“No, Jen!” Septimus yelled as Spit Fyre flew back across the Moat toward the Forest again. “I’m taking you somewhere safe first. We don’t know what’s in the Palace now!”
“Mum’s in there, you—you total dumbrain!”
Septimus was shocked. Jenna never used language like that normally. He blamed the witch’s cloak. He turned Spit Fyre around and lined him up once more for landing on Snake Slipway.
Spit Fyre began his second attempt to land.
“Septimus Heap, you are not dumping me!” Jenna yelled.
“But Jen—”
“Spit Fyre!” yelled his Navigator. “Go up!”
Spit Fyre—who obeyed his Navigator’s instructions in the absence of any from his Pilot—began to go up. But not for long.
“Down, Spit Fyre!” his Pilot countermanded. Spit Fyre went down. His Pilot was in charge.
“Up!” yelled Jenna.
Spit Fyre went up.
“Down!” Septimus yelled. His dragon obeyed. Septimus had one last go at persuading Jenna.
“Jen, please, listen to me! The Palace is dangerous! If something happens to you, that’s it. No more Queens in the Castle. Ever. We can land here and I’ll take you to Marcellus’s house—he’s got a SafeChamber—or we can even go to Aunt Zelda’s. You choose. But you have to be safe!”
Jenna fumed. How many times had she been sidelined just because she had to be safe? She leaned forward—all the better to yell at Septimus and tell him she didn’t care about being Queen, so there—and The Queen Rules dug into her. Angrily she pulled the book out of her pocket, intending to hurl it into the Moat below. But something stopped her. The little red book sat so naturally in her hand and felt so much a part of her that suddenly Jenna knew she could not throw it away—in fact, she could never throw it away. This fragile, worn, little red book contained her history. Whatever she thought of it, whether she liked it or not, this was who she was, who her family was, and she knew, as she looked down onto the Darkening Castle below, that this was where she belonged. Nothing she did would ever change that.
And so, sitting on a somewhat confused dragon, Jenna realized what the Day of Recognition actually meant. Somehow, without any official ceremony, procession or traditional hoo-ha, it had happened. She understood who she was and she accepted it. It was, she realized, recognition of something she had known for a while but had preferred not to notice. It was a bit late in the day, she thought, as she heard the chimes of the Drapers Yard Clock strike ten, but that was fine.
Septimus took Jenna’s sudden silence to mean that she had stopped speaking to him in disgust.
“Landing!” he yelled.
“Okay!” Jenna shouted back.
Surprised, Septimus turned around. “Really?” he shouted.
Jenna smiled. “Yep! Really!”
Septimus gave Jenna a huge grin of relief—he hated arguing with her—and once more Spit Fyre began his approach to Snake Slipway. The slipway was hemmed in on both sides by houses, some leaning in toward each other and none wanting their windows smashed by a misplaced dragon’s tail. It was not an easy landing, even for a dragon used to the narrow confines of the Castle. With a loud snort of excitement—Spit Fyre liked a challenge—the dragon headed down.
It was a perfect landing. Spit Fyre settled lightly in the center of the slipway and folded his wings with an air of satisfaction and the creaking sound of old leather. His Pilot and Navigator slipped down from their places and stood on the sleet-shined slipway.
“Spit Fyre,” said his Pilot. “Stay!”
Spit Fyre regarded his Pilot quizzically. Why did his Pilot want him to Stay in this bad place? Had he done something wrong? His Navigator came to his rescue.
“You can’t tell Spit Fyre to Stay, Sep.”
“It’s only for a few minutes, Jen. Then I’m going to get Mum.”
But Spit Fyre’s Navigator dug her heels in. “No, Sep. Supposing those Things come back? You have to take the Stay off. It’s not fair.”
Septimus sighed. Jenna was right. “Okay. Spit Fyre, Stay replaced with StaySafe.” He patted the dragon’s nose. “Okay?”
Spit Fyre snorted. He thumped his tail and sent a plume of Moat water up into the air. The dragon watched his Pilot and Navigator walk to a doorway a few yards up on the left where the slipway leveled out. His Pilot placed a key in the lock and turned it, then they disappeared inside and the door closed behind them.
