Physik

Jenna and Wolf Boy were outside Spit Fyre's kennel. Although the kennel was only a couple of months old, the door had already acquired a battered look and was showing some serious splits that had been repaired by metal ties.



"You take one side of the bar and I'll take the other," Jenna told Wolf Boy. "They're really heavy. Sep ... well, Sep always gets someone to help him. Usually me." The door was barred with three broad iron bars, and it was the top one of these that Jenna and Wolf Boy were about to lift off.



Septimus had not liked keeping Spit Fyre locked up at night, but he had been forced to give in after a deputation of Wizards had refused to leave Marcia's rooms until something was done. Up until then, Spit Fyre had been allowed the run of the WizardTower courtyard, but the combination of a free-range young dragon and two-foot-high piles of dragon droppings had led to trouble. Soon there was scarcely a Wizard who, late at night, had not inadvertently walked into one of these piles and lost a boot or, even worse, fallen in headfirst and had to be pulled out. Spit Fyre had also developed a taste for the blue woolen cloaks worn by the Ordinary Wizards, and the dragon enjoyed nothing more than a quick chase around the courtyard in pursuit of a tasty-looking cloak to work up an appetite.



The kennel was reverberating to the sound of the young dragon's snores, for Spit Fyre, who had reached the dragon equivalent of a teenager, had recently begun to sleep late in the mornings. But as Wolf Boy and Jenna lifted the bar and placed it carefully on the ground, Spit Fyre woke up. With a great crash, his tail smashed against the rafters of the roof, and a loud crack of splintering wood resounded through the air. Wolf Boy jumped back in shock, but Jenna, who had heard worse noises by far coming from Spit Fyre's kennel, stood her ground.



"Sorry, Jenna," said Wolf Boy, a little shamefaced. "Wasn't expecting that. Here, I can do the other two." To Jenna's surprise, Wolf Boy heaved off the badly bent middle bar and the lowest bar all by himself and dropped them onto the ground with a clang. Inside the kennel came an answering smash as Spit Fyre thumped his tail with excitement at the prospect of being let out.



Now all Jenna had to do was unlock the kennel door. She fetched the large key that hung on a hook and placed it in the big brass keyhole. "The door opens outward," she told Wolf Boy. "So you have to be careful it doesn't smash into you when Spit Fyre comes out. And keep your feet out of the way too, as he likes to tread on your toes. Sep always said - says - he does it by accident, but I reckon Spit Fyre does it on purpose. He thinks it's a game, he likes the way people hop around yelling and holding their feet." Jenna turned the key, the door crashed open and Spit Fyre hurtled forward, neck outstretched to catch the cool morning air, claws clattering down the ramp. At the foot of the ramp the young dragon stopped and looked around as if puzzled. He tilted his head to one side and then, seeming a little dejected, he sat down unusually quietly. Spit Fyre was growing into a handsome young dragon. Although he was still only about fifteen feet long - half his eventual adult size - he already looked large and powerful. His brilliant green scales shone in the early-morning drizzle and rippled across his huge shoulder muscles as he shifted position slightly. His leathery greenish-brown wings were neatly folded on either side of the row of thick black spines that ran along his backbone, from just behind his ears to the very tip of his tail. Spit Fyre's emerald-green eyes flashed and his wide nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, searching for the scent of Septimus Heap, his Imprinter.



Keeping a tight hold on Septimus's boots, Jenna approached Spit Fyre with some caution, careful not to make any sudden movements, for he could be unpredictable in the mornings. But the dragon did not react as Jenna walked slowly up to him and laid her hand on the cool scales of his neck. "Septimus is not here, Spit Fyre," she said gently. "I'm here in his place."



Spit Fyre regarded Jenna suspiciously and sniffed the boots. Then he snorted and blew out a large greenish-gray blob of dragon snot, which shot straight across the courtyard and landed with a resounding splat on one of the second-floor windows of the WizardTower. A moment later the window was thrown open and an angry Wizard poked her head out. "Hey!" she yelled. "Can't you keep that beast under control? It took me three days to scrape the last stuff off," and then, seeing that it was Jenna rather than Septimus with the dragon, "Oh. Oh, dear. Sorry, Your Majesty," and slammed the window closed.



"Don't call me that," Jenna muttered, and then, seeing Wolf Boy's quizzical look, she said, "I'm not Queen. They shouldn't call me that. And I don't ever want to be Queen either." Wolf Boy looked surprised but he said nothing, which is generally what Wolf Boy did when things became a little tricky.



