Marcellus experienced another Time Slip. Back to a time a few weeks before the Great Alchemie Disaster, when Julius Pike had brought a visiting Wizard to see the Fyre without asking his permission, and he had spotted them from pretty much where he was standing now. It was such a strong feeling that Marcellus was on the verge of yelling, Julius—what do you think you are doing, just as he had done before, when one of the figures stepped back and Marcellus saw the green glow of his face and the searing glance of his brilliant green eyes.

The Time Slip vanished.

Up until that moment, Marcellus had not believed in evil. During his long life he had come across many variations of being bad: lies, treachery, deceit, violence and just plain nastiness, and he would be the first to admit that he had probably been guilty of a few himself. But “evil” had undertones of the supernatural that Marcellus found hard to accept. But no longer. He knew he was in the presence of evil. And he knew why—these were the Ring Wizards.

Marcellus sank to the ground, and there he sat on the dusty earth, trying to figure out what had happened, while all kinds of terrible thoughts went through his mind. Marcellus put his head in his hands. It was all over now. Everything he had worked for was finished. He slumped down in despair and something tapped him on the top of his head.

How Marcellus managed not to scream was a mystery to him. Maybe, he thought later, he had recognized the soft, slightly apologetic touch. Whatever the reason, Marcellus leaped up and swung around to find himself face-to-face—with Duglius Drummin.

40

KEEPERS

Head held high, the Dragon Boat flew quickly away from the Castle, the gilding on her hull shimmering in the sunlight. As her huge, leathery wings beat slowly up-and-down-and-up-and-down, creaking a little with the unaccustomed effort, she took a direct path out across the river and over the orchards of the lower Farmlands, pink with late apple blossoms. She was followed by a smaller, greener, leaner dragon who was flying his fastest to keep pace with her.

“Spit Fyre, go home!” Septimus yelled.

Keeping his hand on the tiller, Septimus looked back, past the great scaly tail of the Dragon Boat and its golden tip to his dragon, who followed like a faithful dog.

“Spit Fyre coming too?” asked Nicko.

“No,” said Septimus. “He’s not.”

“That’s not what he seems to think,” Nicko observed.

Septimus was not pleased. “Spit Fyre! Go home!” he shouted again.

But Spit Fyre appeared to hear nothing—although Septimus suspected he heard perfectly well. His dragon wore the smug look that showed that he knew had gotten the better of his Master.

“Bother,” said Septimus. “He can’t come with us. He won’t be able to keep up.”

Jenna had not noticed Spit Fyre. She sat in the prow of the Dragon Boat, looking back at the Castle—a perfect golden circle surrounded by blue and green—and tried to shake off the feeling that she was deserting the Castle just when it needed her.

Septimus caught Jenna’s eye and smiled encouragingly. He remembered the last time they had flown together, when they were being pursued by Simon, and he thought of how different everything was now—and yet not completely different. The Two-Faced Ring was the last link of the chain of Darkenesse that led back to DomDaniel, and Septimus was determined to break it. Jenna returned Septimus’s smile and leaned against the Dragon Boat’s neck. The sunlight glinted off her gold circlet and her long dark hair streamed out behind her. Septimus had a sudden sense that he would remember this moment forever.

Nicko, however, was less inclined to remember the moment. To his embarrassment, he was feeling sick. He couldn’t believe it—he was never seasick. But there was something very unsettling about the constant up-and-down-and-up-and-down motion of the Dragon Boat that bore no relation to anything sensible like waves. Queasily, Nicko stared over the side and concentrated on the world in miniature as it passed far below, hoping that would make the sickness go. Soon he saw the fine silver line of Deppen Ditch and the hazy green flatness of the Marram Marshes beyond, peppered with little round islets rising out of the mist.

Jenna made her way along the deck toward Septimus. “Sep . . . you know . . . Uncle Eddie and Uncle Ern . . .”

“Yes,” Septimus said quietly.

“Well, do you remember how Aunt Zelda got Merrin back from being Consumed?”

“Pity she ever did,” growled Nicko.

“Yes . . . well, maybe she could do the same for them.”

“Maybe.” Septimus looked down at the Marshes below. Somewhere among the mist lay Aunt Zelda’s island—but where?