that it fit the shape of the Castle. So Ephaniah floated it in the Enhancing Tray to see if he could get anything else to show up. And it did. A very faint map of the Castle appeared and then we saw the title.”

  “Which was?” asked Marcia.

  “Vents: Cauldron cooling system.”

  “Cauldron cooling—is this some kind of witch thing?”

  “I don’t think it is. It is far too technical to be a witch thing and besides, they don’t really write stuff down, do they?”

  “True,” said Marcia.

  “Romilly pointed out that there were lots of breaks in the web and they all ended in a dot—as if someone had rested the pen on the paper for just a little too long. And we noticed that all the dots were in quiet alleyways. It was intriguing. So Romilly and I went out hunting, to see if there was anything visible aboveground.”

  “And was there?” asked Marcia.

  Beetle sighed. “No. It was the day after the Big Freeze came in and the snow had covered everything. At the time I thought that was really bad luck and that we’d have to wait until the thaw. But then last week Foxy came into work soaking wet and said he’d fallen into a puddle. Well, we all laughed—how could he possibly have fallen into a puddle with everything frozen solid? But Foxy got really annoyed and insisted on taking me to see the puddle.”

  “I’d have thought a Chief Hermetic Scribe had better things to do than go and see a puddle, Beetle,” Marcia teased.

  “Yeah. Well, it was either go and see the puddle or no more sausage sandwiches. Not from Foxy. Ever.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “To my amazement there was a puddle. So sausage sandwiches were on me that day. The next day I heard about another one from Partridge and then another and another. It felt like all the scribes were at it, finding puddles. I got Partridge to draw a map of where they were and I had a weird idea. I superimposed it on the Vent web. And every puddle matched the dot at the end of a line. Every single one.”

  “Well, well, well,” said Marcia.

  They had reached Bott’s Cloaks, which proudly proclaimed above the door: WIZARD CLOAKS: OLD AND NEW, GREEN AND BLUE. PERFECT, PRELOVED CLOAKS ARE OUR SPECIALITY. Bott’s Cloaks was a large and normally rather exuberant shop opposite the Manuscriptorium, but now it was sadly subdued because its proprietor, Bertie Bott, was missing, presumed eaten. Mrs. Bott had draped the usual garish statues in black cloth, and a solitary candle burned in the window.

  “Poor Bertie.” Marcia sighed and gazed at the window. “I feel responsible. If I hadn’t insisted on him being on guard . . .”

  “But someone had to be on guard,” said Beetle. “If it hadn’t been Bertie it would have been another Wizard. And it wasn’t you that killed him. It was—well, actually, it was Merrin.”

  “No,” said Marcia. “It was the Darke. Merrin was its tool, just as Simon was. The Darke finds people’s weaknesses and exploits them.”

  “I guess so,” said Beetle. The talk of the Darke had made Beetle a little spooked and the thought of the empty Manuscriptorium was not inviting. Even though it was late, he said, “Ephaniah is doing a final Enhance on the Vent diagram tonight. He thought he saw the shadow of some handwriting and he’s going to have a closer look. I know it’s late, but would you like to come and take a look?”

  “Most definitely,” Marcia said without hesitation. The thought of the ghost of Jillie Djinn staring at her empty-eyed when she came home was no more inviting for Marcia than the Manuscriptorium was for Beetle.

  Down in the quiet, still whiteness of the Conservation basement, a bulky shape swathed in white robes was holding a transparent tray up to the light. Ephaniah Grebe, half man, half rat, turned to Marcia and Beetle. The lower half of Ephaniah’s face was, like his body, swathed in white. The shape beneath the silk wraps betrayed its ratness but his human brown eyes sparkled behind his spectacles as he gave a thumbs-up sign. Ephaniah put the tray down on the workbench and pushed a small white card across to Beetle and Marcia. It said: MILK, NO SUGAR, PLEASE.

  “Huh?” said Beetle, puzzled.

  Ephaniah made a sound that could have been a rat-laugh. He turned the card over. It now said: THE ENHANCEMENT IS COMPLETE.

  Beetle and Marcia peered at the now thick and shiny piece of white paper lying in front of them. Ephaniah’s long, narrow ratlike finger traced some faint handwriting that was scrawled across the foot of the drawing like an afterthought. Marcia drew out her Enhancing Glass and offered it to Beetle.

