Syren

N either Jenna, Beetle nor Septimus saw the arrival of the Marauder that morning - they were all fast asleep in the hideout. The thick layer of grass that Septimus had laid over the canvas had protected them from being woken by the heat of the sun, and they had finally emerged close to midday.



Beetle had waded out through the retreating tide to a large rock with a flat top that he already thought of as his fishing rock, and within half an hour landed three of the black and silver fish they had enjoyed so much the previous day. While Beetle fished, Septimus had rebuilt the fire on the beach, and now he was slowly turning the fish over the glowing embers of driftwood. Beetle was idly drawing in the sand with the WaterGnome, while Jenna stood, gazing out to sea with a frown.



"That's odd," she said.



"It's meant to be the Wizard Tower sled," said Beetle, "only the water keeps splashing and making the lines go funny."



"No, not your drawing, Beetle. Out there." Jenna pointed out to sea. "Look..."



"What?" said Beetle, who was a little shortsighted.



"The lighthouse," she said. "It's dark."



"Yeah," said Beetle, trying to get the sled runners right in the sand. "They cover them with tar. Helps stop the seawater getting into the bricks."



Septimus stood up and shaded his eyes. "The light's gone out," he said.



"That's what I thought," said Jenna.



"I wonder why?"



"Maybe the sun's too bright..."



"Maybe..."



They ate the fish with more of Marcia's StayFresh bread and some of Jenna's hot chocolate. Beetle decided that he wanted to catch some bigger fish.



"There's some really deep water over there," he said, pointing to the Pinnacle. "I bet there are some big fish. I wouldn't mind seeing what I can catch out there. Would anyone like to come?"



"I'll come," said Jenna.



"Sep?"



Septimus shook his head. "No, I'd better not."



"Come on, Sep," said Jenna. "You haven't been anywhere yet."



"No, Jen," said Septimus a little regretfully. "I think I should stay with Spit Fyre. He doesn't seem too good, and he hasn't even drunk any water this morning. You and Beetle go."



"Well...okay, Sep," said Jenna. "If you're sure..."



Septimus was sure that he should not leave Spit Fyre, though he was not so sure that he wanted to be left alone once more. But that, he told himself, was just being silly. "Yep, I'm sure. I'll be fine with Spit Fyre."



Septimus watched Jenna and Beetle set off briskly along the beach. At the end of the bay they clambered up the line of rocks and waved. Septimus returned their waves; he watched them jump down onto the other side and disappear from sight. Then he turned to attend to Spit Fyre.



First he checked the dragon's tail. The HeatCloaks were dark and, when he touched them, were stiff and stuck fast to the scales. Septimus was not sure what to do. He was afraid that pulling them off would do more harm than good, so he decided to leave them be. He sniffed. Something did not smell too great, but he told himself it was probably the seaweed that he had packed over the wound. He decided that if the smell got worse by the afternoon, he would have to investigate.



Back at the bucket end of the dragon, things did not look a lot better. Spit Fyre's eyes were firmly closed, and however much Septimus prodded him and told him, "Spit Fyre, wake up and drink," the dragon would not respond. Septimus hoped that maybe Spit Fyre was sulking because of the bucket on his head, but he was not entirely sure. He thought the dragon's breathing seemed a little labored and wondered if he was hot, but the rocks provided almost complete shade and his scales felt quite cool. Septimus picked up the WaterGnome. He pulled Spit Fyre's lower lip out a little and drizzled some water into his mouth, but he was not sure whether the dragon actually swallowed it, as much of it seemed to dribble back out and land in dark patches on the rocks. Disconsolate, Septimus sat down. He stroked Spit Fyre's nose and murmured, "You are going to be all right, Spit Fyre, I know you are. And I won't leave you until you're better, I promise."



Suddenly Septimus heard a movement in the sand dunes behind him. He jumped up.



"Come out, wherever you are," he said with as much confidence as he could muster, scanning the apparently empty dunes. He half-closed his eyes - all the better for Seeing things, as Marcia often said - and there, in the dunes not far away, he did indeed See something. A girl - he was sure it was a girl - in green.



As if she knew she had been Seen, the girl began walking toward him. He watched her head bob through the sand dunes, and as she stepped from the cover of the last dune onto the beach below, Septimus saw a tall, thin, barefoot girl wearing a tattered green tunic.



Septimus skirted Spit Fyre's bucket and jumped down onto the sand. The girl walked slowly toward him and, as she drew closer, Septimus could see that she was wearing what looked like a very old-fashioned Apprentice tunic from the time when they still embroidered them with Magykal symbols. Two faded purple stripes on the hem of each sleeve proclaimed that she too was a Senior Apprentice. Her thin, straggly dark hair framed a careworn face covered in freckles. Septimus had the distinct feeling he had seen her before - but where?



