by Angie Sage
“Which one?” came the reply that they all recognized as belonging to Nicko.
“What does he mean, which one?” muttered Septimus.
It took a few trips in Annie’s coracle to pick up Jenna, Septimus, Lucy and Marcellus. But eventually everyone was on board, a little wetter than they would have liked, but not—as Jenna pointed out—as wet as they would have been if Nicko hadn’t shown up.
Nicko could not stop grinning as he hugged his brother—not the dingbat one—and his sister.
“Did Stanley tell you where we were?” asked Jenna, gratefully wrapping herself in one of the many blankets that Sally Mullin had provided.
“Eventually,” said Nicko. “That rat does go on. Anyway, we decided we’d sail around and wait below. I figured sooner or later you’d look out and see us, Jen.” He smiled. “Seem to remember you were always gazing out of the window when you were little.”
“Good old Stanley,” said Jenna. “I do hope his ratlets are okay.”
“His what?”
Jenna’s answer was cut short by another bleak roar echoing across the water.
“His—oh Nicko, Sep, oh—look at that . . . what is it?”
Illuminated by the glow from the Wizard Tower SafeShield, a monstrous shape could be seen inside the Darke Fog.
“It’s massive . . .” Jenna breathed.
The creature opened its great mouth and sent another bellow across the river.
“It’s . . . a dragon,” gasped Nicko.
“About ten times bigger than Spit Fyre,” said Septimus, who was feeling extremely worried about his dragon.
“It would eat Spit Fyre for breakfast,” said Nicko.
“Nicko, don’t!” protested Jenna.
But Nicko had voiced the very thing that was worrying Septimus.
They stared across the water, watching the monster. It appeared to be trying out its wings—of which it had six. It rose a little into the air and then fell back with what sounded like a roar of frustration.
“Six wings. A Darke dragon,” muttered Septimus.
“That’s not good,” said Nicko, shaking his head.
Marcellus joined them. “Things are worse than we feared. No one is safe in the Castle with that thing on the loose. How fast can this boat go, Nicko?”
Nicko shrugged. “Depends on the wind. But it’s blowing up a bit. We can get to the Port not long after dawn if we’re lucky.”
“The Port?” asked Marcellus, puzzled. He glanced at Septimus. “You have not told him, Apprentice?”
“Told him what?” asked Nicko suspiciously.
“That we’re going to Bleak Creek,” said Septimus.
“Bleak Creek?”
“Yes. Sorry, Nik. We have to get there. Fast.”
“Jeez, Sep. Isn’t it bad enough for you here? You want more Darke stuff?”
Septimus shook his head. “We have to go. It’s the only hope we have to stop what’s happening here.”
“Well, you’re not taking Mum,” said Nicko.
Sarah’s bat ears were working well. Her head appeared in the lighted hatch. “Not taking Mum where?”
“Bleak Creek,” said Nicko.
“If that’s where Septimus needs to go, then that’s where I’ll go too,” Sarah said. “I don’t want you wasting any time on me, Nicko. Just do what Septimus asks you—and Marcellus too.”
Nicko looked surprised. “Okay, Mum. Whatever you say.”
They sailed past the reassuringly normal lights of the Grateful Turbot Tavern and then Annie’s mast scraped under the One Way Bridge, setting Nicko’s teeth on edge. As they began to round the first bend, everyone gathered on deck to catch a last glimpse of the Castle. The only sound was the creaking of Annie’s ropes and the swash of the water as she sailed briskly along. Her passengers were grimly silent. They looked back at the dark shape of the Castle that had been their home and thought about all the people left behind. Lucy wondered if her mother and father were still alive—How long could you survive in a Darke trance? Simon had told her he’d once been in a trance for forty days and had been okay at the end of it. But Lucy knew Simon was different. She knew he’d practiced all kinds of Darke things, even though he didn’t like to talk about it. But her parents didn’t have a clue about stuff like that. Lucy imagined them collapsed outside the gatehouse, snow covering them as they slowly froze. She stifled a sob and rushed below. Simon went after her.
