Septimus Heap: Darke Part 21

Jenna stifled a sob. "Oh, it's been so horrible. It's Mum . . ."

They sat in the straw at the back of the Dragon House and Jenna told Septimus about Merrin, about the Darke Domaine and about what had happened to Sarah. Now, at last, Septimus understood what had been going on since he had left Marcia that afternoon.

Jenna reached the end of her story and fell silent. Septimus said nothing; he felt as if his whole world was falling apart.

"It's all so rubbish, Jen," he muttered eventually.

"I hate birthdays," said Jenna. "Stuff happens on birthdays. Everything you love gets messed up. It's awful."

They were silent for a while, then Septimus said, "Jen. I'm really, really sorry."

Jenna looked at Septimus, his face lit by the soft yellow light shining up from his Dragon Ring. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so unhappy, not even when he was a small, frightened boy soldier. "It's not your fault, Sep," she said gently.

"Yes, it is. It wouldn't have happened if I had helped you when you asked me-if I had listened properly to what you were saying. But I was so taken up with . . . with all my stuff. And now look at the mess we're in."

Jenna put her arm around Septimus's shoulders. "It's okay, Sep. There are so many ifs. If I had taken more care of the Palace. If I'd searched it ages ago when I first thought I saw Merrin. If Dad had done something when I'd asked him. If I'd gone to Marcia earlier instead of asking Beetle. If Marcia had explained things properly to Mum. If if if. You were just one of a long trail of them."

"Thanks, Jen. I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too,"

They sat quietly together, lulled by the regular breathing of the sleeping Spit Fyre. They were beginning to drift off to sleep themselves when they heard something that made the hairs on the backs of their necks p.r.i.c.kle. From outside the Dragon House came a sc.r.a.ping sound, as though someone was scratching fingernails on brick.

"What is it?" whispered Jenna.

Septimus felt Spit Fyre's muscles suddenly tense-the dragon was awake. "I'll go and see."

"Not on your own, you won't," said Jenna.

The sc.r.a.ping was making its way toward the front of the Dragon House. Spit Fyre gave a warning snort. The sc.r.a.ping sound stopped for a moment and then continued. Septimus felt Jenna grab his arm. "Use this," she mouthed, pointing to her witch's cloak.

Septimus nodded-it seemed that a witch's cloak had it uses after all. Hiding beneath the cloak to disguise their human presence, they crept forward, squeezing between Spit Fyre and the rough sides of the Dragon House. Suddenly Spit Fyre made an odd movement that almost flattened Jenna and Septimus against the wall. Keeping his head on the ground, the dragon raised himself on his rear haunches. His back spines stabbed at the rafters of the Dragon House, deepening the grooves they had already made. He snorted and his fire stomach gurgled.

Septimus glanced at Jenna; something was wrong. They inched around Spit Fyre's wings and stopped dead-black against the purple glow of the Safety Curtain were the unmistakable shapes of three Things.

One of the Things had hold of Spit Fyre's sensitive nose spine and was pushing the dragon's head down into the straw. Spit Fyre snorted once more, trying to draw in enough air to make Fyre-but because the Thing was holding his head down, his fire stomach could not work. A dragon can only make Fyre with his lungs full and his head held high.

On either side of Spit Fyre's head, the other two Things were closing in. A sudden glint of steel-purple in the glow of the Safety Curtain-flashed a warning. The Things had knives. Long, sharp, dragon-stabbing blades.

Jenna had seen the knives too. She made a sign that Septimus took to mean you get one and I'll get the other one. It was only after Jenna took off like a rocket and launched herself and her cloak onto the nearest Thing that Septimus realized Jenna had no weapon-except surprise. But he thought no further. While Jenna landed on the Thing, knocked it to the ground and smothered it in the swathes of her cloak, Septimus leaped over Spit Fyre's neck and hurled himself at the other Thing. The Thing knew nothing until it was felled by a burning hot wire around his neck and the rapid incantation of a Freeze.

