Septimus Heap 3 - Physik (17 page)

By nightfall, most people in the Castle had heard a version of how “the Princess was snatched by the Wizards' dragon, yes, she was, I'm telling you, she was. Great beast of a thing. Then it dropped her like a stone, it did. Yes, it did. No, she's all right. No, she didn't bounce. She fell in the river. She's a good swimmer, that girl. But then the dragon, see, he turned. They all do. Great fire spurting out of his nose right at me—singed my hair too, see? No, look, this bit here, no, here. Well, you need to get yourself a decent pair of glasses, that's all I can say.”

Most people had also heard the other version too—how the Princess was to blame for bringing the Sickenesse in her pestilential boat, how she had tried to trap the RatStranglers in the Castle wall by means of some Darke trickery and—“Well, if you want proof, I'll give you proof. She rescued a couple of vermin. Not ermine, vermin. Are you deaf? Rats, you fool, rats. Took them away on her dragon. Now what do you have to say to that?” And the speaker would sit back, arms folded with a smug smile.

It was, people discovered, quite possible to believe both, depending on who you were talking to at the time. But everyone agreed on one thing: There was more to this young Princess than met the eye. Much more.

Stanley and Dawnie had watched the crowd run away with a great feeling of relief.

In the middle of all the excitement no one had paid them much attention as they cowered among Spit Fyre's thick spines. They sat up straight again, and Dawnie settled herself with the air of a rat much used to dragon flight. “I hope we get going soon,” she said. “I'm feeling quite famished. I rather fancy some lunch in the Port.”

Stanley sighed, but he said nothing. He watched Jenna, dripping wet, clamber back onto Spit Fyre. “All right, Your Majesty?” he asked.

Jenna did not mind Stanley calling her Your Majesty. In fact, she rather liked it, for she knew Stanley meant it affectionately. “Yes, thank you, Stanley,” she replied.

“And are you all right?”

“Never been better,” said Stanley brightly. “Lovely crisp morning, clouds clearing and off for a flight. What more could a rat want?”

“Lunch,” said Dawnie under her breath.

The Alfrun

Spit Fyre had a confident and purposeful air about him. He was flying at a leisurely pace, following the river south, toward the Port.

“I hope he's not going out to sea,” said Jenna.

“Yeah,” agreed Wolf Boy, who was feeling quite dragon-sick and could think of nothing worse right then. To take his mind off things, Wolf Boy gazed down at the silver thread of the river that wound beneath them and tried to spot Sam's Beach, where he and 412 had set off from the Forest a few months ago. Wolf Boy smiled, remembering how thrilled he had been to find his best friend again, even though 412 was nothing like his Young Army self. It wasn't just that 412's hair had grown, that he had acquired a family and a weird name to go with them, or that he was wearing a fancy Apprentice tunic and belt; it was more than that. 412 had become confident, funny and even more like ... well, even more like the best parts of 412. And now ... and now 412 was gone—maybe forever.

“Did you see that Quarantine notice on the quay?” Jenna's voice suddenly intruded on Wolf Boy's thoughts. He was glad it had.

“What notice?” he shouted above the noise of Spit Fyre's wings. Wolf Boy thought he wouldn't know one notice from another. And anyway, what was a Quarantine?

Wolf Boy imagined a horrible monster, the kind of thing that was maybe, just at that moment, chasing 412 through the Forest, or wherever he was. Wolf Boy, even with all his tracker skills, was stumped. How can you track someone who is pulled through a looking glass?

“The one about the Sickenesse!” yelled Jenna across the two rats, who were following the conversation as if watching a tennis match. “And the barricade. That means no Northern Traders this year. It's going to be a miserable MidWinter Feast without the Traders' Market!”

“Oh,” said Wolf Boy. And then yelled, “What's a Northern Trader?”

“They've got very nice boats,” ventured Stanley. "Go anywhere, those boats do.

Mind you, when I was a Message Rat you had to be careful. The Traders ran a tight rat-free policy. Had to, you see, to comply with the Market Regulations. Some of the nastiest cats I've ever encountered have been on a Trader's barge. Had a terrible run-in with an ex-Trader cat on my last Message Rat mission.“ Stanley shook his head ruefully. ”Should have realized then how things were going to turn out. Worst mission ever, that was—never met another rat who encountered anything like it. Did I tell you about Mad Jack..." And so Stanley rattled on, blissfully unaware that no one could hear him above the noise of Spit Fyre's wings, except for Dawnie, who always made a point of not listening to more than the first sentence of anything Stanley said.

