Syren

That night found Jenna and Septimus sitting together on what was once again their beach, a little way from a talkative group gathered around a blazing fire. At Jenna's insistence, Septimus had just finished telling her all that had happened.



"You know, Sep," said Jenna, "if being Queen means always having to watch everyone else do stuff, I don't think I want to be one. You and Beetle get to do exciting things with jinn and Ice Tunnels and sleds while I have to sit and politely listen to Milo drone on and on. Nicko and Snorri weren't much better - all they talk about is boats."



"The Ice Tunnels weren't that great," said Septimus. "Believe me." He looked up and saw a banana-like figure emerge from the sand dunes. "Oh, at last - there's Jim Knee. Excuse me, Jen. I have to talk to him."



"Oh, go on then, Sep. I know you have important things to do," said Jenna.



"You can come too, Jen. Actually, he can come to us. Jim Knee!"



Jim Knee wandered over, his doughnut hat swaying as he walked. "You called, Oh Sedentary One?"



"Did you do it?" Septimus asked anxiously.



"It was a battle," he said, "but I won." The jinnee smiled. Life with his Master was not turning out to be as tedious as he had feared. "We go back a long way, the Syren and I. I was due a little victory."



Septimus had a sudden attack of goose bumps. He realized that he was talking to a very ancient being. "Thank you, Jim Knee," he said. "Thank you. You are...incredible."



Jim Knee bowed. "I know," he said, and handed Septimus the small silver phial that Syrah had given him for Spit Fyre. It was ice-cold.



Gingerly, Septimus took the phial between finger and thumb and held it at arm's length. "Is it Sealed?" he asked.



"Indeed it is, Oh Cautious One. Will that be all? I could do with that nap now. It has been a bit of a day."



"No, that will not be all," said Septimus, reminding himself that, however grateful he was, to his jinnee he must appear to be tough and not - as Beetle had recently reminded him - a pushover.



"What else do you wish, Oh Taxing One?"



"Three things, actually."



"Three, Oh Insatiable One? You do realize that three is the maximum number of wishes that may be commanded at any one time?"



Septimus didn't, but he was not going to admit it. "Three. Number one, I command you to stop calling me silly names."



Jim Knee sighed. "Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted. Your wish is my command, Oh Great One - I may call you that, may I not? It is standard jinnee practice. Unless you prefer something else, of course."



"I think," said Septimus, considering the matter, "I would prefer Apprentice. That is what I am."



"Not Senior Apprentice, Sep?" Jenna teased.



"Can you imagine what he'd make that sound like, Jen? No, Apprentice is just fine."



Jim Knee sounded resigned. "Very well, Oh Apprentice."



"I said Apprentice, not Oh Apprentice."



"Very well, Apprentice."



"Number two, I command you to go, as fast as you can, to the far end of the Frozen warrior jinn. I wish to know if they reached the Castle. If they have reached the Castle, you are to inform the ExtraOrdinary Wizard what has happened."



Normally the jinnee would have protested that this was in fact two wishes, but he felt he was on soft ground. He had not entirely honored the agreement that had released him from the Sealed cell. "The ExtraOrdinary Wizard, Oh G - Apprentice?"



"Yes. You will find her at the Wizard Tower. Tell her I sent you."



Jim Knee looked uncomfortable. "Ah," he said, "that reminds me. She asked me to find you and get some kind of Keye...to, um, Seal some tunnels? Quite went out of my head with all the excitement. I'll do that now, shall I?"



Septimus could hardly believe what he had just heard. "Marcia asked you to Seal the tunnel? But I don't understand - how did she know? And how on earth did you meet Marcia?"



Jim Knee looked shifty. "Just bumped into her," he said. "I'll go now, shall I?"



"I haven't finished. My third wish is that you return all the jinn to their tubes."



Jim Knee sighed. It was what he had expected, but that didn't make it any easier. Never since he had been a slave in the stables of King Augeas had the jinnee faced such a Herculean task - except this time he doubted Hercules would turn up to help.



