“It was Marcellus’s house first,” said Septimus, ignoring the first question. “I lived there too, in his Time. I told you.
And you didn’t call him poor old Weasal last year. You said that he was lucky not to be sent into exile along with his housekeeper.”
“And so he was,” said Marcia.
Anxious to stop Marcia from pursuing the question of Marcellus’s youthful appearance, Septimus quickly carried on.
“So when Weasal left to go and live in the Port, Marcellus bought his house back with some gold pebbles he had hidden under the mud on Snake Slipway.”
“Did he really? Well, Marcellus seems to have it all sewn up, doesn’t he? But the point is, Septimus, that I shouldn’t have to run around after my Apprentice like this just to find out the truth about what he is doing. I really shouldn’t.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” muttered Septimus. “I…I wanted to tell you. I kept meaning to but, well, I knew you’d get upset and it just seemed easier not to.”
“I only get upset,” said Marcia, “because I want to protect you from harm. And how can I do that if you are not honest with me?”
“Marcellus is not harmful,” said Septimus sullenly.
“That is where you and I disagree,” said Marcia.
“But if you just talked to him for a bit. I know you’d—”
“And I would like an answer to my question.”
Septimus stalled for time. “What question?”
“As I said, I would like to know exactly how
Marcellus Pye got to be looking so young. The man is over five hundred years old. And don’t try to tell me he’s just kept out of the sun—no amount of face cream is going to do that for him.”
“It was my side of the bargain,” said Septimus quietly.
“What bargain?” asked Marcia suspiciously.
“The bargain I made to go back to my own Time. I agreed to make him the proper potion for eternal youth. There was a conjunction of the planets and—”
“What claptrap!” spluttered Marcia. “You don’t really believe that ridiculous stuff, do you, Septimus?”
“Yes, I do,” said Septimus quietly. “So the day after I got back to my Time I made the potion.”
Marcia felt hurt. She remembered how amazed and thrilled she had been to have Septimus back and how she had fondly left him to sleep all day in his room, thinking that he must have been exhausted. And all that time he had been quietly making a potion for that appalling Alchemist who had kidnapped him in the first place. It was unbelievable. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“Because you’d say it was ridiculous—like you just did. You might even have tried to stop me. And I couldn’t let Marcellus go on being so unhappy. It was horrible. I had to help him.”
“So you made a potion for eternal youth—just like that?” asked Marcia, bewildered.
“It wasn’t too difficult. The planets were right—” Marcia suppressed a splutter. “And I just followed the instructions that Marcellus had left in the Physik Chest. I put it in the golden box he had left in the chest and I dropped it into the Moat by Snake Slipway so that he could pick it up. He used to like going for night walks in the Moat.”
“In the Moat?”
“Well, under it, really. He used to walk along the bottom. It helped his aches and pains. I saw him once. It looked weird.”
“He went for walks…under
the Moat?” Marcia looked rather like a fish that had just been dragged out of the Moat herself. Rivulets of rain ran down her face, and her mouth was open as if gasping for air.
Septimus continued. “So he picked up the box and I knew he’d got it because he put the Flyte Charm in it in exchange. I fished it out, although it took me weeks to find it. There’s an awful lot of garbage in the Moat.”
Marcia remembered Septimus’s sudden interest in fishing. It all made sense now—well, not quite all. “What was he doing with the Flyte Charm?”
“He took it. But later he promised to give it back. Although he didn’t know he’d taken it anyway.”
“What?”
“It’s a bit complicated. Um, Marcia…”
“Yes?” Marcia sounded a little faint.
“Can I have the Flyte Charm back now? Please. I won’t fool around with it anymore, I promise.”
Marcia’s answer was what Septimus expected. “No, you may not.”
Wizard and Apprentice walked in silence along the rest of Wizard Way, but as they went across the Courtyard of the Wizard Tower, Marcia’s python shoes with their new green buttons slipped on something dragony. That was the last straw. “Septimus,” she snapped, “that dragon is going right now. I am not having it pollute this yard a moment longer.”
“But—”
“No buts. It’s all arranged. Mr. Pot will be looking after him in the big field next to the Palace.”
“Billy Pot? But—”
“I said no buts. Mr. Pot is very experienced with lizards and I am sure he will be absolutely fine with what is, after all, nothing more than one enormous lizard with an attitude problem. The rain’s blowing over; you can take him there right now before more comes in.”
“But Spit Fyre’s still asleep,” protested Septimus. “You know what happens if I wake him up.”
Marcia did know—they had only just finished reglazing all the ground-floor windows of the Wizard Tower—but she didn’t care. “No excuses, Septimus. You will take him over to Mr. Pot. Then you will come straight back here to make a start on your first Projection. It is high time you got some Magyk back into your head and got rid of all this Alchemie stuff once and for all. In fact, Magyk is what you are going to be doing full-time from now on, as you are not setting foot out of the Wizard Tower for the next two weeks.”
“Two weeks!” protested Septimus.
“Possibly four,” said Marcia. “I shall see how it goes. I expect you back in an hour.” With that, Marcia Overstrand strode off across the Courtyard. She ran up the marble steps; then the silver doors of the Wizard Tower swung open and swallowed her up.
For once Spit Fyre woke without any trouble. He allowed Septimus to climb up and sit in his usual place, the dip behind the dragon’s neck, and there was none of the usual snorting and tail thumping that Spit Fyre had recently taken to doing when Septimus climbed up. Today he was almost docile—apart from the quick burst of scalding hot air that he aimed at the passing Catchpole’s cloak, which resulted in a foul smell of burned wool and old toast.