B eetle shone his light onto a hatch in the roof of an ice tunnel. It was no more than a few feet above their heads, almost near enough to touch if they jumped up high. The hatch formed an oval depression with the usual metal Seal beside it. All around it was a thin line of clear ice.

"See," said Beetle, "it's the same here. The ice has melted and refrozen. And, let's see...yes, it's been ReSealed too. Weird."

"Hmm..." said Septimus, not totally surprised. He knew whose hatch this was.

Beetle peered up at the hatch. "Of course this one could just be a faulty Seal on the other side.

Sometimes the domestic ones do that. It would be good to get in there and check, but some really weird guy moved in not long ago. Bit of a recluse, apparently. Won't even answer the door."

"I know," said Septimus. "I wish he would. But he's not really used to things yet."

"Do you know him, Sep?" asked Beetle, surprised.

Septimus made a decision - he would confide in Beetle. He was tired of keeping his visits to Marcellus a secret. "Well, yes, I do. But...er, Marcia doesn't know I come to see him. I keep meaning to tell her but she's so grumpy at the moment and - " Suddenly Septimus remembered something. "Oh, gosh - Beetle, have you got your timepiece with you?"

"Of course." Beetle grinned proudly. He had a state-of-the-art timepiece that had been found in pieces at the back of a Manuscriptorium cupboard and thrown out. He had rescued it and over several months, with the help of the Conservation Scribe, had painstakingly put it back together. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, completely silent due to a complicated flywheel mechanism and - most important of all - it kept very good time.

Proudly, Beetle took the timepiece from his pocket. It was made of a mix of gold and silver and was attached to a thick leather cord. On the top was a large handle with a winder in the middle. It sat covering Beetle's hand like a small, fat tortoise.

Septimus was impressed. "How did they make them so small?" he asked.

"Dunno," said Beetle. "You just don't get them like that anymore."

The hands on the timepiece were drawing close to midday. "Oh, rats," said Septimus. "I'm going to be late. Jenna will be really mad."

"Jenna?" Beetle seemed to have developed a squeak.

"Yeah. I'm meeting her here and I - "

"What - here, Sep?"

"No, not down here. I mean up there." Septimus pointed up to the hatch. "In the house."

"Are you?"

Septimus had an idea. "Would you like to come too? I could ask Marcellus if we could check the hatch from the inside."

"Marcellus - is that the weird guy who lives there?"

"He's not really weird," said Septimus. "Just a bit...unused to things."

"The name sounds familiar," said Beetle. "Hey, isn't he the one who kidnapped you through that Glass - the crazy old Alchemist?"

"Um, yes," admitted Septimus. "But he's not crazy. And he doesn't even look old anymore."

"Still an Alchemist though," said Beetle. "No wonder that hatch is a problem. Sheesh, I'm surprised we haven't had a total meltdown."

Septimus wondered if telling Beetle had been such a good idea, but it was too late now. "I'll open the hatch, then, okay?" he said. "It won't hurt for a few minutes. I can ReSeal it from inside."

Beetle looked shocked. "Open a Sealed hatch?"

"Well, yes. Then we can get in that way and meet Jenna - "

"Are you really meeting Princess Jenna up there?" Beetle asked.

Septimus nodded, jumping up and down to keep warm. His feet were beginning to feel like blocks of ice.

The temptation of seeing Jenna was too much for Beetle. "Okay, then," he said. "But I really shouldn't. Miss Djinn would throw a fit if she knew." From underneath his sled he took what Septimus realized was a telescopic ladder, opened it up and propped it against the wall. "I'll hold the ladder, Sep, and you can UnSeal the hatch. Probably better that way."

Ten minutes later Beetle and Septimus were making their way along the long, musty passageway that led from the hatch all the way to the house on Snake Slipway. Septimus knew the way well. He had first been there when it had belonged to Professor Weasal Van Klampff, whose ghastly housekeeper, Una Brakket, had taken him along the passage to Weasal's Laboratory. The passage had been dark and dusty then, but now it was well kept, with old-fashioned rush-lights placed in holders at regular intervals along the walls. It was just as it had been when Septimus had lived there for six strange months in another Time as Marcellus Pye's Alchemie Apprentice. Now Beetle followed Septimus as he set a brisk pace along the passage, passing the turning that led to the old Laboratory and following the long zigzag path underneath the houses that backed onto the Moat.

It was not long before Septimus and Beetle arrived at the end of the passageway and emerged into the large vaulted cellars below the house. Septimus strode through them and, worried that he was already late for Jenna, ran up the cellar steps and pushed open the cellar door under the stairs. "Marcellus?" he called out. "Marcellus?" There was no reply.

Septimus padded into the house, closely followed by a wary Beetle. The place smelled odd to Beetle.

The waxy scent of candles was combined with a bittersweet aroma of oranges, cloves and something he could not identify. Beetle could not get rid of the feeling that he had somehow gone back in time.

It had the same effect on Septimus. He was used to it now, but when he had first visited Marcellus just after the old Alchemist had moved in, Septimus had suddenly become convinced that he was still trapped in Marcellus's Time and his return to his own Time had been nothing more than a dream. In a terrible panic he had run out of the house, and to his joy he had seen Jillie Djinn bustling past. Jillie never did figure out quite why Marcia's Apprentice had thrown his arms around her and said how thrilled he was to see her, but she had gone back to the Manuscriptorium that morning with a spring in her step. People did not often throw their arms around Jillie Djinn.

