Syren (23 page)

The crowd having dispersed, Marcia now saw a strange sight. An odd-looking man wearing one of the most bizarre hats she had ever seen—and Marcia had seen some hats in her time—was lying on the ground trying to get up. He was having some difficulty due to the fact that Barney Pot was kneeling on both his ankles.

“Got him!” said Aunt Zelda triumphantly. “Well done, Barney!”

Barney grinned. He loved the lady in the tent. He had never had such fun—never
ever
. Together they had chased the banana man through alleyways and shops, and Barney had never lost sight of him once. And now they had caught him—and saved the ExtraOrdinary Wizard, too.

“Right, Marcia,” said Aunt Zelda, who knew how to control a jinnee. “You grab one arm, I’ll take the other—he won’t like
that
. You do still have a Sealed cell in the Wizard Tower, don’t you?”

“Yes, we do. Goodness, Zelda, what on earth is this all about?”

“Marcia, just grab him, will you? This is Septimus’s escaped jinnee.”

“What?” Marcia stared down at Jim Knee, who flashed her a beguiling smile.

“A case of mistaken identity, madam, I can assure you,” he said. “I am but a poor traveler from distant shores. I was indulging in a little window-shopping along your
wonderful
avenue in this
enchanting
Castle when this madwoman in a tent accosted me and set her hooligan child upon me. Get
off
, will you?” Jim Knee desperately waggled his feet, but Barney Pot was not to be dislodged.

“Zelda, are you sure?” asked Marcia, looking down at Aunt Zelda, who now had Jim Knee in an armlock.

“Of course I’m sure, Marcia. But if you want proof, you can have it.” Aunt Zelda very deliberately took out Jim Knee’s gold bottle and unstopped it. The jinnee went white.

“No, no, have mercy. I pray you, don’t put me back in there!” he wailed.

In a moment Marcia was on the ground beside Aunt Zelda, and Septimus’s jinnee was in what Marcia called “protective custody.”

As Jim Knee was marched along Wizard Way, firmly
sandwiched between Marcia and Aunt Zelda, with Barney Pot proudly leading the way, people stopped what they were doing and stared. The crowd of onlookers regrouped and followed them all the way to the Great Arch, but Marcia did not notice. She was too busy with her plan for the jinnee—and as plans went, Marcia knew it was a good one. She just needed to sell it to Aunt Zelda, who, as the Awakener, needed to agree.

As they passed into the cool shadows of the lapis-lazuli-lined archway, Marcia said, “Zelda, would you and Barney like to come up for tea in my rooms?”

Aunt Zelda looked suspicious. “Why?”

“It has been so long since we’ve had a proper chat, and I would like to go some way toward repaying your kind hospitality on the Marshes a few years ago. Happy times.”

Aunt Zelda did not remember Marcia’s stay with such a rosy hue. She was tempted to refuse but felt she should ask Barney first. “Well, Barney, what do you say?”

Barney nodded, his face shining with wonder. “Oh, yes
please
,” he said.

“Thank you, Marcia,” said Aunt Zelda, feeling sure she would regret it. “That is most kind.”

While Jim Knee languished in the Wizard Tower’s Sealed
cell, Marcia sat Barney down with a miniature set of Counter-Feet and his favorite chocolate cake. Then she explained her plan to Aunt Zelda. Marcia had to be almost more polite than she could bear, but in the end it was worth it—she got what she wanted.

But Marcia usually got what she wanted when she put her mind to it.

T
he following morning a long
way from the Wizard Tower a black boat with dark red sails approached the CattRokk Lighthouse. It went unnoticed by anyone except the lighthouse keeper, who watched it with a sense of dread.

