"We can but hope," said Marcia grimly.
Grimacing Marcia placed her hands on the filthy, sticky surface of the Seal. In the light of the Dragon Ring, Jenna and Septimus watched as the surface of the Seal healed itself. Soon it was smooth and shimmering with Magykal purple once more, lighting up the seven-cornered passage and showing the revolting film of slime and Thing skin in glorious detail. Septimus thought of how the Seal must have shone through the Darke when the Things had first arrived and taunted them - no wonder they had attacked it. He would have added a Camouflage.
Now Marcia began the UnSeal. Jenna retreated from the sudden onslaught of Magyk, which was highly concentrated in the narrow confines of the passageway and made her feel queasy. But Septimus was fascinated. He watched the shiny surface glow even brighter and slowly begin to retreat before them. Step by step Marcia and Septimus followed the Seal until it stopped at the end of the passageway. They waited anxiously, watching the diamond-hard surface slowly became translucent until they began to see the shadowy impression of the Hermetic Chamber beyond.
The Seal thinned until there was no more than a shifting swirl of Magyk piding them from the Chamber. Through it Septimus could see Beetle slumped at the table. He could not tell whether he was alive or dead.
Once more Marcia stretched out her hands - which Septimus noticed were trembling - and laid them on the last vestige of the Seal. At her touch it melted away and a rush of air whooshed past them into the Chamber.
"Beetle!" Septimus ran across and shook his friend by the shoulder. Beetle felt so cold that Septimus jumped back in horror. Jenna appeared at the entrance to the Chamber. They both looked at Marcia in panic.
Marcia strode over to the siege drawer, which lay upturned on the table with a tangle of licorice bootlaces spilling out from it. Where was the Suspension Charm?
"He's cold," Septimus said. "Really cold."
"Well, he will be cold if . . ." Marcia looked at the licorice. It did not bode well.
"If what?" asked Septimus.
"If he's managed the Suspension." Marcia sounded worried.
And he will be if he hasn't, thought Septimus, but he said nothing. They watched Marcia gently lift Beetle so that he was sitting up, but Beetle's eyes were closed and his head flopped forward like a dead thing.
Jenna gave a gasp of dismay.
"Beetle," Marcia said, shaking him gently by his shoulders. "Beetle, you can come out now." There was no response. Marcia glanced at Jenna and Septimus. There was dread in her eyes.
Time seemed to slow down. Marcia crouched down so that she was level with Beetle's face. She placed her hands on either side of his head and gently lifted it up so that his face was level with hers. Then she took a deep breath. The buzz of Magyk filled the Hermetic Chamber once again, and from Marcia's mouth came a long stream of pink mist. It settled over Beetle's face, covering his nose and mouth.
Hardly daring to breathe themselves, Septimus and Jenna watched. Still Marcia breathed out. Still Beetle did not react, the dead white of his face shining through the pink mist above it. And then, like smoke drifting up a chimney, Septimus saw tendrils of the mist begin to disappear up Beetle's nose. He was breathing. Very slowly Beetle's eyes flickered opened. He looked glassily at Marcia.
Septimus rushed to Beetle's side. "Hey, Beetle, Beetle, it's us. Oh, Beetle!"
Marcia smiled with relief. "Congratulations, Beetle," she said. "The heart of the Manuscriptorium is untouched, thanks to you."
Beetle rose to the occasion with aplomb. "Gah . . ." he said.
They had gathered in the wasteland of upturned desks. Beetle looked pale and was shakily drinking a fortifying FizzFroot, which Septimus had found stashed away in Beetle's old kitchen in the Manuscriptorium backyard. Jenna, Beetle noticed, had not hung around; she had rushed off to the Palace as soon as she could. Beetle, clear-headed after his Suspension, saw what that meant. If it had been Jenna who had just survived two days being Sealed in an airless Chamber, he would not have run away at the first opportunity. Get real, Beetle, he told himself.
Marcia's voice broke into his thoughts.
