As the Darke Fog layered around him, Larry sank back onto the bed. His breathing slowed and, like a tortoise in the depths of winter, he slipped into a dark and dreamless state somewhere between life and death.

Marcia ushered Jillie Djinn and Marcellus, who had custody of Merrin, out into Wizard Way. She quickly locked the Ma.n.u.scriptorium door behind her. Marcia could hardly bear to think about what she had left behind, but what was facing her was even worse. Advancing up Wizard Way like a pulsating black toad was a Darke shifting blackness.

Marcia was horrified to see that the rolling Fog was accompanied by a line of Things-the outriders of the Darke Domaine. Like the sweep of a terrifying search party, they spread out across Wizard Way, with the Fog tumbling behind. She stared in shock, unable to tear herself away from the disaster unfolding before her.

Marcellus tried to draw Marcia away. "Marcia, you must get to the Wizard Tower at once," he said.

Merrin's eyes flashed angrily at Marcellus. With the Darke Domaine advancing ever nearer he felt he was growing stronger. The Two-Faced Ring was growing hot on his thumb and the vicious green faces were beginning to glow. The top face winked up at Merrin, and suddenly he knew he could beat Marcia. He could beat them all. He was in charge now. He was the best.

First Merrin broke the Silent with the worst insult in the Castle, then he broke the Restrain. With a violent twist, he tore himself from Marcellus's grasp and delivered a vicious kick to the Alchemist's shins. As Marcellus hopped up and down, gasping in pain, Merrin raised his arms in the air and, in a taunting gesture, he pulled his wrists apart, snapping the Locking Band as if it were no more than tissue paper. Relishing his moment of triumph, Merrin darted forward and waved his left thumb in Marcia's face, laughing as she instinctively drew back. The ring's evil-looking faces glowered at her, their jade complexions gleaming.

Marcia knew that there was only one possible reason for Merrin's sudden surge of power-the oncoming Darke Domaine had indeed been Engendered by him. Up to that moment she had found it hard to believe that Merrin was capable of such a thing but now, as he pranced away, defiantly punching the air with his fist, with his Two-Faced Ring glittering, Marcia realized just how much control Merrin now had. It was a terrifying thought.

"You idiot!" she yelled at him. "You have no idea what you are messing with, do you?"

"Neither do you, Wizard-face." Merrin laughed. "Run away to your twinkly little Tower and take old haddock-brain with you. I don't need her anymore. See ya! Ha, ha, ha!" Merrin could hardly contain himself. He had never had such an attentive-such an astonished-audience. It was wonderful. It was what he had always wanted.

"That's what I think of your stupid Magyk!" he yelled at Marcia, flicking his fingers at her. Gesticulating and laughing, Merrin danced backward, his pale face lit by the still-burning torches and the ghostly candle displays shining onto the empty streets. "Come and get me if you dare!" he yelled.

Marcia did dare. It was undignified but she didn't care. Inside Merrin's nasty little stomach the precious half of the Paired Codes was churning, and she was not having her last chance to defeat him escape her. She tore down Wizard Way in pursuit. Merrin laughed and ran, his scribe's cloak streaming behind him, his outstretched arms flapping like a demented bird flying toward his flock.

Marcellus raced after Marcia. It was a long time since he had run anywhere and his shoes were not ideal for the job-particularly after their encounter with the Ma.n.u.scriptorium door. But Marcia's pointy purple pythons were even less suited to running and he soon caught up with her.

"Marcia . . ." he puffed. "Stop."

Marcia shook Marcellus's hand off her arm. "Let go," she hissed.

Marcellus stood firm. "No. Marcia, don't you see? The closer you get to that"-he waved his free hand at the advancing Darke Domaine and its outriders-"the more power it gives him and the more it takes from you. Come away before something awful happens."

"Something awful has happened," snapped Marcia, setting off in pursuit once more.

Marcellus kept up with difficulty. "It could be worse . . . you still have the Wizard Tower . . . don't risk it all on a nasty little scribe."

Marcia stopped. "You don't understand-he's got the Paired Code!"

