“Syrah,” said Septimus. “It’s me, Septimus. Syrah, you’re safe. You’re in the Wizard Tower.”

Syrah frowned and struggled to speak.

“Is enough now,” Dandra said. “I watch Syrah tonight and if all go well, we move her. Is good. Out, please.” In her own domain, Dandra Draa had confidence. She shooed Marcia and Septimus out like a couple of annoying bluebottles. They emerged into the Sick Bay, smiling.

“Wonderful,” said Marcia. “Dandra has done all I hoped she would. I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Septimus, six o’clock sharp, please, in time for Dandra and Hildegarde’s Wizard Warming Supper.” She strode across the Sick Bay, giving a cheery wave to Rose, the Sick Bay Apprentice, and was gone. Septimus sighed. He wished he did not have to go back to Marcellus. He so much wanted to be there when Syrah came out of the DisEnchanting Chamber.

Loath to leave, Septimus stopped to say hello to Rose. Rose—tall and skinny with brown hair so long that she could sit on it—looked very efficient. Her hair was tied back into the regulation Sick Bay plait and she wore a white tabard over her green Apprentice robes.

“Still here?” Septimus asked. He knew that Rose, who was on the new Apprentice rotation scheme, had been hoping to go on to the Charm Desk.

“Still here,” agreed Rose. She glanced around. “Worse luck,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Septimus stopped. That didn’t sound right. “I mean, I didn’t mean I’m sorry to see you. I meant—”

Rose smiled. “That’s okay. I know what you meant. I say stupid stuff like that all the time. Oh! See, I did it right then.”

“Quits then,” Septimus said, grinning. “Anyway, maybe it’s not so bad still being here. Maybe you’ll end up upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yes. With Marcia. She’s put the Pyramid Library onto the scheme.”

“Wow!” Rose looked amazed. The Charm Desk paled into insignificance compared with the Pyramid Library. “Oh, gosh, I must go and get some sheets,” she said. “We’ve got a scribe coming up. Broken leg.”

Rose rushed off and headed for the cupboard between beds twelve and one. The beds in the Sick Bay were ranged around the room like numbers on a clockface. There were only two occupants, both elderly Wizards and both asleep. Septimus watched a large pile of sheets stagger over to bed three.

“Need any help?” he offered the stack of sheets.

“Oh, yes, please,” it said.

Septimus helped Rose make the bed in the approved Young Army fashion. Rose surveyed the result. “You’re good,” she said, surprised.

Septimus very nearly gave Rose a Young Army salute but stopped just in time. “Thank you,” he said. “I’d better go. I’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

Rose smiled. “Syrah will be out then.”

“Yes, isn’t that great?”

“Yes. Miss Draa has been amazing.” Rose watched Septimus breeze out and tried not to wish that he was coming back to see her rather than Syrah.

Down in the Great Hall, Septimus bumped into Beetle. “Hey, Beet!” He smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Sep. Just seen poor old Barnaby Ewe onto the stretcher lift. Broke his leg. He fell into one of those puddles—there’s a really deep one in a dark corner of Little Creep Cut. Be careful if you go down there. People cover them up, then some joker gets an idea it would be fun to move the covers.”

Septimus fell in with Beetle as he walked across to the doors. “Marcia was going on about puddles too,” he said. “She thinks it has something to do with Marcellus.”

“It has,” said Beetle. “I am convinced of it. He’s doing something he’s not telling us about.”

“Really?”

The double doors swung open and a rush of fresh, cold air met them. Twilight was falling as Beetle and Septimus headed down the wide steps and the great doors closed silently behind them. They walked across the Wizard Tower Courtyard, their boots crackling through the frosted snow, the ice crystals sparkling in the light from the rushlights that lined the wall.

“I suppose you haven’t noticed Marcellus doing anything unusual?” asked Beetle. “Like disappearing and not saying where he’s been?”

Septimus did not reply.

“Sorry,” said Beetle. “I know I shouldn’t ask. Confidentiality between Master and Apprentice and all that.”

“It’s okay. I’m not his Apprentice, and I’m not going to be either. I was thinking about what you said. Well, Marcellus comes and goes, you know? Nothing unusual, really. He’s just busy, I guess.”