Fyre Page 5

  Marcia placed her lamp on a small shelf beside the door; then she put her hand into the purple and with a deft flick of her wrist she broke the Seal. She took three small silver keys from her ExtraOrdinary Wizard belt and placed them in three keyholes: one at the top of the door, one at the foot and one in the middle. Marcia turned the middle key and Septimus heard three old-fashioned barrel locks rotate in unison. The door swung open with a small squeak.

  Marcia lifted off the long pair of Protected forceps (known as the Bargepoles) that hung on a hook beside the door, picked up her lamp and squeezed through the narrow opening into the cell. Septimus quickly followed.

  With the door closed the lamplight turned the dark space—which was lined in two-inch-thick solid silver—into a sparkling, shining jewel. But its brilliance did not disguise the fact that the Sealed Cell was tiny. Septimus felt sorry for Jim Knee, although it was, he supposed, better than the inside of a silver bottle. In fact, it felt not unlike being inside a very big silver bottle, for the shining walls were molded to the rounded contours of the end of the tunnel.

  Set into the curved wall was a wide shelf, in the middle of which was the container that held the Two-Faced Ring: the Bound Box. It was a small black box made of layers of ebony interleaved with silver and secured with silver bands. Holding the Bargepoles in front of her, Marcia advanced upon the box rather as one might approach a small but deadly snake. Suddenly she gasped and said a very rude word. “Oops. Shouldn’t have said that. Look at this, Septimus.”

  Septimus peered over Marcia’s shoulder. Erupting through the Bound Box like a nasty green boil was the Two-Faced Ring. Marcia pounced. Striking at the ring like a mongoose, she stabbed the Bargepoles into the boil-on-the-box and held them up triumphantly.

  “Got it!”

  At the end of Marcia’s forceps the Two-Faced Ring glittered angrily, its evil green faces glaring at them. Septimus looked away. He felt as though the faces could actually see him.

  “I’m glad they’re not real,” he said with a shiver. The Sealed Cell’s peculiar echo whispered his words back to him.

  Real real real.

  Marcia flipped open the box and dropped the ring back in. Septimus imagined he could hear a stream of curses as the metal hit the wood. Marcia slammed the lid closed and began securing the bands around the box.

  “They will be soon at this rate,” she said grimly. “Marcellus will have to get a move on.”

  Move on move on move on.

  Septimus was shocked. “You mean those two Wizards might actually come to life?”

  Life life life.

  Marcia put her fingers to her lips to shush him. She muttered a new Lock for the box. “Let’s go,” she said.

  Go go go.

  Septimus was more than happy to agree. He clambered out and waited for Marcia while she backed awkwardly out the narrow doorway, then slammed the door shut with a satisfying thunk and hung up the Bargepoles.

  Back in the lobby, Marcia looked quite pale. “Madam Marcia, are you all right?” asked Thomasinn.

  Marcia nodded. “Fine.” But her hands were trembling as she Sealed the door to the tunnel.

  Marcia was angry with herself. She realized she had delayed opening the Great Chamber of Alchemie dangerously long. Like all Wizards, Marcia had sworn an oath at her induction to “abjure all things Alchemical” and she took it seriously. It had been a difficult decision to allow Marcellus to light the Fyre once more in order to DeNature the Two-Faced Ring, and even though she knew it was the only way to destroy the ring, the lighting of the Fyre frightened her and she had hesitated to begin. It was a huge step for a Wizard to take and before the Chamber was opened, Marcia had wanted to understand what she was doing. However, the more she tried to find out about the Fyre, the less she understood. Nothing quite made sense. So many documents were missing, so much seemed to have been altered and she had been left with an unsettling impression that something was missing—something big. But now, whatever her fears, Marcia knew she could wait no longer.

  Septimus shouldered his backpack and walked across the Great Hall with Marcia. “Did you mean that about the two Wizards?” he asked. “Could they really come back to life?”

  Marcia sighed. “It is a possibility, that is all. The Darke Domaine has theoretically given it the power, which is why we are keeping it so securely.”

  “So . . . could it happen soon?”

  “No, no, Septimus. These things take years.”