"Your wish is my command, Apprentice," said Jim Knee, bowing low. The doughnut hat fell off, he snatched it up, crammed it back on and, mustering his dignity, walked off. Jim Knee made his way to the first warrior jinnee he had Frozen. The tide was retreating and the seven-foot-long armor-clad figure lay facedown in the wet sand, his arms outstretched, his ax half-buried in the sand, his shield and the silver wings on his helmet caught up with strings of seaweed. At the sight of the indentations from the ghost crab's claws still visible in his unprotected heel, Jim Knee allowed himself a half-smile. He was thankful the jinn had not seen him coming, for they would have seen him as he really was - the wild, wall-eyed wise woman of some twenty-five thousand summers who had, mistakenly, she sometimes thought, chosen existence as a jinnee in preference to life as a turtle trader's fourth wife. The turtle trader's wife had once had the misfortune to meet the vicious warrior from whom they had been taken, and it was not an encounter Jim Knee wished to repeat.



There was a flash of yellow light, and Septimus saw his jinnee whiz along the line of fallen warriors and disappear into the dunes. He took Syrah's book from his pocket and anxiously looked at the cover. It now read:



Septimus smiled - the Syren's crabbed writing was gone. He looked along the beach, then scanned the dunes.



"You okay, Sep?" asked Jenna.



"Yes, thanks, Jen. Very okay, in fact." He glanced up to the hilltop.



"You expecting someone?"



"Well, I - oh, bother," muttered Septimus.



A figure had detached itself from the group around the fire and was making its way toward them.



"Ah, there you are," said Milo cheerily, settling himself down between Jenna and Septimus. "Mission accomplished, Princess." He smiled at Jenna fondly. "I picked the rats up, though I would happily have left them stranded on that rock. Why you think the Cerys needs its rats back, I really do not know."



Jenna grinned. "They'll be leaving at the Port," she said. "I'll be arranging a pickup."



Milo smiled indulgently. "So like your mother. Always some mysterious project going on." He turned to Septimus. "And you, young man, I cannot thank you enough - you saved my precious cargo."



"You're welcome." Septimus sounded preoccupied.



"And he saved the Castle," said Jenna.



"Indeed, indeed. It was a very clever trick."



"Trick?" Jenna spluttered indignantly. "Sep doesn't do tricks. It was really brave and clever - hey, Sep, are you okay?"



"Yeah...fine," said Septimus, glancing back at the dunes once more. Milo was quite used to people looking distracted when he was talking to them. "Just think," he said. "Just think how different things would have been if I had found this army when I first began searching all those years ago. You, Jenna, would have grown up with your real mother, not with some weird Wizards, and of course you, Septimus, would have spent those precious, never to be recaptured, early years with your own dear parents."



"The weird Wizards, you mean?" asked Septimus.



"Oh. Oh, no, no, of course I didn't mean that. Oh, dear." Milo sprang to his feet, glad of a timely interruption. "Well, he llo. And who is this young lady?"



"Syrah!" gasped Septimus, also leaping up.



Milo suffered a rare attack of sensitivity. "I'll just go and check on things," he said, and hurried off toward the fire.



"Hello, Syrah," said Jenna a little shyly.



"Princess Esmeralda." Syrah dropped into an awkward curtsy. Jenna flashed a questioning glance at Septimus. "No, please, I'm not - "



Septimus stepped in. "Syrah, are you all right?"



Syrah looked anything but all right. She was deathly pale; the dark shadows around her eyes looked even deeper and her hands were trembling. "I am...I think...I am me."



She sat down suddenly and began to shake violently.



"Jen," said Septimus, kneeling beside Syrah, "could you get some water, please - and a HeatCloak too?"



"Of course." Jenna rushed off.



"Septimus," Syrah whispered, "the Syren...I do not understand...where...where is she?"



Septimus held out his hand. In his palm lay the silver phial, covered with a fine frosting of ice, which shimmered in the light from his Dragon Ring.



"Here. The Syren is in here," said Septimus.



Syrah stared uncomprehendingly at the phial. "In there?"



"Yes. Sealed in here," said Septimus. "Syrah, I promise you, the Syren has gone. Forever. You are free."



