by Angie Sage
“You know that ring he wears—that nasty Two-Faced thing? Well, I always thought it was a fake from Gothyk Grotto, but now I’m not so sure. I think it might be the real thing.”
Foxy sat down on the chair beside Beetle. He looked worried. “It could be. It kind of makes sense if it is,” he said in a low voice. “He’s got some hold over Miss Djinn. She lets him do exactly what he likes—I think she’s scared of him. The weird thing is, I know for a fact she’s fired him at least three times, but he comes back just like nothing happened—and she never remembers. And recently she’s started going really strange when he’s here, kind of vacant, like she’s not there anymore. It’s scary.”
“I’ll bet,” said Beetle.
“Yeah.” Foxy looked down at his feet, and Beetle knew he was about to say something that he’d had to really think about. There was a silence while Beetle waited and Foxy got his words together. “The thing is, Beet,” said Foxy eventually, “this has happened here before. Remember all the stuff with my dad?”
Beetle nodded. Foxy’s father had been the Chief Hermetic Scribe before Jillie Djinn. He had left in disgrace after becoming involved in a plot with Simon Heap—in his Darke days—to kill Marcia Overstrand.
“I know no one will ever believe it,” said Foxy, “but my dad never wanted to do all that bones stuff for Simon Heap. He had no idea what it was for—he really didn’t. But he said the Darke just pulled him in. And once you’re in, it ties you up in knots and you can’t escape—however much you try.”
Beetle nodded.
“I went to see my dad last week,” Foxy said tentatively.
Beetle was amazed. “You went to see him? But I thought Marcia banished him to the Far Countries.”
Foxy looked awkward. “Yes, she did. But he got so homesick. He came back secretly. He’s changed his name and he lives down in the Port now. It’s not in a very nice part of the Port, but he doesn’t mind. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Of course I won’t.”
“Thanks. I don’t go and see him much, just in case anyone notices, but recently I’ve been really worried about stuff here and I wanted to talk to him about it. He says it sounds bad. That Meredith kid—he’s got Jillie Djinn right there.” Foxy pressed his thumb into his opposite palm. “Under his thumb. Just like Simon Heap had my dad.”
“He’s been trouble right from the start,” agreed Beetle. “I remember the first day he turned up, he was wearing that ring.”
Foxy glanced at the door. “You know, I don’t think it’s fake either,” he muttered.
“But how did he get it, Foxy? The real one belonged to DomDaniel.”
“Well, he’s dead.”
“But you know the ring will only come off the Other way? He can’t have chopped DomDaniel’s thumb off.”
“Nothing would surprise me about that little tick,” said Foxy.
“I reckon I should go to Gothyk Grotto and see if they do copies,” said Beetle. “If they don’t I’ll go and ask Marcia what she thinks.”
“Well, don’t be surprised if a couple of Wizards randomly turn up at the Grot and ask you why you want one,” warned Foxy. “I asked for a copy of a Darke Charm once—just to play a joke on old Partridge—and they got quite funny about it.”
A quiet ratta-tippy-tap sounded on the door. Beetle jumped.
“’S okay,” said Foxy. “Scribe code. All clear. Time to go.”
A minute later Beetle had been bundled out of the Manuscriptorium and was standing on Wizard Way. It was surprisingly busy. The Traders’ Market had closed at sunset and people were now flocking to Wizard Way to watch the lighting of the candle displays for the Longest Night. Beetle leaned against the Manuscriptorium torch post, trying to take in the events of the previous hour or so. He saw Maizie Smalls advancing purposefully toward him. The throng parted to let her through, their upturned faces illuminated as they watched her lean her ladder against the post and nimbly climb up, her flaming TorchLighter at the ready.
The little band of children who had followed Maizie all along the Way gathered around the blackened silver base of the torch post and cheered as the Manuscriptorium torch flared up into the deepening twilight. It was a happy moment, but Beetle was not there to enjoy it. The sight of Maizie had jogged his memory and taken away the last of the fuzziness in his head.
“Jenna!” he gasped.
He set off at a run down the Way, dodging between the oncoming pedestrians, heading for the Palace.