  Septimus felt relieved. “Marcellus won’t take that long to get the Fyre going,” he said.

  Hildegarde Pigeon—sub-Wizard, but soon to be an Ordinary Wizard—stepped out from the porters’ cupboard.

  “Still on door duty, Hildegarde?” asked Marcia. “I thought you were up at Search and Rescue now.”

  Hildegard smiled. “Next month, Madam Marcia. But I enjoy it here. I have a letter for you. Mr. Banda left it this morning.”

  “Did he? Well, thank you, Hildegarde.” Septimus thought Marcia went a little pink.

  Hildegarde Pigeon handed an impressive envelope with a red-and-gold border to Marcia. Septimus noticed Hildegarde’s delicate blue lace gloves. Hildegarde was self-conscious about her fingertips, which had been damaged when the Thing InHabiting her had chewed them. They reminded Septimus how destructive the Darke was—and how important it was to get rid of the Two-Faced Ring.

  The huge silver doors to the Wizard Tower had swung open. Marcia was dallying on the top step, reading Milo’s note. Septimus was impatient to be off.

  “Come on, Marcia,” he said.

  “Yes, yes. In a moment.”

  Septimus set off down the steps. Marcia put the letter carefully in her pocket and followed. “It shouldn’t take too long to open a dusty old door to a chamber,” she said.

  Septimus waited for Marcia at the foot of the steps. “I think opening the Great Chamber of Alchemie and Physik might be a bit more complicated than that. And anyway, it hasn’t got a door.”

  “All the better, then,” said Marcia. “I shall just declare it open and then I’ll shoot off. I shall be busy this evening.”

  Septimus had the distinct impression that Marcia was expecting to cut some kind of ceremonial ribbon and then go home. But he knew better than to say anything. He set off quickly.

  Marcia hurried across the Courtyard, trying to keep up with her Apprentice. As she hurried through the Great Arch, her Wizard Induction vow came back to her. Marcia sighed. She felt as though she were on her way to betray the Castle.

  5

  THE GREAT CHAMBER OF ALCHEMIE

  The atmosphere was strained but polite as Marcellus Pye ushered Marcia and Septimus into his house on Snake Slipway.

  “Welcome, Marcia. Welcome, Septimus, or should I say, Apprentice,” he said, smiling.

  Septimus heard a tut from Marcia but to his relief she said nothing more. He lugged his backpack inside and dumped it on the floor with a crash. Both Marcia and Marcellus winced. Septimus saw his black-and-red-velvet Alchemie Apprentice cloak with its heavy gold clasp hanging ready in the hallway. He gave Marcia an anxious glance and saw that luckily Marcia did not recognize what it was.

  “Let’s get going, shall we?” said Marcia impatiently.

  “Get going?” asked Marcellus.

  “Yes, Marcellus. To the Great Chamber of Alchemie. Isn’t that the idea?”

  Marcellus looked shocked. “What—are you coming too?” he said.

  “Naturally I am coming too, as you put it. Surely you didn’t think I would allow you to open up that place on your own?”

  That was precisely what Marcellus had thought. He fought down panic. The Chamber of Fyre was below the Great Chamber of Alchemie and the Fyre was beginning to come to life. What if Marcia noticed the warmth that had begun to spread upward—wouldn’t she think it was odd? Marcellus told himself sternly that Marcia would not know what was odd and what wasn’t. He must not give her any cause for suspicion.

  “Er, no. Of course not, Marcia. Abso
lutely not,” he said. And then he added tentatively, “You . . . you’re not planning on staying there, are you?”

  “I have much better things to do, thank you,” snapped Marcia, remembering Milo’s note.

  “Then of course you must come,” he said, as if magnanimously inviting Marcia to a party where she had been left off the invitation list.

  “Yes,” said Marcia stonily. “I must.”

  It was not easy to get to the Great Chamber of Alchemie, which was one of the most successfully concealed Alchemie Chambers in the world. Septimus and Beetle had once thought they had stumbled across the empty iced-up Great Chamber of Alchemie in the Ice Tunnels, but it was the decoy Chamber, installed in ancient times when traveling bands of marauders would target Alchemie Chambers for their gold. Enough gold objects would be left in the easily found decoy Chamber to satisfy the thieves, and the true Great Chamber would remain undiscovered.

