“I can guarantee they are not,” Marcellus said. “Duglius would not allow it.”
“Duglius?” Jenna and Septimus exchanged worried glances. Marcellus’s mind was clearly wandering.
“My head Drummin,” said Marcellus.
“I’m not surprised your head hurts, Marcellus,” said Jenna soothingly. “You have a huge lump on it.” A wave splashed up and she looked down to see that the water was now covering the lower two steps. “Sep,” she whispered, “the water’s rising.”
As Jenna was speaking, a huge surge of water ran through the tunnel, sending the Purple Tube bucking like a frightened horse. The anchor broke free and the Tube was dragged into the current—and then it was gone, merrily bouncing and banging along the roof of the tunnel.
Jenna, Septimus and Marcellus watched the light from the headlamp rapidly fade, plunging them into darkness. Septimus waited for his Dragon Ring to begin to glow, until he remembered that it was now back on Hotep-Ra’s finger.
They were on their own.
They stood in the dark, feeling the chill of the water lapping around their ankles. Something bumped up against Septimus’s boot and he looked down. It was his beautiful Wizard Tower sledge that he had left tied there after his last run through the Ice Tunnels with Beetle to celebrate him becoming Chief Hermetic Scribe. Septimus untied the sled’s azure-blue rope and, feeling as though he had found a friend, held on to it tightly.
Meanwhile, Jenna clutched the sodden and increasingly heavy pink rabbit to her. She was beginning to wonder if all they had gone through to get the Committal was going to come to nothing.
A wave swashed over them, taking the water up to their knees. “Apprentice,” said Marcellus, “you could try the old-fashioned way of finding out who is on the other side. You could shout.”
Another wave, which washed water up to their waists, convinced Septimus that he had nothing to lose. “Marcia!” he called out, his voice echoing in the domed, watery space. “It’s me—Septimus!”
There was no reply.
On the other side of the Armed Seal, a whispered conference was in progress.
“It is a trick,” said Julius. “Your Apprentice cannot possibly be back yet.”
“It is not a trick,” said Marcia. “It is Septimus. I can Feel it.”
Milo joined Marcia. “You should go with what you feel,” he said.
“Feelings!” said Julius. “Huh! That old mumbo jumbo.”
A wave pushed the water up to their chests. Marcellus raised his arm to check how much headroom they had left. Enough for two more waves, he reckoned. That was all.
“Let your rabbit go,” he told Jenna. “You will need both hands soon.”
“But it’s got the pyramid in it,” said Jenna. And then, seeing Marcellus’s puzzled look, she said, “It has the Keye to the Committal in it—the words that will put the Wizards back in the ring.”
Marcellus remembered. “Then give it to me. I will not let go of it, I promise you.”
Jenna gave the heavy, sodden pink rabbit to Marcellus. He took it by the ears and very nearly dropped it in surprise at its weight. But Marcellus was no stranger to carrying lumps of gold and he quickly stuffed it into the large leather pouch that he wore hidden under his cloak, where Pookie the rabbit joined a collection of gold coins and nuggets.
Released from her burden, Jenna put all her energy into yelling, “Marcia! Let us in!”
On the other side of the Shield, Milo gasped. “I can hear Jenna!”
“So can I,” said Beetle.
“It’s an old Darke trick,” the ghost of Julius Pike told them. “You hear the people you long for. That’s how a Darke Domaine begins.”
Beetle hesitated. The ghost was right—he knew that well enough.
Marcia also faltered. She looked at Milo. “He’s right,” she said.
“No, he’s not,” said Milo. “That’s my Jenna out there. And your Septimus. Let them in.”
Another surge of water had left Marcellus the one only able to stand and keep his head above water. Septimus had regretfully let go of his sled and now both he and Jenna were clinging to Marcellus, their heads bumping up and down against the brick roof of the stairwell. They knew the next wave would be their last.
“Mar . . . ceeee . . . aaaaaah!” they yelled.
Jenna’s and Septimus’s cries echoed out of the little broom cupboard and into the Great Hall of the Wizard Tower. A crowd of concerned Wizards gathered at the cupboard door.
