Fyre

by Angie Sage

  Marcia could see Dandra’s good opinion of her rapidly disappearing. “Well, yes. But we don’t open the Ancient Archives unless we absolutely have to—they are extremely fragile. Of course we check the indexes occasionally, and in the Archive Index the Committal was listed as present.”

  “But it not present?”

  Marcia shook her head miserably. “No. It’s gone. Utterly gone. So the only record of it we now have is with Princess Jenna.”

  “Who not here.”

  “No. Well, not yet. She is on her way. I . . . just don’t know if she is going to get here in time.”

  Dandra was silent for a while. “I see why you worried,” she said.

  “Thanks,” said Marcia, feeling a whole lot worse.

  Silence fell. Marcia stared at the frying-pan clock on the kitchen wall—one of Alther’s old treasures. Looking at it usually made her feel better, but tonight it had no effect. All she could think was that she was now drawing two Darke Wizards back to the Castle with no means of destroying them once they arrived. And when they did arrive she would have to rely totally on Jenna’s version of the Committal. It was not a position any ExtraOrdinary Wizard would choose. She was placing everyone in terrible danger. Marcia put her head in her hands—she felt very frightened.

  Dandra put her arm around Marcia’s shoulders. “It okay. We all here. Together.” Marcia nodded. She blinked away tears and saw that the hour hand on the frying-pan clock had crept around to three. “They should be in sight now,” she said. “Would you like to come up to the LookOut with me?”

  Marcia’s rooms, which took up the whole of floor twenty of the Wizard Tower, had four new LookOuts—one on each face of the Tower. She and Dandra headed for the South LookOut, a long, narrow chamber next to Septimus’s bedroom, more like a corridor than a room. The chamber was dark but light poured in from a round window at the end, so crystal clear and bright that it seemed to Dandra as though the moon itself was sitting at the end of the room.

  Dandra followed Marcia inside and as she closed the door behind her, the atmosphere in the room became hushed and heavy. Marcia hurried to the window at the end and beckoned Dandra to stand next to her. There was only just room. Dandra was amazed at how clear the view from the window was. The crystal concentrated every detail and showed a huge vista below, extending from the Forest—where Dandra was sure she could see every leaf and branch as they shook in the wind that was howling in and buffeting the Castle—along past the Moat, where a chop of waves was breaking up its dark surface, and away to the cold snake of the river heading down toward the Port.

  Marcia was shocked; she hadn’t realized it was such a wild night. She raised her hands and held them cupped over the crystal window, focusing on the most distant bend in the river as it emerged from the swath of Forest. It was here she hoped to see Nicko’s boat—with Jenna safe inside it. Dandra watched, fascinated, as Marcia squeezed her hands together and then drew them apart so that a small circle of glass was visible between them. Slowly Marcia drew her hands farther away from each other and Dandra saw the view of the river bend enlarge, until it filled the whole window. Marcia let her hands fall and she and Dandra stared into the distance.

  “There!” said Marcia. “Look!”

  It was no more than a tiny white speck. But as Dandra looked, she could see that it was the sail of a boat, heeled over, leaping through the waves. “Big waves for river,” said Dandra.

  “It’s awful,” said Marcia. “I had no idea the weather was so bad.” She shivered and enlarged the view again. The image became a little blurred but within the fuzz she could see Jenna and Simon sitting wrapped in blankets, while Nicko stood at the helm, clearly loving every minute of it. Marcia watched the little boat, fascinated by its rapid progress as it danced through the water; the sight of Nicko’s breezy confidence made her feel a whole lot better. “They’ll be fine,” she said. “Nicko will bring them back safely.”

  “Now is the barge boat,” said Dandra. “See, she comes too.”

  Sure enough, the huge white sail of the night Barge now hove into view. Heavy but steady, the Barge plowed around the bend that Nicko had very nearly flown around. Nicko must have only just overtaken it, thought Marcia. She imagined that he had enjoyed that. Marcia smiled and looked more closely at the Barge. Hovering above she saw a faint glimmer that she knew to be Alther; on the Barge below she saw no more than the flapping canvas cover of the passenger area. But Marcia knew that if Alther was there, then so were Merrin and Nursie.

  Marcia turned to Dandra and smiled. “They’re all on their way,” she said.

  “Good. I go now,” said Dandra. “You sleep.”