  After the Great Alchemie Disaster the hidden entrances to the Great Chamber were erased from Castle maps, so that they were eventually forgotten—except by Marcellus. But he was not about to divulge any of them to Marcia. As far as she knew, the only entrance was through a murky, smelly underground stream called the UnderFlow, and that was the way they would be going. The old Alchemie Boat had long ago rotted away, so Marcellus went next door to Rupert Gringe’s boathouse to hire a paddleboat.

  Rupert was doing winter maintenance on his fleet of brightly painted paddleboats, which he hired out in the summer for fun trips along the Moat. Rupert was used to his eccentric next-door neighbor, but Marcellus’s request for a paddleboat, just as the Moat was beginning to ice up, floored him.

  “You what?” he said, running his hand through his short, spiky red hair.

  “I wish to hire a boat,” Marcellus repeated.

  “What, now?” Rupert looked at Marcellus as though he were crazy.

  “Yes. Right now, in fact.”

  “But there’s ice out there.”

  “Ice can be broken,” said Marcellus.

  “It will cost you. I’ve got them all laid up now and I’ll have to winterize it again.”

  “Very well.” Marcellus handed Rupert a very heavy gold coin.

  Rupert looked at it and whistled through his teeth. “Blimey. Don’t have change for a triple crown. Sorry.”

  “Keep it,” said Marcellus. “Just give me the boat.”

  “Okeydokey. No worries. Right away.”

  Rupert Gringe shook his head as he watched the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, the Castle Alchemist and their disputed Apprentice squash uncomfortably into a bright pink paddleboat and head unsteadily along the Moat, while the ExtraOrdinary Wizard smashed at the ice with a pointed stick. He was glad it wasn’t him wedged between those two fusspots, doing all the paddling. He wished his new brother-in-law a silent good luck and went back in to his warm boathouse.

  The UnderFlow was dark and cold, but it was ice free. The paddleboat only just fit the narrow tunnel and the sound of the paddles turning was magnified a hundred times by the brick walls. Marcia sat in the prow like a large purple dog. She leaned forward, pointing her FlashLight so that it illuminated the low-arched tunnel that ran before them. The sound of the paddles rebounded off the walls, filling their heads with noise. Septimus paddled fast, churning up the murky water and sending it splashing up against the slimy brick and dripping into the boat. It was the first time he had been underground since his time in the Darke Halls, and he was surprised how scared he felt.

  Ten long minutes after Septimus had steered the paddleboat into the UnderFlow, the tunnel widened out and he sensed the faint, acrid smell of smoke. He slowed his paddling and took the boat into a wide, low-roofed cavern—they had reached the UnderFlow Pool. Relieved, Septimus let go of the paddles and sat up straight to get his breath back.

  Septimus knew exactly where they were—he had last seen this place five hundred years ago. But then it had had a beautiful lapis-lazuli-domed roof; now all was dismal and dark. He took hold of the paddle handles again and maneuvered the little boat alongside the Quay. Marcellus leaned out and tied it up.

  No one spoke. Marcellus felt too emotional. Marcia had been overcome with a sense of mystery—she was entering a part of the Castle about which she knew nothing. That, for an ExtraOrdinary Wizard, was strange in itself. But what was even odder was the sense that this had once seen something so terrible that it had very nearly destroyed the Castle. And now here they were, three people in a ridiculous little pink paddleboat, the first to come back to the scene for nearly five hundred years.

  Septimus jumped out of the boat. The Quay was slimy underfoot and he skidded and slipped. He broke his fall with his hands and when he stood up he saw in the light of the FlashLight that his palms were black.

  “Soot,” said Marcellus grimly.

  Suddenly, Septimus realized why everything was black. He looked around, seeing the cavern with new eyes. “Everywhere,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” said Marcellus heavily. He had forgotten just how bad it was—there had been no Drummins here to clean up. He took out a tinderbox and a sheet of metal gauze, which he folded to make a pyramid shape. From his pocket he produced a small fat candle, which he lit and placed in a candleholder, then put the pyramid of metal gauze over it.

