DRAGON FYRE
Septimus held a burning rushlight to light the way as he and Jenna walked through the coils of the lapis lazuli Labyrinth. The last time Jenna had been there was five hundred years in the past, and the flickering of the flame lighting up the blue lapis walls brought back terrifying memories of being dragged through it by the murderous ghost of Queen Etheldredda.
At last they reached the arch that led into the Great Chamber of Alchemie. After Septimus’s descriptions of all the soot and sand, Jenna was expecting to see a wreck, but what met her was a bright glittering chamber, full of gold—a testament to Septimus’s cleaning skills.
Jenna’s gaze was at once drawn to the two huge, patterned gold doors set in the wall opposite: the Great Doors of Time that had once been the gateway to the Glass of Time itself. Even though she knew that the Glass had shattered and no one could now pass through them to another Time, they still had a presence that gave her goose bumps. Jenna shivered and looked away to the neat ebony workbenches that lined the walls, clean and polished, with unpacked boxes stacked up neatly.
Jenna loved all the gold gleaming softly in the candlelight—gold catches, handles and hinges, tiny gold drawers below the workbenches, gold brackets that held up the shelves and even the scuffed strips of gold that ran along the bottom of the ebony benches, protecting the precious wood from the boots of Marcellus’s ancient and long-gone junior Apprentices. Jenna and Marcellus shared a fascination for gold.
To Jenna’s right was the furnace—still unlit—with its funnel of a chimney snaking up through the domed ceiling. In the center of the Chamber was a long table on which a line of candles was burning brightly. But something was missing.
“Where’s Marcellus?” asked Jenna.
Septimus shrugged. “I dunno. He’s always going off somewhere. He’ll be back soon.”
Jenna sat down at the long table. “So, where does he go, then?”
“I don’t know. He never says.”
“Don’t you ask?”
Septimus laughed. “I know you would, Jen. But it’s not polite for an Apprentice to ask things like that. He’d tell me if it was important.”
“Sounds weird to me,” Jenna said. “I mean, what else is there to do down here?”
The sound of footsteps in the Labyrinth stopped their conversation. A few seconds later, Marcellus Pye appeared through the archway. He looked startled.
“Septimus! What are you doing back so soon? Oh! And Esmeralda!” Marcellus was spooked. In the candlelight Jenna looked so much like his long-gone sister, Esmeralda, that he had forgotten for a moment what Time he was in. Being in the Fyre Chamber still took him back to the old times. Marcellus recovered from his Time Slip and offered Jenna the seat at the head of the table. “Please, Princess Jenna, sit down.”
Jenna took her seat and Marcellus sat down a little shakily on the bench at the side of the table, leaving Septimus to take his usual place on the right-hand side.
“Welcome to the Great Chamber, Princess Jenna,” Marcellus said rather formally. “I am delighted that you have come to see it so soon. It is an integral part of the Castle in which the Queens have always taken a great interest. Much greater, I believe, than in the Wizard Tower.”
Jenna nodded—she could believe that. Remembering what she had come for, she placed the leather bag on the table and took out the two bowls.
Marcellus looked at them with interest. “Ah,” he said. “The Triple. How nice.” He waited for Jenna to put the third bowl on the table.
“There isn’t another one,” she said. “The python ate it.”
Marcellus looked shocked. “You must get it back right away. Kill the wretched snake if you have to.”
“It’s not that easy,” said Jenna. “You see—”
Marcellus got to his feet. “Well, Marcia will just have to go without her silly shoes.”
“Shoes?” asked Jenna, confused.
“Her purple pythons. Isn’t that the only reason Terry Tarsal keeps that ghastly snake? Marcia may not believe it, but some things are worth more than shoes and this set of bowls is one of them. Terry Tarsal will just have to kill his precious python.”
Now Jenna understood. She sighed. “It’s not Terry Tarsal’s python, Marcellus. I wish it were.”
“Then whose python is it?”
“It isn’t anybody’s python. It’s the giant Marsh Python.”
Marcellus sat down. “Ah. Unfortunately not quite so easy to catch.”
“No.”