"You in particular."

"Me?"

"Beetle said he was ranting on about you, Sep. You know, about how he was Septimus Heap first. How he was going to get you. Then he'd be Septimus Heap. With a ten-times-better dragon."

"Yeah. Well, he's got a ten times bigger one, that's for sure."

"Not better though."

"No way. Spit Fyre's the best."

Suddenly the Darke Dragon raised all six wings and brought them down fast; a terrific rush of wind swooshed into the Tally Hut along with a foul smell that sent the occupants reeling. It also dispersed the re-gathering Fog and gave them a clear view of what happened next. The dragon shuffled awkwardly around and began a lumbering run down the broad s.p.a.ce of the Ceremonial Way, its wings rising and falling like black sails. They watched it go, getting faster and faster until it reached the Palace gates, where it finally took off, rose slowly into the Fog and disappeared into the night.

"Phew," breathed Nicko. "It's gone."

"I was so scared Spit Fyre would come while that thing was here," whispered Jenna.

Septimus nodded. He had been too, although he had not dared to think it. He believed what Aunt Zelda always said: the thought is the seed for deed.

But a few minutes later something happened that Septimus had definitely not thought of: the Darke dragon came back. It landed with a thud, the Tally Hut shook, the red eyes swiveled and everyone held their breath. And then once more it lumbered into a turn and galumphed down the Ceremonial Way until at last it took off. Three times the Darke dragon came back and each time the occupants of the Tally Hut prayed that Spit Fyre would not choose that moment to arrive. Each time they became more frightened, convinced that the dragon knew they were there-why else would it keep returning? It was not until the third time when the dragon was a little more skillfully heading into his takeoff that Jenna realized what was going on.

"He's practicing," she whispered. "It's the only s.p.a.ce in the Castle where a dragon that big can land and take off."

And they all knew what the dragon was practicing for-the a.s.sault on the Wizard Tower.

A few minutes after the Darke dragon had taken off for the fourth time, the smaller, more delicate-and infinitely more welcome-two-winged shape of Spit Fyre came down through the Fog, heralded by the swooping figure of Alther, arms outstretched in his favorite flying mode.

Spit Fyre landed lightly on the very spot the Darke dragon had so recently vacated. He sniffed the air uneasily, in the way a house cat might sniff a pile of lion poo left outside its cat flap. The next thing Spit Fyre knew, three figures were hurtling toward him, one of which was his Pilot. Spit Fyre felt relieved. It had been a nightmare flying with The Purple One. Now she would get off and let his Pilot sit in his rightful place.

The Purple One, however, did not get off.

Pleased as he was to see Marcia once again, Septimus was not prepared to let her fly Spit Fyre. They needed to get away fast and he doubted her ability to do it. He got to the point right away.

"Get off!" he yelled through the weight of the Darke Fog.

"Hurry up, Marcia," said Alther, who shared Septimus's opinion of Marcia's flying skills. "Get off and let the Pilot fly his dragon."

"I'm getting off. My cloak's caught. Oh these stupid spines . . ."

Septimus was hopping from one foot to another in impatience. He yanked the Reversed cloak off a small spine and Marcia clambered down. She surprised Septimus with a fierce hug, helped him up to his seat in front of the Pilot Spine and then took Jenna's place behind him in the Navigator seat. Jenna stifled her irritation-this was neither the time nor the place to argue about where she sat-and she and Nicko squeezed on behind Marcia.

Septimus took Spit Fyre up fast with Alther keeping pace alongside. Marcia tapped him on the shoulder.

"Ma.n.u.scriptorium!" she yelled into the clear air created by the beating of Spit Fyre's wings.

Septimus wanted to get Spit Fyre out of danger. He most definitely did not want to fly to the Ma.n.u.scriptorium. "Why?" he yelled.

"Merrin Meredith. Code!"

"Merrin Meredith's cold?"

"Not cold, Code! Paired Code. He's got it! He's at the Ma.n.u.scriptorium!"

Now Septimus understood.

"He's not there!" he yelled. At that moment a ma.s.sive shadow cruised overhead, accompanied by a foul downdraft of air. "He's up there!"

They all looked up. The wake of the Darke Dragon cleared the Fog just enough for them all to see the cruel talons, black and bloodied against the white underside of its belly. For the first time ever Septimus heard Marcia say a very rude word.

"I'm taking Spit Fyre out after that thing," said Marcia. "I'll get Merrin Meredith if it's the last thing I do."

Septimus thought it probably would be.

"Septimus, fly Spit Fyre back to the Wizard Tower at once. Land him on the dragon platform. You three can get off."