Marcellus looked shocked, but he quickly recovered himself. "You must leave the Code to its fate. You must go back to the Wizard Tower." His voice shook with urgency. "You must not lose that too."

"I shall lose neither." Marcia flared angrily. "Just watch me."

Marcellus and Marcia were now more than halfway down Wizard Way. Only a hundred yards or so in front of them, the wall of Darke Fog rolled slowly toward them. At the base of the Fog a line of Things stretched out, shifting and blending in with the Darke, loping slowly forward, pulling the Darke Domaine with them.

Merrin was heading erratically for the Fog. Spinning around to check that Marcia and Marcellus were still watching him, flashing rude signs, screaming obscenities, he drew ever closer to his Darke Domaine.

Marcia focused hard on Merrin, gauging the distance. Muttering the words for a Fast Freeze, she raised her arm and a streak of ice-blue light left her hand and arced into the air. It landed with a brilliant white flash in the middle of Merrin's back. He staggered forward and gave a loud cry.

"Good shot," muttered Marcellus.

Marcia grimaced. She had never before performed Magyk behind someone's back. It was considered the lowest form of Magyk, but now was not the time for such refinements. She had held back from Freezing Merrin, a.s.suming she would get him to the Wizard Tower and deal with things there. Freezing someone was dangerous and not to be undertaken lightly. But now, with the lives of everyone in the Castle at stake, Merrin's safety was no longer a consideration.

Slowly Merrin turned around. Outlined in a blue-white crackle of the Freeze trying to take, he shivered and shook as though caught in an icy blast-but he did not Freeze. He stared at Marcia for some seconds, as though his brain had slowed and he was trying to work out what had happened. Marcia returned the stare, waiting impatiently for the Magyk to take effect. In the frost of the spell, Merrin shone out against the Darke Fog, but slowly he began to shine a little less. Horrified, Marcia saw the icy brilliance fade and Merrin shake himself, throwing off the Freeze like a dog throwing off water.

Marcia's Magyk had failed. It was then that she really understood what she was up against.

Marcellus stepped up beside her. "You must go now," he said quietly.

"Yes. I know," Marcia said, but she did not move.

Merrin was ecstatic-he had defeated the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. High on success, he turned to the line of Things and yelled, "Get her!"

Marcellus saw three Things step forward as one. He saw them take another step and that was all he waited to see. He grabbed Marcia's hand and ran, dragging her up Wizard Way, not daring to look behind. Breathless, they reached the Ma.n.u.scriptorium, where Jillie Djinn was patiently, vacantly, waiting.

Marcia recovered her senses. She wheeled around to see how far away the Things were and saw to her great relief that they had barely moved. An encroaching Darke Domaine takes a lot of energy, and the Things were slow and ponderous. Knowing that it could do no more than cause a brief delay, Marcia threw an emergency Barrier across Wizard Way, then with the Chief Hermetic Scribe sleepwalking between them, she and Marcellus set off toward the Wizard Tower.

At the Great Arch an extremely anxious Hildegarde was hovering, waiting for Marcia's return.

"Madam Marcia! Oh, thank goodness you are here!"

Marcia wasted no time. "Is Septimus back?" she asked.

"No." Hildegarde sounded worried. "We thought he was with you."

"I feared as much." Marcia turned to Marcellus and laid her hand on his arm. "Marcellus. Please, will you find Septimus for me? And keep him safe?"

"Marcia, that is why I came to the Ma.n.u.scriptorium. I am looking for him. I will not stop until I find him-I promise you."

Marcia gave Marcellus a strained smile. "Thank you. You know I trust you, don't you?"

"Well, I never thought I'd hear you say that," said Marcellus. "Things must be bad."

"They are," said Marcia. "Marcellus, if . . . if anything happens, I give you guardianship of my Apprentice. Farewell." With that she turned away abruptly and walked quickly into the dark blue shadows of the Great Arch, the tippy-tappy sound of her shoes echoing as she went.

