by Angie Sage
On the other side of the silver doors, Catchpole watched the swirl of purple as it ascended. He could not resist a smirk. Of course the kid was running away. And good riddance too, he thought.
But on the far side of the Moat, Jo-Jo Heap was running away for real.
RAT’S-EYE VIEW
On the East Gate Lookout Tower, Morris was sitting on the battlements, contentedly swinging his little legs, while he listened to the clanking of the drawbridge being lowered, telling him that his night shift was over.
After Stanley had retired to bed, Morris had stayed up all night on emergency message duty and had enjoyed every minute of it. He had jigged and twirled to the wild music of the Forest pipes wailing across the water and stamped his little rat feet in perfect time to the drumming of the tambours. No one had rung the night bell with a message—or, to be more accurate, Morris hadn’t actually heard anyone ring the night bell.
Now, the night was over, the party had gone very quiet, and the sky above the Forest was pale yellow. Morris began to think about breakfast. Suddenly there was an enormous BANG from inside the Infirmary. It was such a shock that Morris very nearly lost his balance and fell. He grabbed on to the battlements with his one remaining arm and rolled safely backward, onto the roof. When he got to his feet he could not believe what he saw. The entire end wall of the Infirmary had been blown into splinters, and lurching out through the gaping hole was a line of huge, black, beast-headed skeletons, each with six glittering red eyes. Morris instinctively ducked down. And then, unable to resist, he peered back up again, his eyes wide with alarm.
Morris was a well-read rat. While delivering a message to the ExtraOrdinary Wizard he had lost his arm in an attack by a Garmin. During his time recovering as an honored guest in the Wizard Tower Sick Bay, Morris had made it his business to read about every Darke creature possible. Should he ever come face-to-face with one in the future, Morris wanted to know exactly what he was dealing with. And so, as the rat stared in dismay out over the battlements, he knew exactly what he was looking at: Kraan. He remembered them well because they had, the book had gleefully informed its readers, a predilection for tearing rats to pieces. Morris also remembered that the Kraan had a particular dislike for the Wizards—the younger ones particularly annoyed them—and homed in on their green eyes. One touch of a Kraan was lethal; it sent a powerful shock through the body and killed instantly.
His little mouth agape with horror, Morris stared at the stream of Kraan emerging from the Infirmary. It seemed endless, flowing out like a tide of treacle. Morris knew what that was too. He remembered the instructions in the book: One Kraan may be Engendered from six red beads, which become the eyes. Please Note: Care must be taken to keep these beads in separate groups of six to avoid a Chain Reaction.
The Kraan walked with an awkward gait, swinging to and fro like pendulums, kicking each leg out in front as though they were aiming for an invisible football. They would have been funny had it not been for their frightening, beastlike skulls and the glittering stare of their tiny red eyes—all six of them, lined up three on either side of the snout.
As the Kraan kept on coming, Morris saw people pouring out from the Infirmary. Like ants running from a destroyed nest they came scrambling from the windows, throwing themselves out of the doors and then scattering in all directions. Some went racing for the Forest, others tore along the bank toward the safety of the heights of Raven’s Rock, or in the opposite direction to the One Way Bridge and the safety of the Farmlands beyond—anywhere but where the Kraan were now clearly headed: the North Gate drawbridge and, beyond it, the Castle.
Suddenly Morris saw a lone figure in a short black cloak come running from the newly lowered drawbridge and head back toward the Kraan. Morris stared, aghast. It was Jo-Jo Heap, but what was he doing? If he carried on like that, Morris thought, very soon there were going to be only six Heap brothers. Morris began to chew his little rat claws. This was scary. And sad. Morris liked Jo-Jo Heap.
DOWN AND UP AGAIN
As Jo-Jo fled from the mayhem that Newt Makken had let loose, the first rays of the rising sun were breaking through the treetops and the Bridge Boy was lowering the Castle drawbridge. As the edge of the bridge touched its resting plate, Jo-Jo leaped onto it and hurtled across.
The thudding of boots echoing on the planks drew Gringe out of his cubbyhole to take the first toll of the day, only to be confronted by a wild-eyed, terrified Heap. Gringe wasn’t sure which one it was; they all looked the same to him. The Heap wasn’t wearing purple so that narrowed it down a bit, but not much. Suddenly the Heap grabbed hold of him.
