Septimus Heap Complete Collection

by Angie Sage

  “What?” Beetle looked astonished.

  “Well . . . every now and then I’ve thought I’ve seen him kind of disappearing around the corner, although I was never totally sure. I even mentioned it to Mum once, but she thought it was just a ghost. But you remember what Barney Pot told Aunt Zelda—that Merrin had ambushed him in the Long Walk? I know no one else believed him, but Barney doesn’t tell fibs. And if that is true, then Merrin’s been hanging around for at least eighteen months. Which is really creepy.” Jenna shivered.

  “That’s horrible,” said Beetle. “The thought of him just lurking up there. Watching you. Wandering around at night—”

  “Oh stop it, Beetle!” Jenna protested. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  They had reached the TO THE WIZARD TOWER signpost, which was illuminated by a small torch burning brightly in a holder on the top. The sign pointed down a well-lit lane known locally as Wiz Way. They turned down it and walked briskly between the neat houses, all with their Longest Night candles burning in their windows. As they progressed, Beetle noticed Jenna was becoming increasingly uneasy.

  “Is this the right way?” she asked Beetle after a while.

  “Of course it is.” Beetle cast Jenna a wondering glance. He knew that she knew the lanes around the Ramblings backwards.

  “But . . . it doesn’t feel like it.”

  “Well, it is. You know it is. It’s Wiz Way.” Beetle was flummoxed.

  Jenna had stopped and was looking around, as though seeing the alleyway for the first time. Above her the UnSeen lovebird fluttered hopefully. It was nearly home.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Beetle. He glanced up. It felt as if something was hovering above Jenna’s head, just outside his field of vision.

  Jenna rounded on him angrily. “Nothing’s wrong. Stop nagging me, Beetle. I’m just not going your stupid way, that’s all!” And with that she turned and ran back along Wiz Way, then suddenly scooted to the left and disappeared into a tiny, dark alleyway—the notorious Dagger Dan’s Dive.

  Chapter 14

  Dagger Dan’s Dive

  Beetle tore after Jenna but, unlike her, he was not a natural runner. He soon lost sight of her flying red cloak as she drew ahead of him, leaping over puddles and skidding around blind corners, slipping through the twists and turns of the narrow, dark alleyway as though she had run down it a hundred times before. Doggedly Beetle followed the increasingly faint echoes of her footsteps, and soon he could hear nothing but the sound of his own boots thudding on the stones. Of Jenna there was no trace at all.

  Of all the alleyways that led off Wiz Way, Dagger Dan’s Dive was the worst. The twisting, narrow passage was named after a notorious mugger and cutthroat who had used it as a foolproof escape. Even if closely pursued, Dagger Dan would always get away—and mystify his pursuers—by jumping into the open drain at the alley’s dead end, then creeping through the water and filth to his small boat tied up on the river by the drain’s mouth.

  Beetle could not understand why Jenna had chosen to run down Dagger Dan’s Dive, of all places. Like him, she had grown up in the Ramblings. She had been to a Ramblings school, and she too would have passed her Ramblings Proficiency Test by memorizing the Ramblings map and undertaking three timed journeys on her own. This was the test that all children had to pass before they were allowed to become Ramblers and wander freely (or Ramble) on their own. But even for a Rambler there were forbidden alleys—and Dagger Dan’s Dive was at the top of the list.

  The Dive, as it was known locally, was inhabited by the more shadowy denizens of the Castle—the kind of people who one never saw out in daylight hours and hoped not to see out at night. With its decrepit overhanging buildings exuding the sickly sweet smell of rot (and worse) and the inhabitants’ habit of jostling strangers or staring from their windows at every echo of footsteps—usually armed and ready to throw a bucket of slop if they didn’t like the look of those making them—Dagger Dan’s Dive was a place no one chose to go, especially at night.

  But as Jenna ran, she was oblivious to everything she knew about the Dive. Escorted by the UnSeen bird, she raced along, jumping over potholes, skidding around stinking piles of rubbish, ignoring catcalls and curses shouted from windows far above and even a well-aimed rotten tomato that hit the back of her cloak. Toward the end of the Dive, Jenna began to slow down, and she finally came to a halt under the dull light of a rusty lantern. She stopped to catch her breath and looked about, suddenly confused by where she found herself. Above her head the lantern squeaked as it swung mournfully above a dilapidated door studded with nails. Behind her was a boarded-up window with faded lettering above it proclaiming:

  FORTUNES TOLD, FORTUNES SOLD.

