Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [151]
“He’s cold,” Septimus said. “Really cold.”
“Well, he will be cold if . . .” Marcia looked at the licorice. It did not bode well.
“If what?” asked Septimus.
“If he’s managed the Suspension.” Marcia sounded worried.
And he will be if he hasn’t, thought Septimus, but he said nothing. They watched Marcia gently lift Beetle so that he was sitting up, but Beetle’s eyes were closed and his head flopped forward like a dead thing.
Jenna gave a gasp of dismay.
“Beetle,” Marcia said, shaking him gently by his shoulders. “Beetle, you can come out now.” There was no response. Marcia glanced at Jenna and Septimus. There was dread in her eyes.
Time seemed to slow down. Marcia crouched down so that she was level with Beetle’s face. She placed her hands on either side of his head and gently lifted it up so that his face was level with hers. Then she took a deep breath. The buzz of Magyk filled the Hermetic Chamber once again, and from Marcia’s mouth came a long stream of pink mist. It settled over Beetle’s face, covering his nose and mouth.
Hardly daring to breathe themselves, Septimus and Jenna watched. Still Marcia breathed out. Still Beetle did not react, the dead white of his face shining through the pink mist above it. And then, like smoke drifting up a chimney, Septimus saw tendrils of the mist begin to disappear up Beetle’s nose. He was breathing. Very slowly Beetle’s eyes flickered opened. He looked glassily at Marcia.
Septimus rushed to Beetle’s side. “Hey, Beetle, Beetle, it’s us. Oh, Beetle!”
Marcia smiled with relief. “Congratulations, Beetle,” she said. “The heart of the Manuscriptorium is untouched, thanks to you.”
Beetle rose to the occasion with aplomb. “Gah . . .” he said.
They had gathered in the wasteland of upturned desks. Beetle looked pale and was shakily drinking a fortifying FizzFroot, which Septimus had found stashed away in Beetle’s old kitchen in the Manuscriptorium backyard. Jenna, Beetle noticed, had not hung around; she had rushed off to the Palace as soon as she could. Beetle, clear-headed after his Suspension, saw what that meant. If it had been Jenna who had just survived two days being Sealed in an airless Chamber, he would not have run away at the first opportunity. Get real, Beetle, he told himself.
Marcia’s voice broke into his thoughts.
“The Pick for the new Chief Hermetic Scribe must begin tonight,” she was saying. “I must go. I intend to visit each and every scribe myself. I want to see if they are all still . . . available.”
Beetle thought of Foxy and Partridge and Romilly. He thought of Larry. Of Matt, Marcus and Igor at Gothyk Grotto, even the oddly irritating people at Wizard Sandwiches. How many of them were still . . . available?
Marcia stopped for a quiet word with Beetle. “It’s such a shame,” she told him, “that you are no longer part of the Manuscriptorium. I would very much have liked your pen to have gone into the Pot.”
Beetle flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Thank you,” he said. “But it would never have Picked me. I’m far too young. And I was never a proper scribe.”
“That is of no consequence,” said Marcia. “The Pot Picks who is right.” She refrained from adding that she had no idea why it had Picked Jillie Djinn. “But perhaps you’d like to stay until the Draw and stand guard. I don’t want to leave the Manuscriptorium unattended.”
Once again Beetle was flattered, but he was already getting to his feet. “Sorry, but I’d better go and see Larry. Don’t want to lose my job there too.”
“I quite understand,” said Marcia, opening the door to the front office for him. She realized that she should not have asked—Beetle clearly still found the Manuscriptorium an upsetting place to be. Marcia watched Beetle walk out into the morning sunshine and called back into the Manuscriptorium, “Septimus! You’re in charge. You have my permission to use a full Restore. I shall be back soon with all the scribes.”
From the other side of the partition Septimus then heard Marcia say loudly, “The Manuscriptorium