Septimus Heap 3 - Physik (30 page)

Queen Etheldredda, on the other hand, looked very pleased at the sight of her duckling. The Queen licked her lips, remarking to the young man on her left that this was one of her favorite dishes—there was nothing like a tender young duckling freshly scalded in hot orange sauce.

The gong sounded for the second time, announcing the arrival of a long line of boys carrying jugs of boiling hot sauce. Jenna watched the boys enter the Ballroom two by two, one line going to the right and one to the left, each boy stopping to pour some of the orange sauce into the waiting bowls of the diners. The two boys at the end of the line with the hottest jugs of sauce were ordered straight up to the dais. Quickly, before the sauce boy reached her, Jenna picked the duckling out of her bowl and thrust it into her tunic pocket, where the tiny creature lay in the soft fluff at the bottom of her pocket, rigid with terror.

Jenna watched the boys thread their way through the throng. Eyes down, trying to avoid spilling the brimming jugs of hot sauce, they stepped up onto the dais, where a burly footman hissed in their ears, “Tarry not, serve the Queen and Princess Esmeralda first.” And so it was that when Jenna looked up to politely thank the boy who had just poured orange sauce into her duckling-free bowl, she found herself looking into the haunted eyes of Septimus Heap.

Jenna looked away. She did not believe it. This boy with the long straggly hair, thin in the face and somewhat taller than she remembered, could not possibly be Septimus. Not in a million years.

Septimus for his part had expected to see Princess Esmeralda—so that was who he saw. He was annoyed with himself for thinking for a few hopeful seconds that the Princess could possibly be Jenna. He had already been fooled like that once before when Princess Esmeralda had stayed with Marcellus just before she disappeared. He wasn't going to let it happen again. Carefully, Septimus poured the orange sauce into her bowl, grateful that for some reason she did not have a small, live duckling in there.

Suddenly there was a loud crash and a collective gasp of horror mixed with glee rose from the Ballroom. At the sight of the duckling in Queen Etheldredda's bowl, Hugo had dropped the jug, and the boiling orange sauce had spilled into the Queen's lap.

Etheldredda leaped to her feet screaming, the Bumptious Barrelle of Larde threw back his chair and grabbed Hugo by the neck and lifted him bodily off the ground, half throttling him. “You little fool!” yelled the Barrelle of Larde. “You will pay for this. You will regret this moment for the rest of your life—which will not be long, boy, mark my words.”

Hugo's eyes were wide with fear. He dangled helplessly from the Barrelle of Larde's pudgy hands, which were tightening around his neck. Septimus saw that his lips were turning blue, Hugo's eyes rolled up and a great expanse of white began to show, Septimus leaped forward. Using more strength than he knew he had, he pulled the boy from the pudgy hands, yelling, “Let him go, you fat fiend!” The sound of Septimus's voice rang through the Ballroom with more effect than he had intended.

Jenna jumped from her seat. She had been watching the Steward throttle Hugo with as much horror as Septimus had been, and now she knew. It was Septimus—it was his voice. She knew his voice anywhere. It was him!

At the same time, the young man sitting on the other side of Queen Etheldredda also jumped up. He too knew his Apprentice's voice—what was the boy doing here dressed as a Palace servant?

Jenna and Marcellus Pye collided in the melee on the dais. Marcellus slipped on the puddle of orange sauce and crashed to the ground. The Bumptious Barrelle of Larde lost his battle with Septimus and let go of Hugo, who dropped to the ground dazed from his grip. Seizing her opportunity, Queen Etheldredda, dripping with orange sauce, aimed a swipe at the boy; she missed and caught the Barrelle of Larde a stinging blow across his ear. The Barrelle of Larde, who was an aggressive man, automatically gave Etheldredda a slap in return—much to the glee of those assembled in the Ballroom, who were watching enthralled, ducklings poised midway to their gaping mouths.

The Barrelle of Larde suddenly realized what he had done and turned white, then ashen gray. He gathered up his sauce-stained robes and fled the banquet, tearing down through the tables, his ten precious gold ribbons flying out behind him. The Door Pages saw him coming, and thinking that this happened at every banquet, they ceremoniously opened the great doors for the fleeing Barrelle and bowed as he shot past them. As they pushed the doors closed, the pages grinned at each other. No one had told them a banquet was this much fun.

Hanging on to the dazed Hugo with one hand, Septimus grabbed Jenna by the other.

