“But before I was coming here I asked her about the Fyre and she said she didn’t know a thing. Nothing.”
“There are many things Apprentices are not told,” said Marcellus.
Septimus was not convinced. He knew when Marcia was deliberately not telling him things—she had a certain “don’t go there” warning look in her eyes. But when they had discussed the Fyre, Marcia’s expression had been one of bemusement. He remembered her saying, “There is something about this Fyre stuff that we just don’t know anymore. I wish I knew what it was . . .”
“Apprentice, let me explain,” said Marcellus. “After the Great Alchemie Disaster, the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, Julius Pike—who was once my dear friend—told me that he would make sure that all future ExtraOrdinary Wizards would never allow the Fyre Chamber to be UnSealed. Never again would the Fyre Cauldron be used. The only reason Marcia has agreed to the Fyre is because she thinks it is the one in the Great Chamber of Alchemie. And I know that, like any other ExtraOrdinary Wizard, Marcia would never let the Chamber of Fyre be opened. All I ask you is to keep it secret for”—Marcellus did some quick calculations—“another month? After that I will reveal it to Marcia, I promise.”
“But why in a month—why not tell Marcia now?”
“It will not be ready until then. Alchemical Fyre is delicate in its early stages of Life and takes time to reach maturity. But once the Fyre is ready and Marcia sees that it has been burning safely for some time, then I have a chance to prove to her that all is not as she has been told. Do you understand?”
“I suppose so. . . .” Septimus understood, but it did not make keeping the secret feel any better.
Marcellus was uneasy; it felt decidedly risky having Septimus go back to Marcia at such a delicate time. “That, Apprentice, is why I am so sorry you are leaving me now. Before it all begins. Perhaps, when you see the Fyre, you will reconsider your decision to leave.”
“It’s not really my decision,” said Septimus.
“Indeed, no. While you are Marcia’s Apprentice it is not your decision. It is hers. But if you were to decide to become the Castle’s first Alchemie Apprentice then that would be different.” Marcellus left the offer hanging in the air.
“Sometimes,” said Septimus, staring at his reflection in the dark waters of the UnderFlow, “I wish there were two of me. I wish I could be in the Wizard Tower and here at the same time.”
Marcellus smiled. “Even the greatest Magyk cannot make that happen,” he said.
“Not for longer than seven seconds,” said Septimus.
Marcellus looked impressed that it could happen at all.
Septimus thought for a while. “Okay,” he said.
There were three arches leading off from the Alchemie Quay, each one lit by a Fyre Globe. Marcellus headed for the right-hand archway. Inside the archway, he turned to Septimus apologetically.
“I know you do not like building work, Apprentice, but I assure you this is the last you will have to do.” Marcellus opened the old carpetbag in which every day he brought their lunch, and to Septimus’s surprise, from underneath the neatly wrapped sandwiches he took out a hammer and heavy chisel, which he handed to Septimus.
“Thanks,” said Septimus ruefully.
Marcellus indicated a shallow arch within the bricks, just above head height. “Remove the bricks below the arch, please, Apprentice. They should come out quite easily.”
Septimus sighed and got to work. He was pleased to find that the bricks did indeed come away easily.
“Alchemist’s mortar—never sets,” said Marcellus. “It began as a mistake when we had to do a lot of building ourselves. Looks solid, but is as soft as butter. Very useful at times.”
Septimus took away the rest of the bricks below the arch. Behind them was a black shiny surface reflected in the flames of the Fyre Globe.
Marcellus smiled. “I understand you have seen something like this before.”
Septimus looked suspicious. “It’s not some kind of Time Glass, is it?” he asked.
Marcellus looked guilty. “Oh, dear. I am so sorry about the way we met, Apprentice. It was, I see now, very wrong. You do know I would never do that again, do you not?” Marcellus picked up the chisel, counted down from the top brick on the right-hand side of the doorway. He levered out the seventh brick and placed his hand on the smooth black substance behind it. A faint green light began to glow beneath it.
Septimus stared at it, astonished.
“You recognize it, Apprentice?” Marcellus smiled.
“Is . . . is this a moving chamber?”
“Indeed it is.”
“Like the one on the Isles of Syren?”