Fyre

  Simon looked shocked. If he had been ExtraOrdinary Wizard he would not have left the ring alone for one second after that.

  “But that still doesn’t explain how Edmond and Ernold were able to get the ring,” said Beetle. “I mean, they had to break the Seal to get it. And really I don’t think they were up to that. They were just a couple of bumbling old . . .” Beetle trailed off, aware that they were Septimus’s uncles.

  “Fools,” supplied Septimus, who shared Beetle’s opinion.

  “Exactly,” said Simon. “The more foolish the better.”

  Marcia looked at Simon. “Simon. I think you know something about this ring that we don’t.”

  Simon nodded. “When I was with, um, the ring’s previous owner, he told me that the ring was very near what he called Reversion. I think he was quite scared of that happening. He knew that all it needed was something big for that to become possible.”

  “Like a Darke Domaine?” asked Marcia.

  “Yes. Exactly. And I think that last night, the ring had an opportunity to enter the first stage of Reversion.”

  Marcia swore.

  Septimus looked shocked.

  “Sorry,” said Marcia. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “I would have done if you hadn’t,” said Alther.

  Beetle looked confused. “What is a Reversion, exactly?” he asked.

  Marcia indicated to Simon to speak.

  Simon leaned forward. The candlelight lit up his green eyes and his fingers fiddled nervously with a stray thread from his tunic, twisting it around as he spoke, self-consciously aware that all eyes were upon him. “It is a return to a former state of existence. In the case of the Two-Faced Ring, its former existence was two Darke Warrior Wizards: Shamandrigger Saarn and Dramindonnor Naarn.”

  The candle on the desk guttered and spat: there were some names that were not to be spoken in the Pyramid Library and these were two of them. Silence fell. Beetle got goose bumps.

  Quietly, Simon continued. “A Reversion is not straightforward. It must go through stages. The first would be to find something unresisting to InHabit, which—not surprisingly—appear to be my uncles. I assume they were InHabited last night when they were on Seal Watch. And of course, there were two of them. I suspect that the fact that they were twins actually made them a target.”

  “So it wasn’t Ernold and Edmund who stole the Two-Faced Ring,” Septimus said quietly. “It was the ring that stole them.”

  “Yes,” said Simon. He looked upset. “Poor Ed and Ern . . . a Consuming Habitation. They do not deserve that.”

  Everyone was silent. A Consuming Habitation was a terrible fate.

  But Septimus was still puzzled. “So why did the Ring Wizards wait in the Seal lobby all night?” he asked.

  “They would need to get control of the InHabitation,” said Marcia. “They would have to access the Wizard Tower password from the Heaps in order to get out.”

  Simon looked at Marcia. “That’s true,” he said. “But actually, I suspect they were waiting for you. They’d want to get rid of you as soon as they could. It’s lucky you got the Shield right—and so fast.”

  Marcia nodded.

  “I wonder why the other Wizards on Seal Watch didn’t notice them?” Beetle said. “You’d have thought two Darke Wizards hanging around in that tiny lobby there would have been Seen.”

  Simon gave a rueful laugh. “Nope. Not being Seen by a few very Ordinary Wizards is easy for them.”

  Marcia got to her feet. “Right,” she said. “It’s not good but at least now we know what we are up against. First we get Edmund and Ernold. Then we do the Committal to get the Ring Wizards back in the ring. And then we DeNature the ring.”

  “Well, that’s this evening taken care of,” said Alther.

  “But—” said Septimus.

  “Alther, there is no need to be sarcastic,” snapped Marcia.

  “It’s not as bad as it could be,” said Simon, trying to smooth the waters. “At least Jenna is safely out of the way. They can’t possibly find her on her Journey.”

  “Why would they want to find Jenna?” Marcia asked.

  “They swore revenge on the Queen’s descendants. One of Jenna’s ancestors shot them. Both. In the heart,” Simon said.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Beetle smiled.

  “But we—” said Septimus.

  “What is it, Septimus?” Marcia demanded. She was still a little snappy.

  “Um. We don’t have the ring. To put them back in.”

