Fyre (11 page)

There would be, thought Marcellus grimly. “Indeed?” he said coolly. “Is thirteen significant?”

“You tell me,” said Beetle.

Marcellus said nothing.

Beetle continued. “Now, if we place the tracing over the Vent diagram, like so . . . we can see that each red dot is on top of the end of a line on the diagram.”

“So it is,” murmured Marcellus. “How very interesting.”

“And I presume each line ending is a Vent.”

Marcellus shrugged. “Whatever a
Vent
is.”

Beetle knew he had to keep cool, but it was not easy. Fighting to keep any vestige of irritation out of his voice, he continued, “I—
we
—believe that the note is indeed from you and we believe that you wrote it to Julius Pike. FYI is, as I am sure you do actually remember, archaic shorthand for ‘For Your Information.’ Marcia and I are convinced that there is a connection between these puddles and the
Fyre
in the Great Chamber of Alchemie. We would like an explanation as to why the puddles occurred
before
the
Fyre
has even been lit. Before, in fact, the Chamber was opened.”

For a few seconds, Beetle thought he had done it.

Marcellus sighed and said, “Indeed, there is a connection. Perhaps I may demonstrate?”

Beetle nodded.

Marcellus took a pen and proceeded to add a series of thick black crosses to the red dots on Beetle’s Castle plan. He then joined them up so that they formed a wavy line that meandered from the South Gate by the river to the Wizard Tower.

“You will find that
all
these places will have melting snow,” he said, looking at Beetle over the top of his spectacles. “You will also see that by no means all these spots have a—what do you call it—a
Vent
beneath them as shown on the diagram. It is an unfortunate coincidence that the ones you have found just happen to be above one of these Vent things. Whatever they may be.” He shrugged. “Coincidences happen.”

“Coincidences?”

Marcellus took off his spectacles and looked up. “Dragon blood.”

“What?”

“Dragon blood. After his fight with the
Darke
dragon, Spit Fyre left a trail of blood from the South Gate to the Wizard Tower. Each red dot, and now each cross, marks a spot of blood. You will find the snow has also melted at every cross I have drawn. I agree there is a link between the opening of the Chamber and the melting snow, but only insofar as that the flight made by Spit Fyre led to us being in the happy position of being able to do this at all.” Marcellus looked at Marcia. “No doubt you know all about the eternal heat of dragon blood?”

Marcia was not sure she did, but she was not going to give Marcellus the satisfaction of admitting it. “Of course I do,” she snapped.

Marcellus knew the interview was at an end. He took off his spectacles and put them back in their red velvet case. “Dragon blood is a wonderful thing, but it does have a tendency to lead to puddles in snow, which is most annoying for those who fall into them. I suppose your shoes were ruined, Marcia?”

“How did you know I—”

Marcellus stood up. He had won and he wanted to get out of Marcia’s study as soon as possible. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have important work to continue. I hope next time we meet it will be to do the job that we all wish to do—
DeNature
the Two-Faced Ring.”

Marcia opened the study door. “Yes, indeed.” She took a deep breath and said, “I apologize for interrupting your work, Marcellus. I’ll see you out.”

Beetle sat down with a sigh. Quietly, he put the Vent diagram and his tracing, now covered with taunting black crosses, back in his folder. He had made his first mistake as Chief Hermetic Scribe. It was not a good feeling.

Marcia returned without Marcellus. Beetle leaped to his feet. “Marcia, I am
so
sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Beetle,” said Marcia. “It’s all for the best. Marcellus knows we have our eye on him now. Please do not let this put you off. You must let me know about anything else suspicious—anything at all.”

Beetle felt very relieved. “Yes. Yes, of course I will. I will check out all the crosses he made.”

“Thank you, Beetle. Now I think we have both earned a strong cup of coffee.”

By the time Marcia escorted Beetle down the stairs he felt a little less embarrassed about the interview with Marcellus. As they spiraled down into the vaulted space of the Great Hall, Beetle saw that something had caught Marcia’s attention: Milo Banda was coming out of the duty Wizard’s cupboard.