  ENTER HERE IF YOU BE BOLD.

  POSITIVELY NO CREDIT.

  A gust of wind rattled the lantern alarmingly. Jenna shivered. Where was she—and what was she was doing here? The long-ago chanted list of forbidden alleyways came back to her and she realized with a sinking feeling that, not only had she run down Dagger Dan’s Dive, but she was now standing outside the notorious Doom Dump, which some years ago had been the center of great excitement when it had been Fumigated and Locked by a posse of Wizards led by the ExtraOrdinary Wizard herself.

  Every Ramblings child knew that Doom Dump was near the end of Dan’s Dive and Jenna, well aware that the Dive was a dead end, knew she must turn around and go back the way she had come. The thought frightened her, and she felt unwilling to move. The lantern squeaked and a spatter of rain soaked into her cloak. Jenna shook her head to get rid of an odd buzzing, muzzy feeling.

  Just as Jenna was getting the courage to go back up the Dive she heard the sound of pounding footsteps coming toward her. She froze. The footsteps drew closer, and she shrank back into the shadows of Doom Dump, pressing against the wall in the hope that whoever it was coming down the alley would not see her.

  To her huge relief it was Beetle who came skidding around the corner.

  “Jenna!” puffed Beetle, equally relieved to see Jenna waiting for him. “What are you doing? Why’d you come down here?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” It was true; Jenna didn’t know why. She felt as if she had just woken up from a bizarre dream.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Beetle, glancing around uneasily. “We’ll have to go back the way we came. It’s a dead end just around the corner and you don’t want to end up there.”

  “I know,” said Jenna, “I know.”

  Beetle set off quickly and Jenna went to follow—but she could not move. She swung around to check that her cloak was not caught in something but it hung freely. She tugged at her long robe, which, to her dismay, was spattered with mud, but that was not stuck either. Trying not to panic, she lifted first one foot and then the other, and neither of them were stuck—but when she once again tried to follow Beetle, she could not move.

  Jenna lost the fight against panic. “Beetle!” she yelled. “Beeee . . . tle!” To her horror, no sound came from her mouth. Above her the lantern fizzled out and Jenna was plunged into darkness.

  Beetle had not gotten far when he realized that Jenna was not following him. He felt exasperated—what was she playing at? Annoyed now, he went back to get her, but as he once more rounded the corner he saw that the lantern above the studded door had gone out and Jenna was not there.

  Beetle stopped outside the door. “Jenna?” he said in a half whisper. “Jenna?”

  There was no reply. A cold spatter of rain fell; Beetle shivered in his Admiral’s jacket and wound his woolly scarf another turn around his neck. He wished he were somewhere else. And he wished he understood what Jenna was up to—sometimes he just could not figure her out. Assuming that Jenna had plans that she was not telling him about and had tried to get rid of him once again, Beetle grumpily set off toward the Dive’s notorious dead end. Whatever Jenna might have planned, he was not going to leave her on her own at the end of Dagger Dan’s Dive.

  The dead end was deserted. Be
etle’s irritation began to be replaced with concern. He peered down into the open drain, beside which someone had thoughtfully placed a rotten plank with the words “Watch Out!” scrawled on it. Beetle took out his blue light and flicked it open, then he gingerly kneeled down and peered into the drain. A bad smell hit him.

  “Jenna . . . Jenna?” he called nervously, his voice sounding hollow in the darkness below.

  There was no reply, for which Beetle was grateful, until a horrible image flashed in his mind—Jenna lying unconscious far below. He leaned forward and held out his light. Deep down he saw the dark, sluggish waters of the drain half covering—oh no—a dark lump of something.

  “Jenna!” Beetle called down, his voice echoing hollowly inside the drain.

  Behind him came a cough. “Hey. Lost something?” asked a familiar voice.

  “Wolf Boy!” Then Beetle looked up. “Oh, sorry. It’s you.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It is me,” said the boy. “So who are you?”

  “Beetle. You remember, at Goth—oh, I see. You must be Marcus.”

  Marcus grinned. “You’ve been to the Grot, yeah? Matt still there?”