Septimus had no intention of getting off his dragon, but he knew better than to argue just then. He turned Spit Fyre around and headed back to the Wizard Tower. Spit Fyre arrowed through the join and took them into the bright, buzzing, Magykal air that surrounded the Wizard Tower. He landed perfectly on the dragon ledge.

"Wait there, I'll open the window," said Marcia, slipping down from the Navigator seat. She ushered Jenna and Nicko inside and stood waiting impatiently for Septimus to relinquish his place in the Pilot Dip.

"Hurry up, Septimus. Let me get on."

Septimus did not move.

"Septimus, get off. I am ordering you!"

"And I am refusing," said Septimus. "I'll get him."

"No, Septimus. Get off at once."

The stalemate might have lasted a while had not the orange warning lights zipping up and down the outside of the SafeShield suddenly stopped flashing.

Marcia gasped. "The SafeShield's failing! Septimus get off! Now!"

The blue and purple skin of the SafeShield began to take on a dull, reddish hue. A movement above caught Septimus's eye-tendrils of Darke Fog were beginning to drift down through the join. Suddenly a great curved black claw reached down through the gap.

Septimus knew what he had to do.

"Up, Spit Fyre," he said. "Up!"

Before Marcia could do anything to stop him, Pilot and dragon flew up through the dim glow of the failing Magyk to meet dragon and pilot.

Chapter 46.

Synchronicity

Septimus and Spit Fyre burst through the top of the SafeShield and Spit Fyre's nose spine slammed into the Darke dragon's soft white underbelly with a jarring thud. Spit Fyre was sent reeling backward, but the Darke dragon seemed no more upset than if it had been stung by a wasp.

Spit Fyre recovered fast and snorted with excitement. He was at the age when, in ancient times when the world was full of dragons, he would have been looking for his first fight. In those days the dragon community would not have regarded him as an adult until he had fought another dragon-and won. And so, deep down in his dragon brain, Spit Fyre wanted a fight.

So did the Darke dragon's pilot. Merrin leaned out between the bristling spines, his eyes wild with excitement. Using a popular Castle insult for Apprentices, he yelled, "I'll get you, caterpillar boy!"

"No chance, rat face!"

Merrin pointed his left thumb at Septimus like a pistol. "You're dead. And your toy dragon. Yeah!"

In answer Septimus and Spit Fyre shot up past the Darke dragon before it had time to register what was happening. They whizzed by so close that Septimus could see Merrin's zits blazing out of his pale face and the look of hatred in his eyes-which shocked him more than the close-up view of the Darke dragon. As Spit Fyre shot past, Septimus made a very rude sign at Merrin. He left behind a stream of obscenities hemorrhaging into the Darke Fog.

Septimus and Spit Fyre stopped at the very edge of the Fog and looked back. Far below them, at the bottom of the clear tunnel of air that their wake had created, they saw the huge bulk of the Darke dragon. Behind it they could see the fading blue and purple Magykal glow of the Wizard Tower changing slowly to a dull red.

As they hovered above the Darke Domaine, suspended between the stars above and the blanket of silence below, a stillness spread through Septimus and his dragon and together they entered a state that is much sought after by dragon Imprintors but rarely achieved. It is known in dragon manuals (see Draxx, page 1141) as Synchronicity. Dragon and Imprintor became One, thinking and acting in perfect harmony. They hovered for a moment on the edge of the Darke Domaine and looked down at the Darke dragon far below at the end of the trail They had left in the Fog. They knew they must use the line of sight while they had it.

Suddenly They tipped forward and went into a nosedive. Septimus slammed into the broad, flat spine in front of him and wedged there, exhilarated as the air rushed past. They hurtled down like a bullet falling to earth and saw Merrin looking up, yelling and kicking at his dragon. In a beautifully controlled movement, the Synchronized pair decelerated, swooped to the left and headed for the rear set of the Darke dragon's wings. Their nose spine ripped through them. In a shower of splintering wing bones and folds of foul flapping skin they shot out the other side, wheeled around and stopped to view their handiwork.

The Darke dragon tumbled out of control. Its pilot's terrified screams were absorbed by the Fog as it catapulted down toward the Wizard Tower. With a dull boom that traveled through the Fog like distant thunder, the Darke dragon slammed against the failing SafeShield, sending sparks of Magyk into the air and setting off a chain of red distress lights that rippled down to the ground like a lightning strike. Tail flailing, its four undamaged wings beating frantically, the Darke dragon bounced off the SafeShield and fell toward the rooftops of the houses that looked out over the Wizard Tower courtyard. The Synchronized ones watched triumphantly-They hadn't dreamed it would be this easy to get rid of the Darke dragon.