  Beetle shook his head. “No, you first.”

  Marcia held the Glass close to the writing and peered intently. She tutted to herself as she read, then handed the Glass to Beetle. When he had finished reading, she said, “What did you think it said?”

  “Julius FYI, M. Is that what you thought?”

  “It is. Who was Julius Fyi, I wonder? Unusual name.”

  “It’s not a name,” said Beetle. “It’s an old-fashioned abbreviation: For Your Information. No one uses it anymore.”

  “I see. So, how old do you think this paper is, Ephaniah?” asked Marcia.

  Ephaniah flicked through his number cards and placed “475” in front of Marcia.

  “Days? Weeks? Months?”

  Ephaniah flipped a card from his calendar box: YEARS.

  “Aha! Now that makes sense,” said Marcia.

  “Is does?” asked Beetle.

  “Well, not all of it. But Julius must be Julius Pike, who was ExtraOrdinary Wizard at that time. And I’d bet the Wizard Tower to a wine gum that I know who the M is.”

  “Marcellus?” offered Beetle.

  “Indeed. Our very own newly reinstated Castle Alchemist. Beetle, he has to have something to do with these puddles.” Marcia turned to Ephaniah, who was rifling through his cards. “Thank you so much, Ephaniah,” she said.

  Ephaniah’s eyes wrinkled with a smile. He placed a grubby card in front of her. IT HAS BEEN MY PLEASURE.

  Beetle and Marcia headed back up to the Manuscriptorium. They walked through the empty room, its tall desks like dark sentries as the night candles burned down. Beetle pulled open the flimsy door that led into the Front Office; the moonlight from the snowy Way outside shone in, sending sharp shadows across the boxes of papers and reconditioned Charms waiting for collection in the morning. Beetle followed Marcia through the pattern of light and dark and as she reached the main door she stopped and said:

  “I shall call Marcellus up to the Wizard Tower first thing tomorrow. I shall require an explanation.”

  Beetle was not sure. “I think we should wait for a while and see what happens. I don’t expect Marcellus will admit to anything.”

  Marcia sighed. “No, I don’t suppose he will.”

  Beetle risked a joke. “No one likes to be accused of making puddles everywhere.”

  To Beetle’s surprise, Marcia giggled. “Especially not when you have made a map of where they all are.” She pulled open the door and stepped out into the snow. “I will allow Septimus to begin his month with Marcellus tomorrow—that way I can keep a close eye on what that man is up to. We will keep this under review. Let me know if any more puddles appear. Thank you, Beetle.”

  With that, Marcia closed the door and Beetle heard the sound of her pointy python shoes crunching away through the snow. They sounded kind of lonely, he thought.

  4

  MIGRATION

  Number One, Snake Slipway.

  From the desk of Marcellus Pye, Castle Alchemist.

  Dear Marcia,

  Work has now begun on the Great Chimney and I suggest that, with a view to DeNaturing the Two-Faced Ring as soon as possible, we consider opening the Great Chamber of Alchemie and Physik. Of course, the Fyre cannot be started until the chimney is reinstated, but the sooner we get going on the work belowground, the better. To this end I would reques
t that my Apprentice Septimus commence his month working with me as soon as possible is convenient.

  Yours,

  Marcellus

  Marcia read the letter while she drank her second cup of breakfast coffee. She handed it to Septimus, who was finishing his porridge. “Well,” she said, “how about going to Marcellus today?”

  Septimus had been looking forward to the break in routine. He was doing the advanced analytical DeCyphering module of his course and was finding it very tedious. “Might as well,” he said, not wishing to appear too eager and hurt Marcia’s feelings.

  “Off you go and pack, then,” Marcia said briskly.

  “Okeydokey.”

  Marcia watched Septimus jump up from his chair and scoot out of the kitchen. She was not looking forward to the next four weeks without him.

  Up in his room, Septimus was having trouble closing his backpack.

  “Toothbrush?”

  He looked up and saw Marcia’s head peering around the doorway. “Yes,” he grunted. “And my comb. Just like you said.”