“Hey, get off!” Gringe growled.
“Gringe!” Jo-Jo gasped. “You have to raise the bridge. Now!”
Gringe was feeling rather sensitive about Heaps telling him what to do with his bridge. “Not until sunset, I don’t,” he snarled. “Now push off, will you?”
“Look, Gringe! Look!” Jo-Jo wheeled around and pointed back the way he had come. “You have to raise the bridge!”
Gringe sighed. Nothing changes, he thought. Heaps were always trouble and they always will be. Wearily he put on the long-distance spectacles that Mrs. Gringe had forced him to buy after he had begun to raise the bridge while Sarah Heap was still standing on it. The spectacles settled onto his broad, red nose, and the rest of Gringe’s face turned ashen. “What the . . .” he gasped.
Gringe’s spectacles revealed that a whole wall of the old Infirmary was missing. And marching toward Gringe’s precious bridge was a dark stream of terror with a myriad of beady red eyes all, it seemed, focused on him.
“Raise the bridge, Gringe,” Jo-Jo was gabbling. “Protect the Castle! Now!”
Gringe found himself unable to speak: his tongue had stuck itself to the roof of his mouth. He gave an inappropriate thumbs-up and watched Jo-Jo run back across the bridge, jump off and turn around, yelling, “Up! Up!”
Gringe ran to the lifting gear, yelling all the while for the Bridge Boy, who had just gone inside for his breakfast. In the absence of any response, Gringe began to raise the bridge. The noise brought Mrs. Gringe out to see what was happening. Seconds later there were three people turning the huge wheels that raised the bridge. It had never gone up so fast.
On the other side of the bank, Jo-Jo resolutely turned his back to the Castle and stood watching the advancing Kraan. He knew what he had to do—if he was brave enough to do it. Come on, Jo-Jo, he told himself. Compared to Marissa, these Kraan are a piece of cake.
OUT OF THE BAG
Septimus, Marcia and Milo were drinking coffee beside the fire and eating Septimus’s special eggy-toast when the door to his rooms sprang open with a crash. In the doorway stood Jo-Jo Heap: wild-eyed, shaking, soaked and covered with mud. Marcia and Septimus jumped from their seats and rushed over to Jo-Jo. Milo continued to eat his toast—he’d seen worse at sea.
Ten minutes later, fortified with coffee, his shivering slowed by the fire and three blankets, Jo-Jo began his story. He spoke slowly, as though he did not quite understand what had happened—or how.
“It was Newt’s fault . . . he took Marissa’s bag of beads . . . there was an Incantation in them . . . Darke stuff . . . I chased him and he swung himself up onto one of the ceiling beams . . . sat there like a ship’s monkey in the rigging grinning at us . . . jiggling the bag up and down . . . Marissa was screaming for him to give it back . . . I was trying to get up there after him and . . . everyone was laughing and making monkey noises.” Jo-Jo paused and took a gulp of coffee. “Marissa was begging me to be careful . . . telling everyone to be quiet. Though she didn’t put it quite as politely as that.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” Septimus said.
“She was terrified because . . .” Jo-Jo hesitated for a few seconds, took a deep breath and said, “Because the bag was full of Kraan beads.”
Septimus and Marcia looked horrified. “Kraan?” they repeated.
Jo-Jo nodded. “Kraan. And Newt Makken Engendered them.”
>
Once again Septimus and Marcia both spoke together. “Newt Makken did what?”
“Um. He Engendered a bag of Kraan.”
“A bag of Kraan,” Marcia whispered.
Milo was finally paying attention. “What,” he whispered to Marcia, “are Kraan?”
Marcia shook her head, unable to speak.
“I take it they are not fluffy little kittens?” Milo commented to Jo-Jo.
“No, not really,” Jo-Jo said.
“So . . . how many were in this bag?” Septimus asked slowly.
“Tons,” said Jo-Jo.
“So how many Kraan?” asked Marcia.
Jo-Jo shuddered. “Dunno. I lost count.”