  “Oh . . . yes. Yes, he is.” Beetle’s voice echoed into the drain.

  “Good,” said Marcus. “I’m late for my shift. Wouldn’t come this way if I wasn’t in a hurry—it’s a shortcut over the wall.” He looked closely at Beetle. “So why’d you come here, then?”

  Beetle pointed his blue light into the drain. “I think Jenna’s fallen in. Look.”

  “Hey, cool light,” said Marcus. He peered into the drain, and Beetle played his light on the form lying far below in the water. “Nah, that’s not anyone,” said Marcus. “It’s just some old clothes and stuff.”

  Beetle wasn’t so sure.

  “You can go down and check if you like,” said Marcus. “See if it is—who did you say?”

  “Jenna. Princess Jenna.”

  Marcus whistled in amazement. “Princess Jenna? Hey, what’s she doing down here?” He peered in once more. “Well, if you think it really is Princess Jenna, you’d better take a look. There are some rungs going down the side—see?”

  The last thing Beetle wanted to do was climb down into the stinking drain, but he knew he had no choice.

  “I’ll keep watch for you,” said Marcus as Beetle carefully removed the two planks and swung himself over the edge. “I won’t let anyone do a Ransom on you.”

  Beetle’s head was just visible above the manhole. “Do a what?” he asked.

  “A Ransom. You know, when they push you in the drain and won’t let you get out until you give ’em all your stuff.”

  “All your stuff?” Beetle was distracted, looking into the drain.

  “Yeah.” Marcus grinned. “Not much fun running up the Dive with no clothes on, I can tell you. Be careful, the rungs are rusty.”

  “Ah. Okay.” Very carefully Beetle began to climb down into the drain. The rungs were indeed rusty. They felt loose against the brickwork and as Beetle cautiously placed his boot into the slime at the bottom of the drain, the last one came away in his hand. He dropped it into the mud with a dull thub and shone his light along the drain.

  Beetle’s blue light didn’t show much; it was made for the clean whiteness of ice, not the brown muckiness of sludge. But it did show enough for him to see that the lump that he had feared was an unconscious Jenna was indeed a pile of old clothes. Just to make sure, Beetle waded through the muck, trying to ignore the wetness seeping into his boots, and tentatively poked at the lump with his foot. It moved. Beetle yelled. A huge rat ran out and scuttled off into the dark.

  “You all right?” Marcus’s face appeared in the manhole opening.

  “Yeah.” Beetle felt a little foolish. “A rat. Big one.”

  “There’s a lot around here,” said Marcus. “And they’re not Message Rats, that’s for sure. It’s a whole different species, I reckon. Bite you as soon as look at you. You were lucky.”

  “Ah . . .”

  “I take it that’s not the Princess?” Marcus asked.

  “No.”

  “You don’t want to stay down too long. It’s been raining for days now. There might be a rush.”

  “A what?” Beetle couldn’t hear Marcus clearly as a low thunder like the rush of blood in his head was filling his ears.

  “A rush. Oh sheesh—hey, look out!”

  Beetle didn’t hear a word Marcus said, but he did hear what was coming along the drain. He leaped up, grasping for the rung, only to find that it was gone. It was, he remembered, lying in the mud where he had thrown it. The roar in his ears grew louder, and the next thing Beetle knew, a hand was reaching down and Marcus was yelling, “Grab hold. Quick!”

  A few seconds later Beetle and Marcus were lying on the wet cobblestones at the end of Dan’s Dive, staring down at the wall of water rushing along the drain below.

  “Thanks,” gasped Beetle.

  “No worries,” puffed Marcus. “Good thing Princess Jenna wasn’t down there.”

  Beetle sat up. He ran his hands through his hair as he always did when he was worried—and immediately wished he hadn’t. Where was Jenna?

  Chapter 15

  Doom Dump

  Jenna was in Doom Dump.

  As she wordlessly yelled for Beetle and the lantern fizzled out, Jenna had heard the studded door creak open behind her. Terrified, she had tried to run, but her feet had stayed planted firmly outside the door. And when an arm had stretched out and a hand grabbed the back of her cloak and began to pull her inside, Jenna’s feet had taken her across the threshold of Doom Dump and waited patiently while a girl, wearing witch robes that would not have looked out of place in Gothyk Grotto, Locked and Barred the door.