Chapter 13
Gothyk Grotto
Halfway down Wizard Way, Beetle saw Jenna racing up the other side. With her long hair streaming out behind her, the light from the torchlights glinting off her gold circlet and her red cloak flying, she sent oncoming pedestrians jumping out of her way and left them staring after her. Above her a small, invisible lovebird desperately tried to follow the glinting circlet through the crowds as it zigzagged toward the Wizard Tower.
Beetle walked quickly across the wide thoroughfare of the Way. He still found it hard to shake off one of the rules of the Manuscriptorium that all scribes signed up for: no running, shouting, swearing, singing or dancing in Wizard Way. It was a rule that, during his time at the Manuscriptorium, was taken very seriously, and up until now Beetle had not broken it. But as Jenna disappeared fast toward the Great Arch that led into the Wizard Tower courtyard, he broke two of its tenets at once. He set off at a run and yelled, “Jenna! Jenna!” And then, as people stopped and stared at him, he felt that maybe he was being disrespectful, so he yelled, “Hey, Princess Jenna. Stop!”
Jenna did stop, not for Beetle but to push through the crowd that had gathered around Maizie Smalls, who had crossed the Way to light the very last torch. As Jenna tried to dodge around Beetle—just another body in her way—he put his arm out to stop her.
Jenna looked up, eyes blazing in anger. “Get out of my way—oh Beetle, it’s you, it’s you!” She threw her arms around him.
“Ooh,” said someone in the crowd. “Ooh, look! It’s the Princess and that boy who was the—”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Beetle, reluctantly disengaging himself. He took hold of Jenna’s arm and walked her briskly away.
“Beetle—what happened? You didn’t come back! I was so scared. How did you get here? Hey, where are we going?” Jenna demanded in rapid fire while Beetle steered her across the Way and into the shadows of The Skinny Bones’ Bob—an extremely narrow opening that led off Wizard Way and would take them into Ramblings Alley.
“We are going to Gothyk Grotto,” said Beetle.
“Why?” Like a stubborn pony, Jenna stopped in her tracks and shook her head. Beetle halted—when a pony stops in The Skinny Bones’ Bob, everyone stops. Jenna regarded Beetle with one of her finest Princess stares. “Beetle,” she informed him, “I am not going another step until you tell me what is going on.”
“I’ll tell you on the way, okay?” he said.
“What, to Gothyk Grotto—that dump where all the weirdos hang out?”
“Yes. Please, Jenna, can we get going? It smells horrible here.”
Jenna gave up. “Okay. But this had better be good.”
* * *
Jenna was entirely accurate in her description of Gothyk Grotto. It was a run-down, dark and dingy shop at the end of Little Creep Cut, somewhere in the middle of the scruffiest part of the Ramblings. As Beetle pushed open the door, the sound of a theatrical monster-style roar blared out above their heads and made Jenna—and the UnSeen bird—jump. The bird recovered itself and flew in just as the door banged closed.
Beetle and Jenna stood for a moment, trying to make sense of the place. At first it seemed to be in total darkness, but soon they noticed a few flickering candles, which were moving slowly, randomly appearing and disappearing. The unearthly sound of a nose flute drifted out from some distant place, and the stuffy air was filled with the smell of particularly pungent incense, which set Jenna sneezing. As their eyes became accustomed to the dark, Jenna and Bee
tle could see dim shapes of figures holding the candles as they wandered between towering stacks and teetering shelves.
Suddenly a flame flared in the gloom and they saw a tall boy lighting two candles nearby. The boy walked over and handed the candles to Jenna and Beetle with the words, “Welcome to Gothyk Grotto.”
“Wolf Boy!” gasped Jenna. “What are you doing here?”
“Huh?” said what sounded like Wolf Boy’s voice.
Jenna raised her candle and looked at the boy. It wasn’t Wolf Boy, but there was something about him that reminded her of him. The boy was about the same height and build as Wolf Boy, but his hair was short and spiky and even in the dark, Jenna could see it was black, unlike Wolf Boy’s light brown.
“Sorry,” said Jenna. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Yeah. Well, sorry I’m not Wolf Boy, whoever he is. Cool name.”
“It’s odd, you sound just like him. Don’t you think, Beetle?”
“Just like,” agreed Beetle.