Septimus began to pace the room, muttering under his breath. “Where did that wretched witch get a whole bag of Kraan from?” he demanded angrily.
Jo-Jo looked warily at Septimus. He had never seen him like this. Septimus’s eyes flashed with anger; even the purple on his robes seem to glow with energy. For the first time ever, Jo-Jo Heap understood the power his younger brother possessed.
“I don’t know where she got them,” Jo-Jo said. “I didn’t even know what they were. I did my best to stop this. Really I did.”
Septimus sat down beside Jo-Jo. “I apologize, Jo-Jo. I realize that you are not responsible for this and that you didn’t have to come and tell us. But I do need to know a few things.”
“Anything. Ask me anything.”
“Did Newt say one Engender for each Kraan?” Septimus asked.
“No. He read it once. He was laughing, like he was reading a joke out of a cracker. And the more Marissa begged him to stop, the louder he said it.”
“So he said it to the whole bag?”
“Yep.” Jo-Jo nodded.
“A Chain Reaction,” Marcia muttered.
“Explosion, more like,” Jo-Jo said. “It just went kind of . . . wherrr-ooomph! Very loud but soft too. Weird.” He shuddered. “Everything went black and filled up with choking Darke stuff. People were screaming and panicking . . . It was awful. I couldn’t breathe. I pulled Marissa out with me. But then she ran off. Into the Forest. I don’t know what happened to Newt . . .”
Marcia and Septimus exchanged somber glances. “It all depends,” Marcia said, “on whether Newt let go of the bag in time.”
“And closed his eyes,” added Septimus. “Green is not a good eye color to have when you’re standing next to a Kraan.”
“Jeez,” Jo-Jo said. “Newt’s a pain, but even so . . .”
“We’ll go over later and check,” Septimus said. “But first things first. Where are the Kraan now?”
“In the Moat,” Jo-Jo replied.
“In the Moat?”
Relieved at having got the bad news over with, Jo-Jo was beginning to feel a little better. Now he could begin on the slightly less bad news. Maybe, he thought, it was even good news. And so Jo-Jo told how he had made Gringe raise the bridge to protect the Castle and then lured the Kraan into the Moat. He had hoped that maybe they might drown, but anything was better than letting them loose to wander the Forest or Castle. Jo-Jo told how he had hidden under the water, using his unpierced flute as a breathing tube, and by the time he came to the end of his story, Jo-Jo was aware that Milo, Marcia and Septimus were looking at him with a new respect. Jo-Jo felt relieved. For once in his life he seemed to have done something right.
Septimus broke into a smile. “I don’t know what impresses me more,” he said. “Luring a Chain of Kraan into the Moat or getting Gringe to raise that drawbridge.”
THE RAT’S TALE
Leaving Jo-Jo to sleep off his ordeal, Septimus and Marcia set off in search of the Kraan. They talked to Gringe, but he was still too shaken to make any sense, so they decided to walk the walls of the Castle, peering down into the murky depths of the water as they went.
“Do you really think they drowned?” Septimus said.
“It was a brave thing for Jo-Jo to do,” Marcia said, “but unfortunately it won’t have drowned them. Kraan can exist quite happily underwater. However, it has probably got them far away from the Castle.” Marcia sighed. “But not in a way I would have chosen.”
“How do you mean?” Septimus asked.
“Septimus, as custodian of an Ancient Way Hub, I’ve made it my business to discover all I possibly can about the Ancient Ways. They were once infested with Kraan until some enterprising sorcerer made it his life’s work to rid the Ways of them. But being a sorcerer he was loath to lose such powerful beasts . . .”
“So he kept them,” Septimus finished for her.
“Indeed he did. He Enchanted their eyes and put them in a bag.”
“What an idiot,” Septimus muttered.
“I would agree with you on that,” Marcia said. “And the problem is that Kraan have an affinity for the Ancient Ways, and I fear that is where they will be heading. And that is the last thing we want in the Ways right now; their Darke presence will speed up the UnRaveling tremendously. Let’s hope they haven’t gotten in.”
“Tod’s in the Ways. Right now,” Septimus said quietly. “She’s going home.”