"Free?"



"Yes."



Syrah burst into tears.



The moon rose, and in the distance the two beams of the CattRokk Light shone out across a calm sea. On his Watching platform, Miarr prowled contentedly. He looked out at the island and, as Milo threw another log on the fire, he saw it blaze up into the night, illuminating the group gathered around it. Miarr smiled and chewed on a dried fish head. For the first time since Mirano's disappearance, he felt at peace. On the beach there was peace - but not quiet. The fire crackled and spat with the salt in the driftwood, people chattered and Spit Fyre snuffled and snorted. Septimus had decided that he was well enough to be moved down onto the beach. Spit Fyre was, he thought, becoming a little miserable on his own. The dragon, complete with bucket and bandaged tail, lay on the soft sand just below the sand dunes, gazing at the fire through half-closed eyes, watching Beetle dispensing cups of FizzFroot just out of reach of his tongue. He snorted, stretched his neck and tried to get a little closer. Spit Fyre liked FizzFroot. Wolf Boy was showing Jenna, Beetle, Nicko, Snorri, Lucy and Jakey how to play Village Chief - a fast-moving game involving shells, scooped out dips in the sand and much shouting.



Septimus and Syrah sat quietly watching the game. Syrah had stopped shivering and had even drunk some of Jenna's hot chocolate. But she was very pale, and against the bright red of the HeatCloak, Septimus thought she looked almost ghostly.



"How beautiful the Cerys looks in the moonlight," said Syrah, gazing out at the ship, which was ablaze with light as the crew repaired the damaged rigging and set her to rights. "She will be ready to set sail soon, I think?"



Septimus nodded. "In two days' time."



"Septimus," said Syrah, "I do not know how to thank you. I am so happy - all I wished for has come true. You know, I used to dream of sitting here with a group of friends from the Castle around a fire - and now, here I am." Syrah shook her head in wonderment. "And soon, so very soon, I shall see Julius."



Septimus took a deep breath. He had been dreading this moment. "Um...Syrah, about Julius, I - "



"Hey," Wolf Boy called over. "You two want to play Village Chief?"



Syrah turned to Septimus, her green eyes shining in the firelight. "I remember that game. I used to love it."



"Yep," Septimus called back. "We'll play." He would tackle the Julius question in the morning.



But it wasn't Septimus who tackled the Julius question - it was Jenna. Later that night as the swish-swash of the waves receded, the ancient roads in the sand slowly reappeared, glistening in the moonlight, and Wolf Boy became Village Chief for the second time, Septimus heard Jenna say to Syrah, "But I am not Esmeralda - really I'm not. That was five hundred years ago, Syrah."



Septimus was at Syrah's side in an instant. "What does the Princess mean?" Syrah asked him.



"She - Jenna - means that...um...oh, Syrah. I am so sorry, but what she means is that you have been on this island for five hundred years."



Syrah looked utterly bewildered.



Septimus tried to explain. "Syrah, you were Possessed. And you know that when someone is Possessed, they have no sense of time passing. Their life is suspended until the time they are - if they are lucky - DisPossessed."



"So...are you telling me that when we get back to the Castle, five hundred years will have passed since I was last there?"



Septimus nodded. Around the fire, a fearful hush fell - even Milo was quiet.



"So Julius is... dead."



"Yes."



Syrah let out a long, despairing wail and collapsed onto the sand. They rowed Syrah over to the Cerys and laid her in a cabin. Septimus kept watch all night, but she did not stir. And when the Cerys set sail for the Castle, Syrah still lay unconscious in the cabin, so thin and insubstantial beneath the blankets that sometimes Septimus thought no one was there.



Three days later, the Cerys drew up alongside Merchant Quay in the Port. The Town Band struck up its usual cacophony, and an excited chattering came from the crowd gathered on the quay. It was not every day that such an impressive ship came into Port carrying a dragon - and it was certainly not every day that the ExtraOrdinary Wizard came to meet a ship.



Marcia had caused quite a stir when she had arrived, and comments were flying around the crowd.



