Fyre
Page 59
“I think so, Madam Marcia. Did you want to leave a message in case he drops by?”
“No,” said Marcia. “I don’t.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
Marcia handed Hildegarde an envelope. “My choice for the rotation scheme Apprentice for the Pyramid Library. Send it up to the Sick Bay, will you?”
“Of course, Madam Marcia. Right away.”
“I’ll be back in about an hour.”
“Very well, Madam Marcia.”
Hildegarde called for the duty Message Apprentice and gave him the envelope; then she went into the duty Wizard’s cupboard and sat down with a sigh. She knew she had done something to offend Marcia but she had no idea what. She sat down and finished a note.
Dear Milo,
Thank you for your message. I will meet you at the old bakehouse at two o’clock this afternoon.
Hildegarde
Marcia ignored Hildegarde on the way back. She hurried by, put the stairs on fast and zoomed straight up to the twentieth floor. She found Septimus in the kitchen, making porridge.
“Aha, Septimus!” she said cheerily.
“Morning,” said Septimus, blearily scraping the porridge into his bowl.
“Coffee?” asked Marcia brightly.
“Oh! Yes, please.” Septimus looked surprised. Generally it was his job to make the coffee.
Marcia snapped her fingers at the coffeepot, which was loitering in the shadows with the sugar bowl. “For two!” she told it. The coffeepot scooped in a couple of spoons of coffee, added three teaspoons of sugar, stood under the tap, which obligingly turned on, then scuttled over to the stove and settled onto a ring. “Light!” Marcia told the stove.
Septimus smiled. When he made coffee, he had to do it himself. The coffeepot was a one-Wizard pot and took absolutely no notice of him.
Marcia waited until Septimus had finished his porridge—which was drenched in syrup—and two tiny cups of hot, sweet coffee were sitting on the table; then she took a dark blue velvet drawstring pouch from her pocket, which Septimus recognized as a standard Manuscriptorium Charm bag. Marcia pushed the bag across the table to Septimus. “For you,” she said.
“Oh. Thank you . . .” Septimus was touched. Marcia didn’t often give presents.
He wiped his hands on his tunic, then loosened the drawstring and tipped the Charm out onto his palm.
“Wow! Oh, wow!”
Septimus could not believe it. Lying in the middle of his slightly sticky palm was the Flyte Charm. He had forgotten how delicate and beautiful it was—a simple gold arrow covered with intricate swirling patterns. But what Septimus loved most about it were the two delicate little silver wings that sat on top of its somewhat misshapen flights—fluttering gently as if to greet him after its long sojourn inside a dark urn in the Vaults of the Manuscriptorium. These were the wings that Marcia had given him when she had first asked him to be her Apprentice, and it was these that Septimus had missed so much after Marcia had confiscated the Flyte Charm.
“There are conditions to its use,” said Marcia. “You are only to use it when on Apprentice duties in the Wizard Tower. At all other times it is to be kept on the Charm shelf in the Library. Understood?”
“Yes, yes, totally understood.” Septimus didn’t care about any conditions. He had the Flyte Charm back.
“There’s another thing,” said Marcia. “Last night.”
Septimus gulped, convinced that Marcia was about to ask some very awkward questions. “Yes?” he said.
“It was awful.”
“Yes.”
“And it made me realize that you have been working far too hard. It has been a lovely Big Freeze and you have missed so much . . .” Marcia searched for the right word, a word she did not often use. “Fun.”
“Fun?” Septimus sounded surprised.
“Fun, Septimus,” said Marcia adopting the word with enthusiasm. “You need to go out and have fun. You have spent a month underground, and now I want you to take a month aboveground to do what you want.”
Septimus looked puzzled. “Like what?”
“That is entirely up to you. It is your vacation—”
“Vacation?”
“Yes. Vacation.”
Septimus was at a loss. “But what am I going to do?”
Marcia had it worked out. “What you are going to do, Septimus, is fun.”
Septimus smiled. “All right,” he said. “I can do fun. If you insist.”
