Marcia and Alther continued on their way, unaware that Septimus had gone.
"...and Simon Heap is not to be trusted," Alther was saying.
"So you tell me, Alther. But there's no proof of that, is there? He is a Heap after all. I know they're a strange lot, and some of them are definitely two sandwiches short of a picnic, but they are an honest family. After all, they are an ancient Wizard tribe."
"Not all Wizards are good Wizards, Marcia, as you know to your cost," said Alther. "I'd very much like to know what Simon has been doing for the last year or so, and why he's turned up here all of a sudden, just before MidSummer Day. I still think it was Simon who betrayed you in the Marram Marshes."
"Nonsense. Why would he do that? It was that irritating Message Rat. You can never trust a rat, Alther, especially one that likes the sound of his own voice. And while we are on the subject of irritating, I really don't think much of your recommendation. Old Weasal Van Klampff is an old fusspot and his housekeeper gives me the creeps, always hanging around and watching everything. The ShadowSafe is taking ages and every time I get a piece home it's an absolute nightmare trying to put it together. I still haven't managed to get the last bit to fit properly."
"Those Safes are complicated things, Marcia. Anyway, there's no alternative. Weasal's family has been making them tor generations. They invented the Amalgam and no one else knows the formula. His father, Otto, rid me of a particularly nasty Spectre and it took him two years to sort it out. It takes time, Marciayou have to be patient."
"Perhaps," snapped Marcia. "Or perhaps I should just get something simple from the Manuscriptorium."
"No," said Alther, very definitely. "A ShadowSafe is the only thing that will get rid of a Shadow permanently, and that is not suitable work for the Manuscriptorium. Anyway, there is something about that Chief Hermetic Scribe that bothers me."
"Really, Alther, you are in a suspicious frame of mind today. Anyone would think that the spider had bitten you as well."
Alther could see he was going to get nowhere with Marcia; he knew very well how stubborn she could be at times. They had had many battles in the past, when he was the ExtraOrdinary Wizard and she was his Apprentice, and even then he had not always won. Now that he was a ghost he had no chance at all. It was Marcia who was now the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, and if she thought she knew best, which of course she always did, then Alther was going to have to put up with it.
"I'll be off then, Marcia," said Alther a little sulkily, and then, noticing that Septimus was no longer following, he asked, "Where's the lad gone?"
"I told you, Alther, it's his day off. I imagine he's gone to see his mother," said Marcia briskly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. I'll see you later, Alther."
"Possibly," Alther replied grumpily. He watched Marcia stride off into the Great Arch with her purple robes flowing behind her and,just visible as she entered the shade of the Arch, a dimness following her. Alther sighedthe Shadow was getting stronger. If he squinted and looked sideways he could almost see an outline of a large shambling figure matching Marcia step for step as she strode through the Arch. The sooner the ShadowSafe was finished, the better.
Alther rose up into the air and flew as fast as he could down Wizard Way to try and shake off the feeling of foreboding that had taken hold of him. As he shot past the front of the Magykal Manuscriptorium and Spell Checkers Incorporated he was too preoccupied to notice Septimus Heap's green-robed figure disappearing through the door.
Inside the Manuscriptorium, Septimus stood still for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He was in the small front office where customers came and placed their orders for new spells, brought old, unstable spells to be checked out and ordered copies of formulas, conjurations, incantations and even the odd poem.
To Septimus's surprise the office was empty, so he walked through to the small door at the back and peered around. The Manuscriptorium was quietly busy. All Septimus could hear was the scratching of nibs on paper and a few muffled coughs and sneezes as the summer cold that always spread through the Manuscriptorium lingered on. Hard at work in the gloom were twenty-one scribes, each seated at a high desk lit by its own lamp, which hung from the ceiling and illuminated the scribe's painstaking work.
"Beetle?" said Septimus in a loud whisper. "Beetle, are you there?"
The nearest scribe looked up and gestured with his pen to the far end of the room.
"He's out back. They've got an Unstable just come in. He's trying to Bin it. Go through if you like, but don't get too close to the Bin."
"Thanks," said Septimus. He tiptoed through the ranks of desks, attracting a few glances from the bored scribes, and slipped out the door into the yard. A scene of utter chaos met him.
"Grab it!" Beetle was yelling. "It's getting away!"
Beetle, a stocky boy with a shock of black hair who was about three years older than Septimus, was struggling violently with something invisible and trying to shove it into a large red bin that stood in the middle of the yard, and had DANGEROUS BINDO NOT OPEN written on it. Beetle was yelling at two pale and lanky scribes who looked as though the slightest breeze would knock them to the ground.
"Want a hand, Beetle?" asked Septimus.
Beetle glanced up and looked at Septimus gratefully.
"Would ya, Sep? It's a wild one, mind. An invisible bog-ridder we think. Some idiot dug it out yesterday and Revived it. Been sleeping quietly in a cupboard for dunno how long before then. Why people can't leave well enough alone I don'they, get off you little"
The bog-ridder had picked up the Bin and upended it over Beetle's head. Septimus sprang forward and grabbed the Bin off Beetle. Beetle stood bemused for a moment, staring around the small yard that was surrounded on all sides by a high brick wall, trying to work out where the bog-ridder might have gone. The two scribes looked terrified and had squashed themselves into the corner farthest away from the Bin.
"We gotta get it into the Bin, Sep," said Beetle breathlessly. "More than my job's worth to let it escape."
Septimus stood quietly for a moment, watching for any disturbance the bog-ridder would surely make as soon as it moved. Suddenly he saw a ripple pass across the brickwork of the wall. Septimus sprang forward, picked up the Bin and ran to the corner where the two scribes were cowering.
Bang! Septimus slammed the Bin down.
"Ouch!" yelled the taller of the scribes as Septimus caught his toes with the edge of the Bin.
"Got it!" Septimus shouted triumphantly.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch!" yelled the scribe hopping around in circles, holding on to his bruised foot.
"Sorry, Foxy," said Septimus, leaning heavily on the Bin to make sure the bog-ridder stayed safely where it was, while Foxy hobbled away on the arm of the other scribe. Septimus helped Beetle slide the lid under the upended Bin, and then they carefully set the Bin the right way up. Quickly, Beetle wrapped the Bin in a stabilizer net, tied it securely and put it outside the back gate, ready for collection by the Bin Disposal Squad.
"Thanks, Sep, I owe you one," said a grateful Beetle. "Anything I can do for you, anytime, just let me know."
"Well, as it happens," said Septimus, "there is."
"Ask away then," said Beetle cheerily, linking his arm through Septimus's and steering him into the small kitchen at the side of the yard where Beetle always had a kettle on the hob.
"My brother Simon came in earlier," said Septimus. "I wonder if you could tell me what he wanted?"
Beetle took two mugs off the shelf and dropped a FizzBom cube into each one to make up some FizzFroot. FizzFroot was a favorite drink of both himself and Septimus; it was made from an everlasting FizzBom spell that the Manuscriptorium had refurbished for someone who had never collected it. The drink was actually ice-cold but needed boiling water to activate it.
"Here y'are," said Beetle, giving Septimus his mug and sitting down on the stool next to him.
"Thanks, Beetle." Septimus took a big mouthful of FizzFroot and smiled. He had forgotten how good it tasted. Marcia disapproved of fizzy drinks, particularly those created by spells, and Septimus was not allowed any, which made the occasional torbidden FizzFroot with Beetle taste even better.
"I've not seen any of your brothers in here, Sep," said Beetle, puzzled. "I mean, most of them are out in the Forest now, aren't they? I heard they'd gone a bit wild. Gone off with the Wendron Witches and turned into wolverines or something."