Beetle saw Milo catch sight of Marcia and stop dead. Milo dithered. It seemed to Beetle that Milo wanted to skip back into the cupboard but was unsure whether Marcia had seen him. Marcia decided it for him. She jumped from the stairs and set off across the Great Hall at top speed. Beetle kept a tactful distance—something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what.

Milo was floundering. “Marcia, how nice. Goodness. Fancy seeing you here.”

Marcia looked confused. “I generally
am
here. This is where I live. And where I work.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. What I meant was that I didn’t expect to bump into you.”

“No?”

“No. I, um, have some business here. A small project of mine.”

“Oh. You never said. I might have been able to help.”

“No . . . no, I don’t think so.”

“Oh.”

“But of course, er, thank you for the offer. I do hope you understand,” Milo said anxiously. “I didn’t want to disturb you. I know how busy you are. That’s why I come here in the mornings.”

“Morn
ings
?”

“Er, yes. Hildegarde said it was the best time.”

“Hildegarde?”

“Yes. But of course if you prefer I can see Hildegarde other times.”

“It matters not a jot to me
when
you choose to see Miss Pigeon,” Marcia said icily. “However, I will be having words with Miss Pigeon about using work time for social engagements.” Marcia turned on her purple python heel and strode off.

Milo caught up with her at the foot of the stairs. “But it’s not a social—”

Marcia glared at Milo. “I find that I have other commitments this evening. Double speed!” The stairs did Marcia’s bidding and took her whirling upward. A distant scream followed by a
thump
came from somewhere far above as a Wizard was thrown off by the sudden change of speed.

Beetle and Milo watched Marcia’s purple cloak disappear.

“Bother,” Milo said. “Bother, bother, bother.”

“I’ll second that,” said Beetle.

On the way back to the Manuscriptorium, Beetle saw Jenna’s distinctive red cloak going past the Manuscriptorium, and he decided to take a detour to check out the nearest of Marcellus’s crosses. After a fruitless hour he discovered that the three closest to the Wizard Tower were not possible to verify. Two were on top of roofs and one was actually inside a building. He suspected that the others would be the same. Beetle walked slowly back to the Manuscriptorium. He
knew
that Marcellus Pye was up to something. But what was it?

8

K
EEPER’S
C
OTTAGE

S
arah Heap was fiddling around
in the herb garden potting shed when Jenna let herself into the garden from the side gate. From Jenna’s expression Sarah knew what the answer to her question would be, but she asked anyway.

“Hello, love. Any luck?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s
so
cold. Look at the frogs.”

“
Frogs?
What frogs?” Jenna sounded touchy.

“Exactly—
what
frogs. They are all hiding in walls, asleep. Their hearts hardly beat at all in the winter, you know. And the Dragon Boat, she’s cold-blooded too, like a frog.”

Jenna was indignant. “She’s nothing
like
a frog, Mum.”

“Well, obviously she doesn’t look like one but—”

“And anyway, I heard her all through the last Big Freeze and the one before. I’m worried that the
Darke Domaine
might have seeped into her somehow.” Jenna took out a tiny blue glass bottle. On its small brown label was written:
Tx3 Revive
. “I’ve had this for
so
long now and every time I tell Aunt Zelda that we should use it and revive the Dragon Boat properly she makes an excuse. But I am not being put off
any longer
. I am going to see Aunt Zelda. Right now.” Jenna strode off.

“Jenna!” Sarah called after her.

Jenna stopped at the walled gate that led into a covered way to the Palace. “What?”

Sarah picked her way along the icy gravel path to where Jenna waited impatiently. Unlike Sarah, Jenna liked to get things done as soon as she had thought of them. Sarah put her hand on Jenna’s arm.

“Aunt Zelda is not quite as . . .” Sarah searched for the right word. “Er,
Aunt Zelda-ish
as she used to be. She is getting very forgetful—you know she forgot to come to the wedding. She doesn’t always realize she forgets, but it upsets her when she does. Don’t . . . well, don’t expect too much.”

