“Well, that’s this evening taken care of,” said Alther.

“But—” said Septimus.

“Alther, there is no need to be sarcastic,” snapped Marcia.

“It’s not as bad as it could be,” said Simon, trying to smooth the waters. “At least Jenna is safely out of the way. They can’t possibly find her on her Journey.”

“Why would they want to find Jenna?” Marcia asked.

“They swore revenge on the Queen’s descendants. One of Jenna’s ancestors shot them. Both. In the heart,” Simon said.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Beetle smiled.

“But we—” said Septimus.

“What is it, Septimus?” Marcia demanded. She was still a little snappy.

“Um. We don’t have the ring. To put them back in.”

Marcia groaned and put her head in her hands—she was just not thinking straight.

“Do they have to go back into that particular piece of gold?” Beetle asked.

Marcia looked at Marcellus. “You’re the gold expert.”

Marcellus tried to remember his gold history—something he had once avidly studied. “Hmm. It is indeed possible that they don’t have to go back into the ring. It is said that Hotep-Ra made the ring for the Queen from a lump of extremely old, Magykal gold that he had brought with him. A lump of gold so very ancient will develop a single identity, so that even when it is split and made into separate objects, it will recognize the other objects as itself.”

“What else was made from that lump of gold—do we know?” Marcia asked.

“It is said that Hotep-Ra also made the circlet—you know, the one that Jenna wears—from it.”

Everyone sighed. That was no good.

“Is this the same as Cloned gold?” Septimus asked.

“That is another word for it,” said Marcellus.

“So what about the bowls—the Transubstantiate Triple?”

“Of course! I knew there was something. Apprentice, I believe you have it!” Marcellus said excitedly. He turned to Marcia. “He’s good, isn’t he?”

Septimus looked embarrassed.

“He’s not at all bad,” Marcia agreed. “Which is, of course, why I chose him to be my Apprentice.”

A look of irritation flashed across Marcellus’s features. “I can get the bowls,” Septimus said hurriedly. “They are in Jenna’s room.”

“Good,” said Marcia. “Now all we have to do is find the Ring Wizards. Before Jenna gets back.”

Marcellus was still riled. “It is impossible to find such beings if they do not want to be found, Marcia.”

“So we have to make them come to us.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Marcellus asked.

“Bait,” Marcia said.

“Bait?” said three people and one ghost in unison.

“And what—or who—did you have in mind?” asked Marcellus.

Marcia smiled. “Merrin Meredith,” she said.

28

BAIT

“Two bacon-and-bean pies, please, Maureen,” said Septimus, out of breath. He had just managed to get to The Harbor and Dock Pie Shop before it closed.

Maureen handed over two pies. “Here, try one of our new sweet pies, apple with marshberry jam. Let me know what you think.”

“Thanks, Maureen. I will. Smells good. Do you have another one?”

“Hungry, eh? That’s what I like to see.” Maureen neatly wrapped the pies and handed them across the counter. “So, your brother—doing all right at the Castle, is he?”

Septimus did a quick mental run-through of his collection of brothers at the Castle and decided that Maureen meant Simon. “Yes. He’s doing fine, thanks.”

Maureen smiled fondly. “I’m glad. He and Lucy had some difficult times. They deserve a break. Got married too, I hear.”

“Yep. A couple of months ago,” he said, heading fast for the door.

“Lovely. Say hello to Simon and Lucy from me when you see them.”

Septimus nodded. “Will do. Thanks. See you. Bye.” Feeling bad that he hadn’t told Maureen that Simon was no more than fifty yards away, Septimus was out the door before Maureen could ask him anything else. Simon had refused to come into the pie shop with him. “I like Maureen, Sep, but she gossips. And I don’t want anyone to know I’m here, okay?”

Some ten minutes previously, Septimus and Simon had done a Transport to the harbor front—the nearest open space to where Merrin lived. As Septimus walked across the deserted Quayside, clutching the packets of hot pies, which the wind tried to snatch from his hands, he thought how strange it was to be doing Magyk with Simon. He was surprised that it actually felt good. Septimus had not expected Simon to have such good skills with Magyk; they were pretty much at a level of his own although Simon had his own slightly odd way of doing things, which came, Septimus figured, from him having taught himself—and, he suspected, not being too fussy about using Darke sources.