“It is you, Jen, isn't it?” he asked, his eyes shining with excitement. A wonderful feeling of hope and happiness at seeing Jenna again swept over Septimus; he felt as if he had been given back his future.

“Yep, it's me, Sep. Can't believe its you though!”

“Marcia found my note, didn't she?”

“What note? Come on, let's get out of here while we can.”

No one noticed the two serving boys and Princess Esmeralda leave the fray. They left behind them a bevy of Palace servants attending an angry Etheldredda, who was barking at Marcellus Pye, demanding that he “get up this very minute.” To the tumultuous sound of the Ballroom in an uproar, they tiptoed out a small door in the paneling at the back of the dais that led to a retiring room for Royal ladies who wished to rest from the effects of eating and drinking too much.

Jenna bolted the door and leaned against it, looking at Septimus in disbelief. The duckling stirred and a small puddle of dampness leaked through her tunic pocket.

There was no doubt about it, thought Jenna, the duckling was real—and so, amazingly, was Septimus.

The Summer House

That bolt won't last long, Jen," said Septimus, looking at the flimsy filigree bolt designed to grace the Royal Ladies' Retiring Room door. “We'd better get out of here quick.”

Jenna nodded. “I know,” she said, “but the Palace is stuffed full of people. Sep, you wouldn't believe it, it's so different. You can't go anywhere without someone seeing you and curtseying to you and—”

“Bet they wouldn't curtsey to me, Jen,” said Septimus, smiling for the first time in one hundred and sixty-nine days and suddenly looking like the Septimus Jenna remembered.

“Not with your hair looking like a rat's nest. What have you done to it?”

"Won't comb it. Don't see the point really. And certainly won't let them cut it into that stupid pudding bowl shape. Anyway, it's something to irritate Marcellus with.

He's a bit of a fussbudget about things like— what, Hugo?" Hugo was tugging at Septimus's sleeve.

“Harken...” the boy whispered, eyes bloodshot and face still deathly white from his near strangling. Someone was rattling the door handle.

Sir Hereward barred the door with his battered sword and Appeared to Septimus and Hugo, causing the already scared Hugo to leap into the air with fright. “Princess Jenna, I shall protect you and your faithful followers to the end,” the knight said gravely.

“Thank you, Sir Hereward,” said Jenna. “But we've got to get out of here fast. Sep, you open the window while I make them think we've gone this way.” Jenna ran to a small door that led into the Long Walk, opened it and left it swinging. “Come on,”

she said, pushing the dazed Hugo toward the window. “Out you go, Hugo.” The three of them squeezed out the window and dropped down onto the path that ran around the back of the Palace. Very quietly, Jenna closed the window.

Sir Hereward Passed Through the glass and was soon standing next to them.

“Whither may I offer thee safe conduct?” inquired the ghost.

“Anywhere away from here,” whispered Jenna, “and fast.”

“Many use the river for such purposes,” Sir Hereward said, pointing to the riverbank, which was lined with an unfamiliar row of cedar trees.

“The river it is,” said Jenna.

If anyone from the Ballroom had bothered to look—which no one did, for the guests were all too busy excitedly discussing the happenings of the last few minutes—they would have seen two Palace serving boys and the Princess racing across the long lawns that led down to the river. There were no Spirit-Seers among the guests that night to see the battered old ghost, armor in tatters but his broken sword held high, leading the three at full tilt as if on a battle charge. Protected by a great dark cloud that had drifted in front of the night's full moon and cloaked the lawn in darkness, the battle charge ran as fast as they could.

A sharp frost crackled under their feet and left three sets of dark footprints in the white grass for anyone who wished to see, but they were lucky, for—as yet—no one had thought to look for footprints in the grass. As they reached the river, a search party led by Queen Etheldredda's hasty replacement for the Bumptiouse Barrelle of Larde—a man as short of temper as he was of brains who had had his eye on the Royal Stewardship for many years and could not quite believe his good fortune—was staring at the door and coming to exactly the conclusion that Jenna had wanted them to. The search party threw themselves at the narrow door, each eager to be the first to catch Princess Esmeralda and win favor with the Queen, but the new Steward had the most eagerness—and nastiness. He scratched and kicked his way to the front of the search party and got out the door first. Soon they were rushing after him down the Long Walk, shouting out to anyone to ask if they had “espied the poore deluded Princess.” Anxious to oblige the frightening new Steward and his sidekicks, many people gave them completely fictitious directions, and the search party was sent on a wild goose chase.