“But she
has
to do it, Mum. It is her job as Keeper.”

Sarah looked at Jenna fondly. “I know. When will you be back, love?”

“As soon as I can,” Jenna replied. She gave Sarah a quick kiss and ran off along the covered way toward a small door at the foot of the east turret.

Sarah watched her go. She thought how Jenna had grown up during the past month. She thought how
Queenly
she looked. Sarah smiled at the idea of her little girl being Queen. It will suit her, she thought. She is ready now.

Inside the Palace, Jenna ran up the winding turret stairs. She arrived breathless at the top landing and from a pocket deep in her tunic she took a gold key with a large red stone set into its bow. She stepped forward, pushed it into what appeared to be a blank wall and quickly jumped backward. She waited for a few seconds, then walked forward and disappeared through the wall.

Many miles away, in a stone cottage on an egg-shaped island at the southern edge of the Marram Marshes, Jenna emerged from a tiny cupboard under the stairs.

“Aunt Zelda,” she called softly. There was no reply. Jenna looked around the room she knew so well. A fire was burning in the hearth, the floor was neatly swept and the potion bottles that lined the walls sparkled with different colors. The room itself was long and low with a flight of stairs going up the middle, below which was the Unstable Potions and Partikular Poisons cupboard from which Jenna had just emerged. Aunt Zelda’s cottage only had two rooms—one upstairs and one downstairs. Jenna did not count the kitchen, which was tacked onto the back and felt more like Sarah Heap’s potting shed than a real room. She walked up the stairs and glanced around the long, low attic room. The beds were made, the room neat and tidy—and completely empty of Aunt Zelda.

Jenna went back downstairs. “Aunt Zelda?” she called once more, but there was still no reply. She must be out with Wolf Boy, thought Jenna, probably cutting cabbages or making sure there was a hole in the ice for the ducks. She decided to wait for them to come back.

Jenna wandered around, enjoying just being in the cottage on her own. Aunt Zelda’s cottage was a special place for her. That morning it was alive with light reflected from the snow piled up outside, which, combined with the smell of the woodsmoke and the underlying odor of boiled cabbage, took her right back to the happy weeks that she had once spent in the cottage during a previous Big Freeze. Jenna loved the quiet orderliness of the cottage, the walls lined with books and hundreds of potion bottles, the low rough-hewn beams hung with all manner of interesting things, some that reminded her of Aunt Zelda: bags of shells, gardening hats, bundles of reeds, cabbage cutters, bunches of herbs, and some that announced the fact that the cottage was now Wolf Boy’s home too: a selection of fishing rods, nets and a fine collection of catapults.

Jenna walked over to the fire and stood warming her hands, careful not to disturb the duck asleep on a cushion by the hearth. A sudden gust of wind brought down a shower of frozen snow from the cottage roof; it clattered against the thick green windowpanes and made her jump. Jenna decided she had had enough of being alone in the cottage—she would go and find Aunt Zelda and Wolf Boy.

The icy cold shocked Jenna as she stepped outside. She had forgotten how much colder the Marram Marshes were than the Castle, especially when the east wind blew. Today the east wind was blowing hard, sending flurries of ice particles scooting across the top of the snow and a raw chill into her bones.

She set off along the cleared path, which led down to the plank bridge that crossed the frozen Mott—the large ditch that surrounded Aunt Zelda’s cottage. Jenna stopped and, shielding her eyes against the glare of the snow, she looked around for Aunt Zelda or Wolf Boy. There was no sign of them, nothing except the great expanse of white blurring out in front of her. She turned and looked back at the small stone cottage piled high with snow, which reached up to its low eaves and made the cottage look like an igloo. The warm glow from the fire shone through the windows and Jenna was very tempted to go back inside, but she told herself sternly that the sooner she found Aunt Zelda, the sooner she could get back to the Dragon Boat.