Fyre

by Angie Sage

  “At least someone’s putting on a bit of a show,” Vilotta whispered to her friend.

  Within the striking green pillars Vilotta and Tremula saw the mist circling slowly, purposefully, creating shadows and shapes. They were very impressed when within each one a human form began to solidify—ten feet tall, wearing the ancient carapace armor of a Warrior Wizard and a very odd cloak, which looked dark and sparkly at the same time. Vilotta and Tremula were pleased—this was more like it. They watched in delight as shimmering green particles spun around the two impossibly tall figures like candy floss.

  “I suppose they’re on stilts,” whispered Tremula.

  “They’re very good; it’s really hard to stay still on stilts,” replied Vilotta.

  As each wandering atom found its place the beings became clearer. The mist began to evaporate, sending sparkling, dancing motes up into the beams of sunlight that glanced off the silver torchpost outside the Manuscriptorium.

  “So pretty,” murmured Tremula.

  Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light and four beams of thin red light shot from the beings’ brilliant green eyes.

  Vilotta and Tremula gasped with excitement.

  In unison, Shamandrigger Saarn and Dramindonnor Naarn flung out their arms and two new Volatile Wands appeared. They swung around, the pinprick beams from their eyes sweeping along Wizard Way. Vilotta and Tremula offered a shy round of applause.

  “It’s very realistic, isn’t it?” said Tremula, a little nervously.

  It was horribly realistic.

  Four red rays of light swung back and came to rest on Vilotta and Tremula. “Ooh, that prickles,” giggled Vilotta.

  “This is a bit scary,” whispered Tremula.

  “It hurts!” Vilotta gasped. “Ouch! Get off me.” She tried to brush the beams away.

  Tremula screamed.

  Craaaaack! A Bolt of lightning zipped from each Wand and Vilotta and Tremula fell to the ground, wisps of green smoke rising from their new trip-to-the-Castle summer dresses.

  Shamandrigger Saarn and Dramindonnor Naarn looked at each other, the ghost of a smile playing about their thin lips. Thousands of years spent trapped side by side in the Two-Faced Ring had given them a communication that did not require speech.

  Fyre . . . We smell it . . . In the air . . . The means of . . . Our destruction . . . Must be . . . Destroyed.

  The Ring Wizards spun around and marched down Wizard Way in perfect step. They left behind two brightly colored piles of rags outside Bott’s Cloaks, and outside the Manuscriptorium what appeared to be two empty, muddy sacks, strangely sad in the late spring sunshine.

  38

  DRAGONS AWAY

  The fat, opalescent Searching Glass sat like a crouching spider on its gimbals in the center of Search and Rescue. The circular black-walled room was dim with shadows, the only light coming from the Magykal Glass that floated mysteriously inside its delicate black frame. Marcia and Hildegarde were staring into its depths in horror.

  Hildegarde had her hands clamped over her mouth. “They’ve killed them!” she cried.

  “Oh, those poor, poor men,” Marcia murmured.

  “I . . . I can’t believe it. It’s so awful,” said Hildegarde. “And those women. Fancy just standing there, watching.”

  Marcia shook her head. “People forget that Magyk is a dangerous thing.”

  The quiet gloom of the Searching Room mirrored their somber mood as Marcia and Hildegarde stared at the image of two ten-foot-tall armored figures striding off down Wizard Way, their cloaks streaming behind them, trailing wisps of Darke Light. Wizard Way was, Marcia was relieved to see, deserted—the Alert was obviously working.

  “Where are they going?” Marcia muttered anxiously. “Why aren’t they coming here for Jenna and Merrin?”

  “But they don’t know Jenna and Merrin are here, do they?” Hildegarde said.

  Marcia was finding Hildegarde irritatingly dense. She wondered if she had made a mistake in allowing her to move from sub-Wizard to a full Ordinary. “Hildegarde, of course they Know. These Ancient Beings have links to their past like . . .” Marcia sought for a way to explain. “Like fish.”

  “Fish?”

  “On a line. A long line. Which you reel in.”

  “So what are they reeling in now?” asked Hildegarde. “Haddock?”