By now Jenna, Septimus, Hugo and Sir Hereward were standing on the landing stage where the Royal Barge was moored.

“The boat will convey us safely hither,” said Sir Hereward. “ 'Tis a fair, still night and the water runneth slow.”

Septimus looked at the Royal Barge and whistled between his teeth, an irritating habit that he had unknowingly picked up from Marcellus Pye. “Don't you think they might notice us in that?” he said.

“Not that one. Sir Hereward means the dinghy, the little rowboat.” Jenna pointed to Sir Hereward, who was now hovering above a small, and equally richly painted, rowboat that was tied up behind the Royal Barge and used for ferrying passengers to and from the barge when it could not get to the shore.

Just then the full moon sailed out from behind a cloud and the frosty lawns were bathed in a brilliant white light; it felt as if someone had switched on a searchlight and pointed it straight at them. Sir Hereward knew only too well the dangers of moonlight, for he had entered ghosthood due to a particularly badly timed appearance of a full moon and a well-aimed arrow. The ghost leaped from the boat with the words “We will be discovered—hie we to the summer house!” Dodging between the shadows of the great cedar trees, Sir Hereward shepherded everyone over to the Palace summer house—the very same octagonal building with the golden roof that Jenna knew from her own Time.

From behind the cover of the summer house, Jenna watched the windows of the Palace light up one by one, as each empty room was invaded by the confused search party and a lit candle left to show that the room had been searched.

Suddenly, with a distant crash, the great windows to the Ballroom were thrown open and the new Steward was out on the terrace. Frustrated with his fruitless tour of the Palace, he had left the search party to their bickering and had returned to the Ladies'

Retiring Room for a closer inspection. There he had found the window unlatched and his prey gone in quite a different direction. Outside the Ballroom, his hectoring voice carried through the frosty night air as he instructed his new, handpicked search party of thugs.

"Take thee three each to a party. Forsooth, man, art thou an imbecile? Ay, thou art.

Fool, I didst say three. They are but children, surely one each will quell them. Do thee as thou wilt with the serving boys, they matter not, but Esmeralda must be returned to her grieving mama. Now, hie thee to the Great Gates, thee to the stables and thou, fools, take thy great flat feet to the river. Tarry not—begone!

As Jenna, Septimus and Hugo cowered behind the summer house, a yell went up from the large-footed search party. “Behold! 'Tis their imprints upon the frost. I declare, we have them. They are ours!”

The search party, closely followed by the Steward, thundered across the lawns toward them. Frantically, Septimus tried the door of the summer house. It was locked. “I'll break a window, Jen,” he said, wrapping his fist in the white serving cloth that had covered the jug of orange sauce.

“No, Sep,” hissed Jenna. “They'll hear. Anyway, if you break the window, they'll know we're in here.”

“Allow me, young man,” said Sir Hereward, still flushed with the earlier success of unlocking Jenna's bedroom door. The knight placed his hand over the lock. They waited anxiously, listening to the search party's arrival at the Royal Barge.

“Please hurry,” Jenna whispered urgently.

“My powers are not what they were,” said a flustered Sir Hereward. “This lock doth not turn easily.”

“Sir Hereward, let me try something,” said Jenna. Wishing that she had listened more to the droning of Jillie Djinn, Jenna took the key to the Queen's Room off her belt.

With chilled and trembling fingers that were about as much use as a package of frozen sausages, she fumbled and dropped it. It lay on the frosty grass, glinting gold and emerald in the moonlight. Septimus snatched it up, pushed it into the lock and turned it, and the next moment they were all tumbling inside. Septimus locked the door behind them and they stood listening to the hollow thud of footsteps running beneath the cedar trees, and shaking the ground beneath them.

Suddenly Hugo grabbed hold of Septimus's arm—hard.

Two green eyes glinted in the darkness, and a long, low growl began to fill the summer house.

“Ullr?” whispered Jenna into the dark. But then she remembered where she was.

How could it be Ullr?

Out of the dark came a voice that Jenna knew. “Kalmm, Ullr. Kalmm,” said Snorri, breathless. But Ullr was not calm. The big cat, spooked by the strange smells and sounds of this different Time, had been startled by the shriek of a late-night kitchen maid and had taken off down a warren of passages. Snorri had, to her relief, just caught up with him. Now she held the panther back and stroked his neck where the fur had risen along with his growl.