  “Maybe,” said Marcia doubtfully.

  But Marcia did sleep. The Alarm woke her two hours later and she was up at once. Five minutes later she was shaking Septimus awake. There was no time to lose.

  Down in the Great Hall of the Wizard Tower, in the soft blue light of early morning Magyk, all was quiet. Marcia and Septimus stepped off the stairs—still slow on Nighttime mode—and walked over to the tall silver doors. As they went, the floor greeted them: GOOD MORNING, EXTRAORDINARY WIZARD. GOOD MORNING, EXTRAORDINARY APPRENTICE. IT IS A BEAUTIFUL MORNING. ALL IS LOOKING GOOD. Marcia grimaced—the floor only became optimistic when things were really bad.

  The wind had blown away the rain clouds and the dawn sky was a clear, pale green as Marcia and Septimus emerged from the Wizard Tower. Wizard Way was peaceful and deserted—apart from the lone figure of Beetle, muffled in his dark blue robes, waiting outside the Manuscriptorium. As soon as he saw Marcia and Septimus emerge from the shadows of the Great Arch, he gave a brief wave and hurried to meet them. The three walked quickly down the middle of the Way, moving through the long, sharp shadows that fell across the yellow stone, catching shafts of crisp yellow light as it glanced through the occasional gap. The floor was right; it was indeed a beautiful morning.

  The trio stopped outside the rundown façade of Number Sixty-Seven Wizard Way—Larry’s Dead Languages Translation Services—and took a collective deep breath. Marcia ran her hand down the edge of the door and Septimus and Beetle heard the rapid clicks of the line of locks unfastening themselves.

  So did Larry.

  Larry was up early, translating an obscure dialect spoken only by six people who lived beside an oasis in the Hot, Dry Deserts of the East. He was not in the best of moods, having had a disturbed night due to a crowd of what Larry called “yobs” banging on his door half the night. So when Marcia pushed open the door with a hefty shove, Larry was not at his best.

  “Oi!” he yelled.

  To Larry’s great irritation Marcia strode in, followed by his ex-employee, Beetle—who had snubbed him the previous day—and the know-it-all ExtraOrdinary Apprentice. Larry grabbed a chair—one of his favorite weapons—and was on his way to meet the intruders. “Out!” he ordered, jabbing the chair at them in the manner of a lion-tamer who was thoroughly sick of lions.

  Marcia was not a fan of Larry. “Indeed, Mr. Morologus, that is exactly where you are going. Out.”

  “How dare you?” Larry demanded, advancing with the chair.

  Marcia’s answer quickly followed in a flash—a small purple one, to be precise. And when the flash disappeared, Larry was sitting on his chair outside his door, looking in.

  “Rude man,” said Marcia and then, as Larry rattled the door handle, “Lock!”

  The door obeyed. Marcia raised her voice above the furious banging of Larry’s fists on the door. “Now, Beetle, perhaps you would be so kind as to show us the way?”

  Beetle led Marcia through the shop and along a maze of narrow corridors, lined with shelves stacked with chaotic mountains of papers. At last Beetle stopped by a cupboard whose door had fallen off, spilling its papers across the floor. He drew back a smelly old curtain, unbolted the collection of nailed planks that Larry called a door and gave it a hefty kick. The door creaked open to reveal a small, damp courtyard stuffed full of Wizards.

  �
�Good morning, everyone,” Marcia said perkily.

  “Morning, Madam Marcia,” came a gloomy chorus from the fourteen Wizards who had been on guard all night. Marcia surveyed the bedraggled group, clustered around a ramshackle wooden hut standing in the middle of the courtyard, typical of one of the old Castle outside lavatories—or privies, as they were known. The Wizards, sodden after the night’s rain, stood huddled together like a small herd of blue sheep lost on a lonely, windswept hill. The courtyard was pervaded by the dismal smell of wet wool.

  “I take it there is nothing to report?” Marcia said briskly.

  “No, Madam Marcia,” came the gloomy chorus.

  “Can we go now?” came a brave voice from the back. “We’re perished.”

  Others chimed in.

  “Frozen.”

  “Totally, utterly frozzled.”

  “I think my toes have fallen off.”

  Marcia sighed. Wizards were not what they used to be. She could see they would be no use at all in the state they were in. “Yes. You can go. Thank you all very much. I realize it hasn’t been the most interesting night’s work.”

