Fyre

Page 89

Jim Knee, however, merely sighed and said, “Very well, Apprentice. What is it that you wish?”
Septimus glanced at Simon. “I’ll tell you on the way,” he said. “It’s time we got going. I have a feeling that Merrin probably goes to bed early nowadays.”
Apprentices, ghost and jinnee set off across the harbor front and took a small lane leading off it. Port streets were dark and not particularly safe at night and Simon, who knew the Port well, led the way—heading for the Doll House, where Merrin now resided with his long-lost mother, Nurse Meredith—or Nursie as she was known to all in the Port.
“I don’t agree with this,” said Alther as they walked quietly down a narrow street that smelled strongly of cat pee. “I think you should tell Merrin the truth.”
“Alther, he won’t believe us,” Septimus said in a low voice. “Think about it. The two people that Merrin loathes most—me and Simon—turn up on his doorstep at night and say, ‘Oh, hello, Merrin. You know those two Darke Wizards who were in your ring? You know, the one we cut your thumb off to get back? Well, they’ve escaped and because you have worn the ring, you’re on their hit list. But don’t worry. Because we like you such a lot, we’ve come to take you to the Wizard Tower, where you’ll be safe.” I don’t think he’s going to say, ‘Thank you so much. I will come with you right away,’ do you?”
Alther sighed. “If you put it like that, I suppose you are right. I just don’t like your solution, that’s all.”
The party reached the end of the smelly street and took a turning into a long, marginally less smelly street with tall houses on either side, unlit apart from a pool of light at the far end. They walked swiftly along, heading toward the light. A few nosy residents twitched aside their curtains and saw a strange procession: a man who appeared, from the black and red robes he wore, to be a Darke Wizard, followed by a lanky Wizard Apprentice, and a man trying to keep a pile of yellow doughnuts on his head. But they thought little of it—living not far from the Port Witch Coven, they had seen much more bizarre sights. They soon closed their curtains and went back to their fires.
Toward the end of the road the group stopped opposite a garishly painted house on the other side of the street. This was the Doll House. It was, underneath its paint, a typical Port house: tall and flat-fronted, with the front door just a broad step up from the street. But the Doll House stood out from all the others in Fore Street by virtue of its freshly painted glossy pink and yellow bricks that shone in the light of a lone torch that burned brightly beside its front doorstep.
Septimus looked anxiously at the house next door—a gloomy, ramshackle building in urgent need of repair that, even from the other side of the road, smelled faintly of sewage. He was relieved to see it looked quiet, although he guessed that now that night had fallen the occupants would probably be stirring. This was the residence of the Port Witch Coven.
Septimus scanned the jaunty Doll House and searched for clues as to what might be happening inside. The Doll House’s cheery façade gave nothing away, but Septimus could not help but wonder if they were too late—were Shamandrigger Saarn and Dramindonnor Naarn already inside?
“It all looks very quiet,” Alther whispered nervously.
Simon glanced around. “So far. Best not to hang around.” He looked dubiously at Jim Knee, who was biting his nails. “Septimus, your jinnee does understand what he has to do?”
“He understands,” said Septimus.
“Jolly good,” said Alther. “Over we go, then.”
They crossed the street to the doorstep of the Doll House and listened. All was quiet. Jim Knee, consumed with nerves, checked his reflection in the shiny surface of the brass letter box, bobbing up and down to get a full view of his face.
Septimus addressed his jinnee sternly. “Jim Knee, stop preening and listen to me.”
“I am all ears, Oh Apprentice.” Jim Knee prodded at his somewhat protruding ears. “Unfortunately. They never came back properly after that ghastly turtle you made me—”
“Good,” Septimus cut in. “You will fit the part perfectly. Are you ready?”
Jim Knee looked sick. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Jim Knee, I command you to Transform into the likeness of—”
“Septimus, are you absolutely sure about this?” Alther interrupted apprehensively.
“It’s only a likeness, not the real thing.”
“Even so . . .”