“Beetle’s a cool name too. Yeah. Hey. Wow. Man, you’re the Princess. Wow. What’re you doing here?”
“We’ve come to see if you sell copies of the Two-Faced Ring,” said Jenna.
“You what?”
“We want to know,” said Beetle very clearly and slowly, “if you sell—or have ever sold—copies of the Darke Two-Faced Ring?”
“Huh?”
“The Darke Two-Faced Ring,” Beetle repeated.
“Jeez,” said the boy.
“So . . . do you sell them? Have you ever sold them?”
“You really want to know?” The boy seemed flummoxed.
“Yes, please,” said Beetle, trying to be patient. “Have you? Ever sold them? To anyone?”
“You’d better come this way,” said the boy. “Follow me, please.”
With a distinct feeling that they had done something wrong, Beetle and Jenna set off after him. Following the boy was no easy task. He wore a long black robe, which swept the ground and blended into the background, and he obviously knew his way around well enough not to need a candle as he weaved quickly between the shelves and stacks, which were set out as a double labyrinth. Jenna went first, and the only way she kept up with the boy was by following the swish of his gown over the rough wooden floorboards. They wound their way through the seemingly endless canyons of merchandise (the labyrinth was planned to lead customers past everything twice), trying to keep up with the boy at the same time as not tripping over assorted plaster bones, cheap black cloaks and tunics, false Gragull teeth (a Gragull being a mythical bloodsucking human), bottles of fake blood, buckets of heavy jewelry embellished with skulls, Charms, bits of dead hamster (the latest craze), stacks of books of popular spells, piles of board games, glow-in-the-dark paint, jelly insects in jars, spiderwebs, wolverine eyes and a thousand other examples of what was known in the Castle as “Gothyk Grot.”
At last they emerged from the labyrinth into the back of the shop—a dusty space piled high with unopened boxes and lit by a few tall, black candles. The eerie sound of the nose flute was louder here and came from behind a small door (painted black, naturally) that was set deep into an ornate gothic arch. The boy beckoned them to follow him and headed for the door. Jenna hurried after him, tripped over a pile of cardboard skulls, and steadied herself against the arch. It wobbled alarmingly.
The boy knocked on the door. The sound of the nose flute ceased—much to their relief—and a voice called out, “Yes?”
“It’s me, Matt. I’ve got a nine-nine-nine here. It’s the Princess and the ex-Manuscriptorium Clerk.”
“Very funny, Marcus. Get me a cup of tea, will you?”
“No, really, I have. And it’s the Princess, Mr. Igor. Honest.”
The voice on the other side of the door sounded irritated. “Marcus, I’ve told you about telling stories before. Now go and get me my cup of tea. Okay?”
The boy turned around to Jenna and Beetle and shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “He gets funny at twilight. I’ll go and get him a cup of tea. He’ll see you after that.”
“But we don’t need to see him,” said Beetle, exasperated. “We only want to know if you have ever had any fake Two-Faced Rings.”
“Exactly. So you have to see him. It’s the rules. Sorry.” The boy grinned apologetically and disappeared back into the labyrinth.
“This is stupid,” said Jenna, “I’m not waiting here all night.” She rapped loudly on the little black door and then, without waiting for a reply, she went in. Beetle followed.
A man with a long, extremely white face ending in a wispy, pointy beard was sitting at a small desk playing a solitary card game. He did not look up but murmured, “That was quick, Marcus. Just put it down here, will you?” When no cup of tea appeared in his line of sight the man looked up. His jaw dropped. “Good ghouls!” he gasped. He leaped to his feet, scattering the cards, and bowed awkwardly. “Princess Jenna! It is you. I am so sorry. I had no idea . . .” He looked around. “Where’s Marcus gone? Why didn’t he say you were here?”
“Well, Matt said I was here,” said Jenna, confused.
“Matt, Marcus, same thing,” said the man obscurely. “Oh, please, please sit down, Princess. And you, scribe Beetle.” He waved his hand to stop Beetle from explaining. “No, don’t say anything. I know what happened. But once a scribe always a scribe, eh? Now to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? What can I do for you, eh?”
Jenna got to the point. “We need to know if you have ever sold copies of the Two-Faced Ring.”