  To a background of mutterings—“You can say that again”; “I’ve had more fun having my teeth taken out”; “Bloomin’ waste of time”—the Ordinary Wizards climbed up the ladder they had fetched after Larry had refused to answer the door for them, and clambered over the wall. The soggy Wizards then trailed back to the Wizard Tower, their job done.

  Beetle’s job of guiding Marcia through Larry’s warren of a house was also done, and there was somewhere else he very much wanted to be. “I think it would be a good idea,” he said, “if I went down to the Palace landing stage and met Jenna.”

  “A very good idea,” said Marcia. “Bring her straight here.”

  Beetle clambered up the ladder and over the wall. Then he was gone, hurrying down to the river, feeling more excited about meeting Jenna than he thought he should be.

  Marcia rubbed her hands together in the early morning chill of the dark courtyard. “Right, Septimus, let’s have a look, shall we?” Gingerly, she opened the door of the rickety old hut and peered inside. “It’s clever,” she said, her voice muffled by the hut. “You wouldn’t think anything of it. Just an empty old privy with a wooden floor. But when you look closer you can see that the entire floor is a trapdoor.”

  Marcia stepped back to let Septimus see.

  “We should make sure it really does lead to Smugglers’ Bolt and isn’t just a hiding place for contraband,” she said. “There are a few of those around, apparently. I suggest you lift the trapdoor and have a look.”

  Warily, Septimus unfastened the bolts and lifted the trapdoor up a few inches. A smell of damp and mold wafted out. Marcia kneeled down and got out her FlashLight. She shone it into the gap and saw a line of narrow steps leading down into darkness. Suddenly she switched off the FlashLight.

  “Something’s coming,” she whispered. “I can feel it.”

  Very carefully, Septimus let the trapdoor down. “That’s way too fast,” he said.

  Marcia stood up, brushing the dirt from her robes. “Septimus, I am so sorry. This must mean that Ernold and Edmund have been . . .” She stopped, unable to bring herself to say anything more.

  Septimus said it for her. “Consumed.”

  36

  TO THE CASTLE

  “We must prepare ourselves,” Marcia said. “I doubt that Jenna will get here in time. We need to keep the you-know-who at bay until she arrives.”

  “Encapsulate?” asked Septimus.

  “Precisely. It must be done very carefully. We can’t risk any fissures forming.”

  “So not too fast.”

  “Indeed.”

  “An even depth.”

  “Precisely. About three inches all over.”

  “That’s thick.”

  “There’s a lot of power to keep at bay, Septimus. We must be sure.”

  “Okay. Shall I pace it out?”

  “Yes.” Marcia got out her pocket sextant and quickly calculated the height of the hut. “Seven point five eight recurring,” she said.

  “Circumference: thirteen exactly,” said Septimus.

  “Right. Let’s get this as good as we can!” Marcia did some rapid calculations. “Okay. Now, Septimus, I’ll need you to—”

  “Got you!” Larry’s angry face appeared at the top of the wall. “How dare you throw me out of my house, you interfering old witch!”

  Marcia bristled.

  Larry was treading on dangerous ground, but he clearly did not care. “Get out of my yard!” he yelled. “Or do I have to come over and drag you out?” Larry—or possibly his ladder—wobbled with indignation.

  “If you value your safety,” Marcia said icily, “I suggest you do no such thing.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Larry demanded. “Because if you are I—”

  There was a loud crack of splitting wood and Larry was gone.

  “Never trust a ladder,” said Marcia. “Now, let’s get on. I dread to think how close they are.”

  One hundred and eighty seconds later the old privy hut had taken on a very different appearance. It was covered with a glowing skin of purple light, which was slowly hardening, like a chrysalis. Septimus watched, enthralled—he had never seen a real Encapsulation. It was a tough piece of Magyk to get right. Septimus had practiced on a few small objects but the Capsules either collapsed like a burst balloon or ended up lumpy like an old potato. But Marcia’s was perfect. It covered the hut evenly and smoothly, and as it hardened it began to lose its purple sheen and turn a delicate blue. Soon the color would leave it and a transparent glasslike substance would cover the entire structure, forming a barrier so impenetrable that not even a ghost would be able to get through.

  But until all color was gone, the Capsule could be breached. It was an anxious time. Just in case, Marcia stationed Septimus around the back of the little hut, and she watched the front.