“There's one down there!” Jenna shouted in reply to Wolf Boy's question. “Look!”

Wolf Boy peered at the river. Far below, he saw a long, narrow barge with a large white sail going downstream—and so did Spit Fyre. Wolf Boy felt the rhythm of the dragon's flight change and began to feel slightly less sick.

“We're going down!” Jenna yelled.

Spit Fyre slowed his wing beats and was losing height. Jenna glanced around to see where he was heading, and a feeling of excitement came over her. There was no doubt about it, Spit Fyre was homing-in on something. The Seek was working. Soon, very soon, perhaps, they would find Septimus.

“He's heading for the water!” shouted Wolf Boy.

“No, he's not. He's going for the Forest!” yelled Jenna.

Spit Fyre had wheeled around so that he was no longer above the river; he was still descending and was now heading over the Forest. Then, just as Wolf Boy and Jenna had resigned themselves to a Forest landing, the dragon began to turn back toward the river again.

“He's circling!” shouted Jenna. “I think he's trying to figure out where to land.” Jenna was half right. Spit Fyre was circling but he knew exactly where to land—he just had to work out how.

After three more circuits Spit Fyre and his passengers were flying over the tops of the Forest trees almost close enough for them to reach down and grab at the leaves.

A thin wisp of smoke drifted up from a campfire, and Wolf Boy felt a pang of homesickness for the Heap boys' camp.

Spit Fyre left the trees behind and suddenly dropped sharply down over the river.

Dawnie screamed. Right in front of them was the Trader's barge, from which came an enticing smell of frying bacon.

Jenna did not think it was possible for a fifteen-foot dragon to land on a sixty-foot boat sporting a large sail. As Spit Fyre came in low and hovered directly above the barge, her opinion was clearly shared by the boat's skipper, who was waving her arms and yelling something in a language whose words Jenna did not understand but whose meaning she certainly did.

Spit Fyre neither understood nor cared. He was heading for the flat expanse on top of the barge's cabin and he could smell breakfast. Even a dragon on a Seek needed breakfast, particularly a dragon on a Seek.

They landed with a bump. Not a big bump by dragon-landing standards, but big enough to push the Alfrun down into the water almost up to her gunwales. The barge rebounded and then rocked from side to side, sending waves washing out to the banks of the river and her skipper running angrily toward them, brandishing a long boat hook.

“Go away! Go away!” yelled Snorri Snorrelssen angrily.

Snorri had had a bad day. She had been woken at dawn by the sound of heavy footsteps tramping across her cabin roof and an insistent hammering on the hatchway. Snorri was not easily frightened but this did frighten her. Over the previous few days the Castle had become an unwelcoming place for a foreigner.

People were beginning to blame the Traders for the Sickenesse and Snorri had had numerous insults aimed her way as she had wandered around the Castle. The last few days had seen Snorri hiding in the Alfrun, waiting for the arrival of more Northern Traders. None came. Unknown to Snorri, the fishing boat blockade at Raven's Rock was already turning them away with a hail of abuse and rotten fish.

And so that morning Snorri had sailed away as the gray dawn broke, after being given ten minutes “to get out, or else.” Snorri didn't like the idea of else—whatever it was—so she got out. And now, just as she was beginning to take stock, 764 seagulls'

worth of dragon had landed on her cabin roof. It was definitely not a good day.

The Alfrun was made of sterner stuff than the rotten fishing boat in the boatyard. The deck creaked a little in protest but stayed put. The barge settled a little lower in the water, and continued her way downriver with her new cargo, which was not taking kindly to being poked in the ribs by a sharp boat hook. Beneath her feet, Jenna could feel a telltale rumble of fire starting up in Spit Fyre's fire stomach.

“No, Spit Fyre!” she yelled. “No!” Jenna scrambled down from the dragon, much to the amazement of Snorri, who had not noticed that the dragon was carrying passengers. The rumble continued to grow. Wolf Boy heard it and jumped off, and the two rats scurried up the mast and perched precariously on a narrow yardarm, roosting like an odd pair of seagulls.

Jenna grabbed Snorri's boat hook, which she was prodding at Spit Fyre. “Don't provoke him!” she shouted. “Please!” But Snorri, who was taller and stronger than Jenna, wrested the boat hook back. The rumble in the fire stomach grew louder until even Snorri noticed it. She stopped and looked puzzled.

