Physik - By Angie Sage Page 0,122

I? No one tells me anything - except to move pictures around or get shoved in the lock-up," Gringe said grumpily.

"I must get to the Wizard Tower and see him," said Silas, gathering his dusty Ordinary Wizard robes around him and, candle held high, setting off toward the little door at the far end of the attic.

"He ain't there, Silas," said Gringe, running after him. "He's gone to the Infirmary. Got some cure for the Sickenesse or something. Silas, we gotta take care of that portrait or I'm in big trouble."

Silas ignored Gringe. He rushed off, stumbling over the uneven floor, picking his way around the broken and rotten boards. Suddenly Gringe said something Silas had never heard him say before.

"You've got to take care of that picture, Silas - please."

Silas stopped. "What did you say, Gringe?"

"You heard."

"Well, it must be serious. All right, come on, Gringe. We'll fix the picture."

It was a struggle getting Etheldredda's portrait off the wall. Silas got the impression that the picture had a mind of its own and did not want to be moved. Eventually a vicious tug from Gringe pulled the painting, along with a great lump of plaster and the picture nail, away from the wall and sent Gringe flying with it. Then, with a fair amount of what Sarah Heap called "language," Silas and Gringe began the awkward task of manhandling the disapproving portrait up the attic stairs.

"You'd think this thing 'ad arms," muttered Gringe after squeezing around a particularly tight corner. "Feels like it's 'olding on to the banisters."

"Ouch!" gasped Silas suddenly. "Stop kicking my shins, Gringe. That hurt."

"Weren't me, Silas. In fact - ouch - you can stop kicking my ankles."

"Don't be silly, Gringe. I've got better things to do than kick your stubby little ankles. Hey! That was my knee. You try that one more time, Gringe, and I'll - "

"You'll what, Silas 'Eap? Huh, huh?"

Both Silas and Gringe were battered and bruised and very near coming to blows by the time they reached the landing outside the attic door. They leaned the portrait against the wall and glared at each other, while the portrait glared at them.

"It's 'er, isn't it?" muttered Gringe after a while. "I dunno how she's done it, but it's been 'er that's been kicking us."

"Wouldn't be surprised," said Silas, accepting Gringe's peace offering. "Come on, Gringe, let's have a rest, we'll do this later. Fancy a game of Counter-Feet?"

"Deluxe version?" asked Gringe.

"Deluxe version," agreed Silas.

"And no mini-crocodiles?"

"No mini-crocodiles."

On the floor below, Jenna and Sir Hereward were listening to the bumps and thumps above their heads. Jenna had returned to the Palace and, unable to find Silas or Sarah, had gone to see Sir Hereward. He was at his usual post, half hidden in the shadows, leaning against a long tapestry that hung down beside the doors.

"Good morning, fair Princess. The Palace rats do grow ever bolder, I declare," said the knight, pointing his broken sword up to the ceiling, where, immediately above them, Silas had got his foot stuck between two rotten floorboards.

"Good morning, Sir Hereward," said Jenna, who had become used to noises in the attic ever since Silas had started cultivating his Counter Colony. "They sound like two-legged rats with boots on to me."

Sir Hereward looked at Jenna as if searching for an answer to something that was bothering him. "You are safely returned after your absence?" he asked. "For as I recall you were not here last night, nor the night before - two long nights indeed, for none knew where to find you. Tis good to see you, and with a little orange rug as a keepsake from your travels. How very charming."

"It's a cat, Sir Hereward," said Jenna, holding Ullr up to show the knight.

Sir Hereward peered at the scrap of orange fur. Ullr stared vacantly at the ghost, seeing only a Time five hundred years ago. " 'Tis a poor kind of cat," observed the knight.

"I know," said Jenna. "It's like he's not here anymore."

"Perchance your cat has the Sickenesse," said Sir Here-ward.

Jenna shook her head. "I think he's missing someone," she said. "Just like I am."

"Ah, you are strangely melancholy this morning, Princess, but here is something to raise your spirits. What is the difference between an elephant and a tangerine?"

"One's big and gray and has a trunk, and the other is small and orange."

"Oh." Sir Hereward looked crestfallen.

"Just joking. I don't know, what is the difference between an elephant and a tangerine?"

"Well, I won't send