  Marcia glanced sharply at the new Wizard—was she being cheeky? But Hildegarde, who was a mistress of deadpan, looked utterly serious.

  Marcia sighed. “Who knows?” she said. “Watch where they go. Keep me informed. Thank you, Hildegarde.”

  Back in her rooms, the ghost of Jillie Djinn greeted Marcia in her own special way.

  “A fine fish . . . a haddock is . . . reel it in . . . reel it in.”

  Marcia gave a start. Jillie Djinn’s powers of speech had progressed a good deal and the ghost now had a disconcerting ability to know what she had just been talking about, which Marcia found extremely creepy. She rushed past and headed up to the Pyramid Library, where another almost equally annoying ghost greeted her.

  “You will be pleased to know that we have found the Hotep-Ra Committal Template,” said Julius Pike.

  “You have?”

  “Here it is,” said Septimus. He pointed to a small square of yellowing vellum lying in the middle of the desk around which he, Rose, Beetle and Jenna—who was busy writing—were gathered. Marcia rushed over to inspect it. She took the delicate Template between finger and thumb and gazed reverentially at Hotep-Ra’s tiny, spidery writing, full of swirls and curlicues.

  “This really is it. The Committal Template.” Marcia felt as though she had been given a reprieve. But something, she thought, did not make sense. She looked at Julius sharply. “So where was it?”

  “In the Hidden Shelf in the Ancient Archives.”

  Marcia was flummoxed. “But there is no Hidden Shelf in the Ancient Archives.”

  Julius looked smug. “Clearly there is.”

  “So why was this not recorded in the Hidden Index?”

  The ghost did not reply. He looked, thought Septimus, decidedly shifty.

  “It seems to me, Mr. Pike, that in your time as ExtraOrdinary Wizard you Hid a good many things without recording them,” Marcia observed tartly.

  The ghost was evasive. “Like all ExtraOrdinary Wizards, I did what I considered best.”

  “An ExtraOrdinary Wizard cannot take it upon themselves to decide what future ExtraOrdinaries will or will not need to know. Your behavior is worse than high-handed—it is downright dangerous. Your actions have put us all in great peril.”

  There was an awkward silence—everyone knew that it was very rude of a current ExtraOrdinary Wizard to criticize previous incumbents—particularly to their face. Septimus decided to smooth things over. “Well, at least we have it now,” he said.

  Jenna put down her pen and pushed a sheet of paper across to Marcia. “There—that’s what I said.”

  “Thank you, Jenna.” Marcia took the paper. She placed it next to Hotep-Ra’s writing and compared the words on both. After some minutes she shook her head, puzzled.

  “I don’t understand. Will you check them please, Septimus?” Painstakingly, Septimus compared what Jenna had written with Hotep-Ra’s Template—twice—and he, too, shook his head and passed it along to Beetle. Beetle did the same and passed it round to Rose.

  “Well?” said Marcia.

  “They’re the same,” all three said. “Identical.”

  Marcia turned to Jenna, choosing her words with care. “Jenna, when you spoke the Committal you were in a terrifying situation. Maybe you didn’t say this exactly?”

  Julius Pike chipped in impatiently. “Marcia, I assure you, the Princess said those very words. The problem is that the words were incomplete.” He stabbed a thin, ghostly finger at the vellum Template. “As is that. They are both missing the Keystone word.”

  “Julius, don’t be ridiculous. How can Hotep-Ra’s very own Template be incomplete?”


  Julius Pike spoke very slowly, clearly fighting to keep his temper. “I do not know. But it is. What is written there does not have a Keystone.”

  “Not everything has a Keystone,” said Marcia, also trying to keep her temper.

  “Everything that Hotep-Ra did had a Keystone. It is the ancient way.”

  Marcia stared at the vellum. “Well, not in this one, Julius. Clearly.” She looked at Jenna. “I think you must have transposed or omitted a word.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “Jenna, this is no reflection on you. But someone once said—someone I admire very much—that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. And it is impossible that Hotep-Ra has not written the Committal right.”

  Jenna stood up angrily. “But this is what I said.”