The girl stopped in front of him. Her green eyes regarded him a little anxiously and then she gave a small formal bow with which, he suddenly remembered, Apprentices in Marcellus's Time would greet each other. "Septimus Heap," she stated.



"Yes?" Septimus replied warily.



"We have...met before. It is...good...to see you again." The girl spoke, Septimus thought, as though she were unused to speech.



"Who are you?" he asked.



"I...am Syrah. Syrah Syara."



The name was familiar too. But from where?



"You don't remember me, do you?" asked the girl.



"I think I do, but..."



"The Wizard Tower?" the girl prompted.



That was it! Septimus remembered the pictures he had seen on the walls of the Wizard Tower just before he escaped the Siege - especially the one of the girl aiming a punch at Tertius Fume. He shook his head in disbelief. Surely this could not be her - that had happened hundreds of years ago.



"I said hello to you," said the girl.



"You said hello?" Now Septimus was completely lost.



"Yes. That is why I know who you are. You are...the Alchemie Apprentice, the one who mysteriously disappeared. But I congratulate you. You came back, I suppose, and have taken my place with Julius."



"Julius?" asked Septimus, puzzled.



"Julius Pike, now your ExtraOrdinary Wizard." Syrah sighed wistfully. "Oh, what I would give to see dear Julius once more."



Septimus felt his whole world shift. What was this girl Syrah saying - that he was back in that Time again? Septimus forced himself to remain calm. He told himself that nothing had happened to even suggest that they had gone back in Time once more, unless...unless the storm had something to do with it...or perhaps the weird lighthouse they had nearly crashed into...or maybe even the lightning bolt? Maybe - maybe once you had been in a Time you could somehow get dragged back there without even knowing? No, he told himself, that was not possible. The only explanation was that Syrah was a ghost. A very solid-looking one, it is true, but island life was obviously good for ghosts.



"You have a dragon," said Syrah.



"Yes," said Septimus.



"I have a confession to make. I have been watching you and your dragon."



"I know you have. Why didn't you just come and say hello?"



Syrah did not answer. "Your dragon has its head stuck in a bucket," she said. "You should take the bucket off."



"No way," said Septimus. "It was hard enough to put it on."



"You put the bucket on? That is most cruel."



Septimus sighed. "My dragon has a badly injured tail. The bucket is to stop him from biting the bandages."



"Oh. I see. I had a cat once and - "



"Really?" said Septimus, somewhat abruptly. He wanted Syrah to go. Ghost or not, her talk about Marcellus and Julius Pike unsettled him. He scanned the distant rocks, hoping to see Jenna and Beetle to bring him back to reality - where were they?



But Syrah showed no inclination to go. She seemed fascinated by Spit Fyre. She climbed onto the rocks and walked slowly around him. Septimus felt annoyed.



"He needs to rest," he told her. "He shouldn't be disturbed."



Syrah stopped and looked at Septimus. "Your dragon is dying," she said.



"What?" Septimus gasped.



"His tail smells of the stinking black slush."



"I thought the smell was the seaweed."



Syrah shook her head. "No, it is the slush. That will be the reason he has been trying to bite it off. A dragon knows such things."



"No..." But Septimus knew that Syrah was right.



Syrah put her hand on Septimus's arm. Her touch was warm and friendly and it horrified Septimus - she was alive. And if Syrah was alive, what Time were they in now?



He was so shaken that he did not at first take in what she was saying to him. "Septimus,"



she said, "I can save your dragon's life."



"You can? Oh, thank you, thank you." A great feeling of hope washed over Septimus.



"But there is a condition."



"Ah," said Septimus, his spirits sinking once more.



"There is something I want you to do in return. And I should tell you, it is a dangerous thing."



"What is it?"



"I cannot tell you."



Septimus met Syrah's steady stare. He didn't know what to make of this strange girl who was looking at him with the same mixture of hope and desperation that he himself felt.



"And if I don't agree to do this whatever-it-is, will you still save Spit Fyre?"



Syrah took a deep breath. "No," she said.



Septimus gazed at Spit Fyre - his big, messy, contrary, galumphing dragon, who he had seen hatch from his egg, an egg that Jenna had given him. His daft, greedy, irritable dragon who had eaten most of the cloaks of the Ordinary Wizards in the Wizard Tower, the dragon who had saved Marcia from her Shadow and done unspeakable things to her carpet - his beautiful dragon was dying. Deep down he knew that he had known it all morning, ever since Spit Fyre had refused to drink. Septimus swallowed hard. He couldn't let Spit Fyre die, he couldn't. If there was the slightest chance that Syrah could save his dragon he would have to take it. He had no choice.