“You look better already,” said Marcia. “Off you go. And forget all about that ghastly underground stuff.”
“No,” said Marcia. “I don’t.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
Marcia handed Hildegarde an envelope. “My choice for the rotation scheme Apprentice for the Pyramid Library. Send it up to the Sick Bay, will you?”
“Of course, Madam Marcia. Right away.”
“I’ll be back in about an hour.”
“Very well, Madam Marcia.”
Hildegarde called for the duty Message Apprentice and gave him the envelope; then she went into the duty Wizard’s cupboard and sat down with a sigh. She knew she had done something to offend Marcia but she had no idea what. She sat down and finished a note.
Dear Milo,
Thank you for your message. I will meet you at the old bakehouse at two o’clock this afternoon.
Hildegarde
Marcia ignored Hildegarde on the way back. She hurried by, put the stairs on fast and zoomed straight up to the twentieth floor. She found Septimus in the kitchen, making porridge.
“Aha, Septimus!” she said cheerily.
“Morning,” said Septimus, blearily scraping the porridge into his bowl.
“Coffee?” asked Marcia brightly.
“Oh! Yes, please.” Septimus looked surprised. Generally it was his job to make the coffee.
Marcia snapped her fingers at the coffeepot, which was loitering in the shadows with the sugar bowl. “For two!” she told it. The coffeepot scooped in a couple of spoons of coffee, added three teaspoons of sugar, stood under the tap, which obligingly turned on, then scuttled over to the stove and settled onto a ring. “Light!” Marcia told the stove.
Septimus smiled. When he made coffee, he had to do it himself. The coffeepot was a one-Wizard pot and took absolutely no notice of him.
Marcia waited until Septimus had finished his porridge—which was drenched in syrup—and two tiny cups of hot, sweet coffee were sitting on the table; then she took a dark blue velvet drawstring pouch from her pocket, which Septimus recognized as a standard Manuscriptorium Charm bag. Marcia pushed the bag across the table to Septimus. “For you,” she said.
“Oh. Thank you . . .” Septimus was touched. Marcia didn’t often give presents.
He wiped his hands on his tunic, then loosened the drawstring and tipped the Charm out onto his palm.
“Wow! Oh, wow!”
Septimus could not believe it. Lying in the middle of his slightly sticky palm was the Flyte Charm. He had forgotten how delicate and beautiful it was—a simple gold arrow covered with intricate swirling patterns. But what Septimus loved most about it were the two delicate little silver wings that sat on top of its somewhat misshapen flights—fluttering gently as if to greet him after its long sojourn inside a dark urn in the Vaults of the Manuscriptorium. These were the wings that Marcia had given him when she had first asked him to be her Apprentice, and it was these that Septimus had missed so much after Marcia had confiscated the Flyte Charm.
“There are conditions to its use,” said Marcia. “You are only to use it when on Apprentice duties in the Wizard Tower. At all other times it is to be kept on the Charm shelf in the Library. Understood?”
“Yes, yes, totally understood.” Septimus didn’t care about any conditions. He had the Flyte Charm back.
“There’s another thing,” said Marcia. “Last night.”
Septimus gulped, convinced that Marcia was about to ask some very awkward questions. “Yes?” he said.
“It was awful.”
“Yes.”
“And it made me realize that you have been working far too hard. It has been a lovely Big Freeze and you have missed so much . . .” Marcia searched for the right word, a word she did not often use. “Fun.”
“Fun?” Septimus sounded surprised.
“Fun, Septimus,” said Marcia adopting the word with enthusiasm. “You need to go out and have fun. You have spent a month underground, and now I want you to take a month aboveground to do what you want.”
Septimus looked puzzled. “Like what?”
“That is entirely up to you. It is your vacation—”
“Vacation?”
“Yes. Vacation.”
Septimus was at a loss. “But what am I going to do?”
Marcia had it worked out. “What you are going to do, Septimus, is fun.”
Septimus smiled. “All right,” he said. “I can do fun. If you insist.”
“You look better already,” said Marcia. “Off you go. And forget all about that ghastly underground stuff.”
