Fyre (41 page)

“A couple more . . . I’d hoped for . . .”

Marcia sighed. “Come in, Dandra,” she said. “It’s very good to see you.”

“To see you . . . too . . . see you . . . see too you too see you.”

“If she carries on like this I’m going to
kill
her,” muttered Marcia.

“Job done, I think,” said Dandra with a wry smile.

Marcia smiled grimly in return. She liked Dandra’s sense of humor. “Indeed. Come through to the kitchen, Dandra; have some coffee.”

“Have some coffee . . . coffee some. Have . . . the kitchen, Dandra. Come.”

Marcia thought that she would go crazy if she listened to the ghost’s jangled singsong a moment longer. She steered Dandra briskly through the room and closed the door very firmly behind her.

The ghost of Jillie Djinn sank back into the cushions of the sofa. She wore a satisfied smile. Jillie Djinn: one, Marcia Overstrand: nil. And she had nine more months to hone her skills.

As Marcia instructed the coffeepot—
two cups, with sugar, and hot this time
—Dandra placed a mangled band of gold on the kitchen table. “I find this,” she said. “It is the ring, I think.”

Marcia picked up the fragile gold circle with care, then got out her
Enlarging
Glass
and inspected it. “Goodness, I do believe it is,” she said. “It shows signs of recent
Darke
activity. And . . . ah, yes . . . here, I can see the imprint of the heads.” She looked up and smiled for the first time that evening. “Dandra, that is wonderful. Wherever did you find it?”

Dandra smiled. “Stuck in a Wizard’s shoe.”

“Really?”

“He come to Sick Bay with sore foot. So first I look at the shoe. And this is stuck in it. There is nothing wrong with his foot.” Dandra shook her head. “He is, what you say—fusspot?”

“Yes, that is exactly what we say,” said Marcia. She smiled at the forlorn, distorted ring thinking how, according to legend, it had once been treasured by a Queen and yet had spent so long containing such evil beings. Marcia felt sad that it would have to contain them once again, but it was much safer that the Ring Wizards should be
Committed
to their original ring, rather than risk one of the untried
Triple
bowls.

“Thank you so much, Dandra. It’s so lucky you found it—and that you knew what it was.” Marcia sighed. “Right now I could do with a bit of luck.”

Dandra sipped her strong, sweet coffee, made exactly how she liked it. She took her job of being responsible for the health of
all
the Wizards in the Tower seriously and thought that Marcia looked in need of some support. “Your ghost, he not here? I mean nice old ghost with naughty jokes.”

“Oh, Alther. No. He’s, er, out.”

“You alone too much,” said Dandra. “Is not good.”

Marcia sighed. “It goes with the territory,” she said.

Dandra looked puzzled.

“My job. It goes with the job.”

“But you need talk. Everyone need talk.”

Marcia did not reply. It had been a long time since anyone had been concerned about her in this way and she felt quite emotional.

“You worry about Ring Wizards,” said Dandra.

Marcia nodded.

“You know how to get them come to you?”

Marcia looked interested. “Do you?” she asked.

“You find person who have last worn ring. Then you take prisoner.”

Marcia smiled. She liked Dandra’s no-nonsense approach.

“You do this, I think?” asked Dandra.

Normally Marcia would not have confided what she called sensitive information to a new Wizard, but she felt she could trust Dandra. “Yes. In fact, he is on the way here, right now.”

Dandra smiled. “Then all will be well. The Ring Wizards return to get him and
you
get them, yes?”

“Well, yes. At least, when Jenna—Princess Jenna—gets here.”

“Huh. Why wait for Princess?” asked Dandra, whose experience of royalty had not been good, having involved three warring Princesses, all of whom had in turn laid siege to her home village.

“She’s the only one who knows the
Committal
,” said Marcia.

Dandra looked horrified. “
You
not know?”

“No,” admitted Marcia. Knowing that it made her appear incompetent, she hastened to explain. “But you see, Dandra, that’s what the Pyramid Library is for. It’s like an extra brain for the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. We couldn’t possibly remember everything, but what we
do
know is where things are and how to find them.” Marcia smiled ruefully. “But even an ExtraOrdinary Wizard can’t find what isn’t there.”

“And the
Committal
not
there?” asked Dandra.

“Not anymore,” said Marcia. “Some ExtraOrdinary Wizard in the past
Removed
an awful lot of stuff. And he or she was none too careful how they did it.” Marcia shook her head. “It’s disgraceful. And this afternoon I have discovered that the
Remove
has spilled over into the Ancient Arcane section and taken out some of most delicate and precious information.”

Dandra was shocked. “You only
just
discovered?”

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: G
OOD MORNING
, E
XTRA
O
RDINARY
W
IZARD
. G
OOD MORNING
, E
XTRA
O
RDINARY
A
PPRENTICE
. I
T IS A BEAUTIFUL MORNING
. A
LL 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.