by Angie Sage
A slimy mud-brown hand with webbed fingers and broad black claws had reached out of the water and grabbed the end of her canoe.
16
THE BOGGART
The slimy brown hand fumbled along the side of the canoe, making its way toward Jenna. Then it grabbed hold of her paddle. Jenna wrested the paddle away and was about to hit the slimy brown thing with it—hard—when a voice said, “Oi. No need fer that.”
A seallike creature covered in slippery brown fur pulled itself up so that its head was just out of the water. Two bright black-button eyes stared at Jenna, who had her paddle still poised in midair.
“Wish you’d put that down. Could hurt someone. So where you bin, then?” the creature asked grumpily in a deep, gurgling voice with a broad marshland drawl. “I bin waitin’ for hours. Freezin’ in here. How’d you like it? Stuck in a ditch. Just waitin’.”
All Jenna could manage in reply was a small squeak; her voice seemed to have stopped working.
“What is it, Jen?” asked Nicko, who was sitting behind Boy 412, just to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, and couldn’t see the creature.
“Th—this…” Jenna pointed at the creature, who looked offended.
“What you mean this?” he asked. “You mean me? You mean Boggart?”
“Boggart? No. I didn’t say that,” muttered Jenna.
“Well I did. Boggart. That’s me. I’m Boggart. Boggart, the Boggart. Good name, innit?”
“Lovely,” said Jenna politely.
“What’s going on?” asked Silas, catching up with them. “Stoppit, Maxie. Stoppit I say!”
Maxie had caught sight of the Boggart and was barking frantically. The Boggart took one look at Maxie and disappeared back under the water. Since the notorious Boggart Hunts many years ago in which Maxie’s ancestors had taken part so effectively, the Marram Marsh Boggart had become a rare creature. With a long memory.
The Boggart reappeared at a safe distance. “You’re not bringin’ that?” he said, looking balefully at Maxie. “She didunt say nothin’ ’bout one a them.”
“Do I hear a Boggart?” asked Silas.
“Yeah,” said the Boggart.
“Zelda’s Boggart?”
“Yeah,” said the Boggart.
“Has she sent you to find us?”
“Yeah,” said the Boggart.
“Good,” said Silas, very relieved. “We’ll follow you, then.”
“Yeah,” said the Boggart, and he swam off along Deppen Ditch and took the next turning but one.
The next turning but one was much narrower than the Deppen Ditch and wound its snakelike way deep into the moonlit, snow-covered marshes. The snow fell steadily and all was quiet and still, apart from the gurgles and splashes of the Boggart as he swam in front of the canoes, every now and then sticking his head out of the dark water and calling out, “You followin’?”
“I don’t know what else he thinks we can do,” Jenna said to Nicko as they paddled the canoe along the increasingly narrow ditch. “It’s not as if there’s anywhere else to go.”
But the Boggart took his duties seriously and kept going with the same question until they reached a small marsh pool with several overgrown channels leading off it.
“Best wait for the others,” said the Boggart. “Don’t want ’em gettin’ lost.”
Jenna glanced back to see where Marcia and Silas had got to. They were far behind now, as Silas was the only one paddling. Marcia had given up and had both hands clamped firmly to the top of her head. Behind her the long and pointy snout of an Abyssinian wolfhound loftily surveyed the scene before him and let drop the occasional long strand of glistening dribble. Straight onto Marcia’s head.
As Silas propelled the canoe into the pool and wearily laid his paddle down, Marcia declared, “I am not sitting in front of that animal one moment longer. There’s dog dribble all over my hair. It’s disgusting. I’m getting out. I’d rather walk.”
“You don’t wanter be doin’ that, Yer Majesty,” came the Boggart’s voice from out of the water beside Marcia. He gazed up at Marcia, his bright black eyes blinking through his brown fur, amazed by her ExtraOrdinary Wizard belt that glinted in the moonlight. Although he was a creature of the marsh mud, the Boggart loved bright and shiny things. And he had never seen such a bright and shiny thing as Marcia’s gold and platinum belt.
“You don’t wanter be walkin’ round ’ere, Yer Majesty,” the Boggart told her respectfully. “You’ll start followin’ the Marshfire, and it’ll lead you into the Quake Ooze before you know it. There’s many as has followed the Marshfire and there’s none as has returned.”
