"I'll just Call for Spit Fyre one more time," said Septimus, putting off the terrifying moment of climbing out.

Marcellus glanced anxiously back at the door. A long stream of Darke Fog was curling beneath it and creeping across the floor toward the fireplace.

"No time now," said Marcellus. "Do that when we've got down there."

Shakily Septimus took hold of the rope. His hands were clammy but he had made the rope rough and thick for a good grip. He climbed up onto the windowsill and as he swung his legs over the side, Septimus felt a shiver of vertigo run through him-there was nothing between his feet and the river far below.

"Be careful, love," said Sarah, raising her voice against a sudden gust of wind. "Don't go too fast-far better you get down safely. When you've got to the bottom, give the rope three tugs, then Jenna will go."

With his arm around his Sleeping horse, Simon watched his youngest brother inch out into the night until all he could see were Septimus's hands gripping the rope and his curls blowing wildly in the wind.

Septimus began his descent. He knew that to give everyone a chance of getting out he had to put his fear of heights to one side and concentrate on getting quickly down the rope. It was not easy. The wind kept pushing him against the wall, banging him against the protruding stones, taking his breath away and disorientating him. It was only when-terrifyingly-his grip slipped and he found himself almost at right angles to the wall that Septimus discovered that if he deliberately leaned out from the rope, the wind buffeted him less and he could almost walk down the rough stones, many of which stuck quite a long way out and gave good footholds.

Septimus's descent continued until he stepped on the bush that had saved Stanley. The sudden change of foothold panicked him and he very nearly let go of the rope. But as he steadied himself and got his breath back he realized he could smell the river and hear the lapping of water. He speeded up and soon, like Stanley before him, he had landed on the mud. He gave three quick tugs of the rope and leaned against the Ramblings wall, shaking. He had done it. He felt the rope move in his hands and knew that Jenna was on her way down.

It was not long before Jenna landed beside him, breathless and exhilarated. Unlike Septimus, she had loved the excitement of the descent. They stood, looking up to the only lighted window in the entire Ramblings wall and saw another figure climb out. The figure moved quickly down, and Septimus was surprised at how agile Marcellus was-but a scream when the figure met the spiky bush growing from the wall told them it was Lucy, not Marcellus as they had all agreed earlier.

"He made me go first," said Lucy breathlessly, as she tugged the rope. "He said he'd lived long enough already. And he said Simon must come next."

"Simon!" spluttered Septimus. "But we need Marcellus."

Lucy said nothing. She looked up and did not take her eyes off Simon as he descended the rope, fast and easily. Soon he was beside them. Quickly he gave the rope three tugs and looked up anxiously at the window.

"The door's not going to hold much longer," he said. "They're going to have to get a move on."

It was too much for Jenna. She had waited once for her mother outside a room filling with Darkenesse and once was enough. She couldn't stand the thought of doing it again.

"Mum!" she called up. "Mum! Hurry up! Please, hurry!"

But no one came.

Up in the room behind the Big Red Door, two people who should have known better were arguing about who was leaving next. Sarah looked around the room she loved-that she now knew Silas loved too-and she dithered. No matter that Benjamin Heap's door was changing as she looked at it, the red paint blackening as though a fire was raging on the other side. No matter that wisps of Darke Fog hung in the room like storm clouds heralding the arrival of a hurricane-Sarah would not budge. She was determined to be the last to leave.

"Marcellus. You must go first."

"I will not leave you here alone, Sarah. Please, go."

"No. You go, Marcellus."

"No. You."

It was Benjamin Heap's door that settled it. There was a sudden craaaaack. A panel split and a long stream of Darkenesse poured in. In a moment the fire in the hearth was out.

"Oh, that poor horse," said Sarah, still dithering.

"Sarah, get out," said Marcellus. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the window. "We both go," he said.

Sarah gave in. Surprisingly agile, she clambered out of the window and swung herself onto the rope-she had not lived in Galen's tree house for nothing. Marcellus followed. He slammed the window shut, jamming it on the rope. Then he, too, easily began the descent, which was nothing compared to the tall chimney in the Old Way that he had regularly climbed in his old age. Far below Septimus, Jenna, Simon and Lucy looked at each other in relief.

Sarah and Marcellus made good progress, slowed only by Stanley's bush, which Sarah irritably kicked at. It was the last straw for the bush, and it went tumbling in a shower of stones, which scattered the watchers below. When they looked back up, the light in the small mullioned window had gone out. The great rock face wall of the Ramblings was now completely in Darkenesse.