“What ... is ... that?” she asked in Jenna's language.

“ Fyre!” yelled Jenna. “He's making Fyre!”

Snorri, as any boat skipper would, understood the word fire. well enough. She grabbed a couple of buckets with rope tied to their handles and thrust one into Jenna's hands. “Water!” yelled Snorri. “Get water!”

Jenna followed Snorri's example and, holding on to the rope, she threw her bucket over the side of the barge into the river, pulled it up brimming with murky green water and threw it. It landed on a surprised Wolf Boy, who was quickly feeding Spit Fyre Snorri's breakfast of bread and bacon. It was then that Jenna realized that the rumble had stopped.

Wolf Boy grinned. “I figured he couldn't eat and make Fyre at the same time,” he said.

Snorri watched Spit Fyre gulp down the last of her bacon, siphon up the rest of the water from the fire bucket and finish by swallowing the wooden plate whole. This, thought Snorri, is going to be trouble. You didn't need to be a Spirit-Seer to see that.

Spirit-Seer

Spit Fyre was asleep and Snorri had an empty space in her tightly packed hold where one of the barrels of salted fish used to be. The Alfrun was tied up to a large willow tree that overhung the bank on the Farmlands side of the river, for the skipper felt it was too dangerous to continue the journey with an unpredictable dragon on board.

Snorri and Jenna were sitting in the cockpit at the stern of the barge, trying not to listen to Spit Fyre's snores and snuffles. Wolf Boy, who was still queasy after his dragon flight, and wanted to feel solid ground beneath his feet, was exploring the apple orchards planted along the riverbank.

Snorri had never expected to meet the Princess for a second time, let alone have her land on her boat on a dragon. She was a little overawed. She had provided Jenna and Wolf Boy with a welcome breakfast of bread, cake, pickled fish and apples, which they had eaten hungrily. Wolf Boy regretted that he had fed all the bacon to Spit Fyre, particularly as it had hardly dented the dragon's appetite, and Snorri also had to feed him a whole barrel of salted fish.

“I am really sorry, Snorri,” said Jenna yet again after Wolf Boy had set off. “We were on our way to find Septimus, and Spit Fyre just decided to land. I didn't stop him because I thought Septimus was here ... but he's not.” Jenna lapsed into silence.

She could not help wondering whether the Seek was going to work with Spit Fyre.

He was such a young and impetuous dragon, and if he could be distracted by the smell of frying bacon, what else would send him off on the wrong course?

“Your brother Septimus. He ... fell through some glass?” asked Snorri.

Jenna nodded.

“Then ... surely you will find him in the Infirmary?”

Jenna shook her head. “It was a looking glass—you know, a mirror?” she explained.

“Ah...” said Snorri. “An Ancient Glass. Now I understand.”

“You do?” said Jenna, surprised.

“My grandmother had one. But we are ... we were never allowed to touch it. Her sister, Ells, fell through it when she was young.”

“Did”—Jenna hardly dared ask—“did they ever find her?”

“No,” said Snorri.

Jenna was silent. Suddenly Snorri leaped up and ran to the side of the barge, looking upriver. Jenna followed her gaze but she could see nothing. The river was empty and quiet. The drizzle had stopped a while ago and now the water was flat and sluggish, reflecting the heavy gray clouds that hung in the sky. Nothing, not even an adventurous fish popping up to the surface for a fly, disturbed it.

Snorri drew out her Spirit eyeglass from a pocket in the folds of her tunic and put it to her left eye. She muttered something under her breath.

“What is it?” asked Jenna.

“I do not like this boat,” whispered Snorri.

“But it's a lovely boat,” said Jenna. “I really like it, especially your little cabin. It's very cozy.”

“No. Not this boat,” explained Snorri. “ That boat.” Snorri put the eyeglass down and pointed upriver. Jenna followed Snorri's gaze, noticing now how her eyes were locked onto something, following its slow progress downriver toward them.

Snorri glanced at Jenna. “Ah,” she said, “you cannot see the Spirit Ship?”

Jenna shook her head.

“It is coming this way,” whispered Snorri.

Suddenly the air felt colder and the river seemed threatening. “ What is coming this way?” Jenna asked.

Snorri did not reply. Squinting through the eyeglass, she was engrossed in watching Queen Etheldredda's Royal Barge draw near. Although the barge had been on the far side of the river as it rounded the bend, it was now crossing the river and heading straight for the Alfrun. Snorri shivered.