Physik - By Angie Sage Page 0,116
stopped and breathed in the air - the air of his Time, which smelled of wood smoke and baked pies from the meat pie and sausage cart that was approaching the Manuscriptorium just in time for the mid-morning break. He looked down the broad expanse of the Way, with the long, low Palace - Jenna's Palace - in the distance, and he could not stop smiling. This, thought Septimus, is where I belong.
But while Septimus was feeling glad to be alive and, after six months of near silence could not stop talking, Jenna was exhausted. "You are to come back with us and get some sleep," Marcia told her. "I will send a message to the Palace."
They walked through the Great Arch, Septimus closely tailed by Spit Fyre, who was suspiciously sniffing his strange-smelling tunic. "Ouch!" yelped Septimus as the dragon trod on the backs of his heels in an effort to keep as close as possible to his Imprinter.
"Goodness," said Marcia, "what have you got on your feet, Septimus?"
Septimus felt quite silly enough in his shoes without explaining them to Marcia. He quickly changed the subject. "I wish Beetle had seen Spit Fyre come in through the window. He'll be really sorry to have missed that. I wonder where he was."
"Ah, yes," Marcia sighed. "Beetle. Oh, dear. Septimus, there's something you ought to know..."
Chapter 45 The Physik Chest
"And another thing, Septimus," said Marcia, sounding as stern as she could manage while they watched Catchpole inexpertly wielding a large crowbar, try to lever up a dusty floorboard in the broom closet. "You are not to stay out at night on your own ever again."
"What, never?" Septimus looked up, saw the smile in Marcia's eyes and ventured, "Not even when I'm really old ... like when I'm thirty?"
"Not while you're my Apprentice you're not - oh for goodness sake, Catchpole, give me the crowbar and I'll do it - and don't think that going out with an irresponsible old ghost will be all right either, because it won't. Anyway - oof, whoever nailed this board down made a good job of it - I sincerely hope that by the time you're thirty - aha, I think it's moving - you will have an Apprentice of your own, and then it will be your turn to worry." Marcia's smile faded as she remembered. She straightened up and looked Septimus in the eye. "But I hope you never find a letter from them written five hundred years ago the way I found yours. Never."
"No. I hope not too," said Septimus quietly.
Marcia set to with the crowbar again, and a few moments later there was a loud crack as the nails finally gave up their struggle against the determined ExtraOrdinary Wizard. Septimus helped Marcia lift the board.
"I had no idea that this rose was here," said Marcia, closely inspecting the intricate rose that was carved deep into the wood. It was much worn away by hundreds of years of feet tramping over it - for the broom closet had previously been used as a cloakroom - but the delicate curves of its petals were still clearly visible.
"It was my symbol," said Septimus almost proudly. Now that he was back safe in his own Time, Septimus was beginning to enjoy thinking about his time with Marcellus Pye. "It's the old sign for a seventh son. Marcellus had it carved into his table years before I got there."
"Wicked man," said Marcia. "I'd like to tell him a thing or two."
"He was okay really," Septimus ventured.
"We'll agree to differ on that subject, Septimus," said Marcia huffily. "I am just about prepared to dig out this chest full of quackery, since even a remote chance of curing the Sickenesse is worth a try, but you will never find me agreeing that that man was 'okay really.' Never."
Septimus and Marcia knelt down and peered into the dusty void under the floor. Gingerly, Septimus put his hand into the space and the glow from his Dragon Ring found an answering shine in the depths.
"I can see it," he said, amazed. "Here it is, just like Marcellus said it would be - sub rosa. Hidden beneath the rose."
"Oh, twaddle and tripe," Marcia huffed. "Now come on, Catchpole, don't just stand there gawking, we could do with a hand to get this thing out."
It took more than the weedy Catchpole's help to lift out the chest. It needed the combined efforts of five Ordinary Wizards - without Catchpole, who suddenly felt dizzy