Septimus Heap 4 : Queste(53)

“No, Jen,” said Septimus very definitely. “Beetle, tell Jen what you saw.”

Beetle sat down on a snow-covered log—his legs ached after the unaccustomed exercise of the last few days. “I saw a ring. A Darke ring.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jenna.

“It was when I went back to get your pin.”

“What was?”

“The kid shrunk one of his precious licorice snakes and gave it to the Thing as part of a Contract.”

“A Contract? Beetle, what are you talking about?”

Beetle found it hard to explain things to Jenna—the way she looked at him stopped him from thinking straight. But he had to try. He took a deep breath and began.

“That precious scribe of Jillie Djinn’s who was in the Vaults—you remember?”

Jenna nodded.

“Well, it seems he had a Darke Thing

with him. Because when I went back to find your pin I heard him transfer it to Tertius Fume. The kid had to give the Thing a release token and he didn’t have anything except a licorice snake. So he Shrank that and gave it to the Thing.

And that’s what I saw on Ephaniah’s left little finger.”

“No—but how?”

“The only possible explanation is that the Thing has InHabited Ephaniah. Because whatever form a Thing takes, a Darke ring will stay the same.”

“I didn’t see a ring,” Jenna said stubbornly.

“You weren’t looking, Jen,” said Septimus.

Jenna shook her head in disbelief. She could not rid herself of the thought of Ephaniah lying abandoned in the hut. “I—I don’t believe it. Poor Ephaniah. He must have followed us through that horrible forest. And with his limp he’d never have been able to catch us. And he couldn’t shout, could he? So what did we do in return? We left him outside all night even though he was begging to come in, and now we’ve left him behind to freeze to death. Well, you might think that’s okay, but I don’t.”

“But, Jen—” Septimus’s protests fell on thin air. Jenna was already running back up the valley retracing their footsteps, followed by the faithful Ullr.

“Jen! Stop!” yelled Septimus.

“I wouldn’t shout,” said Beetle. “You don’t know what’s listening. Come on, Sep, we gotta get to her before the Thing does.”

But Jenna, who could always run fast, had already put a good distance between them.

Beetle surprised himself by reaching the hut before Septimus. “Jenna…” he puffed. “Jenna?”

There was no reply. Heart beating fast, Beetle followed Jenna’s scrambling footsteps through the snowdrift outside the door. He found Jenna alone, standing on the wet patch where the body of Ephaniah had lain.

“He’s gone,” said Jenna.

“Good,” said Beetle.

“But…how? He was unconscious.”

Beetle shook his head. “I saw his eyes open—just for a moment. He looked at me. Can’t do that if you’re unconscious.”

“But how could he go so fast? Ephaniah can’t even walk very well.”

“Doesn’t make any difference who they InHabit,” said Beetle. “They can still shift it.”

Jenna looked Beetle in the eye. “You really do think that Ephaniah has been—what do you call it?—InHabited, don’t you?”

Beetle nodded solemnly.

“And you honestly, truly saw the snake ring on his finger?”

“Yep. Little pinky, left hand. Where they always wear them.”

“Okay,” said Jenna reluctantly. “I believe it now.”

Beetle grinned with relief and pleasure—Jenna had listened to him. It was a good feeling.

Septimus appeared, out of breath. “I saw it at the top of the hill,” he said. “It’s heading off.”

“Good,” said Beetle.

Jenna had something she wanted to say. “Beetle, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“’S okay.” Beetle shrugged.

“I know I should have.”

“I don’t see why—it’s weird stuff. Why should you believe it?”

“Because I know who that boy is. The one you call Daniel Hunter.”

“You do?”

“He was DomDaniel’s Apprentice. You remember, Sep? I know he’s changed a lot—he’s taller and his skin has gotten bad and his hair is long and horrible—but it is him, isn’t it?”

Septimus wasn’t too good with faces. But now that Jenna had said it, he knew she was right. “So that’s why he said he was me—because for ten years he was. Well, he thought he was. Poor kid.”

Beetle looked puzzled. “Tell you later, Beetle,” said Septimus. “But we ought to get going.” He held out the compass.

