Septimus Heap 3 - Physik by Angie Sage Read Free Book Online

beings as strange creatures, unrelated to them. But not one of the ghosts was Passed Through by Septimus as he negotiated his way around them. At last he pushed his way through the bush and reached the outside of the tavern with a feeling of relief.
    “So what did she say?” Alther asked again. He and Septimus were taking a shortcut through Drapers Yard, a small courtyard around which was a cluster of old houses inhabited by families who worked with cloth. A few candles shone from the windows, which sported a strange variety of curtains and cloth remnants, but the doors were locked and barred, and the yard was so quiet that Septimus could hear the ticking of the Great Draper Clock in the clock tower above the central house.
    “She said I should meet Marcellus Pye on Snake Slipway. Tonight,” Septimus told him as the Draper Clock began to strike ten and its tinny bell echoed around the yard. Pling, pling, pling...
    “You will of course be doing no such thing,” declared Alther once the clock had stopped and the succession of comical tin figures had done their party pieces and filed back inside. “She's bonkers, Septimus, totally and utterly bonkers. Anyway, I've never even seen the ghost of Marcellus Pye. The trouble is, every now and then a ghost gets delusions of grandeur. Often happens to Royal ghosts. They think they can influence the living. Make things happen, just as they were used to doing when they were alive. Of course all they do is make a nuisance of themselves. Can be almost impossible to get rid of, that's the trouble. The best thing is to ignore them and hope they'll go away. Which is exactly what you must do, lad. I suppose you know who this Pye fellow was?”
    “Yes,” said Septimus.
    Alther nodded approvingly. "Thought you would. It's good to read about the subject.
    Best not to let on to Marcia though. She has a thing about Alchemie."
    “I know,” Septimus sighed.
    “He wasn't just an alchemist, Marcellus; he was a good physician, too,” said Alther.
    “Pity we've lost some of the things he knew back then. We could use them now.”
    They were now walking briskly along Brindle Byway, which would lead them to Wizard Way. Brindle Byway was a narrow street with tall drying lofts for yarn and fabric on either side. The drying lofts were dark and quiet at this time of night and a chokingly unpleasant smell of dye hung in the still air. Septimus was too preoccupied with holding his nose and breathing through his mouth to hear, some way ahead, the scrabble of claws and the click of a needle-sharp tooth as it flicked down, ready to bite.
    Neither Septimus nor Alther noticed two round red eyes emerging from a drain, blinking and shrinking from the light from the silver torch post outside Number Thirteen Wizard Way. But they did hear something altogether louder and more insistent: hurried footsteps echoing off the walls of the byway, coming toward them.
    Alther glanced at Septimus and gestured to a small opening between two drying lofts. In a moment both he and Septimus were hidden in the shadows, listening to the approaching footsteps.
    “Probably some pickpocket up to no good,” whispered Alther. “He'd better not try anything, I'm not in a good mood this evening.”
    Septimus did not reply. The footsteps had slowed down now; they sounded almost hesitant as they approached the gap where Alther and Septimus were hidden. Then the footsteps stopped.
    Suddenly, to Alther's horror, Septimus jumped out.
    Sarah Heap gave a piercing scream and dropped her basket with a crash. Bottles and jars tumbled out and rolled in all directions.
    “Mum!” said Septimus. “Mum, it's only Alther and me.”
    Sarah Heap stared at them in disbelief. “What on earth are you doing here? Really, Septimus, you nearly gave me a heart attack. And what does Alther think he's doing bringing you down these ghastly alleyways at this time of night?”
    “It's all right, Mum. We're on our way back now. We only went to the Hole in