15
The Old Way
Septimus came through fighting. He landed three punches on the Alchemist and numerous kicks that were of little use without his boots, but gave Septimus some satisfaction. He twisted and struggled and at one point he broke free of Marcellus's bony grasp and hurled himself back at the Glass, only to bounce off as though it were a wall of stone.
“Careful, Septimus,” said Marcellus. He grabbed hold of Septimus's tunic and pulled him away. “You'll hurt yourself.”
“Let go of me,” Septimus yelled, frantically twisting and turning.
Marcellus Pye kept his grip on Septimus. “Look, Septimus,” he said. “You'll want to be cautious up here. It's a long way down, you know. You don't want to fall, do you?”
Septimus stopped at the sound of his name. “How do you know who I am?” he asked.
Marcellus Pye smiled—pleased that he remembered now. “We go back a long way, Apprentice,” he said.
Septimus wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that, but the old man's smile calmed him a little. He stood still for a moment and took stock. He was, as far as he could tell, in a dark cave with a very old man. It could be worse, but then again, it could be better. He could have his boots on for a start. And then Septimus's right foot found the edge of the ledge and he realized it could be a whole lot better.
“How high up are we?” Septimus asked, feeling along the edge with his foot, the familiar feeling of vertigo shooting through him.
“I couldn't rightly say, Apprentice. 'Tis a long climb, that I know. 'Tis a long climb down too, so we'd best be going.”
Septimus shook his head and pulled away. “I'm not going anywhere,” he said. “Not with you.”
“Well, that be true, for you won't go anywhere if you don't come with me.”
Marcellus chuckled. “There surely is nowhere else to go up here.”
“I'm going back through the Glass. Back to Jen. I am not going with you.” Septimus pulled away from Marcellus's grasp and threw himself against the Glass again. And again he bounced straight off and staggered back, losing his balance.
“Steady now,” said Marcellus, catching him just before he reached the edge of the ledge. “You will never return through the Glass,” he told Septimus. “I made the Glass. Only I have the Keye.”
Septimus was silent. He was terribly afraid that the disgusting old man was telling the truth. He looked at his Dragon Ring, which was glowing with its usual reassuring yellow light, but it gave him little comfort.
Marcellus Pye shuffled over to the edge of the ledge and eased himself onto the top rung of the ladder. Septimus heard Marcellus moving. He held up his ring to see what the old man was doing, and Marcellus smiled at him, his three long teeth shining yellow with spittle. “Come now, Septimus. Time to see where you'll be spending your Apprenticeship. No need to look so gloomy. There were not many who got the chance to be my Apprentice.”
“Apprentice! I will never be your Apprentice. I am already Apprenticed. To the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. And she'll be here soon to get me back,” said Septimus, sounding more certain than he felt.
“I doubt that very much,” Marcellus replied. “Now, it's time you came down.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” Septimus said.
“Don't be foolish. You'll be cold and hungry after a few days up here and you'll be begging to come down. Either that or you'll fall off and be smashed to pieces. Not nice, believe me. Now, come, won't you?” Marcellus's voice took on a wheedling tone.
“No,” said Septimus flatly. “Never.”
For the second time that morning Marcellus's claw flashed out and grabbed hold of Septimus's tunic and pulled him. The strength of the old man surprised Septimus and caught him off guard. He lost his balance and toppled toward the ledge. “Careful!”
shouted Marcellus, suddenly afraid that his prize might be short-lived.
But Septimus had learned from his dream. In his left hand he now clutched the Flyte Charm. Holding it between finger and thumb, he pointed the ancient golden arrow down the chimney, and taking a deep breath, he hurled himself into the darkness.
As Marcellus Pye watched in horror as his potential Apprentice plummeted down, he saw the golden glint of something he remembered well. It was something that he himself had once possessed and indeed loved almost more than anything else in the world, apart from his dear wife, Broda. “The Charm!” he yelled. “You have my Charm!”
But Septimus was gone, deep into the depths of the Chimney.
It was not an easy Flyte. Although Septimus had practiced regularly with Alther, it had always been in open spaces. The cramped conditions in the Chimney were much more difficult—and frightening. But Septimus soon discovered that the secret to controlling his Flyte was to drop through the air as slowly as possible. Several minutes later, Septimus landed lightly at the foot of the Chimney.
Septimus took a few deep breaths and looked around. Behind him was the solid brick wall of the Chimney, but in front of him stretched what Septimus knew must be an ancient tunnel. The Castle had many layers of tunnels built at different times, but the brick-lined ones were the oldest. Septimus had a map of known tunnels on his bedroom wall, but this one was not on it. This was another one to add to the map when he got back—if he got back.