Bemused, the third Thing-which still had hold of Spit Fyre's nose spine-stopped and stared. It was the very last Thing to have been Engendered by Merrin and was the runt of the litter, with few of the nastier Thing attributes. It survived by mimicking other Things and generally playing follow-the-leader, but it had a tendency to dither when left on its own-which is what it did now.

The next few seconds were a blur. Spit Fyre felt the Thing's grip loosen. With a fierce, fast movement he threw his head high. The nose spine Thing went flying. Like a ragged bundle of wash hurled by an angry washerwoman, it traveled into the air, crashed through the branches of an overhanging fir tree and disappeared over the high hedge that divided the Dragon Field from the Palace grounds. As it flew through the air it hit the purple force field of the Safety Curtain-which still worked fine everywhere but at the fusion point-bounced off and was sent on an opposite trajectory toward the river. Some seconds later a faint but extremely satisfying splash was heard as it hit the river.

Jenna and Septimus grinned at each other cautiously. Three down-but how many to go?

The Thing felled by Septimus lay inert in the straw with a long strand of Darke Thread almost lost in the scraggly folds of its neck. Jenna still had her cloak wrapped around the other Thing's head, but it wasn't something she wanted to do for long.

"Sep, I'm stuck," she whispered. "If I get up then this Thing will too."

"Just leave your cloak over it, Jen. It's a Darke cloak and you shouldn't be messing with it. Leave it there and it will carry on smothering the Thing all on its own."

Jenna was not impressed. "I'm not leaving my cloak. No way."

Septimus glanced around nervously, wondering if there were any more Things. He didn't want a discussion with Jenna right then, but some things just had to be said.

"Jen," he whispered urgently. "You don't seem to realize. Your cloak is a Darke witch cloak. It's not good. You shouldn't be playing around with it."

"I am not playing around with anything."

"You are. Leave the cloak."

"No."

"Jen," Septimus protested. "This is the cloak talking, not you. Leave it."

Jenna fixed Septimus with her Princess look. "Listen, Sep, this is me talking-not some lump of wool, okay? This cloak is my responsibility. When I want to get rid of it I will do it properly so that no one else can get hold of it. But right now I want to keep it. You forget that you've got all this weird Magyk stuff to protect you. You know what to do against the Darke. I don't. This cloak is all I have. It was given to me and I am not leaving it on this disgusting Thing."

Septimus knew when to give up. "Okay, Jen. You take your cloak. I'll Freeze that one as well."

Expertly Septimus muttered a quick Freeze. "You can get your cloak back now, Jen," he said. "If you really want."

"Yes, Sep. I do really want." Jenna s.n.a.t.c.hed her cloak off the Thing and to Septimus's amazement she put it on.

Septimus decided to leave his Darke thread buried deep into the raggedy skin folds of the other Thing's neck. There were some things he never wanted to do and diving into the folds of a Thing's neck was one of them. Close up, Things have a foul, dead-rat kind of smell and there is something truly revolting about direct contact with them. When a human touches them, strips of slimy skin peel off and stick to flesh like glue.

Spit Fyre had watched with interest as his Pilot and Navigator so very effectively immobilized his attackers. There is a widespread theory that dragons do not feel grat.i.tude, but this is not true-they just don't show it in a way that people recognize. Spit Fyre lumbered obediently out of the Dragon House. He carefully avoided treading on any toes and refrained from snorting in Septimus's face-this was dragon grat.i.tude at its fullest.

Septimus stood close to the comforting bulk of Spit Fyre and scanned the eerily purple Dragon Field.

"Do you think there are more Things?" Jenna whispered, looking uneasily behind her.

"I dunno, Jen," muttered Septimus. "They could be anywhere . . . everywhere. Who can tell?"

"Not everywhere, Sep. There's one place they can't go." Jenna pointed skyward.

Septimus grinned. "Come on, Spit Fyre," he said. "Let's get out of here."

Chapter 31.

Horse Stuff

The Gringe family was upstairs in the gatehouse. They had come home early from their traditional Longest Night wander down Wizard Way because Mrs. Gringe had felt ignored by Rupert-who had been talking to Nicko for much of the time-and had demanded to go home. Consequently they had missed the Raising of the Safety Curtain, although it would have meant little to them as the Gringes treated Magyk with great suspicion.