  Marcia’s gaze wandered around Septimus’s room. It was not big—Apprentices’ rooms in the Wizard Tower were always small—but it was, she was pleased to see, well organized and businesslike. The shelves were stacked with labeled boxes and papers from Septimus’s various Magykal projects and assignments; they also boasted a line of small lapis pots (a MidWinter Feast gift from her), which contained his slowly growing collection of Charms and Talismans. There was a large, shiny black desk under the window with six legs, which Septimus called “the insect,” on which were perched a pot of pens and stack of unused paper. Marcia avoided looking at the desk; with its spindly, hairy legs and its shiny, flat black top it put her in mind of a giant cockroach. Instead she glanced up at the dark blue ceiling with the constellations that Septimus had painted when he first arrived. The silver stars were still bright and they shone in the sunlight that was pouring through the window.

  Marcia suppressed a sigh. She really was going to miss Septimus. Her gaze alighted on a folded pile of green woolen cloth with a telltale purple flash peeping out from it. “You’ve forgotten your spare Apprentice robes,” she said. “It’s the new set that arrived this morning. I ordered them specially.”

  “Well, no. I haven’t forgotten,” Septimus said a little awkwardly. He pulled the last backpack buckle closed and heaved the pack onto the floor, where it landed with a hefty thud.

  Marcia jumped. Septimus was getting very big and clumsy, she thought. Everything he did sounded so loud. “I suppose you don’t have room,” she said. “I’ll send a Wizard over with them later.”

  “Actually,” Septimus said, “I won’t be needing them.”

  Marcia sighed. “You cannot possibly wear the same robes for a whole month, Septimus.”

  “No. I know, so—”

  “So I’ll send them over.”

  “Marcia, no. I won’t need them. I . . . I’ll be wearing my Alchemie Apprentice robes.”

  Marcia nearly choked. “You’ll be wearing what?”

  “My Alchemie robes. You did agree that I would be Marcellus’s Apprentice for a whole month.”

  “I agreed to no such thing,” spluttered Marcia. “I agreed to send my Apprentice to help him for one month, and that is an entirely different matter altogether. And during that month you will remain my Apprentice, Septimus. You will not be an Alchemie Apprentice.”

  “That’s not how Marcellus sees it,” muttered Septimus.

  “I don’t give a brass baboon how Marcellus sees it,” snapped Marcia. “I shall send the spare robes over later. And I expect you to wear them.”

  Septimus suppressed a sigh. He wished Marcia and Marcellus would stop fighting over him. “I thought you might say that,” he said.

  Half an hour later, Septimus was perched on the old oak chest by the purple front door waiting for Marcia. In the past he would have found something interesting to read and sprawled comfortably on the squashy purple sofa while Marcia finished fussing about in her study, but now the dumpy ghost of Miss Jillie Djinn, the ex-Chief Hermetic Scribe, occupied Marcia’s once much-loved sofa. Jillie Djinn had, unfortunately, died on Marcia’s sofa a few months previously. And because ghosts must remain for a year and day in the place where they entered ghosthood, Marcia had nine long months of Jillie Djinn’s company still to go before the ghost was free to move on.

  As a new ghost, Jillie Djinn was a bright figure: her dark blue robes had a crisp outline and the expression on her round face was easy to see—she looked annoyed, as though she were about to tell someone off. To Septimus and Marcia’s relief, Jillie Djinn had not yet spoken, although she was now reacting to what went on around her and had even managed to get rid of her recent companion on the sofa—Septimus’s jinnee, Jim Knee. One evening Jim Knee, who had been hibernating there, had suddenly got up and sleepwalked off to the spare bedroom, where he now lay snoring.

  Jillie Djinn’s dark little eyes stared unblinkingly at Septimus. It was most disconcerting and it had not occurred to him before that ghosts do not need to blink. He was relieved when Marcia appeared.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Yep.” Septimus picked up his backpack.

  Marcia glared at Jillie Djinn. “Come along, Septimus, let’s get out of here.”

  Marcia and Septimus stood silently on the silver spiral stairs as they gently revolved, taking them down through the Wizard Tower. Septimus breathed in the scent of Magyk, which was stronger than usual due to the extra energy being expended keeping the Two-Faced Ring secure in the Sealed Cell. Down and down the stairs took them, past each floor where the Magykal business of the day went purposefully on as the ExtraOrdinary Wizard and her Apprentice glided quietly by.