Marcia remembered how she had persuaded Septimus to let Tod go and felt awful. “Oh, Septimus . . .”
They walked on in silence until they came to the East Gate Lookout Tower. “The rats might have seen something,” Septimus suggested.
They rang the bell and waited. A young rat called Florence opened the door. She stared up at the impressive visitors towering over her. Florence was a sensitive rat and she could tell that something was wrong. “Good morning, ExtraOrdinaries,” she said. “How may I help you?”
“We are looking for witnesses to the, er, explosion at the old Infirmary,” Marcia said. “We wondered if anyone here saw anything?”
“Morris,” Florence said. “He saw it. Shall I go and fetch him?”
“That would be most kind,” Marcia said.
Morris was very relieved to talk. Stanley had been dismissive. “Night terrors,” he had told Morris over his breakfast egg. “You’ve had them ever since that Garmin trouble. Pass the salt, will you?” Morris had felt foolish and said nothing more. But now here he was up on the roof, with two top Castle dignitaries hanging on his every word, while Stanley, who was a nosy rat, gaped open-mouthed. It should have been a good feeling—but it wasn’t. Morris had something awful to tell one of them. “It was your brother, ExtraOrdinary. It was Jo-Jo, I’m sure it was,” Morris said.
“It was,” Septimus said.
“He was so brave,” Morris said. “There was a line of Kraan heading toward the Castle and he came dancing out in front of them trying to make them follow him. He was like the Pied Piper—he even had a flute in his hand—and he waved his arms and they all followed him to the Moat, and then Jo-Jo jumped into the water and . . .” Morris looked up at Septimus sadly. “And, that was it. I watched for ages but he didn’t come back up. I’m so sorry,” he said, his thin, high rat voice trying not to wobble.
“Morris, please don’t be upset. Jo-Jo is alive and well,” Septimus said.
“Oh, that is wonderful news!” Morris said. “I was so sure he had . . .”
“Could you please tell us what happened next?” Marcia prompted gently.
“Oh, yes . . . sorry. Well, after I stopped watching for Jo-Jo I felt really sad and I leaned over the battlements and just stared down at the Moat. And then I noticed lots of little whirlpools going along the surface, all in a line and heading that way . . .” Morris pointed to the left, down toward Snake Slipway. “I just knew they were from the Kraan walking along the bottom of the Moat,” he said.
“I am sure you were right,” said Septimus.
“You didn’t see them leave the Moat?” Marcia asked.
Morris shook his head. “No. I watched the whirlpools all the way around the bend until I couldn’t see them anymore.”
“Thank you, Morris,” Septimus said. “We really are very grateful. You’ve been extremely helpful.”
&
nbsp; Morris showed his visitors out. As they went he could not help but ask, “Um, do you think they might come up here at all? I know that Kraan like killing us rats. And we are right by the Moat . . .”
“I think you are perfectly safe,” Septimus said. “But if you are at all worried, you have my permission to ring the emergency button for the Wizard Tower. Someone will be with you straightaway.”
Relief flooded Morris’s features. “Oh, thank you so much,” he said.
Septimus and Marcia hurried away. “That is one intelligent and thoughtful rat,” Marcia said.
“And a brave one too,” Septimus said. “We have some very good rats in this Castle.”
“So let’s keep it that way,” said Marcia.
As they made their way to Snake Slipway, Marcia and Septimus breathlessly discussed strategy, finishing each other’s sentences like a long-married couple.
“They’ll be making for the Hidden arch on the Outside Path, I reckon . . .”
“Definitely . . .”
“We might be in time . . .”
“With any luck. It’s slow going through the mud on the bottom of the Moat.”
“If we get there before the last one, we’ll need a . . .”
“Strategy.”
“A good one.”
“A single entity from a Chain carries the power of the whole Chain . . .”
“Well remembered. We act together . . .”
“Synchrony . . .”
“Exactly. Remember how?”
Septimus grinned. “It was our very last tutorial. How could I forget?”
Marcia held out her hands as though accepting a gift. “Synchronized Transport?”
In reply, Septimus placed his hands in Marcia’s. “And if we get a Kraan?”
“Chain Break first. Can’t deal with more than one.”