The silence of the house fell upon Septimus and Beetle like a blanket. They walked along the narrow hallway, which was lit with more candles than Beetle had ever seen in his life. When they reached the foot of a steep flight of dark oak stairs, Beetle was amazed to see a lit candle had been placed on each step.

"All these candles, they're weird," whispered Beetle, feeling somewhat spooked.

"He doesn't like the dark," whispered Septimus. "Shhh, I can hear footsteps upstairs. Marcellus?

Marcell...us," he called out.

"Apprentice?" came a wary voice from the floor above. "'Tis you?"

"Yes, it's me," Septimus replied.

Heavy footsteps sounded above and then Beetle saw a sight so strange he remembered it for the rest of his life. Coming slowly down the stairs, lit from below by each candle that he passed, was a dark-haired young man sporting an old-fashioned haircut. He was wearing what Beetle knew - from old engravings - were the black and gold robes of an Alchemist. The sleeves of the young man's tunic were what Beetle considered to be ridiculously long and they trailed down the stairs behind him. They were matched by the strangest shoes that Beetle had ever seen in his life - the points of the shoes must have been about two feet long and were tied up onto garters that the young man wore just below his knees. Beetle suddenly became aware that his mouth had fallen open and he rapidly closed it.

The young man reached the foot of the stairs and Septimus said, "Marcellus, this is my friend Beetle.

He works at the Manuscriptorium. Beetle, this is Marcellus Pye."

A feeling of unreality stole over Beetle. Marcellus Pye was five hundred years old. He was the Last Alchemist. His writings were banned - even from the Manuscriptorium - and he, Beetle, was being introduced to him. It was not possible.

Marcellus Pye extended his hand and said in a somewhat strange accent, "Welcome. It is wonderful work you young scribes do. Wonderful."

Like a lost sheep, Beetle gazed in bewilderment and made a small baa.

A quick nudge from Septimus sorted the sheep out. "Oh...thank you," Beetle said, shaking the offered hand, which was, to his relief, warm - not ice-cold as he had expected. "But I'm not a scribe.

I'm the Inspection clerk. I check the Seals in the ice tunnels."

"Ah," said Marcellus. "A necessary evil that I hope one day soon will be removed."

"Well, I don't know anything about that," said Beetle, back in professional mode. "But I do know that the hatch for this house has been UnSealed recently."

"Possibly. But not for long. I have ReSealed it. You have no need to worry."

"But - " Beetle was cut short by the tinkling of a bell far above his head.

Marcellus started at the noise. He looked panic-stricken. "'Tis the doorbell," he said, staring at the door.

"Shall I answer it?" Septimus offered.

"Must you?" asked Marcellus.

"You should try to be more sociable, Marcellus," Septimus scolded him. "It's not good for you to hide away like this."

"But the sun is so bright and the noise so loud, Apprentice."

There was another, more insistent, ring of the doorbell.

"I think it's probably Jenna," said Septimus, itching to open the door. "You said I could bring her here, remember? You said you were ready to tell us what happened. To Nicko."

Marcellus looked puzzled. "Nicko?" he asked.

Septimus's heart sank. For six months now he had been trying to get Marcellus to tell him what he knew about Nicko, and a few days earlier Marcellus had finally agreed. Now it seemed as though he had forgotten - again. Septimus found it hard to get used to the fact that although Marcellus Pye looked like a young man once more, he often behaved like an old man. Marcellus had centuries-old habits that were hard to discard - he would lapse into a shuffling old-man gait and adopt a querulous manner. But it was Marcellus's bad memory that annoyed Septimus the most. He had grumpily told Marcellus that this was just laziness, but Marcellus had countered by saying that he had five hundred years of memories in his head and where exactly did Septimus think he was going to find space for all the new ones?

Septimus sighed. He left Marcellus dithering in the hallway and went to answer the door.

"Sep!" said Jenna, sounding relieved. She stood on the doorstep, looking windswept and cold. Her dark hair was wet, hanging in tendrils around her face, and she had her thick red winter cloak wrapped tightly around her. "You took your time," she said, stamping her feet with the cold. "It's horrible out here. Aren't you going to let me in?"

"Password please," said Septimus, suddenly serious.

Jenna frowned. "What password?"

"Don't you know?"

"No. Oh, bother. Can't you let me in anyway?"

"Hmm...I don't know about that, Jen."

"Sep, I'm freezing out here. Please."

"Oh, all right, then. Since it's you."

Septimus stepped back. Jenna rushed in out of the rain and stood shaking the drips off her cloak.

Suddenly she stopped and looked at Septimus suspiciously. "There isn't a password, is there?" she said.

"Nope." Septimus grinned.

"Horrible boy!" Jenna laughed and gave Septimus a push. "Oh, hello, Beetle. Nice to see you."

Beetle blushed and found that, once again, he had forgotten how to speak - but Jenna did not seem to notice. She was occupied taking out a small orange cat from beneath her cloak and tucking it under her arm, which surprised Beetle - he hadn't thought of Jenna as someone who would have a cat. Then for some reason Beetle did not understand, Marcellus said, "Welcome, Esmeralda."

"Thank you, Marcellus," said Jenna. She smiled; she had almost forgotten how she had once been regularly mistaken for Princess Esmeralda in Marcellus Pye's Time.

Then, with an old-fashioned half bow, Marcellus said, "Pray, Princess, Apprentice and Scribe, follow me."

A moment later Beetle was following Jenna, Septimus and Marcellus upstairs, weaving his way around dripping candles, wondering what he had gotten himself into. And how he was going to explain it all to Miss Djinn when she found out - which she always did.