"She's got lovely hair, hasn't she?"



"Look at that silk lining on her cloak - must have cost a fortune."



"Not sure about the shoes though."



"Isn't that the old White Witch from the Marshes with her?"



"Ooh, don't look, don't look. It's bad luck to see a Witch and a Wizard together!"



Marcia listened to the comments and wondered why people thought that wearing ExtraOrdinary Wizard robes made her deaf. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar figure hanging around at the back of the crowd.



"Is that who I think it is?" she said to Aunt Zelda.



Aunt Zelda was much shorter than Marcia and had no idea who Marcia was staring at, but she did not want to admit it. "Possibly," she said.



"The trouble with you Witches, Zelda," said Marcia, "is that you never give a straight answer to a straight question."



"And the trouble with you Wizards, Marcia, is that you make such sweeping generalizations," snapped Aunt Zelda. "Now excuse me. I want to get to the front. I want to make sure Wolf Boy really is safe."



Aunt Zelda pushed her way forward through the crowd while Marcia quickly made her way to the back, the crowd respectfully parting for the ExtraOrdinary Wizard. Simon Heap saw her coming, but he stood his ground. There was no way he was going to walk away from seeing his Lucy and asking her if she still wanted to be with him - not even Marcia Overstrand could make him do that.



"Simon Heap," said Marcia, striding up to him. "What are you doing here?"



"I'm waiting for Lucy," said Simon. "I've heard she's on board."



"She is indeed on board," said Marcia.



"She is?" Simon's face lit up.



"There's no point hanging around here," said Marcia.



"I'm sorry, Marcia," said Simon, politely but very definitely. "I'm not leaving."



"I should hope not," said Marcia - then, to Simon's amazement, she smiled. "You get yourself right to the front. You don't want to miss her."



"Oh! Well, thank you. I...yes, I will."



Marcia watched Simon Heap disappear into the crowd. Suddenly a loud voice came from the ship. "Marcia!" Milo had spotted the distinctive purple robes. The gangplank was lowered and the crowd cleared a path for Milo, who, resplendent in a new set of dark red robes liberally trimmed with gold, cut an impressive figure. He reached Marcia, bowed dramatically and kissed her hand - to the sound of some cheers and some desultory clapping from the crowd.



Jenna watched from the Cerys. "Oh, he is so embarrassing," she said. "Why can't he just be like a normal person - why can't he just be...okay?"



"You know, Jen," said Septimus, "just because Milo isn't how you think he should be, doesn't mean he isn't okay. It's just that he's okay in a Milo kind of way."



"Hmm," said Jenna, not entirely convinced.



Milo was leading Marcia toward the Cerys. "Do come aboard. I have a most precious cargo to show you."



"Thank you, Milo," Marcia replied. "I have arranged for the precious cargo to be taken straight to the Sealed Room in the Wizard Tower, where it will remain indefinitely. Mr. Knee here will be in charge of it."



Milo looked dumbfounded. "B-but - " he stammered. There was a yellow flash, a faint pop and the distinctive shape of Jim Knee materialized. He bowed to Milo and walked serenely up the gangplank of the Cerys, where he was nearly knocked over by Lucy Gringe as she hurtled down, braids flying. "Simon!" Lucy was yelling. "Oh, Si!"



From the back of the crowd two late arrivals pushed forward.



"Silas, why are we always late?" puffed Sarah. "Oh look - there he is. Nicko, Nicko!"



Nicko stood at the top of the gangplank, looking out for his parents, ready to meet them at last. "Mum! Dad! Hey!"



"Oh, come on, Silas, do," said Sarah.



"Oh, my...oh, Sarah, he looks so grown up."



"He's older, Silas. An awful lot older, if you believe what they say."



As the hubbub died down, on the quayside a rat stood holding a sign, which read:



RATS!



ARE YOU



SICK OF SEASICKNESS?



BORED WITH BISCUITS?



WEARY OF WEEVILS?



COME TO THE CASTLE AND BE A MESSAGE RAT!



Apply at this notice. Ask for Stanley.



And for once, the rat was doing good business.