  “Marissa!” gasped Jenna, but once again she made no sound.

  “Goldfish.” Marissa smirked. Mockingly she opened and closed her mouth like a fish.

  Keeping her hand firmly on Jenna’s cloak, Marissa shoved Jenna along the corridor of a typical long, narrow Castle house. It was totally dark, but Marissa knew her way. She threw open the first door leading off the corridor and pushed Jenna into a tunnel-like room, lit at the far end by a pair of rushlights and a tiny fire sputtering in a huge fireplace. The rushlights illuminated what at first appeared to be a comforting scene—a table around which a group of woman were seated for a meal. But Jenna felt anything but comforted. Sitting at the table was the Port Witch Coven.

  All eyes were upon Jenna as Marissa delivered the unwilling addition to the party. As they reached the table—which had two empty chairs—Marissa tightened her grip on Jenna, afraid that her prize might elude her at the last minute. This was her first test set by the Coven and she knew she’d done well. Both the Silent and the FootLock Spells had worked, but Marissa knew from past experience how elusive Princesses could be and she wasn’t taking any chances.

  Marissa pushed Jenna down into one of the vacant seats and took her place beside her. Jenna did not react. She stared at the table in front of her, at first because she was determined not to catch a witch’s gaze and then because of a horrified fascination with what the witches were actually eating. It was, she thought, worse than Aunt Zelda’s offerings—and that was saying something. At least Aunt Zelda made an effort to cook whatever weird ingredients she used until they were reasonably unrecognizable, but the bowls of squirming salted earwigs and a large dish of skinned mice covered with a lumpy, pale sauce made no effort at disguise. Jenna felt sick. She switched her gaze to the tablecloth, which was covered in Darke symbols and old gravy.

  Linda—the boss-with-the-stare from the jewelry stall—pushed her chair back with a teeth-on-edge scrape and got to her feet. Slowly and menacingly she made her way around the table toward Jenna. Linda loomed close and Jenna could smell the musty damp of the witch’s robes mixed with a stale, heavy smell of dead roses. Suddenly, as if to land a slap, Linda’s arm shot out and, despite herself, Jenna flinched. But Linda’s open palm traveled to a spot just
above Jenna’s head and snatched something out of the air.

  Linda drew down her closed fist and held it in front of Jenna. She muttered a few words to reverse the UnSeen and snapped open her fingers. Lying in the witch’s palm was the tiny shimmering bird that Jenna had—so long ago, it seemed—refused to pick up from the stall.

  “There, little birdie,” Linda crooned. “You have done well. You have Brought the Princess. You may have your reward.” From inside her robes, she pulled out the tiny cage that hung around her neck, took it off and swung the cage and its prisoner in front of the terrified bird lying in her hand. “Here is your little friend. Take a look.”

  Both birds looked at each other. Neither made a move or a sound.

  Taking everyone by surprise, Linda suddenly threw the bird in her hand into the air. At the same time, she hurled the tiny cage to the floor. She raised her foot to stamp on the cage, but the Witch Mother shouted out, “Linda! Stop that right now!”

  Linda’s foot stopped in midair.

  “You made a bargain, you keep it,” said the Witch Mother.

  “It’s only a poxy bird,” said Linda, her foot hovering above the cage.

  The Witch Mother hauled herself to her feet. “You renege on a Darke bargain at your peril. Remember that. Sometimes, Linda, I think you forget the Rules. It is not good for a witch to forget the Rules. Is it, Linda?” She leaned across the table, eyeballing the witch. “Is . . . it?” the Witch Mother repeated menacingly.

  Linda slowly lowered her foot away from the tiny cage. “No, Witch Mother,” she said sulkily.

  Daphne, the dumpy witch who looked, Jenna thought, as if she had been sewn into a sack that someone had left some rotten rubbish in, got up quietly. She tiptoed up behind Linda and picked up the cage.

  “You’re horrible,” Daphne bravely told Linda. “Just because you stamp on my giant woodworm all the time doesn’t mean you can go stamping on everything.” Daphne’s fat, mouse-stained fingers fumbled with the cage door and managed to open it. The trapped bird fell out onto the table next to a neat pile of mouse bones—which the Witch Mother was using to pick her teeth—and lay there, stunned.