Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [78]
“When you open the door, I shall stop,” replied the Thing, pressing into her throat with its thumbs.
Sarah’s hands clawed uselessly at the Thing and gasping sounds came from her throat as she struggled for air.
Simon was in despair. “No . . . please stop.”
The Thing’s blank eyes stared back at Simon. “Open . . . the . . . door,” it commanded.
Desperately Simon glanced around, looking for Sir Hereward for help. But the ghost had been pushed backwards by the throng of Things that had gathered for a better view, and all Simon could see was the tip of his sword waving uselessly in the air. He was on his own.
Sarah drew in a loud, rasping gasp and went limp.
Simon could stand it no more—he was killing his own mother. All he had to do was to open one stupid door and she would live. If he didn’t, she would die. That one certainty overwhelmed him. Nothing else mattered. Everything else was in the future, but his mother was dying right now, before his eyes. Simon made a decision: everyone would have to take their chance; at least they would have a chance—unlike Sarah, who had none unless he gave in. He stepped up to the Palace doors and placed his hands on the thin film of Magyk that covered the ancient wood. And then, hating every moment of what he was doing, Simon Heap spoke the Reverse for the Quarantine.
The Thing dropped Sarah like a hot potato—humans were not pleasant objects for Things to touch. “Open it,” it hissed at Simon.
Simon turned the huge brass door handle and pulled open the heavy double doors. The Things poured out of the Palace like a stream of dirty oil, but Simon paid them no attention—he was kneeling on the worn limestone flags, holding Sarah. She took in a long, wheezing breath, so long that Simon wondered if she would ever stop. Slowly the mottled blue of her face suffused with pink and Sarah’s eyes flickered open. She looked up at her oldest son in confusion.
“Simon?” she croaked in a painfully hoarse whisper. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “Simon?”
Gently Simon helped her sit up. A sudden gust of snow blew in through the open doors. Sarah was staring at him, remembering now. “Simon, you haven’t?” she whispered. Simon glanced up at Sir Hereward, not daring to reply.
The ghost looked down at Simon sadly. There was nothing to say. He would have done the same for his own mother, he thought.
“Simon,” said Sarah. “You didn’t let them out. Did you? Oh no . . .”
Sarah sank back to the floor and Simon gently let her go. He sat beside her, head in his hands. He’d done wrong. He knew he had. But he’d had a choice only between two wrongs. And what choice was that?
Chapter 26
Absences
Beetle,” said Marcia as they halted outside Larry’s Dead Languages and Beetle fumbled for his key. “What are your plans for tonight?”
Beetle thought glumly what his plans had been: Jenna’s fourteenth-birthday party at the Palace. He’d been looking forward to it for months. He knew that the cancellation of a party paled in significance against what had happened at the Palace that night, but if you’d asked Beetle which he regretted most right then, he would have admitted it was the party.
“None,” he replied.
“In the continued absence of my Apprentice”—there was an edge in Marcia’s voice—“I would greatly appreciate an assistant—a knowledgeable assistant. An assistant who does not run off and spend his valuable time with a disreputable old Alchemist.” Marcia almost spat the last few words. She recovered her poise and continued. “So, Beetle, what do you say to spending the night at the Wizard Tower and helping us with our preparations for the Fumigation tomorrow?”
Once again Beetle had the uncomfortable feeling of being second choice to an unavailable Septimus. But the offer was not one he wanted to refuse. The alternative was creeping up to his tiny room at the back of Larry’s Dead Languages while trying not to wake the irascible Larry—something he had not yet managed to do. Larry was a light sleeper and always woke