  Marcia groaned and put her head in her hands—she was just not thinking straight.

  “Do they have to go back into that particular piece of gold?” Beetle asked.

  Marcia looked at Marcellus. “You’re the gold expert.”

  Marcellus tried to remember his gold history—something he had once avidly studied. “Hmm. It is indeed possible that they don’t have to go back into the ring. It is said that Hotep-Ra made the ring for the Queen from a lump of extremely old, Magykal gold that he had brought with him. A lump of gold so very ancient will develop a single identity, so that even when it is split and made into separate objects, it will recognize the other objects as itself.”

  “What else was made from that lump of gold—do we know?” Marcia asked.

  “It is said that Hotep-Ra also made the circlet—you know, the one that Jenna wears—from it.”

  Everyone sighed. That was no good.

  “Is this the same as Cloned gold?” Septimus asked.

  “That is another word for it,” said Marcellus.

  “So what about the bowls—the Transubstantiate Triple?”

  “Of course! I knew there was something. Apprentice, I believe you have it!” Marcellus said excitedly. He turned to Marcia. “He’s good, isn’t he?”

  Septimus looked embarrassed.

  “He’s not at all bad,” Marcia agreed. “Which is, of course, why I chose him to be my Apprentice.”

  A look of irritation flashed across Marcellus’s features. “I can get the bowls,” Septimus said hurriedly. “They are in Jenna’s room.”

  “Good,” said Marcia. “Now all we have to do is find the Ring Wizards. Before Jenna gets back.”

  Marcellus was still riled. “It is impossible to find such beings if they do not want to be found, Marcia.”

  “So we have to make them come to us.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?” Marcellus asked.

  “Bait,” Marcia said.

  “Bait?” said three people and one ghost in unison.

  “And what—or who—did you have in mind?” asked Marcellus.

  Marcia smiled. “Merrin Meredith,” she said.

  28

  BAIT

  “Two bacon-and-bean pies, please, Maureen,” said Septimus, out of breath. He had just managed to get to The Harbor and Dock Pie Shop before it closed.

  Maureen handed over two pies. “Here, try one of our new sweet pies, apple with marshberry jam. Let me know what you think.”

  “Thanks, Maureen. I will. Smells good. Do you have another one?”

  “Hungry, eh? That’s what I like to see.” Maureen neatly wrapped the pies and handed them across the counter. “So, your brother—doing all right at the Castle, is he?”

  Septimus did a quick mental run-through of his collection of brothers at the Castle and decided that Maureen meant Simon. “Yes. He’s doing fine, thanks.”

  Maureen smiled fondly. “I’m glad. He and Lucy had some difficult times. They deserve a break. Got married too, I hear.”

  “Yep. A couple of months ago,” he said, heading fast for the door.

  “Lovely. Say hello to Simon and Lucy from me when you see them.”

  Septimus nodded. “Will do. Thanks. See you. Bye.” Feeling bad that he hadn’t told Maureen that Simon was no more than fifty yards away, Septimus was out the door before Maureen could ask him anything else. Simon had refused to come into the pie shop with him. “I like Maureen, Sep, but she g
ossips. And I don’t want anyone to know I’m here, okay?”

  Some ten minutes previously, Septimus and Simon had done a Transport to the harbor front—the nearest open space to where Merrin lived. As Septimus walked across the deserted Quayside, clutching the packets of hot pies, which the wind tried to snatch from his hands, he thought how strange it was to be doing Magyk with Simon. He was surprised that it actually felt good. Septimus had not expected Simon to have such good skills with Magyk; they were pretty much at a level of his own although Simon had his own slightly odd way of doing things, which came, Septimus figured, from him having taught himself—and, he suspected, not being too fussy about using Darke sources.

  Septimus found Simon sitting on a bollard by the water, sheltered from the wind and out of sight of the pie shop. As they both bit into their bacon-and-bean pies they heard the clatter of the shutters of The Harbor and Dock Pie Shop as Maureen closed them for the night.

  “I can’t see Merrin coming with us without a fight,” said Septimus.