  Suddenly a gasp came from behind the hut. “There’s something . . . coming through . . .”

  A flash of fear shot through Marcia. She raced around to Septimus in time to see a tall purple ghost pushing itself through the hardening Capsule.

  Marcia was extremely relieved. “It’s an old ExtraOrdinary,” she murmured. “How very . . . extraordinary.”

  An elegant figure emerged, his cropped gray hair banded by an old-fashioned ExtraOrdinary Wizard headband, his thin features and sharp, beaky nose giving the impression of a gaunt bird of prey.

  “Oh,” said Septimus. “It’s Julius Pike!”

  “That,” said Marcia, “is extremely good timing.”

  As Julius Pike Composed himself after the unpleasant Passing Through of the back of the hut—wondering why someone had decided to put the door on the other side from where it always had been—the Capsule lost its last tint of blue and became completely clear. Marcia smiled. Nothing was going to get out of there now.

  Julius bowed to Marcia in the old-fashioned formal style. “ExtraOrdinary,” he said. “Forgive my intrusion in your most excellent Magyk. I am sorry to have interrupted your tutorial.”

  “No apologies necessary, I assure you,” said Marcia.

  It was a tradition among ExtraOrdinary Wizards that whenever they met an ExtraOrdinary Wizard ghost for the first time (Gatherings did not count) the Living must introduce themselves and, bizarrely, inquire after the health of the ghost. With the immediate threat lifted, Marcia proceeded to introduce herself and then Septimus.

  The ghost of Julius Pike stopped her. “No need, ExtraOrdinary, for Septimus and I have met before. In another Time—my Living Time.” The ghost smiled sympathetically at Septimus. “I am very glad to see you safe here, Apprentice. I would like to say that when we met before I was not aware of what had happened to you. I merely assumed you were yet another mildly deranged Alchemie Apprentice.” The ghost turned to Marcia. “Marcellus Pye was, at that time, my very good friend, but even then there were things he did that I
could not endorse.”

  “Indeed?” said Marcia.

  “Kidnapping a boy from another Time was one of them.”

  “Quite,” said Marcia. Every word the ghost spoke made her like him more. Marcia remembered her manners. “I trust you are well?” she inquired.

  Julius gave the standard reply: “As well as any ghost may be.” The ghost continued, “I have come to warn you”—like everyone who spoke of the Ring Wizards, he dropped his voice to a whisper—“that two most Darke and foul Wizards are, at this very moment, on their way to the Castle through the Bolt. It is extremely fortuitous that you have chosen this very place for your Capsule tutorial.”

  “It’s not one little bit fortuitous,” said Marcia. “It is totally deliberate.”

  “Ah. So you know. So it is your scorpion following them?”

  “It’s mine, actually,” said Septimus.

  “Well, well.” Julius was impressed. He turned to Marcia. “ExtraOrdinary, these Darke Wizards are from the Two-Faced Ring, which I know of old. In the early hours of the morning I Felt them heading for the Castle. I have come to warn you.”

  “We know,” said Marcia. And then, thinking she had been a little curt, she said, “But thank you. I very much appreciate your concern.”

  There was something Septimus had to ask. “What did the Wizards look like?”

  “It is very sad,” said Julius Pike. “They are InHabiting two old tramps, probably found them sleeping in a ditch somewhere. Darke Magyk is not kind to—”

  Marcia cut in. “How long have we got?”

  “I overtook them using an old passing place in the Bolt some two hours ago, but the tramps are being pushed forward at a merciless pace. I estimate possibly an hour.”

  “An hour!” Marcia was horrified. “Septimus, go! As soon as Jenna arrives bring her here. There must be no delay. None whatsoever. Hurry, hurry!”

  Septimus was halfway up the ladder when he realized that leaving Julius with Marcia was not a good idea. He was pretty sure that Marcia knew that Julius Pike had been the ExtraOrdinary Wizard at the time of the Great Alchemie Disaster. It would not take her long to start asking the ghost a lot of awkward questions—and getting even more awkward answers. Septimus now shared Marcellus’s opinion that Marcia would close down the Fyre, even at this late stage, if she knew about it. He also knew from Marcellus that it was Julius who had closed it down previously. It was not safe to leave the ghost of Julius Pike alone with Marcia.