Marcellus stood for a moment and watched something that he had only seen once before, in his first life as the Castle's greatest Alchemist. He saw the Barricade-a thick slab of ancient pitted metal-silently slice down through the center of the Great Arch, closing the main entrance into the Wizard Tower courtyard. It was, Marcellus knew, the first of many shields that would be sliding into place, readying the Tower for its strongest and most ancient Magyk of defense.

Next came the beginnings of a four-sided Living SafetyShield (this was the strongest SafetyShield possible; it was known as Living because it required the energy of many living presences within it to keep it active. It could also, in extremis, act independently). Like the Barricade, a Living SafetyShield was extremely rare. Marcellus watched it rise slowly from the walls surrounding the Wizard Tower courtyard, a blue shimmering skin that cast its eerie light into Wizard Way.

Satisfied that the Tower would be protected-for a while, at least-Marcellus slipped away, leaving Wizard Way to its fate. With his cloak blending into the shadows, the old Alchemist disappeared into the very narrowest of gaps between two ancient houses. Marcellus walked quickly through what, in his Time, had been known as the Canyons-formed in the earliest days of the Castle when the houses that lay between Wizard Way and the Moat were built. To protect against the spread of fire, houses had been built in blocks of two or three, with a tiny gap left between the blocks-a gap so small that Bertie Bott would not have been able to squeeze in. But Marcellus Pye moved fast through the Canyons like a snake down a pipe, heading for what he guessed was his last chance to find Septimus before the Darkenesse fell.

Chapter 30.

In the Dragon House

Jenna walked slowly back along the jetty to the overgrown path at the river's edge. She saw the purple glow of the Safety Curtain lighting up the sky and guessed it was some kind of Magyk isolating the Palace-and her mother inside it. She stuffed her hands deep into her pockets and the smooth bra.s.s of the key that Silas had given her met her hand. Jenna sighed. She did not want to spend the night alone in her old home. She wanted to be with Septimus, but if Septimus was not around, the next best thing was his dragon. She set off along the path beside the river, wading through the long, frosty gra.s.s until she reached a tall gate at the end. Nailed onto the gate was a rough, and somewhat charred, wooden sign. It read: DRAGON FIELD.

ENTER ENTIRELY AT OWN RISK.

POSITIVELY NO COMPENSATION PAYABLE.

FOR ANY EVENTUALITY, FORSEEN OR OTHERWISE.

SINGED: BILLY POT (MR.).

DRAGON KEEPER BY APPOINTMENT.

Jenna could not help but smile. The sign actually was singed, so Billy's spelling was unusually accurate. She opened the gate and stepped inside. On the far side of the field she could see the long, low shape of the Dragon House silhouetted against the purple light. Carefully weaving her way around several suspiciously smelly heaps in the gra.s.s, she headed toward the Dragon House. Sometimes talking to a dragon was the only thing that made sense.

Now that Spit Fyre was no longer an unwelcome squatter in the Wizard Tower courtyard but master of his very own field, his Dragon House was left open all night. When Sarah Heap had queried this, Billy Pot had indignantly told her that, "Mr. Spit Fyre is a gentleman, Mistress Heap, and gentlemen are not locked up at night." The more pressing reason, which Billy had omitted to mention, was that on his very first night in the Dragon House, Spit Fyre had eaten the doors.

And so, as Jenna carefully crossed the field, she saw the dark outline of Spit Fyre's blunt snout resting on the edge of the ramp that led up to the shed. Jenna drew her witch's cloak around her and pulled the hood down low on her face, enjoying the feeling it gave her of blending in with her surroundings. Silently she approached the Dragon House, planning to creep into the warm straw and curl up beside Spit Fyre's comforting bulk.

The Dragon House was a dark and smelly place. It was also noisy. Dragons as a rule do not sleep quietly and Spit Fyre was no exception. He snuffled, he grunted, he snorted, he sniffed. His fire stomach rumbled and his ordinary stomach gurgled. Every now and then an enormous snore would shake the roof of the Dragon House and send Billy Pot's rack of dragon-poo shovels rattling.