  “He can have a fight if he wants it,” said Simon.

  “Better not, though,” said Septimus. “We don’t want the neighbors getting involved.”

  “Gerk!” said Simon, his mouth full of bacon.

  “Huh?”

  “Just choking. At the thought of the lovely neighbors . . . but you’re right. We don’t want a scene. The last thing we want to do is to draw attention to Merrin.” Simon glanced anxiously about. “You never know where . . . they might be,” he whispered.

  Septimus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “We shouldn’t use any Magyk either. The Transports were risky enough. Magyk attracts Magyk—particularly Darke Magyk.”

  “I know,” said Simon a little curtly. He didn’t like his kid brother telling him basic stuff he knew already. “So we have to scare him so much that he’s not going to try anything at all. So that he’s too scared to even speak.”

  “Yeah,” said Septimus, handing Simon an apple and marshberry jam pie. “That’s what I thought too.”

  Simon bit into his pie and red jam ran down from his mouth. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.

  “I guess so,” replied Septimus.

  They sat in silence eating their pies, waiting. In front of them the fishing boats bobbed and clinked in the brisk wind that was blowing in off the sea. The tide was high and the harbor full of boats; all the fishermen knew that the wind was rising and the night was going to be wild. The metal fixings in the boats’ rigging clinked against the masts and the taut ropes thrummed in the wind.

  “Not a good night for flying ghosts,” Simon commented, wiping his sticky hands on his robes.

  “Nope,” mumbled Septimus, spraying bits of pastry into the wind. He hoped that Alther and his companion were faring well on their flight to the Port. Simon was right—ghosts found gusts of wind very difficult. Alther would complain that it was like being Passed Through by pixies with boots on. How Alther knew what being Passed Through by pixies with boots on was like, Septimus had no idea.

  Septimus was stuffing sticky pie wrappers into his pocket when he saw something big and white gliding in above the masts. A moment later a massive albatross swooped down; it skidded onto the Quayside but the ungainly bird did not stop. Its huge webbed feet acted like skis as it shot across the slippery cobbles—heading straight for Septimus and Simon. They leaped up just in time to avoid its beak, which was heading like a dagger straight for their knees.

  With a soft crump, the bird’s beak hit the bollard. Septimus winced—that must have hurt. The albatross then performed a most unbirdlike maneuver. It rolled onto its back, put its feet in the air and covered its beak with its wings.

  “Transform!” said Septimus.

  With a small pop and a flash of yellow light the bird Transformed into a willowy man wearing yellow and what appeared to be a pile of donuts of ever-decreasing size on his head. He lay on his back beside the bollard with both hands clamped over his nose. “Eurrrgh,” he groaned. “By doze. By doze.”

  “That, Jim Knee, is what comes from showing off,” said Septimus, sounding uncannily like Marcia. “Where’s Alther?”

  A small movement in the air answered his question.

  “Here’s Alther,” said the ghost, Appearing. And then, noticing Jim Knee lying on the ground: “What’s he done now?”

  “Pit der Pollard,” groaned the jinnee.

  “I told you not to be an albatross,” said Alther crossly. “It was asking for trouble with this wind. You need a lot of skill to fly a bird like that. A small gull would have been quite adequate.”

  Jim Knee sat up indignantly, leaving one hand on his nose. “I don’t do gulls,” he said. “Nasty creatures. They eat the most disgusting stuff. And given how hungry I am, goodness knows what some mangy gull would have picked up by now. Yuck.” He shuddered and glanced over to the pie shop. “Shame it’s closed,” he said. “I’m starving. Haven’t eaten for six months.”

  Septimus felt guilty. He had woken Jim Knee up from his hibernation and not thought about feeding him anything—he really should have bought him a couple of Maureen’s pies. But Septimus had learned not to be too considerate with his jinnee. He had to keep up a tough act, even though it did not come naturally. “You can eat when you’ve done what you came for,” he said gruffly, catching a look of surprise from Simon, who was seeing a tougher side to his little brother.

  Jim Knee, however, merely sighed and said, “Very well, Apprentice. What is it that you wish?”

