S eptimus felt elated. He was flying Spit Fyre, and from now on he could fly him whenever he wanted. It was, he realized, the very first time that he had flown his dragon without a sneaking feeling of guilt, and the knowledge that Marcia did not really approve or had actually forbidden it.
But this time she had waved him off with a smile. She had even given him a hug - which was a bit weird - and now he had the excitement of a whole journey ahead of him, just him and his dragon. And even better, thought Septimus, as he took Spit Fyre up through a low bank of mist and emerged into the sunlight, he was on his way to see all the people who mattered to him the most. Well, nearly all. There were others, of course, but it was Jenna, Beetle, Nicko and Snorri who were waiting for him in an old net loft far away across the sea, and he was on his way to bring them home. Septimus knew it would be a long flight. He had done it two days earlier with Marcia, Sarah and the very sick Ephaniah Grebe, and it had not been easy, but that had mostly been due to what Sarah had called Marcia's "backseat flying." But now it was just Septimus and his dragon, and he would fly his dragon exactly how he wanted to. And so, skimming above the mist, Spit Fyre followed the winding curves of the river as it made its way down to the Port. Septimus sat in the Pilot Dip just behind the dragon's neck and in front of the dragon's broad, bony shoulders. With every long, slow beat of the wings, Septimus felt Spit Fyre's muscles move beneath the cool scales under him. He leaned back and rested against a large, flat spine - known as the Pilot Spine - and held on loosely to a short spine at the base of the dragon's neck, which some handbooks rather scathingly referred to as the Panic Spine but which Septimus knew was more correctly called the Guide Spine, for it was through this that he felt the dragon's every move. Soon Septimus and Spit Fyre were flying across the Port. The mist had disappeared and small white clouds were scudding high above them - happy clouds, thought Septimus. A bright sun shone, and Spit Fyre's green scales glistened with a beautiful iridescence. Septimus laughed out loud. Life was good - in fact, life was wonderful. He had survived the Queste - even better, he had successfully completed it - the only Apprentice ever to do so. And now, to his astonishment, he was a Senior Apprentice. He checked the hems of his sleeves - yes, the purple stripes were still there, shimmering in the sunlight.
Septimus looked down. Far below he saw the Port spread out like a patterned cloth. Many of the streets were still dark, as the sun was not yet high enough to reach deep into the warehouse canyons and take away their shadows, but the rays shone on the old slate roofs, which glistened from a recent shower of rain. Lazy curls of smoke rose from the chimneys below, and Septimus caught the sweet smell of woodsmoke in his nostrils. It was a good morning to be out on a dragon.
Leading away from the Port like a long white snake was a familiar raised road reaching out to the Marram Marshes: the Causeway. He set Spit Fyre to follow the Causeway, intending to fly out across the Marram Marshes to the Double Dune Lighthouse and from there set his course out to sea. As he drew toward the Marsh end of the Causeway, Septimus saw a figure, black against the whiteness of the road, making its way toward the Port.
Septimus did not altogether believe in a sixth sense. He was inclined to agree with Marcia that a sixth sense was "a load of witchy nonsense." He did have, however, a well-developed sense of knowing when he was being Watched, and suddenly Septimus knew that the figure at the end of the Causeway was Watching him. Not Ill-Watching but just plain Watching, the kind of thing a Wizard might do when he sees his child off to school and follows his progress, checking that the local bullies aren't lying in wait. Septimus gave Spit Fire two gentle nudges with his left foot and the dragon slowly lost height. Now Septimus could see that the figure had stopped and was looking up, shading his eyes with both his hands. "It's 409. I'm sure it is," Septimus muttered, lapsing into his habit of speaking his thoughts out loud when it was just himself and Spit Fyre. "Go down, Spit Fyre. Go down. Hey - not so faaaaaaast."
Spit Fyre landed on the Causeway with a tremendous thud and went into a skid on the slippery clay surface. Trying to brake, he held his wings out at ninety degrees to the road and pushed his tail down but only succeeded in making a deep groove in the chalky surface. Front feet splayed, heels dragging, Spit Fyre was still going fast and heading straight for a deep puddle. A plume of dirty water spewed into the air, and finally the dragon ground to a halt, the clay at the bottom of the puddle sticking to his feet like Marcia's mouse glue - a concoction she used for trapping the paper-eating mice in the Pyramid Library.
Septimus looked down from his perch. Where was 409? Surely he had been standing just about where they had landed. A horrible thought occurred to Septimus - Spit Fyre wouldn't have landed on him - would he? Septimus Listened. He Heard nothing, only the soft sighing of the breeze rustling across the reeds on either side of the Causeway. In a panic, Septimus scrambled down from the dragon. There was no sign of Wolf Boy in the road behind him; all he could see was the long tail groove and the skid marks of Spit Fyre's feet. Now an even more horrible thought came to Septimus - had the dragon dragged Wolf Boy along underneath him? "Stand up, Spit Fyre," he said somewhat squeakily.
The dragon regarded Septimus as if to say, Why should I? but Septimus was having none of it. "Stand up!" he ordered. "Spit Fyre, stand up at once!"
Spit Fyre knew when he had to do as he was told, but it didn't mean he had to do it gracefully. Irritably, he raised himself out of the puddle, which he was quite enjoying sitting in. Very warily Septimus peered underneath and suddenly felt much better. There was no sign of 409.