Deep inside the Dragon House, Septimus was leaning against the warmth of Spit Fyre's fire stomach. He had made a decision-it was time to go back to the Wizard Tower. Time to face Marcia and explain why he had missed the most important Magyk in the Castle in many years. Slowly he got to his feet and-what was that? A rustle in the straw like a rat . . . but bigger than a rat . . . much bigger . . . moving stealthily . . . purposefully . . . with a subtle taint of Darke about it. It was coming toward him. Muscles tensed, Septimus did not move. Spit Fyre, he noticed, continued sleeping, which was odd. He peered into the dark, straining his eyes to see. The rustling was getting nearer.

There was a sudden stumble in the straw, but still Spit Fyre slept on. Why, thought Septimus, didn't Spit Fyre wake up? The dragon was very touchy about who came into his house. He hated strangers-only a few months ago Spit Fyre had very nearly eaten a sightseer who had run in for a dare.

It was then that Septimus saw the intruder move out of the shadows and he realized why Spit Fyre did not wake up. It was a witch; she must have put some kind of sleep spell on him. It was a Darke witch too; the front-b.u.t.toned cloak with the embroidered symbols all over it was just like the ones worn by the Port Witch Coven. Septimus crouched down and watched the fumbling figure approaching, feeling its way along the spines. From his pocket he took out his neat coil of Darke thread. He waited until the witch was so close that her next step would tread on him-then he pounced. He threw the thread, which had a surprising weight to it, around the witch's ankles and pulled. She toppled onto him with a piercing scream.

"Arrrgh! Ouch ouch ouch!"

"Jen?" gasped Septimus.

"Sep? My ankles. Oh, Sep, there's a snake. Get it off me-get.i.toffme! Oh, it hurts. It's burning me!"

"Oh, Jen. I'm sorry, oh, I'm sorry! I'll get it off you. Keep still. Keep still!"

Jenna stayed as still as she could bear and Septimus unwound the Darke thread as fast as he could. As soon as it was gone Jenna began rubbing her ankles furiously.

"Ouch ouch ouch . . . aargh!"

Septimus leaped to his feet. "Back in a mo, Jen. Don't move."

"Fat chance," muttered Jenna. "I think my feet are going to fall off."

Septimus squeezed past Spit Fyre's leathery folded wings and disappeared behind the dragon's spiny head. He emerged a few moments later and quickly made his way back to Jenna.

"Ouch ouch ouch . . ." Jenna was muttering fiercely to herself. "Ouch." Bright red welts had sprung up wherever the Darke thread had touched her skin and she felt as though a red-hot wire were cutting into her.

Septimus kneeled down and rubbed a damp and somewhat sticky cloth carefully over the angry red lines. Immediately the vicious sting left them and Jenna gave a sigh of relief.

"Oh, Sep, that's amazing. It's stopped. Oh, it's stopped. What is it?"

"It's my handkerchief."

"I know that, silly. But what's the sticky stuff on it?"

Septimus avoided answering. "You need to leave it on for twenty-four hours. Okay?"

"Okay." Jenna nodded and poked tentatively at her ankles; she now felt no more than a warm buzz along the fading red lines. "It's brilliant stuff. What is it?"

"Well. Um . . ."

Jenna looked at Septimus suspiciously. "Sep, tell me. What is it?"

"Dragon dribble."

"Oh, yuck!"

"It's powerful stuff, Jen."

"I've got to have dried dragon dribble on me for twenty-four hours?"

Septimus shrugged. "If you don't want the Darke stuff back."

"Darke stuff?" Jenna looked at Septimus. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Is that what it was? What are you doing messing with Darke stuff, Sep?"

"I could ask you the same thing," said Septimus.

"Huh?"

"Jen, you might think that's a nice fancy dress witch's cloak, but it's not. It's the real thing."

"I know," said Jenna quietly.

"You know?"

Jenna nodded.

"But I thought that no one could wear a Darke witch's cloak unless they're . . ." Septimus looked at Jenna. She returned his gaze steadily. "Jen-you're not?"

Jenna was defensive. "I'm only a novice,"

"Only a novice? Jen. I . . . I . . ." Septimus ran out of words.

"Sep, stuff's happened."

"You're telling me."