Physik - By Angie Sage Page 0,66

it for a few moments, they understood what he had said, but they knew there was something very odd in the way he had said it. Septimus had lost count of the number of times people had asked where he came from. It was a question he did not know how to answer and one that he did not wish to think about. The worst thing was that now, at the rare times he spoke, his accent and intonation sounded odd even to him, as if he no longer knew who he was anymore.

Normally Marcellus did not mind having such a silent Apprentice - particularly as the only subject that Septimus seemed willing to talk about was Marcellus's future decrepitude - but there were times when it could become irritating. This was one of them. "Oh Prithee, Apprentice, speak," he said.

The truth was, the Tincture had been ready almost immediately, but at the time Septimus had not had the skills to recognize it. But then, as is the way with complex tinctures and potions, it had quickly become unstable, and Septimus had spent the next few months patiently coaxing it back to being Entire, for he knew that Marcellus believed that his future depended on this.

Try as he might, Septimus could not dislike Marcellus Pye. Even though Marcellus had taken him from his own Time and was keeping him against his will, the Alchemist had always been kind to him and, more important, had taught him everything Septimus had asked about Physik - and more.

"Thou knowest how this is a matter of Life and Death to me, Apprentice," said Marcellus quietly.

Septimus nodded.

"Thou knowest also that this small amount of Tincture is all I have left. There is no more and none can be made, for the Planetary Conjunction will not come again."

Septimus nodded again.

"Then I Pray you think hard on this and answer me, for this is my only hope to Change my Terrible Fate. If I can drink of the Tincture which thou hast made I hope that I may not grow Old and Foul as I have seen."

Septimus didn't see how Marcellus could change things. He had already seen him as an old, decaying man and that was how it would be, but Marcellus was determined to cling to this one hope. "So Pray tell me when we may add the venom, Apprentice," said Marcellus urgently. "For I fear the Tincture will decay ere long."

Septimus spoke. Briefly, it is true, but he spoke.

"Soon."

"Soon? How soon? Tomorrow morn? Tomorrow eve?"

Septimus shook his head again.

"When?" asked an exasperated Marcellus. "When?"

"In forty-nine hours exactly. Not a moment before."

Marcellus looked relieved. Two days. He had waited so long already that he could manage another two days. He watched Septimus carefully place the phial back in the glass cabinet and gently close the door. Marcellus breathed out and smiled.

Relieved about his Tincture, Marcellus took time to notice his Apprentice. The boy was pale and thin, with dark circles under his eyes. Of course his appearance wasn't helped by his refusal to cut or comb his bird's nest of hair, but even so, Marcellus felt a pang of guilt.

"Apprentice," he said, "it is not good that thou sitteth here like a Mole beneath his Mound. Though it be chill and Snow still layeth upon the ground, outside the Sunne doth shine." Marcellus fished out two small silver coins and pressed them into Septimus's unwilling and inky palm. "The last Winter Faire is set up upon the Way. Take thee two groats for thy Pleasure and hie thee there."

Septimus looked at them without much interest. " 'Tis true what they say, Septimus: A Surfeit of Ink Maketh the Spirit to Sink. Begone." Marcellus wandered back to the large table and picked up the pad of blotting paper that rested at Septimus's place, revealing a red rose carved into the wood - which Septimus stared at gloomily. "Go," insisted his master, shooing Septimus out.

Septimus took the scribes' exit from the Chamber. He made his way up a steep flight of steps and emerged into the network of tunnels that would take him to the WizardTower. This was the one treat that Septimus allowed himself: Every so often he would walk through the Great Hall of the WizardTower, as the Alchemie Apprentice was entitled to do. It was a bittersweet experience, but nevertheless it reminded him of home in a way that nothing else in that Time could. He knew the way well now and walked slowly