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It is a secret place belowground and it is not Sealed
with ice. You look surprised, scribe. Ah, there are still some places untouched by the cold hand of the Freeze. Anyway, I decided to sell my house while I still had the wit to do so—and that was when I met Demelza Heap. I still remember it—the moment I opened the door I recognized her. She was a striking woman, tall with green eyes and that same hair that you have, Apprentice—although I believe it had seen more of a comb than yours has recently. In my time as a young man she had kept a shop selling the fine glass apparatus that I used for my experiments. I had gotten to know her well over the years, but she disappeared on a trip to the master glassblowers of the Low Countries. She had gone to search out some special flasks for me and I always felt bad about that.
“So there was Demelza Heap on my doorstep, more than two hundred years after she had gone to the Low Countries, and she was as young as ever. She did not recognize me, of course, for I was decrepit by then. When I told her who I was she would not believe me at first, but she humored an old man and we fell to talking over a glass of mead. I think she enjoyed speaking to someone who did not call her crazy when she spoke about what had befallen her. She told me she had become lost in a silent forest and to escape a marauding pack of Foryx—that is what she said—she had found refuge in a place where, she told me, All Times Do Meet—a place she, too, called the House of Foryx.”
Jenna hardly dared ask the question. “Did…did you ask Demelza if she had seen Nicko?”
“I did.”
Jenna and Septimus exchanged excited glances.
“And…?” prompted Septimus.
Marcellus smiled. “Not only had she seen him—she had actually talked to him. She reckoned she was his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-aunt. So at last I knew what had become of them.”
“Nicko made it to the House of Foryx,” said Jenna, excited.
“So it seems,” said Marcellus.
“So he can come back!”
“In a hundred years, maybe, so we’ll never see him anyway,” Septimus said gloomily. “Or he might have already come back a hundred years ago and now he’s de—”
Jenna stopped him. “Sep—don’t! Please, just…don’t.”
“Apprentice, enough,” Marcellus chided. “You have a dismal turn of mind at times. We must hope that they quickly understood the Rule of the House of Foryx, which poor Demelza did not—until it was too late.”
“What rule?” asked Jenna.
“She did not realize that you have to Go Out when someone from your own Time arrives. They have to remain outside the House—they may not enter. Once you step across the threshold you belong to no Time at all.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” said Jenna, jumping up in excitement. “We shall go to the House of Foryx and Nicko can Go Out with us.”
“And Snorri. Don’t forget Snorri,” said Septimus.
Jenna looked unimpressed. “If it hadn’t been for Snorri, Nicko would be here now,” she said.
“Oh, Jen.”
“Well, it’s true,” Jenna said. “Of course we’ll get Snorri too,” she added generously. “We might as well while we’re there.”
Septimus sighed. “You make it all sound so easy. We just catch a passing donkey cart to the House of Foryx, knock on the door and ask for Nik. I wish.”
“Well, that’s exactly what I am going to do, Sep, whatever you say. You don’t have to come.”
“Of course I do,” said Septimus quietly.
With a small groan, Marcellus got up from his seat. He shuffled over to the cupboard in the chimney and took out a large, folded piece of paper, which he brought back to the table. “I was not going to show you this unless I was sure that nothing would stop you from going to the House of Foryx,” he said as he very carefully began to unfold the brittle, brown paper—to reveal a map.
The map was neatly drawn. Along the bottom were the words: FOR MARCELLUS, WITH THANKS. FROM SNORRI AND NICKO. “This is a copy that Snorri drew for me,” said Marcellus. “I thought that if I ever had a message that they were in trouble then at least I might have a chance of finding them.”
Feeling in awe of the fragile sheet of paper, they looked at the faint pencil lines that Snorri had drawn so precisely, so very long ago. “So this is the way to Nicko…” Jenna breathed.
“You must treat this with caution,” Marcellus urged, afraid that he had given too much encouragement. “Remember that Ells drew the original from her memory of things that had happened when she was only nine. She had had—although I would not have dared say this to her face—at least fifty years to forget the details. This may not be accurate.”
They were peering closely at the map, trying to make sense of the crowd of faded lines on the discolored paper when suddenly a loud clap of thunder sounded overhead. Marcellus jumped in surprise and caught his long trailing sleeves in the mass of candles in the middle of the table. The fine silk-edged sleeve caught fire and a horrible smell of burning wool filled the room. Marcellus yelled in panic and flapped his arms like an unwieldy bird. He succeeded only in fanning the flames and knocking over the candles, one of which set fire to the edge of the map.
“No!” yelled Jenna. She grabbed the map and smothered the flame with her hand, oblivious of the sharp sting of the burn.
“Help!” yelled Marcellus, dancing around the room, the flames licking up his sleeves. “Apprentice—help!”
“Bucket!” yelled Beetle.
“Bucket?” asked Septimus.
“Bucket!” Beetle grabbed the bucket of water he had noticed beside the grate—Marcellus, who had a horror of fire, had one in every room—and threw it over the Alchemist. A loud sizzle and copious amounts of smoke filled the room.
Marcellus collapsed onto a chair.
Marcellus sat sadly inspecting his ruined sleeves while Jenna refolded the precious map, and Septimus and Beetle retrieved Nicko’s notes from the floor.
“Are you all right, Marcellus?” Septimus asked the damp, slightly smoking Alchemist.
Marcellus nodded and got to his feet. “Fire is a terrible thing,” he said. “Thank you, scribe, for your speedy action.”
“You’re welcome,” replied Beetle. “Anytime.”
“I hope not,” said Marcellus.
Jenna placed the last of Nicko’s notes in a neat pile on the table and Marcellus went to pick them up. Jenna put her hand on them protectively.
“I’d like to keep them, please,” she said.
“Very well, Princess. They are yours.” Marcellus opened a drawer in the table and took out some tissue paper. With great care he wrapped up the brittle papers, tied them with a length of ribbon and handed them to Jenna. She tucked them under her cloak, then scooped up Ullr.
“Why don’t I take the papers, Jen?” asked Septimus. “You can’t carry them and Ullr.”
“Yes, I can,” Jenna insisted, and she set off purposefully out of the room as if she were already on her way to the House of Foryx.
As they clattered down the candlelit stairs in her wake, Septimus said, “Marcellus?”
“Yes, Apprentice? Oh! Watch your cloak on that candle.”
“Oops. Um…Do you think Nik and Snorri are still in the House of Foryx—after all this time?”
“Maybe…” said Marcellus slowly as they reached the third-floor landing. Jenna sped off down the next flight of stairs, her boots tapping lightly on the bare wood, while Marcellus stopped and considered the matter. “And maybe I shall be taking tea with the ExtraOrdinary Wizard at the top of the Wizard Tower,” he said. “Highly unlikely, but not totally impossible.”
Septimus wished Marcellus had chosen a different example. Given Marcia’s opinion of Marcellus Pye—and her complete ignorance of his present existence—totally impossible seemed more like it.
Jenna was waiting impatiently in the hallway. As Septimus, Beetle and Marcellus joined her, there was a furious knocking on the door. Everyone jumped.
“Prithee open the door, Apprentice,” said Marcellus, flustered and reverting to Old Speak.
“I don’t have to, not if you would rather not,” said Septimus, who had a horrible feeling that there was only one person in the Castle who would ignore a perfectly serviceable doorbell and attack a door knocker like that.