  Marcia adopted a soothing tone that really annoyed Jenna. “Jenna, you were incredibly brave. It cannot have been easy to remember—”

  “There is no need to patronize me as well as disbelieve me, Marcia. Excuse me, everyone.” With that Jenna walked out of the library. They heard her rapid, angry footsteps clattering down the stone steps.

  “Someone go after her, please,” said Marcia wearily. “Thank you, Beetle.”

  Those left fell silent. Septimus was thinking. “Maybe,” he said, “there is more than one improbable truth. You see, when I spoke to Hotep-Ra—”

  “When you what?” Julius Pike interrupted.

  “Spoke to Hotep-Ra,” Septimus repeated.

  The ghost gazed at him openmouthed.

  From his pocket Septimus took a large blue-black pebble with a slight iridescent sheen to it. It nestled in his palm, showing a brilliant gold “Q” set into the stone. He put it on the desk in front of the ghost. “I went on the Queste.”

  Julius Pike went virtually transparent. “The Queste?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “And you returned?”

  Septimus could not resist. He grinned. “Here I am, so I guess I must have.”

  “Septimus . . .” warned Marcia.

  Julius Pike looked stunned. “You came back. Unlike two of my Apprentices. Oh, my poor, dear Syrah. . . .”

  Marcia held her hand up to stop Septimus. She knew what he was going to tell Julius. “This is not the time,” she said.

  “So you met the ghost of Hotep-Ra on the Queste?” asked Julius.

  “No. I met Hotep-Ra himself.”

  “But . . . how?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Septimus. “I’ll write it down one day.” He turned to Marcia. “One of the things Hotep-Ra asked me about was damage to his Templates. He was afraid they might have been degraded by the Darke stuff that DomDaniel brought to the Tower—degraded just enough so that they still looked okay, but they no longer worked. Of course I didn’t know anything about them at the time. But I think this is what must have happened.”

  “Well, that is an explanation,” Marcia conceded. “If the Template is changed, then all other forms change with it at the very same time—including the spoken form. Which was why Jenna’s was identical.” She sighed. “So it’s hopeless. The Committal is lost forever. Septimus, where are you going?”

  Septimus was already halfway out of the door. “I’m going to see Hotep-Ra,” he said.

  Marcia leaped to her feet. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “I’m not being ridiculous. I’m going to ask him what the Committal is. He must know.”

  “Septimus, I will not allow you to go back to that ghastly House of Foryx. You’ll never come out again.”

  “My Questing Stone gives me safe passage,” he said. “I can go into the House of Foryx and always come out in my own Time. Always.”

  Marcia sighed. She thought of the alternative: of the Darke Wizards roaming the Castle unhindered, of the never-ending danger to Jenna—to everyone—and she knew she had no choice but to agree. “So . . . how do you propose to get there?”

  There was only one way that made sense right then. “By Dragon Boat.”

  Septimus found Jenna and Beetle down in the Great Hall of the Wizard Tower. Beetle was trying to persuade Jenna to come back upstairs, with little effect.

  “Jen,” said Septimus. “I’m going to get the original Committal and I’d like you to come with me.”

  “You bet,” said Jenna. “Anything to get out of here.”

  The door of the duty Wizard’s cupboard opened a fraction and Milo’s head appeared. “Jenna,” he whispered. “I thought I heard you. I hope you’re not going outside.”

  “Milo! What are you doing here?” said Jenna.

  Milo sighed. He had been stuck in the cupboard ever since the Barricade had come down. “I do sometimes wonder,” he said. “Jenna, please, you must stay here. You are in great danger.”

  “Jenna will be okay,” said Septimus. “We’re leaving the Castle at once.”

  “Very sensible. I will escort you.”

  Jenna was about to protest, but Septimus stepped in. “Thank you,” he said. “We’re going to Jannit’s boatyard.”

  Milo took a serious-looking dagger from a small scabbard at his waist. Its shiny steel glinted purple, reflecting the lights flickering across the floor. “They won’t get past me,” he said. “Oh. Bother.”

  Milo saw Marcia striding purposefully across the Great Hall at the head of a group of seven of the most senior Wizards. “Jenna, here are your guards,” she said. “You must allow them to surround you completely until you are safely aboard. Milo!”

