Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [136]
Once the big purple door had closed behind her, Marcia’s upbeat manner evaporated. She sat Jillie Djinn on the sofa and then slumped down onto Septimus’s stool beside the fire. She took down a small silver box from the chimneypiece and opened it. Inside lay the Wizard Tower half of the Paired Code—a thick, shiny silver disc with a circular indentation in the center. The disc was covered with closely packed numbers and symbols; each one was joined to a finely etched line that radiated from the center.
Marcia stared at it for some minutes, thinking what might have been if only she had the Manuscriptorium half of the Code. The silver disc taunted her. Where is my other half? it seemed to say. Marcia fought down a desire to Transport out of the Wizard Tower and hunt down Merrin Meredith—how she longed to get her hands on him. But Marcia knew that any Magyk that breached the SafeShield would let the Darke come streaming in—and it would be the end of the Wizard Tower. She was a prisoner of her own defenses.
Angrily Marcia looked up and glared at Jillie Djinn—the Chief Hermetic Scribe was, in her opinion, guilty of gross neglect. If she had not nurtured that snake Merrin Meredith in the Manuscriptorium, none of this would have happened. Marcia shut the silver box shut with a crisp snap. Jim Knee jumped. With a loud snurrrrrf the jinnee turned and made himself comfortable on the grubby shoulder of Jillie Djinn. The Chief Hermetic Scribe did not react. She sat staring into space, white faced, vacant. A sudden flash of orange lit up jinnee and Djinn, making them look eerily like wax dummies.
At the sight of them a great wave of despair overwhelmed Marcia—not since the night Alther and Queen Cerys were shot had she felt so alone. She wondered where Septimus was now and imagined him lying in a Darke trance in an empty alleyway somewhere, freezing in the snow. Marcia blamed herself. It was her intransigence that had driven Septimus to Marcellus that afternoon, just as it was her stupid mistake that had Banished Alther. And now she was going to be the ExtraOrdinary Wizard who lost the Wizard Tower to the Darke. It would be her name reviled in the future, known only as the last ExtraOrdinary Wizard who had squandered all the precious history and knowledge that was gathered in this beautiful, Magykal space. Marcia Overstrand, seven hundred and seventy-sixth ExtraOrdinary Wizard—the one who threw it all away. Marcia let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a sob.
At the top of the Wizard Tower was a large and very ancient Dragon Window that led into Marcia’s sitting room. Outside the window was a wide ledge made for the perching of dragons, which was also useful for the perching of ghosts who were unused to exercise. Feeling thankful that as an Apprentice he had once—very briefly—climbed out onto the ledge for a dare, Alther hovered there while he recovered enough strength to DisCompose himself and go through the window. He peered through the glass but could make out very little. The room was dim, lit only by firelight. There was, he thought, a figure sitting by the fire with her head in her hands, but it was hard to tell.
Some minutes later Alther had regained enough strength to DisCompose. He took the ghostly equivalent of a deep breath and walked through the Dragon Window.
Marcia looked up. Her glistening green eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She did not move.
“Marcia . . .” said Alther very gently.
Marcia leaped to her feet and squealed—there was no other word for it. “Alther! AltherAltherAlther! It’s you. Tell me, it is you?” She raced across the room and, forgetting that he was a ghost, she hurled herself at him, Passed Through and cannoned into the Dragon Window.
Alther reeled with the shock of being Passed Through and fell back beside Marcia.
“Oh, Alther!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. But . . . oh, I can’t believe you’re here. Oh, you don’t know how pleased I am to see you.”
Alther smiled. “I think I do. Probably as pleased as I am to