As they drew farther away, the Wizard Tower became visible—but only just. The Darke Domaine was rising higher and only the top two floors of Marcia’s rooms and the Golden Pyramid were now clear of the Fog. The indigo and purple SafeShield still shone brightly, but every now and then there was a new color visible—a faint flash of orange.
Sarah and Jenna took comfort from the lights. They thought of Silas somewhere in the Tower, adding his—admittedly small and somewhat unreliable—share of Magyk to the Wizard Tower’s defenses. Septimus and Marcellus, however, took no comfort at all.
Marcellus drew Septimus away from the others. “I assume you know what that orange flash means, Apprentice?” he asked.
“The SafeShield is in distress,” Septimus said. He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not,” said Marcellus.
“How long do you think we’ve got until it . . . fails?” asked Septimus.
Marcellus shook his head. “I don’t know. All we can do is make haste to Bleak Creek. I suggest you get some rest.”
“No. I’ll stay up. We still have to figure out exactly where in Bleak Creek the Portal is,” said Septimus.
“Apprentice, you must sleep. You have a task ahead of you for which you will need all your powers. Simon and I will do the final calculations—no protests, please. He is proving a most able mathematician.”
Septimus hated the thought of sleeping while Simon took his place at Marcellus’s side. “But—”
“Septimus, this is for the good of the Castle, for the survival of the Wizard Tower. We must all do what we can—and what you can do now is sleep. Come away from the Tower, it does no good.” Marcellus put his arm around Septimus’s shoulders and tried to steer him toward the cabin.
Septimus resisted. “In a minute. I’ll come in a minute.”
“Very well, Apprentice. Do not be long.” Marcellus left Septimus alone and went below.
Septimus longed for a glimpse of Marcia. He wanted to see her face at the window, to know that she was all right. “Nicko, do you have a telescope?” he asked.
Nicko did have a telescope. “Tower looks good, doesn’t it?” he said, handing it to him. “I like the orange.”
Septimus made no reply. He focused the telescope on the Wizard Tower and silently added his own Magnification. The top of the Tower that was peeping up over the Fog sprung into sharp focus. Septimus gasped. It seemed so close that he felt he could reach out and touch it. Eagerly he searched out Marcia’s study window, which he thought should just be visible. It was. And not only was the study window visible but so was the unmistakable shape of Marcia’s head and shoulders, silhouetted against the lighted window. It looked as though she was staring out the window straight at him. Feeling a little silly Septimus waved, but almost immediately Marcia turned away, and Septimus knew that she had not seen him at all. Feeling suddenly lonely, Septimus longed to talk to Marcia. He longed to tell her that there was still hope, to say “hold on as long as you can. Don’t give up. Please don’t give up.”
Jenna’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Let me have a look, Sep. Please. I want to see . . . well, I want to see if I can spot Dad anywhere.”
Reluctant to let go of what felt like a link to the Wizard Tower, Septimus swung the telescope upward for a quick last glance at the Golden Pyramid. He gasped in surprise. Sitting on the flattened square at the very top of the pyramid was the unmistakable shape of Spit Fyre.
“What is it, Sep?” asked Jenna, worried.
Septimus handed her the telescope with a broad smil
e. “Spit Fyre. So that’s why he never came. Somehow he’s got inside the SafeShield. He’s sitting on top of the Golden Pyramid.”
“Wow. So he is,” said Jenna. “Clever dragon. No one can get him there.”
“For now,” said Septimus. He went over to the hatch. “I’m going to get some sleep, Jen.”
Jenna sat on the cabin roof, playing the telescope over the few visible windows in the Wizard Tower until Annie eventually rounded the bend and the Castle disappeared from sight. But she saw no sign of Silas.
The next morning the wintry sun rose to reveal an unfamiliar landscape. On either side of the river were empty fields dusted with frost and dotted with sparse trees stretched out to a range of blue hills on the horizon. The land seemed deserted, with not a farmhouse in sight.
The inside of Annie’s cabin was warm but cramped. Nicko, Jenna, Rupert and Lucy were up on deck, leaving Sarah some space in the tiny galley to prepare a huge plate of scrambled eggs for breakfast. Marcellus and Simon were at the chart table with their set squares and protractors, making their final drawings from the almanac’s coded coordinates of the Portal to the Darke Halls. Septimus was still asleep, tucked into a quarter berth, with only his tangled curls visible above his cloak and one of Sally’s blankets. No one was in a hurry to wake him.