Spit Fyre watched the door, waiting for them to come out again. And while he watched he stretched out his wings so that he was ready to take off quickly—just in case. He didn’t like the slipway. It was narrow and full of hiding places on either side. Spit Fyre didn’t like what was happening to the Castle either; he could smell the Darke, he could feel it coming closer. And then, suddenly, he saw a movement in the shadows. His Pilot’s StaySafe kicked in and so, as a group of Things crept up on him in a pincer movement, knives at the ready, Spit Fyre raised his wings and, with one powerful downstroke, he was airborne. He looked down and saw the Things on the slipway staring up at him. A moment later there was a loud splat—a particularly large amount of dragon poop had scored a direct hit.
Jenna didn’t like Marcellus’s house very much. There was something about the smell of it that reminded her of a Time five hundred years ago.
“Do we have to come here?” she asked uneasily.
“Marcellus has a SafeChamber,” said Septimus. “Where you can be, um, safe.” He glanced around. The narrow hallway and the flight of stairs leading up to the next floor were ablaze with candles, as they always were, but a stillness hung in the air, and he knew the house was deserted. Septimus felt at a loss. He realized he was also hoping for Marcellus’s company—and advice. “He’s not here,” he said flatly.
Jenna was puzzled. “He must be. All these candles are lit.”
“He always does that,” said Septimus. “I’ve told him that one day he’ll come back to find his house burned down but he doesn’t listen.”
“I don’t want to stay here on my own, I really don’t,” Jenna said anxiously. “It’s so creepy . . .”
“Let’s go,” said Septimus. “We’ll sit it out on Spit Fyre and wait for him to come back.”
“I’m not leaving the Castle,” said Jenna, a warning in her voice.
“Neither am I. We’ll just kind of hover. We’ll be safe on Spit Fyre.” Septimus opened the door and stepped outside. Jenna heard a sharp intake of breath.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Spit Fyre. He’s gone.”
Chapter 33
Thieves in the Night
As Jenna and Septimus stood on the lonely slipway, the dark waters of the Moat to their right and the spreading Darkenesse of the Castle all around them, they heard an echoing, flip-flapping noise coming toward them.
“Quick, Jen. Let’s get back inside.”
Jenna nodded. The noise sounded horribly like an approaching Thing. Septimus was fumbling with the key when a voice called out, “Apprentice! Apprentice!”
The flustered figure of Marcellus Pye, with one shoe looking like a dog had mangled it, appeared from a gap between two houses and hurried toward them. “Thank goodness you are here.” He bowed slightly to Jenna, as he always did, and then succeeded in annoying her—as he always did. “Princess. I did not recognize you at first. You do realize you are wearing the cloak of a true witch?”
“Yes. I do, thank you,” said Jenna. “And before you ask, the answer is no, I will not take it off.”
Marcellus surprised her. “I should hope not. It may prove useful. And you will not be the first Witch Princess in the Castle.”
“Oh.” Jenna was not entirely pleased. She had rather assumed that she was the first Witch Princess.
“Marcellus,” said Septimus urgently. “Jenna needs to stay somewhere safe. I thought your SafeChamber—”
Marcellus did not let Septimus finish. “It is not safe here, Apprentice. Miss Djinn knows I have a SafeChamber—all Ch
ambers are declared to the Chief Hermetic Scribe—and I fear our Chief Hermetic Scribe has already given away our secrets.” Marcellus shook his head sadly. He hated to see what had happened to the Manuscriptorium. “There are Things abroad already,” he continued. “They will come here soon enough, and Princess Jenna will be trapped like a rat. We must go somewhere the Darke Domaine will have trouble finding.”
“But the Darke Domaine is spreading fast,” said Septimus. “It will soon be everywhere. Jenna should leave the Castle.”
“Sep, I’m actually still here,” said Jenna, annoyed. “And I am not leaving the Castle.”
“Quite right, Princess,” said Marcellus. “Now, I believe that the Domaine will have some trouble getting into the Ramblings, and even once it’s inside it will not find it easy to spread. So I suggest we head there and . . . what is that Young Army term, Apprentice?”
“Regroup?” Septimus offered.