It wasn't. Four wings are enough to fly a dragon-even one as c.u.mbersome as the great beast that Merrin had Engendered. In a hail of smashed chimney pots and roof tiles, his dragon righted itself, perched for a moment on a roof, and, as the rafters caved in under its weight, it rose up into the air, and its six eyes locked onto Spit Fyre. The next moment the Darke dragon was heading straight for Them, mouth wide open, revealing three rows of long, tightly knit teeth like needles.

They waited, daring the dragon to come dangerously near. And when it was so close They could see the tiny black pupils in all six red eyes (but neither of the pilot's-he had his eyes tightly closed) They shot around behind the monster's tail into the ten-degree blind spot, arrowed down underneath the white belly, and then zoomed up in front of the boxy head-which was still staring upward, wondering where They had gone. And then They swiped it hard on the nose with the barb of Their tail. Wap. Dragons' noses are a sensitive spot and a roar of pain followed Them as They shot out of reach once more.

"I'll get you for that!" They heard Merrin shouting as They zoomed around in a tight circle, way out of reach.

"You wish!" They yelled.

And so They taunted the Darke dragon and its pilot: diving down, flying circles around it, swooping out of sight only to reappear in exactly the opposite direction from where the dragon was looking. They landed sideswipes with Their tail; They stabbed the underbelly with Their nose spine; They even caught the tops of another two wings in a short burst of Fyre that They managed to summon from an empty fire stomach. The Darke dragon responded to every move-but about five seconds too late. Often it was countering the last attack while the next one was underway, and before long the monster was bellowing with fury and frustration and its pilot was whimpering in terror.

After some minutes, breathless and buzzing with excitement, they swooped up through the Darke Fog for a brief consultation. Hovering on the very edge of the dome of the Darke Domaine, buffeted by the breeze, They breathed in fresh night air untainted by the Darke. Above Them shone a glitter dust of stars and below them the tendrils of Fog waved like seaweed in an ocean current. They felt exhilarated, on top of the world.

But far below the Darke dragon still lurked. They decided it was time to lure the monster out of his Domaine. They figured that the dragon was now so frantic to get hold of Them that it would follow Them anywhere. They took a deep breath of clear air, then dropped down into the Fog once more. They saw the six blazing red pinpoints of Their quarry's eyes-and headed straight for them.

Taking care that the Darke dragon always had Them in his line of sight, They began a cat-and-mouse game with Merrin and his monster, venturing temptingly near for swipes of the scimitar claws-but never quite near enough to make contact. Once or twice the claws came a little too close for comfort and They felt the breeze ruffle Their hair as the blades flew past Their head. And so, taunting and teasing, parrying and feinting like a skilled swordsman, They lured the Darke dragon onward and upward-with no resistance from its whimpering pilot.

They shot out of the Darke Fog like a bullet. Focused only on the tempting barb of Their tail, which was less than a wing's breadth in front of its nose spine, the Darke dragon followed. It hit the cold clear air like a wall. Stunned, it stopped dead. For the first time in its short and nasty life it was without a Darke safety net-there was nothing but the cold black river running below. Its pilot opened his eyes, looked down and screamed.

Feeling its powers begin to trickle away, the Darke dragon threw back its head and bellowed with distress. Released from the m.u.f.fling effect of the Darke Domaine the noise was loud and terrible. It sounded out across the countryside and sent people for miles around diving for cover under their beds. Far below, in Sally Mullin's Tea and Ale House, Sarah Heap and Sally Mullin looked anxiously out into the night.

"Oh, Sally," whispered Sarah. "It's so awful . . ."

Sally put her arm around Sarah's shoulders. There was nothing she could say.

Outside, beside the newly returned Annie, Simon Heap was pacing the pontoon with Marcellus Pye. Simon had been telling Marcellus that he had decided to go into the Castle. He had so much to offer, so much knowledge of the Darke. At last he had an opportunity to put it to use for good-and that was what he intended to do. But Marcellus had not heard a word Simon said. His last sight of Septimus in the little coracle spinning into the whirlpool haunted him; it played over and over in his head and he could not escape it. The more he thought about it, the more Marcellus doubted Septimus had survived. He had led his dearest Apprentice to his death. Marcellus felt utterly wretched.

The Darke dragon's roar cut through his thoughts. Marcellus looked up to see Spit Fyre, illuminated by the lights shining from Sally Mullin's Tea and Ale House, dropping out of the night sky. The dragon had come to exact revenge and Marcellus didn't care. He deserved it.

Sally Mullin saw Marcellus looking up into the sky. "Some-thing's going on up there," she whispered.

"I wish Simon would come inside," Sarah said. "I wish . . ." But right then Sarah wished for far too many things to even begin, although at the top of the list was a wish to see Septimus again. To take her mind off the hundred awful things that Sarah had imagined might have happened to Septimus, she watched Marcellus.