A rumbling growl was coming from deep down in Maxie’s throat. The fur on the back of his neck stood up, and suddenly, obeying an old and compelling wolfhound instinct, Maxie leaped into the water after the Boggart.
“Maxie! Maxie! Oh, you stupid dog,” yelled Silas.
The water in the pool was freezing. Maxie yelped and frantically dog-paddled back to Silas’s and Marcia’s canoe.
Marcia shoved him away.
“That dog is not getting back in here,” she announced.
“Marcia, he’ll freeze,” protested Silas.
“I don’t care.”
“Here, Maxie. C’mon boy,” said Nicko. He grabbed Maxie’s neckerchief and, with Jenna’s help, hauled the dog into their canoe. The canoe tipped dangerously, but Boy 412, who had no desire to end up in the water like Maxie, steadied it by grabbing hold of a tree root.
Maxie stood shivering for a moment, then he did what any wet dog has to do: he shook himself.
“Maxie!” gasped Nicko and Jenna.
Boy 412 said nothing. He didn’t like dogs at all. The only dogs he had ever known were the vicious Custodian Guard Dogs, and although he could see that Maxie looked nothing like them, he still expected him to bite at any moment. And so when Maxie settled down, laid his head on Boy 412’s lap and went to sleep, it was just another very bad moment in Boy 412’s worst day ever. But Maxie was happy. Boy 412’s sheepskin jacket was warm and comfortable, and the wolfhound spent the rest of the journey dreaming that he was back at home curled up in front of the fire with all the other Heaps.
But the Boggart had gone.
“Boggart? Where are you, Mr. Boggart?” Jenna called out politely.
There was no reply. Just the deep silence that comes to the marshes when a blanket of snow covers the bogs and quags, silences their gurgles and gloops and sends all the slimy creatures back into the stillness of the mud.
“Now we’ve lost that nice Boggart because of your stupid animal,” Marcia told Silas crossly. “I don’t know why you had to bring him.”
Silas sighed. Sharing a canoe with Marcia Overstrand was not something he had ever imagined he would have to do. But if he had, in a mad moment, ever imagined it, this was exactly how it would have been.
Silas scanned the horizon in the hope that he might be able to see Keeper’s Cottage, where Aunt Zelda lived. The cottage stood on Draggen Island, one of the many islands in the marsh, which became true islands only when the marshland flooded. But all Silas could see was white flatness stretching out before him in all directions. To make matters worse, he could see the marsh mist beginning to rise up and drift across the water, and he knew that if the mist came in they would never see Keeper’s Cottage, however close they might be to it.
Then he remembered that the cottage was Enchanted. Which meant that no one could see it anyway.
If they ever needed the Boggart, it was now.
“I can see a light!” said Jenna, suddenly. “It must be Aunt Zelda coming to look for us. Look, over there!”
All eyes followed Jenna’s pointing finger.
A flickering light was jumping over the marshes, as if bounding from tussock to tussock.
“She’s coming toward us,” said Jenna, excited.
“No, she’s not,” Nicko said. “Look, she’s going away.”
“Perhaps we ought to go and meet her,�
�� said Silas.
Marcia was not convinced. “How can you be sure it’s Zelda?” she said. “It could be anyone. Anything.”
Everyone fell silent at the thought of a thing with a light coming toward them, until Silas said, “It is Zelda. Look, I can see her.”
“No, you can’t,” said Marcia. “It’s Marshfire, like that very intelligent Boggart said.”
“Marcia, I know Zelda when I see her, and I can see her now. She’s carrying a light. She’s come all this way to find us and we are just sitting here. I’m going to meet her.”
“They say that fools see what they want to see in Marshfire,” said Marcia tartly, “and you’ve just proved that saying true, Silas.”
Silas made to get out of the canoe, and Marcia grabbed his cloak.
“Sit!” she said as though she was talking to Maxie.
But Silas pulled away, half in a dream, drawn to the flickering light and the shadow of Aunt Zelda that appeared and disappeared through the rising mist. Sometimes she was tantalizingly near, about to find them all and lead them to a warm fire and a soft bed, sometimes fading away sorrowfully and inviting them to follow and be with her. But Silas could no longer bear to be away from the light. He climbed out of the canoe and stumbled off toward the flickering glow.