"I've got to do the Locum Tenens now, 409," said Jenna, looking a little anxious. "I hope it works."



" 'Course it'll work," said Wolf Boy, who was of the opinion that Jenna could do anything that she wanted to. He watched Jenna take Beetle's scruffy card of instructions from her tunic pocket and read them slowly, then open an old toffee tin, draw out a fragile sheet of blue dragon skin, and carefully unfold it. Jenna sat down quietly beside Septimus's boots and Wolf Boy saw her lips move as she read the words on the dragon skin over and over, painstakingly memorizing them. He was surprised at how long it took - almost as long as he had taken to read one of Aunt Zelda's potion recipes. Wolf Boy knew there wasn't much he could do to help Jenna with the Locum Tenens, but he thought he could try out the skills he had learned when he had lived with the wolverines in the Forest.



And so Wolf Boy sat down about ten feet in front of Spit Fyre and very deliberately fixed his gaze on the dragon, willing him to stay calm and quiet. Spit Fyre caught Wolf Boy's glance and quickly looked away, but it was enough. The dragon knew he was being Watched. He shifted about uncomfortably, but he did not move away. Spit Fyre sat unusually still in the soft drizzle, hoping that soon his Imprinter would appear and put an end to the unnerving two-legged wolverine who would not stop staring at him.



At last Jenna was sure that she could remember the Locum Tenens. She picked up Septimus's boots and laid them at Spit Fyre's feet. Still quiet, Spit Fyre sniffed the boots. Then he reared up his head and blew out a long, hot breath. Wolf Boy felt sick. He was not used to the smell of dragon breath, which is best described as a combination of the stench of burning rubber and the stink of old socks, with overtones of a hamster cage in dire need of a cleaning.



Jenna stood on tiptoe and rested her hand on Spit Fyre's nose. "Look at me, Spit Fyre," she said. Spit Fyre looked at his feet, he looked at the sky, he looked at his claws and then, twisting his head back, he suddenly found the tip of his tail extremely interesting. "Spit Fyre," said Jenna, insistent, "look at me - please."



Something in Jenna's voice caught Spit Fyre's attention. He put his head to one side and looked at her. Jenna kept her hand firmly on the dragon's wet and sticky nose. Her hand was trembling. This was her only chance of finding Septimus and it all depended on Spit Fyre, who was not the most dependable of creatures. Spit Fyre regarded Jenna warily. Did she have his breakfast with her? he wondered.



Jenna held Spit Fyre's gaze. Then she took a deep breath and slowly began. "Spit Fyre, look at me and I will tell you the five things you must understand. First: Spit Fyre, in good faith I tell you that your Imprinter is lost." Spit Fyre cocked his head and hoped it wasn't porridge for breakfast again.



"Second: Spit Fyre, in good faith I bring you that which belongs to your Imprinter." Spit Fyre closed his eyes and decided a couple of chickens would be very tasty.



"Open your eyes, Spit Fyre," said Jenna sternly. Spit Fyre opened his eyes. What was all the fuss about?



"Third: Spit Fyre, in good faith I tell you that I am your Navigator." Spit Fyre thought that he wouldn't mind chickens and porridge that morning. Preferably all mixed together in a big bucket.



"Fourth: Spit Fyre, in good faith I ask you to accept me as your Locum Imprinter." Spit Fyre wondered if they might give him three chickens with his porridge, since breakfast was late.



"Fifth: Spit Fyre, in good faith I beseech you to find your true Imprinter, through fire and water, earth and air, wherever he may be." Jenna held Spit Fyre's gaze for the required thirteen seconds and then looked away. Spit Fyre wondered if he had to find Septimus before or after breakfast. He hoped it was after. Then he picked up Septimus's boots - and ate them.



"Spit Fyre!" yelled Jenna. "Give them back!" She grabbed at a fast'disappearing bootlace and pulled. Spit Fyre pulled his head back. He liked tug-of-war games and this seemed like a good one. He had always thought that Septimus's boots looked tasty. Jenna tugged hard, there was a snap and she was left holding nothing more than the damp, frayed end of a boot-lace. Spit Fyre swallowed, gave a satisfied burp and then jumped in surprise.



A deafening clanging and banging had just started up outside the Great Arch, along with some loud and threatening whoops and screams. Wolf Boy leaped to his feet in consternation. He did not like sudden loud noises - they reminded him too much of the Young Army's midnight wake-up call.



"It's the RatStranglers," said Jenna. "They must have found a rat. Poor creature. Doesn't stand a chance now. You'd think people would have something better to do than run around the Castle all day banging trash can lids and killing rats."