"He's a bit of a drama queen, isn't he?" Sally whispered mis-chievously, hoping to cheer Sarah up.

Right then Marcellus did look rather dramatic. The light from the lamps in Sally's long line of windows caught the gold embellishments on his cloak as he raised his arms up in the air, hands outstretched. They saw him suddenly spin around and shout something to Simon, who came running.

"What is going on?" muttered Sally. "Oh! Oh my goodness. Sarah! Sarah! It's your Septimus. Look!"

Sarah gasped. Hurtling toward the river and-she was convinced-to certain death, was her youngest son on his dragon. And when she saw the horrific shape of the Darke monster that was chasing Them, Sarah screamed so loudly that Sally's ears rang. Sarah and Sally watched the Darke dragon diving like a hawk after a sparrow, its razor claws poised and ready to grab, and when it drew so close to Spit Fyre that it must surely tear the dragon and its rider to pieces any moment, Sarah could bear it no longer-she gave a cry of despair and buried her head in her hands.

A few feet above the surface of the river the Synchronized pair suddenly-as planned-changed course, but in the moment They slowed, the longest claw on the Darke dragon's right foot made contact with Their head. Sally suppressed a scream. It would not do Sarah any good right now. She watched Spit Fyre reel back, wings frantically beating the air. Seconds later a ma.s.sive plume of river water rose into the air.

The Darke dragon hit the surface and sank like a house.

Sally Mullin gave a great whoop of excitement. "You can look now," she told Sarah as Spit Fyre flew back shakily just above the surface of the river. "They're all right." Sarah burst into tears. It had all been too much.

Sally comforted Sarah while keeping one eye on events outside. When she saw Septimus jump into the middle of the fast-flowing river she decided not to tell Sarah.

The freezing water took Septimus's breath away. He swam quickly toward Merrin, who was flailing about in the water, yelling, "Help me! Help me! I can't swim! Help!" This was not strictly true, for Merrin could doggie paddle a few yards, although not enough to reach safety from the middle of the river.

Septimus was a strong swimmer and after the night exercises in the Young Army, swimming in the river did not frighten him. He grasped Merrin around the chest from behind and began the slow swim to the safety of Sally Mullin's pontoon. Above him Spit Fyre, dripping blood from a deep tear on the top of his head, circled anxiously, but on instructions from Septimus he flew off and landed on the wide stones of the New Quay. The current in the river was sweeping Septimus past Sally Mullin's pontoon and he knew better than to fight it. He swam diagonally across, heading always for the bank, with Merrin a dead weight in his arms.

Simon watched anxiously. He reflected that not so long ago he would have been pleased to see his youngest brother struggling in the icy river, and he felt ashamed of his old self. He saw where the current was taking Septimus and his burden, so he set off down to the next easy landfall, the New Quay where Spit Fyre had just landed. As Simon jogged down the path he heard a yell from the water followed by some wild splashing. He raced to the quay and saw Septimus struggling with Merrin some yards away-the exact distance, in fact, that Merrin could swim.

Merrin appeared to have miraculously recovered and was now pushing Septimus below the water. Septimus struggled, but the delicate fabric of his Darke Disguise was torn and ragged and it was no match for the power of the Two-Faced Ring, which strengthened tenfold any attempt at murder. As Merrin pushed the spluttering and fighting Septimus once more beneath the water, Simon dove in.

With the power of the Two-Faced Ring-and Merrin himself-fully occupied in drowning Septimus, Simon's old-fashioned punch to Merrin's head had the desired effect. Merrin let go of Septimus, took in a huge mouthful of water and began to sink. Septimus looked at his rescuer, shocked.

"You okay?" asked Simon.

Septimus nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Simon."

Merrin gave a gurgle and slipped beneath the water.

"I'll get him," gasped Simon, teeth chattering as the icy cold began to take effect. "You get to the steps."

But Septimus did not trust Merrin. He swam alongside Simon as he towed Merrin back and when they reached the New Quay, Septimus helped him haul Merrin out of the water and up the steps. They lay Merrin facedown on the stones like a dead fish.

"We'll have to get the water out," said Simon. "I've seen them do it at the Port." He kneeled beside Merrin, placed his hands on Merrin's ribcage and began to push gently but firmly. Merrin coughed faintly. Then he coughed again, spluttered and suddenly retched up a huge amount of river water. Something went clink onto the stone. At Septimus's feet lay a small silver disc with a raised central boss. Trying not to think about where it had just come from, Septimus picked it up. It lay heavy in his palm, glinting in the light from the single torch burning on the quay.