“Dad!” yelled Jenna. “Can we come too?”
“No, you may not,” said Marcia firmly. “And I’m going to have to bring the silly old fool back.”
Marcia was just drawing breath for the Boomerang Spell when Silas tripped and fell headlong onto the boggy ground. As he lay winded, Silas felt the marsh beneath him begin to shift as though living things were stirring in the depths of the mud. And when he tried to get up, Silas found that he could not. It was as if he were glued to the ground. In his Marshfire daze, Silas was confused about why he seemed unable to move. He tried to lift his head to see what was happening but was unable to. It was then that he realized the awful truth: something was pulling at his hair.
Silas raised his hands to his head, and to his horror, he could feel little bony fingers in his hair, winding and knotting his long straggling curls around them and pulling, tugging him down into the bog. Desperately Silas struggled to get free, but the more he struggled, the more the fingers tangled themselves up in his hair. Slowly and steadily they pulled Silas down until the mud covered his eyes and soon, very soon, would cover his nose.
Marcia could see what was happening, but she knew better than to run to Silas’s aid.
“Dad!” yelled Jenna, getting out of the canoe. “I’ll help you, Dad.”
“No!” Marcia told her. “No. That’s how the Marshfire works. The bog will drag you down too.”
“But—but we can’t just watch Dad drown,” cried Jenna.
Suddenly a squat brown shape heaved itself out of the water, scrambled up the bank and, leaping expertly from tussock to tussock, ran toward Silas.
“What you doin’ in the Quake Ooze, sir?” said the Boggart crossly.
“Whaaa?” mumbled Silas whose ears were full of mud and could hear only the shrieking and wailing of the creatures in the bog beneath him. The bony fingers continued their pulling and twisting, and Silas was beginning to feel the painful cuts of razor-sharp teeth nipping at his head. He struggled frantically, but each struggle pulled him farther down into the Ooze and set off another wave of screeching.
Jenna and Nicko watched Silas slowly sinking into the Ooze with horror. Why didn’t the Boggart do something? Now, before Silas disappeared forever. Suddenly Jenna could stand it no longer and sprang up again from the canoe, and Nicko went to follow her. Boy 412, who had heard all about Marshfire from the only survivor of a platoon of Young Army boys who had gotten lost in the Quake Ooze a few years earlier, grabbed hold of Jenna and tried to pull her back into the canoe. Angrily, she pushed him away.
The sudden movement caught the Boggart’s attention. “Stay there, miss,” he said urgently. Boy 412 gave another hefty tug on Jenna’s sheepskin jacket, and she sat down in the canoe with a bump. Maxie whined.
The Boggart’s bright black eyes were worried. He knew exactly who the knotting, twisting fingers belonged to, and he knew they were trouble.
“Blinkin’ Brownies!” said the Boggart. “Nasty little articles. Try a taste of Boggart Breath, you spiteful creatures.” The Boggart leaned over Silas, took a very deep breath and breathed out over the tugging fingers. From deep inside the bog Silas heard a teeth-shattering screech as though someone was scraping fingernails down a blackboard, then the snarling fingers slipped from his hair, and the bog moved as he felt the creatures below shift away.
Silas was free.
The Boggart helped him sit up and rubbed the mud from his eyes.
“I told you Marshfire will lead you to the Quake Ooze. An’ it did, didunt it?” remonstrated the Boggart.
Silas said nothing. He was quite overcome by the pungent smell of Boggart Breath still in his hair.
“Yer all right now, sir,” the Boggart told him. “But it were close. I don’t mind telling you that. Haven’t had to breathe on a Brownie since they ransacked the cottage. Ah, Boggart Breath is a wonderful thing. Some may not like it much, but I always says to ’em, ‘You’d think different if you was got by the Quake Ooze Brownies.’”
“Oh. Ah. Quite. Thank you, Boggart. Thank you very much,” mumbled Silas, still dazed.
The Boggart carefully led him back to the canoe.
“You’d best go in the front, Yer Majesty,” the Boggart said to Marcia. “He’s in no fit state ter drive one a these things.”
Marcia helped the Boggart get Silas into the canoe, and then the Boggart slipped into the water.