At last Sarah stepped unsteadily onto the ground. Jenna flung her arms around her.

"Oh, Mum."

Marcellus pushed away from the wall and jumped athletically-he hoped-away from the knot of people gathered around Sarah. He landed with a splat. "Eurgh," he muttered. "Wretched horse."

"You only just made it," Septimus told him disapprovingly. He thought Marcellus should have stuck to the agreed order of leaving.

"Indeed," said Marcellus, inspecting his ruined shoe.

Marcellus's casualness annoyed Septimus. "But we decided the order we would leave for a reason. It was important-for the whole Castle," he persisted.

Marcellus sighed. "But things that are right in the cold light of reason may feel very wrong when faced with reality. Is that not so, Simon?"

"Yes," said Simon, remembering the Thing strangling Sarah. "Yes, it is."

"It's my fault," said Sarah. "I wanted to be last-like a captain leaving her ship. Anyway, it doesn't matter; we're all safe now."

"It doesn't feel very safe," said Lucy, saying what most of them were thinking. She looked at Jenna accusingly. "You said there were always boats here. But I can't see any."

Jenna looked along the strip of mud that ran between the edge of the river and the sheer walls of the Ramblings. She didn't understand it. There were always little boats tied up on the numerous outhauls-lengths of rope that snaked out from rings in the walls to weights sunk onto the riverbed. But now there were none.

Lucy was getting agitated. "What are we going to do? The water's coming up and I can't swim."

"It's okay, Lucy," said Septimus, sounding more confident than he felt. "I'll Call for Spit Fyre now. He'll probably come now that we're away from the Darke."

Septimus took a long, deep breath and gave the loudest dragon Call he had ever made. The piercing, ululating sound bounced off the Ramblings walls and echoed across the river, and as the last faint whispers died away, his Call was answered-not by the hoped for sound of dragon wings beating the air, but by the answering cry of a monster within the Castle.

"Sep . . . what have you Called?" whispered Jenna.

"I don't know," whispered Septimus in reply.

Spit Fyre did not come, and Septimus dared not Call again.

The thin strip of mud between the sheer walls of the Ramblings and the broad band of the deep, cold river was a temporary refuge only. They knew that as the tide came in it would slowly disappear. They gazed longingly over to the safety of the opposite bank. Far away to the right, flickering through the bare branches of the winter trees, were the distant lights of a farmhouse. Upstream to the left was glow of firelight in the downstairs window of the Grateful Turbot Tavern. Both were unreachable.

"We'll have to walk down to Old Dock," said Septimus. "See if we can find a boat there."

"One that isn't half sunk already," said Jenna.

"Do you have any better ideas?" demanded Septimus.

"Stop it, you two," said Sarah. "I don't think anyone does have any better ideas-do we?"

There was silence.

"Old Dock it is," said Sarah. "Follow me."

Sarah led the cold, tired group along the mud. But whereas Stanley, with the lightness of a rat, had scampered over the top of the mud, it was not so simple for humans. Their feet sank deep into the goop and they stubbed their toes on hidden rocks and tripped over the empty outhauls. As they struggled on through the freezing mud, they saw countless open windows from which abandoned knotted sheets and makeshift ropes dangled-and they now understood why all the boats had gone. Even the floating pontoons had been unhitched and pressed into service; there was nothing left afloat on their side of the river.

Finally they arrived at the Underflow, an underground stream that ran from below the Castle. Sarah, not realizing where she was, took a step forward into the dark and fell into deep, fast-flowing water.

"Agh!" Sarah gasped with shock as she was swept out into the river.

There was a loud splash and a scream from Lucy. Simon surfaced in the river, spluttering-then he turned and swam into the darkness after Sarah.

"Simon!" yelled Lucy. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Simon!"

Jenna, Septimus, and Marcellus stood, shocked, on the muddy bank of the Underflow. They stared into the night but could see nothing. Lucy stopped screaming, and the sounds of Simon swimming receded. Chilled by the freezing wind, they listened in silence to a few faint splashes coming from somewhere in the middle of the river.

Chapter 40.

Annie

Sally Mullin had insisted that Nicko take her new boat, Annie.

"I hope she gives you as much luck as my Muriel did," she had said. "Just don't turn her into canoes this time."