Eventually the mouthwatering smell of the eggs drifted into his dreams and Septimus opened his eyes blearily.
Simon looked up, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. “We’ve figured out where the Portal is,” he said.
Septimus sat up, remembering with a sinking feeling what he was going to have to do that day. “Where?” he asked.
“Have some breakfast first, Apprentice,” said Marcellus. “We’ll discuss it afterward.”
Septimus knew it was bad news. “No. Tell me now. I need to know. I need to . . . to get ready.”
“Septimus, I’m so sorry,” said Marcellus. “It’s in the Bottomless Whirlpool.”
Chapter 41
Bleak Creek
Bleak Creek was a dank and dismal place. Haunted by the ghost of the Vengeance, a Darke ship once berthed there, its waters lay deep and still, trapped between two rocky hillsides. A few stunted trees halfheartedly clung to the gaunt slopes but most had stopped bothering and had fallen into the water, where they lay rotting, providing a perfect breeding ground for the infamous Bleak Creek water snake—a nasty black squidge of venomous slime—and its equally lovely parasite, the Long White Leech. In the summer swarms of biting gnats patrolled the banks of the creek, but in the winter they were gone, thankfully. Their absence was more than compensated for by the tiny Jumping Log Beetles, which ventured onto the land once the water grew cold. Log Beetles could jump as high as six feet and would fasten their pincers into any flesh they could find and begin to chew. The only way to remove them was to snap their heads off and wait for the pincers to die. Some heads could keep chewing for days until they fell off.
Dotted among the sharp rocks that littered the hillsides were a few stone hovels built by ancient hermits, misfits and the odd person who had wanted a house by the water but had clearly suffered from a total lack of common sense. These piles of stones were deserted now, although Septimus knew that at least one was Possessed.
Not surprisingly Bleak Creek did not receive many visitors, although this was not necessarily due to its ghostly ship or even to the hostile wildlife and the pungent smell of decay that hung in the air. It was because its entrance was guarded by the notorious Bottomless Whirlpool.
Every Castle child knew the story of the Bottomless Whirlpool. How it was created during a great battle between two Wizards in ancient times; how it was said that each Wizard had stirred up the waters into a frenzy in an effort to drown the other; that they had circled one another, faster and faster, until they had both been sucked into the depths and were never seen again. Everyone knew that the whirlpool went down into the very center of the earth, and some believed that it went right out to the other side.
There were occasional day trips from the Castle to see the Bottomless Whirlpool. These were often a thirteenth-birthday present. After sailing into Bleak Creek to try and spot the Vengeance, the boats—full of new teens screaming with excitement—would circle the whirlpool. However, these trips were run by experienced skippers who knew the safe distance from the whirlpool and who could tell the early warning signs that a boat was being dragged toward it. It was only the biggest, heaviest ships—as the Vengeance had once been—that could pass close by.
Nicko knew for sure that Annie was not one of these. He also knew that he was not one of those skippers who understood the safe distance from the whirlpool, although he hoped that he could tell the signs that they were being dragged too close. And so, as the forbidding rocky outcrops that heralded the entrance to Bleak Creek came into view, Nicko began to feel nervous—but not as nervous as Septimus.
Septimus was sitting alone in the prow of the boat, just behind the bowsprit and its large red sail that billowed in the wintry wind. He had never—not even on the Do-or-Die Night Exercises in the Forest—felt so scared. He glanced down at a small sheet of paper covered with Marcellus’s neat handwriting that set out some bullet-pointed questions and answers, which he was trying to fix in his head. They were not unlike the Young Army Pre-Exercise Pointers (or PEPs) that the boys had had to memorize and then chant before each expedition. This sense of déjà vu added to Septimus’s feeling of doom, but it also meant that he fell back into his old Young Army ways of focusing on survival—and nothing else. And so, as he sat behind the bowsprit, Septimus gazed out at the iron-gray water and chanted under his breath, learning the responses he must use when challenged by anything Darke.