“I’ll take you to Miss Zelda’s, but mind you keep that animal out me way,” he said, glaring at Maxie. “Brought me out in a nasty rash that growlin’ did. I is covered in lumps now. Here feel this.” The Boggart offered his large round tummy for Marcia to feel.
“It’s very kind of you, but no thank you, not just now,” said Marcia faintly.
“Another time, then.”
“Indeed.”
“Right, then.” The Boggart swam toward a small channel that no one had even noticed before.
“Now, you followin’?” he asked, not for the last time.
17
ALTHER ALONE
While the Boggart and the canoes were winding their long and complicated way through the marshes, Alther was following the route his old boat, Molly, used to take back to the Castle.
Alther was flying the way he loved to fly, low and very fast, and it was not long before he overtook the bullet boat. It was a sorry sight. Ten oarsmen were wearily pulling on the oars as the boat crept slowly back up the river. Sitting in the stern of the boat was the Hunter, hunched, shivering and silently pondering his fate, while in the prow the Apprentice, to the Hunter’s extreme irritation, fidgeted about, occasionally kicking the side of the boat out of boredom and in an effort to get some feeling back into his toes.
Alther flew unseen over the boat, for he Appeared only to those he chose, and continued his journey. Above him the clear sky was clouding over with heavy snow clouds, and the moon had disappeared, plunging the bright snow-covered riverbanks into darkness. As Alther drew nearer to the Castle, fat snowflakes began to drift lazily down from the sky, and as he approached the final bend in the river that would take him around Raven’s Rock, the air became suddenly thick with snow.
Alther slowed right down, for even a ghost can find it hard to see where he’s going in a blizzard, and carefully flew on toward the Castle. Soon, through the white wall of snow, Alther could see the glowing red embers that were all that remained of Sally Mullin’s Tea and Ale House. The snow sizzled and spat as it landed on the charred pontoon, and as Alther lingered for a moment over the remains of Sally’s pride and joy, he hoped that somewhere on the cold river the Hunter was enjoying the blizzard.
Alther flew up the rubbish dump, past the discarded rat door and made a steep ascent over the Castle
wall. He was surprised how peaceful and quiet the Castle was. He had somehow expected the upheavals of the evening to show, but it was past midnight by now and a fresh blanket of snow covered the deserted courtyards and old stone buildings. Alther skirted around the Palace and headed along the broad avenue known as Wizard Way that led to the Wizard Tower. He began to feel nervous. What would he find?
Drifting up the outside of the Tower, he soon spotted the small arched window at the top that he had been looking for. He melted himself through the window and found himself standing outside Marcia’s front door, or so it had been a few hours earlier. Alther did the ghost equivalent of taking a deep breath and composed himself. Then he carefully Discomposed himself just enough to pass through the solid purple planks and thick silver hinges of the door and expertly Rearranged himself on the other side. Perfect. He was back in Marcia’s rooms.
And so was the Darke Wizard, the Necromancer, DomDaniel.
DomDaniel was asleep on Marcia’s sofa. He lay on his back with his black robes wrapped around him and his short, black, cylindrical hat pulled down over his eyes while his head rested on Boy 412’s pillows. DomDaniel’s mouth was wide open and he was snoring loudly. It was not a pretty sight.
Alther stared at DomDaniel, finding it strange to see his old Master again in the very same place where they had spent so many years together. Alther did not remember those years with any fondness even though he had learned all, and much more than he had wanted to know, about Magyk. DomDaniel had been an arrogant and unpleasant ExtraOrdinary Wizard, completely uninterested in the Castle and the people there who needed his help, pursuing only his desire for extreme power and eternal youth. Or rather, since DomDaniel had taken a while to work it out, eternal middle age.
The DomDaniel who lay snoring in front of Alther looked, at first glance, much the same as he had remembered him from all those years ago, but as Alther scrutinized him more closely he saw that all was not unchanged. There was a gray tinge to the Necromancer’s skin that spoke of years spent underground in the company of Shades and Shadows. An aura of the Other side still clung to him and filled the room with the smell of overripe mold and damp earth. As Alther watched, a thin line of dribble slowly made its way out of the corner of DomDaniel’s mouth and wandered down his chin, where it dripped onto his black cloak.