Igor went a shade whiter. “So it is a nine-nine-nine. Oh dear, how very embarrassing. I do apologize. But it’s part of the terms of our licence, eh?” Igor reached below the desk and pressed a large red button. Then he looked up and smiled awkwardly. “Purely a formality of course,” he said. “Do please sit down.” He indicated two unsteady wooden chairs that were pushed up against the wall. Igor watched them gingerly sit down, not taking his eyes off them for a moment. “Well, your Grace—”
“Please, just call me Jenna,” Jenna interrupted.
“It seems a little familiar. Princess Jenna if I may. Eh?”
Jenna nodded.
“Well, Princess Jenna, if it had been anyone else asking this I would have to keep you in custody here until the arrival of the duty Wizard. But as it’s you, eh, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you against your wishes. Naturally.” Igor looked highly embarrassed.
“What do you mean?” asked Jenna.
“Well, it’s like this, eh? We have what we call a Notification List of certain Darke objects, potions, Charms, Spells, etcetera. Top of the list is the Two-Faced Ring. It is, as Marcus said, code nine-nine-nine. If anyone asks for something on the list, we have to notify the Wizard Tower.”
“But why?” asked Jenna.
Igor shrugged. “I don’t know, eh. The Wizard Tower doesn’t actually tell us anything. But I would guess that knowing that these things exist, and then wanting copies of them, shows a knowledge of Darke things that is suspicious, eh? Maybe even dangerous. Excepting yourself, Princess, of course,” he added hurriedly. “Of course you have a right to be interested in everything. Totally understandable—totally.”
“So is that a yes or a no?” asked Jenna.
“A yes or no what?” Igor looked puzzled.
“Have you ever sold copies of the Two-Faced Ring?”
Igor looked shocked. “Good ghoul, no. Of course we haven’t. What do you take us for?”
“I’m sorry,” said Jenna. “I . . . we didn’t mean anything bad. We just needed to know.”
Igor lowered his voice. “Do not seek to know. Keep this ring from your thoughts. Take care, Princess Jenna. Do not meddle with this. Do not name it again.” He gazed at a point a few feet above Jenna’s head and a frown flitted across his brow. “Be careful, Princess,” he muttered. “Walk with the Darke and you do not walk alone.” He stood up and bowed solemnly. “Your traveling companions may not be what you would wish for. Marcus will see
you out.”
Still feeling as though they had done something wrong, Beetle and Jenna followed Marcus—or was it Matt?—back through the labyrinth in silence. As they passed a large jar of Gragull teeth, Jenna stopped and took a set.
“How much are these?” she asked.
“Free to you,” grinned Matt—or was it Marcus?
“Oh, thank you,” said Jenna with a smile.
The boy led them out of the maze and opened the door for them.
“Excuse me,” said Jenna, intrigued, “but is your name Marcus or Matt?”
The boy grinned. “Matt.”
“So why did Igor call you Marcus?”
“Marcus is my brother. We’re identical. Igor thinks we play tricks on him and pretend we’re each other, but we don’t—that is just so lame. But Igor thinks he’s being clever and when we tell him who we are, he always calls us by the other name.” Matt shrugged. “It’s like that in here. Weird.”
“Weird,” agreed Jenna.
Accompanied by the roar of the door monster, Jenna and Beetle stepped out into the wind funnelling down Little Creep Cut. Beetle turned to her, his hair blowing into his eyes, the sharp drops of sleety rain making him blink. “So Foxy was right,” he said. “Merrin’s got the real thing. This is serious—we need to tell Marcia right away.”
Jenna wound her cloak around her, pulling the fur edging tight under her chin to keep out the rain. “I know,” she said miserably. “Mum is going to be so upset. She’s been looking forward to tonight for ages. It’s the first time she’s had me and Sep together for our birthdays—ever.”
Beetle and Jenna walked in silence back along Little Creep Cut, heading toward a large signpost that read TO THE WIZARD TOWER. Above them flew the little UnSeen lovebird, buffeted by the wind, stung by the rain, but now with a ray of hope that it might soon see its own true love once again.
“Beetle,” said Jenna.
“Mmm?”
“I never mentioned this to anyone before because I thought they’d think I was weird or something, but I think Merrin’s been living in the Palace for a long time.”