"Something wrong with the undercarriage, 412?" came a cheery voice from behind Septimus.
"409!" said Septimus, spinning around just in time to see his old friend emerge dripping with water from the reed beds. "I couldn't Hear you. For a horrible moment I thought...well, I thought - "
Wolf Boy's brown eyes laughed. "409's been squashed," he finished. "No thanks to you that I wasn't. Your driving is a menace. Had to throw myself into the reed beds." He shook himself like a dog, and a shower of drips flew off and landed on Septimus's wolverine skin. Wolf Boy eyed the skin suspiciously. He didn't like to see wolverine pelts being worn. Wolverines were family.
Septimus caught Wolf Boy's glance. Sheepishly he removed the wolverine skin and threw it onto Spit Fyre. "Sorry," he said.
"Don't worry. People wear 'em, I know that." Wolf Boy chuckled. "There's always trouble around here, isn't there?" he said.
"Is there?" asked Septimus.
"Yeah. You know - weird stuff falling out of the sky. First your brother and now you."
Septimus was not sure he liked being compared to that particular brother. He knew that Wolf Boy was referring to the time that Simon, in possession of the Flyte Charm, had swooped down on them almost where they were standing now and had tried to grab Jenna. But Septimus could never be annoyed when he was with Wolf Boy. He smiled and said, "Well, at least you didn't take a shot at me with your catapult."
"Nah. Still carry it though. So what are you doing, then?"
"I'm going to get Jenna. And Nicko and Snorri. And Beetle. Bring them home."
"What - all of them? On that?" Wolf Boy eyed Spit Fyre dubiously. The dragon returned the compliment.
"Yep. It'll be fun."
"Rather you than me. I prefer where I'm going any day."
"So where's that - the Port?" This was not a difficult guess - the Causeway led nowhere else.
"You got it. Zelda wants me to - " Wolf Boy stopped. Aunt Zelda had told him to tell no one what he was doing. "Do some stuff," Wolf Boy finished lamely.
"Stuff?"
"Um, yeah."
"It's okay, you don't have to tell me. There are things Marcia doesn't let me tell anyone either. Want a ride?"
"Oh." Wolf Boy looked at Spit Fyre. He had sworn that he would never, ever get on that dragon again. The scales gave him the creeps, and the way Spit Fyre flew - up and down like a yo-yo - made his stomach churn.
"It's a long walk to the Port," said Septimus, who didn't want to leave his old friend on his own in the middle of nowhere. "And we won't go fast, I promise."
"Well, I...oh, all right then. Thanks."
Septimus was as good as his word. He flew Spit Fyre very slowly about fifty feet above the Causeway, and they soon came to the first outlying buildings of the Port - a few rundown workers' cottages. Watched by some silent young children - who had emerged wide-eyed at the sound of the dragon - Wolf Boy slipped down from his place behind Septimus. He landed on the Causeway like a cat and pulled his backpack straight.
"Thanks, 412. That wasn't so bad."
"Anytime. Look, watch out for the Port Coven, won't you? They're worse than they look."
"Yeah. And they don't look so great, either," said Wolf Boy. "Hey - how d'you know I'm going to the Coven?"
Septimus was suddenly concerned. "I didn't," he said. "You're not really going to the Coven, are you?"
Wolf Boy nodded. "Aunt Zelda, she..."
"Hmm," said Septimus. "Well, just remember that Aunt Zelda didn't get to be a Keeper by being a goody-goody white witch all the time." He fixed his gaze on his friend's dark brown eyes and lowered his voice. "No one gets to be Keeper without touching Darke, 409. Take care. Don't get too close, okay?"
"I won't. And you take care too. Come and see us when you get back."
Septimus thought how wonderful it would be to spend some time at Aunt Zelda's with Jenna and Nicko, just like it had been when they first met - only better. "We'll all come and see you," he said. "I'll bring Nicko and Snorri - and Beetle too, and Jenna."
"Great. And I'll show you the Marsh. I know all the paths - well, most of them. I'll take you to Chicken Island. I've got some good friends there."
"Sounds good. Really good." Septimus looked at Wolf Boy and wished he wasn't headed for the Port witches. Septimus wasn't sure that his friend understood just how dangerous they were. He reached into one of the pockets on his silver Apprentice belt and drew out a small metal triangle. "Here, take this," he said. "It's a Reverse. If those witches try anything, point the sharp end of this at them. It will send it right back to them - with knobs on."
Wolf Boy shook his head regretfully. "Thanks, but no thanks," he said. "Gotta do this on my own."
"Okay," said Septimus, replacing the Charm. "I understand. Be careful." Septimus watched Wolf Boy's long, loping stride take him quickly past the cottages and onto a narrow, cobblestone track that led into the dark streets of higgledy-piggledy houses, which hugged the fringes of the Port. He watched until Wolf Boy turned a corner and disappeared into the shadows. Then, under the somewhat disconcerting gaze of the silent crowd of grubby toddlers and young children, he told his dragon, "Go up."
Spit Fyre, who - despite what Barney Pot thought - was very careful of small children, cautiously beat his wings, and Septimus slowly saw the ground below loosen its hold once more.
They were on their way.