The noise became louder as the RatStranglers started up their chant. "Rats, rats, get the rats. Rats, rats, kill the rats! Rat trap, rat trap, splat, splat, splat!" It echoed around the WizardTower courtyard, and numerous Wizards threw open their windows to see what the noise was. Then, with a roar, the assorted mob of RatStranglers surged through the Great Arch in pursuit of their quarry: two desperate rats in full flight, one dragging the other behind it.



Why the rats headed for the dragon kennel, Jenna did not know, but they scooted across the courtyard, ignoring the relative safety of the well and two convenient drains. They ped between Spit Fyre's feet, shot up the ramp of the kennel and hurled themselves deep into the pungent straw covering the kennel floor.



In a moment the RatStranglers had surrounded the kennel, banging their lids and chanting. Spit Fyre snorted in dismay. No dragon likes to be surrounded, especially by a raucous mob banging lids and screaming. Dragons generally have a surprisingly subtle ear for music and enjoy the finer kinds of classical music and plainsong; indeed, many an isolated monastery has been surprised to find a dragon regularly turning up to listen to the evening's Gregorian chant. Spit Fyre was no exception. The banging made his delicate dragon ears hurt and the chanting was not even in tune. With a roar he rounded on the RatStranglers, breathing hot dragon breath over them.



Most people would have given up at this point, and some of the hangers-on who had just come along for a laugh and a bit of fun took off, but the bulk of the RatStranglers stayed. They had never yet lost a rat and they did not intend to start now.



Jenna was furious. "How dare you?" she yelled. "How dare you come in here chasing two poor rats and frightening a young dragon. How dare you?" The noise subsided as the RatStranglers, who in their excitement had not noticed the Princess, put down their lids. The chant petered out into an embarrassed silence.



The leader of the RatStranglers, an earnest-looking young man sporting a badge showing a fearsome rat with huge yellow fangs dripping with blood, stepped forward. "We are doing our civic duty, Your Princessness. Rats are filthy vermin, they spread disease - "



At this Jenna laughed. "That's ridiculous. They're as clean as you or I. And it's humans that spread disease, not rats."



"We beg to differ, Princess," said the young man. "The Sickenesse that has come to the Castle has been brought by the rats. They must be destroyed."



"That's crazy," said Jenna, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're just chasing rats because you like killing defenseless animals. It's horrible."



"You should be grateful to us," a thin, reedy voice piped up from the back of the crowd.



"Why?" asked Jenna, catching the threat in the voice.



"Because some people say that you have brought the Sickenesse, Princess."



"Me?" Jenna was incredulous.



"They say it came on your Dragon Boat. They say it's a pity that that mutant ship wasn't left on the bottom of the Moat where it belongs." This was accompanied by a general muttering of agreement from the back of the throng, but no one near Jenna dared say anything.



Jenna was shocked into silence and the RatStranglers took her silence for permission to invade Spit Fyre's kennel. They swarmed up the ramp, and in no time at all they were raking through the straw, searching for the rats. Jenna and Wolf Boy were overwhelmed by sheer numbers and there was nothing they could do - but Spit Fyre decided otherwise. As the RatStranglers crowded past him, he swung his tail angrily and sent the owner of the reedy voice flying into a pile of dragon droppings at the back of the kennel. Then with a loud creaking as the tough dragon skin stretched out from its creases - accompanied by the smell of stale dragon sweat - Spit Fyre unfurled his wings and raised them high into the air, casting a shadow across the dragon kennel. The RatStranglers stopped their hunt and watched in amazement as Spit Fyre bowed his head toward Jenna, as if inviting her to sit where Septimus always sat - just behind his neck between his shoulders.



Afraid that Spit Fyre might change his mind any minute, Jenna scrambled up into Septimus's place and hauled Wolf Boy up behind her, into the Navigator's position where she usually sat. Then, remembering the instructions that Alther had given Septimus on Spit Fyre's FirstFlyte, she gave the dragon two kicks on the right side. They worked; Spit Fyre beat his wings slowly, once, twice, and on the third stroke. Jenna felt the dragon's muscles tense as he rose just a few inches off the ground, keeping himself steady and controlled in the close confines of the WizardTower courtyard. Then, as Spit Fyre hovered for a brief moment and prepared to accelerate, a yell came from one of the RatStranglers: "There they are! Catch 'em!"



As Spit Fyre left the ground, he was carrying more passengers than he had bargained for. Hanging from the barb on the tip of his tail were two terrified rats.