Mrs. Gringe was sitting in her chair, unraveling a knitted sock with quick, irritable movements, while Gringe was poking at the small log fire that they allowed themselves on the Longest Night. The chimney was cold and choked with soot, and the fire was refusing to draw and was filling the room with smoke.

Rupert Gringe, his filial duty of the Wizard Way promenade done for another year, stood hovering by the door, anxious to be away. He had a new girlfriend-the skipper of one of the Port barges-and he wanted to be there to meet her when the late-night barge arrived at the boatyard.

Beside Rupert stood Nicko Heap, equally anxious to be gone. Nicko had come along because Rupert had asked him. "There's not so much shouting if someone else is there," Rupert had said. But that was not the only reason Nicko had come. The truth was, he was feeling unsettled. Snorri and her mother had taken their boat, the Alfrun, on a trip to the Port and "only a little way out to sea, Nicko. We'll be back in a few days," Snorri had promised. When he had asked her why, Snorri had been evasive. But Nicko knew why-they were testing the Alfrun's seaworthiness. He knew that Snorri's mother wanted Snorri and the Alfrun to come home with her, and something told Nicko that Snorri wanted that too. And when Nicko thought about it-which he tried not to-he felt a sense of freedom at the thought of Snorri going away. But it was tinged with sadness, and after Lucy's excited talk of weddings, Nicko longed to get back to the boatyard. At least you knew where you were with boats, he thought.

Lucy smiled at her brother trying to edge out the door. She knew exactly how he felt. Tomorrow she would be away on the early morning Port barge and she couldn't wait.

"You definitely booked a horse s.p.a.ce, Rupe?" she asked him, not for the first time.

Rupert looked exasperated. "Yes, Luce. I told you. The early morning barge has two horse berths and Thunder's got one. For sure. Maggie said."

"Maggie?" asked his mother, looking up from her sock unravelling, suddenly alert.

"The skipper, Mother," Rupert said quickly.

It was not lost on Mrs. Gringe that Rupert had gone bright pink, his face clashing with his spiky, carrot-colored hair. "Oh. She's a skipper, is she?" Mrs. Gringe tugged at a knot, determined to unpick it. "Funny job for a girl, that."

Rupert was old enough now not rise to the bait. He ignored his mother's comments and continued his conversation with Lucy. "Come down to the boatyard early tomorrow morning, Luce. About six. We'll-I mean I'll help you load him before the pa.s.sengers arrive."

Lucy smiled at her brother. "Thanks, Rupe. Sorry. I'm just a bit edgy."

"Aren't we all," said Rupert. He hugged his sister and Lucy returned his hug. She didn't see much of Rupert and she missed him.

After Rupert had left, Lucy felt the eyes of both her parents on her. It was not a comfortable feeling. "I'll go and check on Thunder," she said. "I thought I heard him whinny just then."

"Don't be long," said her mother. "Supper's nearly done. Shame your brother couldn't wait for supper," she sniffed. "It's stew."

"Thought it might be," muttered Lucy.

"What?"

"Nothing, Ma. Back in a tick."

Lucy clattered down the wooden stairs and pushed open the battered old door that led onto the run up to the drawbridge. She took a few deep breaths of smoke-free, snowy air and walked briskly around to the old stable at the back of the gatehouse, where Thunder was residing. Lucy pushed open the door and the horse, lit by the lamp that she had left in the tiny high window, looked at her, the whites of his eyes glistening. He pawed the straw, shook his head with its dark, heavy mane and gave a restless whinny.

Lucy was not a great horse person, and Thunder was bit of a mystery to her. She was fond of the horse because Simon loved him so much, but she was also wary. It was his hooves that worried her-they were big and heavy and she was never quite sure what Thunder was going to do with them. She knew that even Simon took care not to stand behind the horse in case he kicked.

Lucy approached Thunder cautiously and very gently patted the horse's nose. "Silly old horse coming all this way to see me. Simon must be so upset that you've gone. Won't he be pleased to see you? Silly old horse . . ."