Nicko had promised. Annie-a wide, generous boat with a cozy cabin-was far too good to turn into anything else.

After helping Jannit and Maggie to safely dock the Pig Tub, Nicko and Rupert had not set off until way past midnight. They sailed up the river, heading toward the Ramblings on the north side of the Castle. It was slow progress at first because the bl.u.s.tery northeast wind was against them, but they followed the river around as it hugged the Castle walls, and slowly Annie's position to the wind altered and she picked up speed.

It was a miserable journey. The eerie sight of the desolate, Darkened Castle made both Rupert and Nicko doubt that they would find anyone safe in the Heaps' room at the top of the Ramblings. And when, once again, the terrifying roar echoed across the river, they began to dread what they would find.

"What is it?" Rupert whispered.

Nicko shook his head. Right then he didn't want to know.

As they sailed toward Old Dock, a knot began to tighten in Nicko's stomach. This was the place where it was first possible to see the Heaps' tiny, arched mullion window at the very top of the Ramblings. Nicko always looked up when he pa.s.sed-and felt a small tug of nostalgia for times gone by-but now he did not dare. He kept his eyes fixed on the dark water of the river because every moment he did not look was another moment of hope. A quick flurry of tiny snowflakes blew into his eyes and Nicko rubbed them away, glancing up as he did so. There was no light. The sheer wall of the Ramblings reared up like a cliff face and, just like a cliff face, it was totally dark. A wave of desolation swept over Nicko; he slumped down and stared at the tiller. It was then that he heard a splash.

"Just a duck," said Rupert in response to Nicko's questioning glance.

"Big duck," said Nicko. He stared toward the Ramblings side where the splash had come from, for some reason his hopes beginning to rise. Then came another splash and a scream cut through the air.

"Lucy!" Rupert gasped. "That's Lucy." No one screamed like his sister.

Nicko had already turned Annie toward the splashing. Rupert took the boat lamp out from under its cover and played its light across the water, searching.

"I can see her!" he shouted. "She's in the water. Lucy! Lucy! We're coming!" He threw the ladder over the side.

Beside the Underflow the stranded group heard shouts from the river and saw a light suddenly appear from the darkness. In the wildly swaying beam of light they saw Sarah being pulled from the water and then Simon's head bobbing at the foot of the ladder. A curse traveled across the water, followed by a voice saying, "It's your dingbat brother."

"Which one?" came the reply that they all recognized as belonging to Nicko.

"What does he mean, which one?" muttered Septimus.

It took a few trips in Annie's coracle to pick up Jenna, Septimus, Lucy and Marcellus. But eventually everyone was on board, a little wetter than they would have liked, but not-as Jenna pointed out-as wet as they would have been if Nicko hadn't shown up.

Nicko could not stop grinning as he hugged his brother-not the dingbat one-and his sister.

"Did Stanley tell you where we were?" asked Jenna, gratefully wrapping herself in one of the many blankets that Sally Mullin had provided.

"Eventually," said Nicko. "That rat does go on. Anyway, we decided we'd sail around and wait below. I figured sooner or later you'd look out and see us, Jen." He smiled. "Seem to remember you were always gazing out of the window when you were little."

"Good old Stanley," said Jenna. "I do hope his ratlets are okay."

"His what?"

Jenna's answer was cut short by another bleak roar echoing across the water.

"His-oh Nicko, Sep, oh-look at that . . . what is it?"

Illuminated by the glow from the Wizard Tower SafeShield, a monstrous shape could be seen inside the Darke Fog.

"It's ma.s.sive . . ." Jenna breathed.

The creature opened its great mouth and sent another bellow across the river.

"It's . . . a dragon," gasped Nicko.

"About ten times bigger than Spit Fyre," said Septimus, who was feeling extremely worried about his dragon.

"It would eat Spit Fyre for breakfast," said Nicko.

"Nicko, don't!" protested Jenna.

But Nicko had voiced the very thing that was worrying Septimus.

They stared across the water, watching the monster. It appeared to be trying out its wings-of which it had six. It rose a little into the air and then fell back with what sounded like a roar of frustration.

"Six wings. A Darke dragon," muttered Septimus.

"That's not good," said Nicko, shaking his head.

Marcellus joined them. "Things are worse than we feared. No one is safe in the Castle with that thing on the loose. How fast can this boat go, Nicko?"