“Ah, yes. Regroup. Ideally, what we need is an overlooked little fleapit down a dead end, with an outside window.”
Jenna knew exactly where to find one. She pulled out the key that Silas had given her not so very long ago.
“What’s that?” asked Septimus.
“It’s a key, Sep,” teased Jenna.
“I know it’s a key. But where to?”
Jenna grinned. “An overlooked little fleapit down a dead end, with an outside window,” she said.
Marcellus Pye closed the door of his house behind him with a sigh and looked up at his dark windows. Septimus had insisted he blow out all his candles and it had made him feel quite depressed.
“Come now, we must go,” said Marcellus.
“I’ll Call Spit Fyre,” said Septimus. “Something must have spooked him. He can’t have gone far.”
Marcellus looked doubtful. He’d got along just fine without dragon flight for more than five hundred years and he wasn’t in a hurry to change things. But Septimus was already letting out the ululating Call, which reverberated off the densely packed houses on Snake Slipway and made the Alchemist shiver. It was a primeval sound, Marcellus thought, one that went back way beyond Alchemie.
They waited nervously on the slipway, glancing at the shadows, imagining movements.
After a few minutes Marcellus whispered, “I do not believe your dragon is coming, Septimus.”
“But he has to come when I Call,” said Septimus, worried.
“Maybe he can’t, Sep,” whispered Jenna.
“Don’t, Jen.”
“I didn’t meant that he was . . . well, I . . .” Jenna stopped. She could see she was only making things worse.
“Dragon or no dragon, we can wait no longer,” said Marcellus. “With care we can travel short distances through the Darke Domaine. My cloak has certain . . . abilities, shall we say, and you, Apprentice, have a small tinderbox that may prove useful.” Jenna shot Septimus a questioning look. “And you, Princess, will be protected well enough with your membership of . . .” Marcellus peered at the markings on her witch cloak. “My, you don’t do things by halves, do you? The Port Witch Coven! Now, we must go. We will travel by the Castle Canyons.”
“Castle Canyons?” asked Jenna, who liked to think she knew most things about the Castle. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“I suspect not many Princesses ever do. Although now you have other, er, allegiances, you might find that will change,” Marcellus said with a smile. “The Canyons are not, shall we say, salubrious places. Those using them generally have reasons to hide. However, I know them well and we can slip through the night unnoticed. I am much practiced at the art.”
That did not surprise Jenna. Marcellus threw his long black cape around himself with a dramatic swirl and, equally theatrically, Jenna followed suit with her witch’s cloak, pulling the hood over her head to cover her gold circlet. Compared with his companions, Septimus felt a little conspicuous in his Apprentice green. He followed in their footsteps, feeling like an apprentice thief shadowing his masters.
Almost immediately Marcellus dived into a tiny gap between the houses. An ancient sign half hidden behind some ivy announced its name: SQUEEZE GUTS OPE. With the rough bricks snagging at their cloaks, they threaded their way through the warren between the jumble of houses that were packed in behind Snake Slipway. Their footsteps made no noise as they trod on years of leaves, moss and the occasional soft mound of a small dead animal. Feeling like a small animal himself scuttling through its burrows, Septimus kept glancing up, hoping to see the sky. But the dark of the moon and the snow-laden clouds gave nothing away. Once or twice he thought he saw a star, only to be obscured by the black shape of a chimney or a twist of a roofline as he turned yet another corner. The only light came from the comforting glow of his Dragon Ring as he held his right hand out in front of him.
As they went deeper in, the Canyons narrowed, sometimes so much that they were forced to walk sideways, squeezing past towering walls that threatened to press them flat. Septimus had an image of them squashed between the walls like the dried herbs Sarah Heap kept between the pages of her herb book. He longed to be able to stretch his arms out wide in all directions without his knuckles hitting brick, to be able to run freely in any direction he wanted to, not crawl like a crab between rocks. With every step he felt as though he were going deeper into a place from which he would never escape.
Septimus tried to take his mind off the encroaching walls by looking out for lighted candles in windows but there were hardly any windows to see. The sheer sides of stone rising up on either side blocked any view, and few people had put a window in a wall that looked out onto another wall no more than an arm’s length away. But once or twice Septimus saw the telltale glow of a candle way up above them, shining onto the opposite wall, and his spirits raised a little.