Lucy suddenly had a vivid picture in her mind of riding Thunder off the Port barge and Simon's look of amazement when he saw what she could do. She knew it was possible; she had seen the daredevil boys who rode their horses off the barge instead of leading them. It couldn't be that difficult, she thought. It was only up the gangplank, which was not exactly far to ride a horse. Then Simon could take over and they could ride back together. It would be such fun . . .

Lost in her daydream, Lucy decided to see how easy it was to actually get up onto Thunder. Not at all, was the answer. Lucy regarded the horse, which stood so much taller than her-his back was as high as her head. How did people get onto horses? Ah, thought Lucy, saddles. They had saddles. With things for your feet. But Lucy did not have a saddle. Gringe had not found one cheap enough, and Thunder had had to make do with a thick horse blanket-which Lucy rather liked, as it was covered in stars. It was also, in the cold, much more useful to him.

Lucy was not deterred; she was determined to get up on Thunder. She fetched the set of wooden steps that reached to the hay manger and set them beside the horse. Then she climbed the steps, wobbled precariously at the top and clambered onto the horse's broad back. Thunder's only reaction was to shift his weight a little. He was a steady horse and it seemed to Lucy as though he hardly noticed her. She was right. Thunder had barely registered her presence; the horse had someone else on his mind-Simon.

"Drat!" An exclamation came from somewhere near the floor.

Lucy recognized the voice. "Stanley!" she said, looking down from her great height. "Where are you?"

"Here." The voice sounded rather aggrieved. "I think I've trodden in something." A rather portly brown rat was peering at his foot. "It's not very nice if you don't wear shoes," he complained.

Lucy felt excited-a reply from Simon, and so soon. But Stanley was fully occupied inspecting his foot with an expression of disgust. Lucy knew that the sooner he got the horse poo off his foot, the sooner she would hear Simon's reply to her message.

"Here, have my hanky," she said. A small, square of purple dotted with pink spots and edged in green lace floated down from Thunder. The rat caught the sc.r.a.p of cloth, gave it a bemused look, and then scrubbed his foot with it.

"Thanks," he said. With a surprisingly agile leap, Stanley hopped up the steps and jumped onto Thunder, landing just in front of Lucy. He presented her with the handkerchief.

"Mmm, thank you, Stanley," said Lucy, taking it carefully between finger and thumb. "Now, please, tell me the message."

With one hand holding on to Thunder's coa.r.s.e black mane for support, Stanley stood up and put on his official message delivering voice.

"No message received. Recipient marked as gone away."

"Gone away? What do you mean, gone away?"

"Gone away. As in, not present to receive message."

"Well, he was probably out doing something. Didn't you wait? I paid extra for that, Stanley, you know I did." Lucy sounded annoyed.

Stanley was peeved. "I waited as agreed," he said. "And then, seeing as it was you, I went to the trouble of asking around, which was when I discovered that there was no point waiting any longer. I only just got the last barge home, actually."

"What do you mean, no point waiting any longer?" asked Lucy.

"Simon Heap is not expected to return, so his domestics told me."

"Domestics-what domestics? Simon doesn't have any cleaners," Lucy said snappily.

"Domestics as in the rats that live in his room."

"Simon doesn't have rats in his room," said Lucy, slightly affronted.

Stanley chuckled. "Of course he has rats. Everyone has rats. He has-or had-six families under his floor. But not anymore. They left when something rather nasty turned up and took him away. It was sheer luck I b.u.mped into them. They were looking for another place on the quayside but it's not easy; very desirable properties there are already stuffed to the brim with rats, you wouldn't believe how many-"

"Something nasty took him away?" Lucy was aghast. "Stanley, whatever do you mean?"

The rat shrugged. "I don't know. Look, I must go home and see what my brood are doing. I've been out all day. Goodness knows what state the place will be in." Stanley went to jump down but Lucy grabbed hold of his tail. Stanley looked shocked. "Don't do that. It's extremely bad manners."

"I don't care," Lucy told him. "You're not going until you've told me exactly what you heard about Simon."

Stanley was saved from answering by a sudden gust of wind, which blew the stable door wide open.