Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [20]
“But I don’t have that chance. I have already been into the Darke and therefore I am Known. There is no way I could get into the Darke Halls now.”
Septimus got to his feet and stood by the fire. He felt he needed the advantage of some extra height. “You haven’t answered my question,” he said, looking down at Marcia.
“No, I suppose I haven’t,” Marcia replied meekly.
“So, if you were me and had this one chance to bring Alther back, would you take it?”
A silence ensued into which even Jim Knee’s snores dared not intrude. At last Marcia answered.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, I think I would.”
“Thank you,” said Septimus. “Then I shall go tonight. At midnight.”
“Very well,” said Marcia with a sigh. “I’ll start getting things ready.” She got to her feet, picked up the Apprentice Almanac and walked out to her study. She was back a few minutes later carrying a large iron key on a loop of black cord. “You’d better take it now, before I change my mind,” she told Septimus. “It’s the key to Dungeon Number One.”
Septimus buttoned the key into his secure pocket. It felt heavy and awkward—a weight he would rather not carry. He’d be glad when he no longer needed it, he thought.
Hoping to make Marcia feel better, Septimus said, “I’ll be okay. I shall have something to protect me.”
Marcia looked very annoyed. “If that Marcellus Pye has promised you some kind of Alchemie KeepSafe knickknack—he has, hasn’t he—don’t you dare believe it’s going to make a scrap of difference. It won’t. All it will do is lull you into a false sense of security. Alchemie stuff is nothing but smoke and mirrors, Septimus. All talk and no action. None of their stuff ever did work. It was complete rubbish.”
“But Marcia, I’m sure Marcellus—”
“Marcellus! Forget about Marcellus. Septimus, you must rely only on yourself and your own Magykal powers.” Marcia looked at her timepiece and sighed. “Midday already. As if it isn’t enough that I have to put up with a meddling Alchemist—any minute now there will be a meddling Princess at my door declaiming from that wretched book with its tiddly-squiddly type, which is the bane of every ExtraOrdinary Wizard’s life. I really could be doing without fourteenth birthdays right now.” With that, Marcia stormed off to her study.
Septimus sat for some time, looking into the fire and relishing the quiet—apart from an occasional snurrrufff. He thought about what Marcia had said. Deep down he felt she was wrong about Marcellus—not all Alchemie was rubbish, he’d seen that for himself. But he knew Marcia would never agree. The buildup to the Darke Week was horrible, Septimus thought. Somehow it drove a wedge between you and everyone you cared about. He really wanted Marcia’s approval for what he was going to do but it was he who was going into the Darke, not Marcia. He must do it his way—not hers.
Snurrruuuuufff.
Septimus got to his feet. It was time to go and see Marcellus.
Chapter 7
The Bringer of the Book
The meddling Princess, like Septimus, had had an unusually formal birthday morning. At nine o’clock precisely, a tall woman dressed in Palace robes so ancient that they actually had long gold ribbons dangling from their sleeves banged on the Palace doors.
The duty Door Wizard was having his breakfast, so it was Sarah Heap who eventually opened them. “Yes?” she asked irritably.
“I am the Bringer of the Book,” the woman announced imperiously. Without waiting to be asked, she swept inside, bringing with her a pungent smell of mothballs and the faint whiff of fish.
“Presents go on the table,” said Sarah, indicating a large table already piled with assorted colorful packages. “We are not opening them until this evening.”
The Bringer of the Book made not the slightest move in the direction of the table. She towered over Sarah, her height increased by great swathes of white hair piled precariously on the top of her head and secured with a wild assortment of combs. She looked at Sarah in disbelief. “But I am the Bringer of the