Fyre

Page 110

“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: GOOD MORNING, EXTRAORDINARY WIZARD. GOOD MORNING, EXTRAORDINARY APPRENTICE. IT IS A BEAUTIFUL MORNING. ALL 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.