The needle was still pointing steadily—but not in the direction he had hoped. “Darn. It’s pointing the way the Thing has gone.”

“We’ll have to follow it,” said Jenna.

“No, Jen. That’s just plain dangerous,” Septimus protested.

Jenna stuck out her bottom lip stubbornly. “I don’t care, Sep. If that’s the way to the House of Foryx, then that’s the way we go.”

Septimus appealed to Beetle. “It’s crazy to follow that Thing. You agree, don’t you, Beetle?”

“Well…” Beetle hesitated.

“Beetle,” Septimus protested.

“If it’s going in the right direction we could do worse than to follow it. That way we keep an eye on it. Much better to have something like that in front of you than behind you where you can’t see what it’s doing.”

“Yes,” said Jenna briskly. “Just what I was thinking.”

“You know, Jen,” said Septimus as they set off following the Thing’s tracks, “sometimes you really do remind me of Marcia.”





40


THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS

T hey followed the long, scuffling

tracks away from the hut. The tracks led over a small stone bridge that Snorri had marked on the map, then up a steep slope and down into another valley beyond. As they walked through the tall trees at the head of the broad valley, all around was silence and snow; not a breath of wind stirred the branches. Once or twice they caught a glimpse of the Thing

far below, speeding down the slope with its odd, lurching gait, but the white of its robes made it hard to spot against the snow and it drew ever farther ahead until they lost sight of it.

Still following the tracks, the compass needle led them down to a frozen marsh on the valley floor. It was noticeably colder here. The mix of ice and marsh mud crackled beneath their feet and the tall, black spikes of reed that stuck up through the snow snagged on their wolverine-skin cloaks. As they continued on a downward slope, the marsh gave way to a wide frozen stream, along which the Thing

had traveled in long, sliding strides. Jenna picked up Ullr and placed him on top of her backpack. The cat perched precariously and surveyed the scene in a disapproving manner. Slipping and sliding, they set off along the ice, leaning forward to balance their backpacks. Soon they got into a steady skating rhythm and picked up speed along the smooth ice of the stream.

The stream widened and led them into the lower reaches of the valley. Septimus, who was in the lead, suddenly saw a huge bank of thick white fog rising in front of them. He skidded to a halt and Beetle cannoned into him, closely followed by Jenna and Ullr, who toppled onto the ice with a loud meow.

“Ouch,” said Beetle, dusting himself off and struggling to his feet. “You might have warned us you were putting on the brakes.”

“Didn’t have time,” said Septimus. “Look.” He pointed to the fog.

Beetle whistled between his teeth. “Where did that come from?”

“I saw it,” said Jenna, “but I thought it was snow.”

It was true—the fog was exactly the same color as snow. It stretched from left to right as far as the eye could see and blended seamlessly into the gray-white snow-filled sky. Jenna did not like fog; it reminded her of the time when she had sat marooned inside a Magykal

fog near the Marram Marshes, listening to the click of a pistol no more than a few feet away, aimed at her heart. “Do you think the Thing is in there, waiting for us?” she whispered.

“No,” said Beetle. “Look—the Thing

saw it before we did. There are the tracks.” The lopsided tracks had left the frozen stream, doubled back on themselves and disappeared up the hill and into the trees.

As they scanned the tracks, a long low rumble began to shake the ground. Deep within the fog, something was coming.

“Can you hear that?” asked Jenna, wide-eyed and pale.

Septimus and Beetle nodded.

“Run?” said Beetle as the ground vibrated through the soles of his boots. “Now?”

“Where to?” asked Jenna, glancing around. Nowhere looked safe to her.

Septimus shook his head. “No…no. It’s going away now. Listen. It’s passed by. Whatever it was.”

“Whatever it was,” muttered Beetle, “I would not have liked to have been in the way.”

Not so very far away, at the top of the hill, the Thing

stopped and looked down on the three figures standing uncertainly on the edge of the fog bank. It grimaced, contorting Ephaniah’s rat mouth into a vicious snarl. Just a few more careless steps, it thought, and the job would have been done.