  “What are you doing?” asked Marcia.

  “Preventing any explosions.”

  “Explosions?” Marcia’s voice took on a slight squeak.

  “Gases. Flammable. Just in case,” explained Marcellus.

  “We can use my FlashLight. That won’t explode.”

  “Thank you, Marcia, but I want to do this my way. With my light only, if you don’t mind.”

  Marcia heard the strain in Marcellus’s voice. She imagined how she would feel going back to the Wizard Tower after some terrible disaster had ruined it—a disaster that she had caused. It did not bear thinking about.

  “Of course, Marcellus,” she said. “I don’t mind at all.” And she switched off her FlashLight.

  There were three smoke-blackened arches on Alchemie Quay, two of which were bricked up. Marcellus headed for the open left-hand archway, where he stopped and turned, his face eerily illuminated by his candle—something that always gave Septimus the creeps.

  “We will now enter the Labyrinth,” he said, his voice hushed. “Please be aware that it does not run to a standard pattern. There are branches off to other smaller labyrinths and tunnels. Be sure to follow me and keep close. If you lose sight of me, stay where you are and call out. I will come and find you.”

  Septimus remembered the Labyrinth well, but then it had been a beautiful, sinuous snake of a tunnel—brilliant with smooth, blue lapis lazuli walls shot through with gold and rare streaks of red and lit by rushlights. Now, like everything else, it was black with soot. Even though Septimus could recall all the tunnels and turnings, it looked so different that he doubted he would be able to find his way now.

  Together Marcia and Septimus followed Marcellus through the arch and kept close behind him, the sound of their footsteps dulled by the carpet of soot. Marcellus trod carefully, after his first footsteps had raised a cloud of soot into the air and set everyone coughing and spluttering. The three walked slowly through the black coils of the Labyrinth, as subdued as if they were following a body on its way to its Leaving Boat. Even so, the soot rose into the air and tickled its way into their lungs, making them taste the fire of so long ago.

  As the twists of the passageway became ever tighter Septimus knew they must be nearing the center—then suddenly they were there. Shocked, Septimus saw Marcellus staring at the blackened archway that was once the entrance to the Great Chamber of Alchemie. But now the archway led nowhere—it was blocked by a thick slab of heat-damaged metal, curled away at the bottom like a half-opened tin can. Marcellus crouched down to inspect it. “The barricade has blown,” he said.

  “It’s done a pretty good job, all the same,” said Marcia.

  “Possibly. I need a closer look.” Marcel
lus disliked the use of Magyk in the Great Chamber and the areas nearby—he was convinced it disrupted the fine balance of Alchemical reactions. But now a little bit of Magyk seemed nothing compared to the devastation surrounding them. “Perhaps, Marcia, you would care to use your FlashLight?”

  Marcia switched it on and a guffaw escaped from Septimus.

  “What?” asked Marcia irritably.

  “You. Marcellus. Me. . . .”

  Marcia realized that all three of them were covered with soot from head to toe. “Great,” she muttered.

  For once Marcellus didn’t care what his robes looked like. He ran his sooty sleeve over his face, leaving behind a black streak across his eyes like a mask.

  Marcia touched Marcellus on the arm. “I’ll do a Remove, shall I?” she offered gently. “The barricade is far too heavy for us to shift any other way.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Marcia.”

  Marcellus and Septimus stepped back and watched Marcia Throw a purple flash of Magyk across the metal slab. She waited a moment for the glimmering cloud to settle and then beckoned the barricade away from the archway.

  The slab of metal began to shift and a sudden niggle of worry attacked Marcellus—there was something he must be careful about. But what?

  “Septimus,” he said. “Get out of the way. Take cover.”

  Septimus heard the warning in Marcellus’s voice and slipped into the entrance of the Labyrinth. He peered out to see what was happening. Marcia was concentrating hard, unaware that Marcellus was now anxiously hopping around.

  “Marcia!” said Marcellus. “Marcia. Can you do a protection thing?”

  “Huh?”

  “You need to do some kind of shield thingy.”