  Septimus glanced at Simon. “I’ll tell you on the way,” he said. “It’s time we got going. I have a feeling that Merrin probably goes to bed early nowadays.”

  Apprentices, ghost and jinnee set off across the harbor front and took a small lane leading off it. Port streets were dark and not particularly safe at night and Simon, who knew the Port well, led the way—heading for the Doll House, where Merrin now resided with his long-lost mother, Nurse Meredith—or Nursie as she was known to all in the Port.

  “I don’t agree with this,” said Alther as they walked quietly down a narrow street that smelled strongly of cat pee. “I think you should tell Merrin the truth.”

  “Alther, he won’t believe us,” Septimus said in a low voice. “Think about it. The two people that Merrin loathes most—me and Simon—turn up on his doorstep at night and say, ‘Oh, hello, Merrin. You know those two Darke Wizards who were in your ring? You know, the one we cut your thumb off to get back? Well, they’ve escaped and because you have worn the ring, you’re on their hit list. But don’t worry. Because we like you such a lot, we’ve come to take you to the Wizard Tower, where you’ll be safe.” I don’t think he’s going to say, ‘Thank you so much. I will come with you right away,’ do you?”

  Alther sighed. “If you put it like that, I suppose you are right. I just don’t like your solution, that’s all.”

  The party reached the end of the smelly street and took a turning into a long, marginally less smelly street with tall houses on either side, unlit apart from a pool of light at the far end. They walked swiftly along, heading toward the light. A few nosy residents twitched aside their curtains and saw a strange procession: a man who appeared, from the black and red robes he wore, to be a Darke Wizard, followed by a lanky Wizard Apprentice, and a man trying to keep a pile of yellow doughnuts on his head. But they thought little of it—living not far from the Port Witch Coven, they had seen much more bizarre sights. They soon closed their curtains and went back to their fires.

  Toward the end of the road the group stopped opposite a garishly painted house on the other side of the street. This was the Doll House. It was, underneath its paint, a typical Port house: tall and flat-fronted, with the front door just a broad step up from the street. But the Doll House stood out from all the others in Fore Street by virtue of its freshly painted glossy pink and yellow bricks that shone in the light of a lone torch that burned brightly beside its front doorstep.

  Septimus looked anxiou
sly at the house next door—a gloomy, ramshackle building in urgent need of repair that, even from the other side of the road, smelled faintly of sewage. He was relieved to see it looked quiet, although he guessed that now that night had fallen the occupants would probably be stirring. This was the residence of the Port Witch Coven.

  Septimus scanned the jaunty Doll House and searched for clues as to what might be happening inside. The Doll House’s cheery façade gave nothing away, but Septimus could not help but wonder if they were too late—were Shamandrigger Saarn and Dramindonnor Naarn already inside?

  “It all looks very quiet,” Alther whispered nervously.

  Simon glanced around. “So far. Best not to hang around.” He looked dubiously at Jim Knee, who was biting his nails. “Septimus, your jinnee does understand what he has to do?”

  “He understands,” said Septimus.

  “Jolly good,” said Alther. “Over we go, then.”

  They crossed the street to the doorstep of the Doll House and listened. All was quiet. Jim Knee, consumed with nerves, checked his reflection in the shiny surface of the brass letter box, bobbing up and down to get a full view of his face.

  Septimus addressed his jinnee sternly. “Jim Knee, stop preening and listen to me.”

  “I am all ears, Oh Apprentice.” Jim Knee prodded at his somewhat protruding ears. “Unfortunately. They never came back properly after that ghastly turtle you made me—”

  “Good,” Septimus cut in. “You will fit the part perfectly. Are you ready?”

  Jim Knee looked sick. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Jim Knee, I command you to Transform into the likeness of—”

  “Septimus, are you absolutely sure about this?” Alther interrupted apprehensively.

  “It’s only a likeness, not the real thing.”

  “Even so . . .”

  Septimus addressed his jinnee with a formal command. “Jim Knee. I wish you to Transform into the likeness of . . . DomDaniel!”

  29

  DOORSTEPPING