With the heat from the intense Magyk blazing in his face and the wind that always blew at the top of the Wizard Tower buffeting him to and fro, Septimus laboriously counted his way through the Incantations, dropping and picking up the Keye, until at last he reached the twenty-first. Holding his breath in suspense, Septimus dropped the Keye into the Lock for what he desperately hoped was the last time. A symbol appeared on top of the Keye that Septimus recognized: Hathor. And for the twenty-first time, the hieroglyphs dissolved into words. This time they read: A Committal to Gold.

“Yay!” yelled Septimus. Taking great care not to make contact with the silver platform (he could not bear the thought of having to scroll through everything again), Septimus took out his stylus and recording Tablet and meticulously wrote down the words to the Committal. He checked them three times—stopped himself from checking a fourth because he knew he had copied them right—took the Keye from the Lock and watched the words change into meaningless hieroglyphs once again.

Septimus put his Tablet safely into his secure pocket, stood up and stretched out his aching arms. He looked down to where Rose was watching anxiously from the little library hatch below and his happy wave told Rose all she needed to know.

“Hooray!” she called up. And then, “Are you coming down now?”

There was nothing Septimus wanted to do more. Even with the security of the Flyte Charm, heights still made him feel hollow inside. With the Keye safely joining the Tablet in his pocket, he slowly descended through the smoky air.

In the Wizard Tower below, Marcellus Pye saw the ghostly figure of Julius Pike sidling toward the spiral stairs. Marcellus thought he was seeing things. He closed his eyes but when he opened them, Julius was still there.

“Can you see that ExtraOrdinary Wizard ghost?” Marcellus whispered to Jenna.

“Yes,” said Jenna. “He’s a pain in the neck.”

“So it is him.” Marcellus got to his feet and wobbled.

“Marcellus, sit down,” said Marcia sternly. “You ought to be in the Sick Bay.”

“Huh!” said Marcellus. “Excuse me, Marcia, Princess, there is something I have to do.” He gave an old-fashioned bow and headed off unsteadily.

The ghost of Julius Pike watched Marcellus approaching with dismay. The Alchemist—hair plastered to his head, a livid bruise spreading around his right eye, his robes tattered and torn—looked as though he had been in a fight and was wanting another.

Marcellus stepped in front of the ghost. “Julius.”

“Marcellus,” said Julius, sounding somewhat unenthusiastic. “Um, how are you?”

Marcellus smiled. “Alive,” he said tersely.

A group of nearby Wizards who were cleaning up gasped at Marcellus’s rudeness. It was extremely bad manners to draw attention to one’s Living status when talking to a ghost. However, right then, manners were the last thing on Marcellus’s mind.

“Julius, you snake. It has taken me nearly five hundred years to figure this out, but now at last I know what caused the Great Alchemie Disaster.”

“Jolly good,” said Julius somewhat impatiently.

“Indeed, I know not only what caused it, but who—you!”

“Me?” Julius sounded shocked.

“Yes, you, you lying toad. You arrogant old f—”

“Marcellus!” Marcia had hurried over to intervene. “I realize you have had a severe blow to the head, but I must ask you to abide by the Wizard Tower code of conduct. ExtraOrdinary Wizard ghosts are our guests and are to be treated with courtesy and respect.”

“I am sorry, Marcia,” said Marcellus, seething. “But I must have my say. I have waited long enough.”

“You may have your say, Marcellus, but you may not insult our guest.”

“Thank you, ExtraOrdinary,” said Julius. “I must be off now.”

“Not so fast, Julius!” said Marcellus. “Perhaps you will do me the courtesy of hearing what I have to say.”

“It is late, Marcellus. Some other time. Excuse me.”

“I will not excuse you. And neither would Marcia if she knew the truth about what you did.”

“Marcellus, what is this about?” asked Marcia.

Marcellus spoke slowly, all the while looking Julius Pike in the eye. “This is about how a man—who for years I counted as my best friend and my confidant—how he destroyed my life’s work, and the work of all the Alchemists who went before me. And, as if that were not enough for him, how he then deliberately destroyed my reputation.”