“Who be you? Sum.”
“How be you? Darke.”
“What be you? The Apprentice of the Apprentice of the Apprentice of DomDaniel.”
“Why come you here? I seek the Apprentice of DomDaniel.”
Septimus was so absorbed that he did not notice Jenna and Nicko slipping into the spaces on either side of him. They waited patiently until he had stopped muttering and then Jenna spoke.
“We are coming with you,” she said.
Septimus looked shocked. “What?”
“Nik and I . . . we have decided to come with you. We don’t want you to go alone,” said Jenna.
This had the opposite effect from what Jenna had intended—Septimus suddenly felt totally alone. He realized that they had no idea about the utter impossibility of their request. He shook his head.
“Jen, you can’t. It’s not possible. Believe me.”
Jenna saw the look in Septimus’s eyes. “Okay . . . I believe you. But if we can’t come with you, then I at least want to know where you are going. Marcellus knows, even Simon knows, so I think Nik and I deserve to know too.”
Septimus did not reply. He stared out at the water and wished that Jenna and Nik would leave him alone. He needed to disconnect.
But Jenna would not let him. She reached beneath her witch’s cloak, took out The Queen Rules and opened it to a page she knew well. She thrust it under Septimus’s nose.
“Look,” she said, stabbing her finger at a grubby, well-worn paragraph.
Reluctantly Septimus squinted at the tiny type. Then he gave in. He got out his birthday present from Marcia and moved the Enlarging Glass across the page. He read:
“The P-I-W has a Right To Know all facts pertaining to the security and wellbeing of the Castle and the Palace. The ExtraOrdinary Wizard (or, in absentia, the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice) is required to answer all the P-I-W’s questions truthfully, fully and without delay.”
With his head full of what he had to do, Septimus didn’t immediately recognize what he was looking at—and then it came back to him. He remembered the morning of his birthday, which seemed so far away now. He smiled as he recalled Marcia’s comment about “the wretched red book with its tiddly-squiddly type, the bane of every ExtraOrdinary Wizard’s life.” So this was what she had meant. And in rem
embering the Wizard Tower and the Castle as it had been, and with Marcia’s beautiful birthday gift in his hand, Septimus somehow felt less alone. He felt part of everything once more and he also, he realized, felt relieved. He wanted to tell Jenna where he was going, he wanted her to be part of what he was doing. Even though she couldn’t come with him, she could be thinking of him while he was there, wishing him safely through the Darke Halls to the other side. Septimus wasn’t sure that he should be telling Nicko too, but he no longer cared about should or shouldn’t.
And so, as they drew near to Bleak Creek and they saw the telltale chop of the water that heralded the Bottomless Whirlpool, Septimus told Jenna and Nicko how he was going to find Alther and bring him back to the Castle through Dungeon Number One. He told them not to worry because he had the Darke Disguise. And even though he didn’t believe it, he told them that he would be fine and he would see them soon. When he had finished talking, Nicko and Jenna were silent. Jenna wiped her eyes with her sleeve and Nicko coughed.
“We’ll be there waiting, Sep,” said Jenna.
“Outside Dungeon Number One,” said Nicko.
“No. You can’t do that.”
Jenna put on her best Princess voice. “Nicko and I will be waiting for you at the entrance to Dungeon Number One. No, don’t say anything, Sep. We can get through the Darke with my witch’s cloak. You are not in this alone. Got that?”
Septimus nodded. He did not trust himself to speak.
A shout from Rupert broke the moment. “Nik—she’s beginning to go!”
Nicko leaped up. He could feel the pull of the current beneath them and the flapping of Annie’s sails told him that the boat’s prow was being pulled into the wind and she was losing way—they were heading toward the wisp of spray that marked the Bottomless Whirlpool. Nicko raced back to the stern. He grabbed the tiller from Rupert—who was not a natural sailor—and yelled, “Oars! Everyone, get the oars!”
Annie’s four long oars were snatched off the roof. Standing along the sides of the boat, Sarah, Simon, Lucy and Rupert dug them into the water. Frighteningly slowly, the boat’s progress toward the Bottomless Whirlpool halted.