  As they stepped off the stairs onto the soft floor of the Great Hall, Marcia—loath to give up tutor mode just yet—stopped and said, “You haven’t seen the Sealed Cell, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Time you did, I think. The Two-Faced Ring is due a check before we go.”

  The long tunnel that led to the Sealed Cell was reached through the Seal lobby—a small room behind the spiral stairs. Outside the lobby, two Wizards were on guard. Marcia was taking no chances.

  Inside the Seal lobby the atmosphere was hushed. The silver-walled room was suffused with Magykal purple light that shone from the Seal covering the door to the tunnel. Its polished silver walls and rounded corners were designed to confuse any entities or Live Spells that might escape—it certainly confused Septimus. When he walked in, he had the odd experience of seeing about five or six most peculiarly shaped versions of himself come in. And when Marcia closed the door behind them, it felt as though he were in the middle of a purple bubble.

  Inside the lobby, a Wizard stood staring at the Seal to the tunnel, watching for any changes that would indicate a disturbance on the other side. Seal Watch was a boring task requiring little skill but a lot of concentration, and it was not a popular duty. A rotation of half-hourly shifts was kept, which used up a lot of Wizards every twenty-four hours.

  Marcia approached the watcher. “I have come to do an inspection. If you would like to stand aside, please?”

  There was nothing that Thomasinn Tremayne, the Seal Watch Wizard, would have liked better. She stepped to one side and shook her head. The flickering lights made her feel nauseous and gave her a thumping headache. It was a horrible job.

  “I am taking my Apprentice with me to inspect the Sealed Cell,” Marcia said in a low voice. “You are to remain on guard. If we do not exit within ten minutes I authorize you, for security, to ReSeal the door.”

  Septimus glanced at Marcia in surprise. That seemed a little drastic, he thought.

  “Very well, Madam Marcia,” whispered Thomasinn. And then, “Shall I watch your backpack, Apprentice?”

  “Oh—thank you.” Septimus shrugged off his backpack and it fell to the floor.

  “Ouch!” gasped Thomasinn. “My foot!”

  “Shh
h!” shushed Marcia.

  “Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry,” Septimus apologized.

  “Really, Thomasinn, it’s only a little backpack,” said Marcia. “Come along, Septimus.”

  Marcia held her hands out about an inch above the shimmering Seal, concentrating hard. Suddenly, she pushed her hands through and pulled them rapidly apart, unzipping the Seal as she did so, to reveal a narrow silver door.

  Marcia pushed the door open and squeezed through, “Come on, Septimus. Quickly.”

  Septimus slipped inside and Marcia closed the door with a soft ker-lunk. She pressed her hand onto its smooth surface and a temporary Seal flashed across like purple lightning. Then she took a lamp from a hook beside the door, Lit it and set off. Septimus followed. Lamp held high, Marcia walked along the sloping brick-lined tunnel that snaked down to the Sealed Cell, which was buried in the bedrock below the Wizard Tower. They walked quickly, the sound of their footsteps absorbed by the thin clouds of Magyk hanging around the tunnel. Every seven yards, Septimus saw a small door set into the tunnel wall, beyond which he knew was a chamber used for storing all manner of potentially troublesome objects. Septimus was excited. He knew how the Sealed Cell worked and he had even, in the first year of his Apprenticeship, made a small model of it, but he had never actually been to the end of the tunnel and seen it—let alone been inside.

  The Sealed Cell was the most secure place in the Wizard Tower. It was used for imprisoning the most dangerous and powerful Magykal objects, entities, Spells and Charms. Its last occupant had been Septimus’s jinnee, Jim Knee, securely confined until he had agreed to do Marcia’s bidding. But now it was the Two-Faced Ring that languished behind the tiny door to the Sealed Cell at the very end of the tunnel.

  For more effective use of the Sealing Magyk, this door was only three feet high and even narrower than the entrance door. Not all previous ExtraOrdinary Wizards had actually been able to fit through it—DomDaniel himself had once got stuck, much to his then-Apprentice’s amusement (a memory that Alther still cherished). What the door lacked in height and width, it made up for in thickness. It was, like the great doors into the Wizard Tower, made from solid silver, which shone through the misty purple haze of the Seal that encased the door.