Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [38]
The scribes, who had gathered protectively around Beetle, watched the ball of navy blue silk trundle toward them. They bunched themselves into a tight-knit group and prepared for her attack.
“What is going on?” Jillie Djinn demanded. “Why are you not working?”
“There’s been an accident.” Romilly’s voice came from the back of the group.
“An accident?”
“Something fell out of the cupboard unexpectedly,” said Romilly.
“Accidents usually are unexpected,” Jillie Djinn observed tartly. “Enter full details along with the exact time of the incident in the accident log immediately— atchoo atchoo—and bring it to me to sign.”
“Yes, Miss Djinn. I’ll just go to the physik room for a bandage first. I won’t be long.”
“Very well, Miss Badger.” Jillie Djinn sniffed irritably. She knew something was not quite right. She tried to peer over the heads of the scribes but to her annoyance she found that the tallest scribes—corralled by the quick-thinking Barnaby Ewe, whose head always banged the doorframe—were clustering around her.
“Excuse me, Miss Djinn,” said one of them, a gangly young man with wispy brown hair. “While Miss Badger is in the physik room I wonder if you could check my calculations? I’m not sure if I’ve correctly worked out the average number of seconds that people have been late for their first appointments over the last seven weeks. I think I may have got a decimal point in the wrong place.”
Jillie Djinn sighed. “Mr. Partridge, will you never understand the decimal point?”
“I’m sure I very nearly do understand, Miss Djinn. If you could only run over it once more for me, I know all will be clear.”
Partridge knew that Jillie Djinn never could resist explaining the decimal point. And so, while Partridge stifled numerous yawns and Jillie Djinn began a tortuous explanation, accompanied by much nose blowing, Romilly Badger smuggled Beetle into the physik room.
The physik room was small and dingy, with a tiny slit of a window that looked out onto the Manuscriptorium backyard. Squashed into the room were a lumpy bed, two chairs and a table with a large red box on it. Romilly sat Beetle down on the edge of the bed and draped a blanket over his shoulders—Beetle was shivering with shock. Foxy came in, quietly closed the door behind him and stayed leaning against it.
“You look terrible,” he told Beetle.
Beetle managed a smile. “Thanks, Foxo.”
“Sorry, Beet. I thought it’d bring you back to the last place you had been safe—didn’t think it would come back to the last place it had been. Stupid thing.”
“Don’t apologize, Foxo. That cupboard’s a hundred times better than where I probably was headed. Just wish I’d figured it out earlier, that’s all. I wouldn’t have made such a racket.” Beetle grinned sheepishly. He couldn’t quite remember what he’d said. He had a feeling he’d yelled out “Mum”—or even worse, “Mummy”—but he hoped that maybe it had only been inside his head.
“Nah, you were okay,” said Foxy with a smile. He turned to Romilly. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Where did you cut yourself?”
“I’m fine, Foxy,” said Romilly patiently. “I didn’t cut myself. The bandage was an excuse to get Beetle out of the way.”
“Oh, I see. That’s really clever.”
Beetle and Foxy watched Romilly open the red box, take out a large bandage and wrap it around her thumb.
Foxy looked puzzled. “But I thought . . .”
“Corroboration,” said Romilly mysteriously. “Okay, Beetle. I’ll go and check if the coast is clear, then we can get you out without you-know-who seeing anything.”
Foxy held the door open for Romilly, then he quietly closed it and resumed his position leaning against it. “She’s clever,” he said admiringly.
Beetle nodded. He still felt very odd, although he suspected that it was as much being back in his old place of work—a place that he had once loved—as anything Merrin had done.
“We still miss you,” said Foxy suddenly.
“Yeah. Me too . . .” mumbled Beetle.
“It’s horrible here now,” said Foxy. “It’s not been the same since you