"The Pick for the new Chief Hermetic Scribe must begin tonight," she was saying. "I must go. I intend to visit each and every scribe myself. I want to see if they are all still . . . available."
Beetle thought of Foxy and Partridge and Romilly. He thought of Larry. Of Matt, Marcus and Igor at Gothyk Grotto, even the oddly irritating people at Wizard Sandwiches. How many of them were still . . . available?
Marcia stopped for a quiet word with Beetle. "It's such a shame," she told him, "that you are no longer part of the Manuscriptorium. I would very much have liked your pen to have gone into the Pot."
Beetle flushed with pleasure at the compliment. "Thank you," he said. "But it would never have Picked me. I'm far too young. And I was never a proper scribe."
"That is of no consequence," said Marcia. "The Pot Picks who is right." She refrained from adding that she had no idea why it had Picked Jillie Djinn. "But perhaps you'd like to stay until the Draw and stand guard. I don't want to leave the Manuscriptorium unattended."
Once again Beetle was flattered, but he was already getting to his feet. "Sorry, but I'd better go and see Larry. Don't want to lose my job there too."
"I quite understand," said Marcia, opening the door to the front office for him. She realized that she should not have asked - Beetle clearly still found the Manuscriptorium an upsetting place to be. Marcia watched Beetle walk out into the morning sunshine and called back into the Manuscriptorium, "Septimus! You're in charge. You have my permission to use a full Restore. I shall be back soon with all the scribes."
From the other side of the partition Septimus then heard Marcia say loudly, "The Manuscriptorium is closed today. I suggest you come back tomorrow when it will be under new management. What? No, I have no idea where the witches have gone. No, I am not a witch, whatever gave you that idea? I am, madam, the ExtraOrdinary Wizard."
As the sounds of Nursie being rapidly escorted off the premises came through the flimsy partition, Septimus smiled. Marcia was back to her normal self again.
* * *
Outside the Manuscriptorium, Marcia found herself plagued with unwelcome intrusions. Nursie was sticking to her like Thing skin and, to top it all, she now saw the familiar figure of Marcellus Pye approaching. Marcia decided to pretend she hadn't seen him.
"Marcia! Marcia, wait!" Marcellus called.
"Sorree. Must dash!" she called out.
But Marcellus was not to be put off. He speeded up, dragging behind him an unwilling companion. As the pair drew near Marcia saw who it was.
"Merrin Meredith!" she spluttered.
Nursie's hearing was not what it had been. "Yes?" she said.
"And I thought I told you to go home," Marcia snapped at Nursie.
But Nursie did not hear anything. She was staring at the shambling, sniffing figure that Marcellus was dragging behind him.
A red-faced and very harassed Marcellus reached Marcia and Nursie.
"Marcia. I have something for you," said Marcellus. He burrowed into a deep pocket, drew out a small brown box made of cheap card and handed it to Marcia.
Marcia looked at it impatiently. "Springo Spigots," she read. "Marcellus, what on earth would I want with Springo Spigots?"
"It's the only box that Sally had," said Marcellus. "And it's not spigots - whatever they are. I'd rather spigot a spigotty-thing any day than . . . well, you'd better take a look."
Marcia's curiosity got the better of her impatience. She opened the end of the flimsy cardboard box and drew out a small piece of bloodstained cloth. Something heavy fell into her hand. She gasped.
"Good grief, Marcellus. How did you get this?"
"How do you think?" Marcellus replied quietly. He looked pointedly at Merrin, who was staring at the ground.
Marcia took a closer look at Merrin and saw that his left hand was swathed in a bandage. An ooze of deep pink was showing on the inside of it where - Marcia now knew - his thumb no longer was. She stared at the Two-Faced Ring that lay heavy and cold in her hand and felt almost afraid.
"May I suggest that this ring be destroyed," Marcellus said quietly. "Even in the most Hidden of hiding places it will one day give some new fool - or worse - overweening powers."