At last they followed Marcellus into a wider gap and the Alchemist raised his hand in warning. They stopped. At the end of the gap was a bank of Darke Fog—they had reached the edge of the Darke Domaine.
Jenna and Septimus exchanged anxious glances.
“Apprentice,” said Marcellus, “it is time to open your tinderbox.”
Jenna watched with great interest as Septimus took a battered tinderbox from his pocket and pried off the lid. She saw him draw something from it, but what it was, she could not tell. He muttered some strange words that she could not catch and threw his hands upward. She got the impression that something floated down very slowly and settled onto him, but she couldn’t be sure. He looked no different. In fact, it seemed more like a mime than anything else—the kind of thing they had had to do in drama classes in the Ramblings Little Theatre, which Jenna had always found rather embarrassing.
However, Marcellus and Septimus seemed satisfied, so Jenna guessed something must have happened. And then she did notice a change—the light from Septimus’s Dragon Ring seemed more fleeting somehow, as if thin gauze was moving across it. And, when she looked at Septimus and tried to catch his eye, she realized that something about him eluded her. He was there, and yet he was not there. A little spooked, Jenna stepped back. Sometimes she felt Septimus was part of things that she would never fully understand.
Marcellus regarded his two charges closely. They were as prepared as they could ever be, he thought. Now they would have to put things to the test—it was time to step into the Darke Domaine. He beckoned them to the end of the passageway. They stopped where the Fog rolled in front of them, close enough to reach out and touch, and Marcellus said, “I will go first, then you two walk together. Keep a steady pace, breathe quietly. Keep your mind clear, for it will tempt you to stray from our path with beguiling thoughts of those you once loved. Do not react to anything and above all, do not panic. Panic draws Darke things to it like a magnet. Understood?”
Jenna and Septimus nodded. Neither could quite believe they were about to step into the shifting wall of Darkenesse of their own free will. Both Septimus’s Darke Disguise and Jenna’s witch cloak protected them from the beguiling thoughts that drew people
into the Darke Domaine. It was odd, thought Jenna, that her witch cloak allowed her to see the Darke Domaine for what it truly was: a terrifying blanket of evil.
Once again they exchanged glances, then together they followed Marcellus into the Darke Fog.
Septimus’s Darke Disguise felt like a second skin. He moved easily through the thick Darke Fog, but both Marcellus and Jenna struggled. Jenna’s witch’s cloak gave her less protection—it did not totally enclose her in the way Septimus’s Darke Disguise did and it was not nearly as powerful. Marcellus’s cloak gave even less protection—he did not dabble with the Darke quite as much as he liked people to think he did. But any remnants of Darke offer protection in a Darke Domaine and Marcellus and Jenna managed to struggle along, even though they felt as though they were wading through glue and breathing through cotton wool. Waves of fatigue washed over them, but by force of will they managed to keep going.
After some minutes they came to a halt—they had reached Wizard Way. Marcellus peered cautiously out. He looked right and left and right again in exactly the way Jenna remembered Sarah doing when they used to cross the Way when she was little. Then Jenna had known what Sarah was looking out for, but now she had no idea what it was Marcellus was watching for—or how he could possibly see anything. Marcellus beckoned them forward and they stepped out into Wizard Way.
It was not a good place to be. The Darke Domaine felt heavier here and it moved around them like a living thing. Sometimes they felt something brush past them, and once a Thing’s finger poked at Marcellus but he swept it off with a Darke curse and the Thing scuttled away. They walked steadily down the middle of the Way and concentrated on breathing slowly and calmly, in and out, in and out, as they measured their steps along the familiar—yet now so strange and frightening—Wizard Way.
As they walked on, Septimus began to get a strong sensation that there was something approaching behind them. It was a sense that he had learned to develop over his Apprentice years and he knew it was good. Remembering what Marcellus had said, he fought the urge to look back, but he could not rid himself of the feeling of a great creature bearing down on them fast. So fast that if they didn’t jump out of the way right now . . . Septimus gave Marcellus and Jenna a hefty shove—not so easy in a Darke Domaine—and leaped to the side.