  Milo sighed. “Hello, Marcia.”

  “You’ve had a wasted visit, Milo,” Marcia said acidly. “Hildegarde is busy at the moment. She has more important things to do.”

  “Marcia, please, it’s not—”

  “Of any consequence,” Marcia cut in. “Put it away, please, Milo. The Wizard Tower is a weapon-free zone.”

  Milo sheathed his knife, muttering, “Sorry.”

  Marcia turned to Septimus and Jenna. “Search and Rescue have a fix on Saarn and Naarn. They are heading up Alchemie Way, so you have a clear run to the boatyard. Hurry!”

  Jenna looked at Beetle. “Will you come too? Please?” she asked.

  Very regretfully, Beetle shook his head. “I can’t leave the Manuscriptorium at a time like this.”

  Jenna sounded disappointed. “No, of course you can’t. I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

  “But I’ll come with Milo and make sure you get to the boatyard okay,” said Beetle.

  The great silver doors to the Wizard Tower swung open, and the party set off down the steps and headed across the Courtyard. Septimus, Beetle and Milo led the way, followed by a protective ring of seven Wizards, in the middle of which was Jenna. They UnLocked a small side gate and moved stealthily along the snaking pathway that led to the tunnel into Jannit Maarten’s boatyard.

  The two Ring Wizards marched up Alchemie Way left-right-left-right-left covering the ground fast in their five-foot-long strides. At the foot of the Alchemie Chimney they stopped and stared up at it. Some brave watchers from the corner house on Gold Button Drop saw four pencil-thin beams of red light travel up the chimney and linger on the thin line of white smoke that emerged. They saw the ten-foot-tall shining beings turn to each other and agree something between them. Then, to their terror, they saw them swivel on their heels and head toward them. They dived under their bed and did not come out until the next morning.

  Spit Fyre was in his usual place beside the Dragon Boat. His presence every night since Jenna had Revived her had given the Dragon Boat great strength. She was now fully recovered and her long, dark days covered in ice were no more than a distant memory. Spit Fyre opened an eye and regarded the oncoming party with interest, and at the sight of his Master he thumped his tail down with a bang. The Dragon Boat opened her eyes and bent her neck toward Spit Fyre, who lifted up his head and gently bumped her nose.

  Nicko was showing Eustace Bott how to fix a keel bolt, but when he saw Milo, Septimus and Bee
tle leading a group of Wizards toward the Dragon Boat he put down his tools. Something was going on. “Eustace, I’ll be back in a moment,” he said.

  Nicko headed over to the Dragon House, not quite believing what he was seeing—it looked to him as though Jenna and Septimus were going off in the Dragon Boat. The Wizards were now gathered inside the Dragon House and above their heads Nicko could see Septimus standing at the tiller, looking as if he was waiting for the wind to change. Jenna was in the prow, leaning down and saying something to Beetle. The dragon’s head was held high; a glint of emerald green glanced from her eyes, which were bright with excitement. With a delicate swanlike movement, the dragon lowered her head so that she was looking Jenna in the eye. Nicko saw Beetle jump back rather quickly, then, shocked, he heard Jenna’s whisper echo around the Dragon House: “Take us to Hotep-Ra.”

  Nicko leaped up onto the marble walkway and pushed past the Wizards. “Are you crazy?” he demanded.

  “Nik, please don’t be upset. We have to,” Jenna said.

  “You can’t go back to that awful place. You can’t.”

  “I’m really sorry, Nik. We have no choice. We have to go.”

  Nicko knew Jenna well enough not to argue. “In that case,” he said, “I am coming with you.” And he jumped on board.

  Now the purpose of the marble walkway that ran around the inside of the Dragon House became clear. It needed every one of the seven Wizards—plus Milo and Beetle—to push the Dragon Boat out from her berth. She was a heavy boat and moved slowly at first, but as the first ray of sun touched her nose, the dragon stretched her long neck out of the shadows of the Dragon House to feel the warmth. Now she began to glide easily out of the dim blue light, neck and tail arching up to greet the sun, her iridescent green scales shimmering in the sunlight.