"I will do whatever you want," he said, "if you will save Spit Fyre. I don't care what it is, I will do it. Just make Spit Fyre live. Please."



Syrah was brisk and professional. She unwrapped the bandages, and as the last scrap of tattered HeatCloak fell away, Septimus reeled back. The smell of rotting meat was overpowering. The wound was swimming with slime. The bones showed as glimpses of dull yellow islands in a greenish-black sea of slush, and previously healthy scales were peeling back like dead leaves, revealing yet more ominous soft black flesh underneath. Apart from his shock at the state of Spit Fyre's tail, Septimus was mortified at the failure of his Physik skills.



Syrah read his expression. "I know Marcellus taught you some Physik, and I am sure you did your best, but you mustn't blame yourself," she said. "The stinking black slush comes, as they say, like a wolf in the night and steals people away from even the finest physicians."



"So what can you do?" asked Septimus.



"I shall combine Magyk and Physik. Julius - dear Julius - taught me this. It is powerful stuff; Julius and Marcellus worked it out together. The effect of Magyk and Physik used together is more potent than you would expect the combination to be. It was the very last thing I learned. Julius showed me how to combine them on the very day before the Draw...." Syrah's voice trailed off for a moment as she became lost in her memories.



Ten minutes later Spit Fyre was surrounded by a Magykal cocoon. Septimus had watched as Syrah made the stinking black slush evaporate in a stream of foul-smelling black vapor, the stench of which had lingered in the air until Syrah was almost finished. He had watched Syrah work like a skilled surgeon, handing her a variety of knives, forks and spoons from Marcia's Young Army Officer Cadet Hostile Territory Survival Pack, which she used to scoop out all kinds of unmentionable stuff (Septimus made a mental note not to use the utensils for supper). Then he had watched as Syrah sprinkled a few drops of green oil from a tiny silver phial onto the wound and then Engendered a Magykal purple haze tinged with green. The haze spread over the injured tail and covered it with a glimmering, transparent gel - something that Septimus had never seen before. When the gel was set, Syrah showed him how the scales were already turning back to green and, even as he watched, the flesh was beginning to grow over the bones. A clean, fresh smell of peppermint now hung in the air.



"Take this." Syrah handed him the silver phial. "It has an essence that speeds healing. I can see that his wings are torn in places. When he is stronger take him somewhere he can spread his wings and drip one drop of oil over each tear - they will knit together. But for now let him sleep while his tail mends." She smiled. "Do not worry, Septimus. He will live."



"Oh. I...well, thank you." Suddenly overcome, Septimus rushed off to find the WaterGnome.



This time Spit Fyre drank. He drank until Septimus's arm ached with holding the unwieldy gnome, but Septimus did not care. Spit Fyre was going to live and that was all that mattered.



Syrah watched Spit Fyre drinking. When at last Septimus put down the WaterGnome she said, "Marcellus gave Julius one of those on MidWinter Feast Day, but it wasn't quite like that, it was rather..."



"Rude?" asked Septimus.



"Yes." Syrah smiled for the first time.



Septimus shook his head. All his certainties were tumbling down like autumn leaves. Marcellus had given a rude WaterGnome as a gift - if that was possible, anything was.



"I have done as I promised," said Syrah. "Now will you do as you promised?"



"Yes," said Septimus. "I will. What is it you want?"



"You do still have your Alchemie Keye?"



Septimus was surprised. "Yes, I do. But how did you know I had the Keye?"



"Everyone knew," Syrah said, her eyes lighting up as she remembered happier days.



"After you left, most people thought you had run away, but in the Wizard Tower it was said that Marcellus had given you his Keye in exchange for a secret pact. They talked of nothing else for weeks."



Septimus smiled. The Wizard Tower had not changed - it was still a hotbed of gossip.



"But, you know, Marcellus would never speak about it, not even to Julius, who was his closest friend. I think that upset Julius quite a lot." Syrah looked sad as she remembered her much-loved Julius Pike. "Would you show me the Keye, please?" she asked. "I would love to see it."



Septimus reached inside his tunic and took his Alchemie Keye from around his neck. He placed the heavy gold disc in his palm so that Syrah could see it. It lay glinting in the sunlight, its distinctive boss decorated with the Alchemical symbol for the sun - and gold - a dot in the center of a circle.



"It is beautiful," said Syrah.



"Yes, it is. So...what is it you want me to do?" asked Septimus, putting the Keye back around his neck.



"Come with me and I will explain. Your dragon - Spit Fyre - will sleep until we return."



Septimus gave Spit Fyre's nose a good-bye pat, and then he jumped down after Syrah onto the beach and followed her into the sand dunes. His fear for Spit Fyre had lifted - but now he began to fear for himself.