“We’re nearly there. You can come out now.” Jakey Fry’s head appeared like a bizarre lightbulb dangling from the hatch above. A brilliant strip of sunlight glanced down like a dagger, and Lucy
Gringe and Wolf Boy blinked. They had not seen sunlight for what felt like years, though it was actually a little over three days. They had, it is true, seen some light in the form of the candle that Jakey Fry had brought down each evening when he came to give them their meager supper of fish—oh, how Lucy
hated
fish—and to play cards with them, but only according to the Jakey Fry Rule Book, which basically meant that whatever happened, Jakey Fry won.

“Hurry up! Pa says
now
,” hissed Jakey. “Get yer stuff together and make it sharp.”

“We don’t
have
any stuff,” said Lucy, who had a tendency to get picky when irritable.

“Well, make it sharp then.”

A bellow came from the deck, and Jakey’s head disappeared. Lucy and Wolf Boy heard him call, “Aye, Pa, they’re coming. Aye, right now. Pronto!” He stuck his head down once more. He looked scared. “Get up that ladder or we’ll all be fer it.”

As the
Marauder
pitched and rolled in the waves, Lucy and Wolf Boy stumbled up the ladder and crawled onto the deck. They breathed in the fresh sea air in wonder—how was it possible that air could smell so
good
? And the light—how could it possibly be so
bright
? Lucy shaded her eyes and looked
around, trying to get her bearings. She gasped. Rearing into the brilliant blue sky was a massive black column of a lighthouse, which seemed to grow from the rocks like an enormous tree trunk. Its foundation was rock, which gradually gave way to huge chunks of pitted granite covered in thick tar and encrusted with barnacles. As the lighthouse rose toward the sky, the granite was replaced by tar-covered bricks. Lucy, who was always fascinated by how things were made, wondered how anyone could possibly have built such a huge tower with the sea forever crashing about them. But it was the very top of the lighthouse that fascinated Lucy the most:
It looked like the head of a cat
. There were two brick-built triangles that looked to Lucy like ears and, strangest of all, there were two almond-shaped windows for eyes; from these came two beams of light so bright that Lucy could actually see them in the sunlight.

With a stomach-churning lurch, the
Marauder
dropped into a trough of a wave, the sun was blotted out by the lighthouse and a chill shadow fell across them. Next the swell took them so high that Lucy was looking straight at the seaweed-covered base of the lighthouse. Then the
Marauder
dropped like a stone into a trough of boiling water—and all the time the boat was rolling from side to side. Suddenly Lucy felt very, very
sick. Just in time she rushed to the edge of the boat and threw up over the side. A bellow of laughter came from Skipper Fry, who was standing nonchalantly holding on to the tiller.

“Women an’ boats,” he chortled. “Useless!”

Lucy spat into the sea, then spun around, eyes blazing, “
What
did you—”

Wolf Boy had spent enough time in Lucy’s company to know when she was about to explode. He grabbed her shoulder and hissed, “Stop it, Lucy.”

Lucy glared at Wolf Boy. She did her angry-pony headshake, broke away from Wolf Boy’s grasp and set off toward the skipper. Wolf Boy’s heart sank. This was it. Lucy was about to get thrown overboard.

Jakey Fry liked Lucy even though she was rude to him and called him weevil-brain and bug-features. He saw what was coming and jumped in front of her.

“Lucy, I need yer help,” he said urgently. “Yer strong. Throw us the rope, yeah?”

Lucy stopped impatiently. There was a desperate look in Jakey’s eyes. “Please, Miss Lucy,” Jakey whispered. “Don’t make ’im uppity.
Please
.”

Ten minutes later, with the help of Lucy—who turned out to be an accomplished rope thrower—the
Marauder
was tied up to two massive iron posts set into the rocks above a small harbor hewn from the rock at the foot of the lighthouse. Jakey Fry peered down at the boat, anxiously wondering if he had allowed enough rope. It was difficult to tell. Too much rope and the
Marauder
would drift onto the rocks, too little and she would be left dangling in the fall of the tide—and if he got it wrong either way, there would be trouble.

“Gettup that ladder,” the skipper yelled at Lucy.

“What?”
gasped Lucy, staring at the rusting iron ladder festooned in slime and seaweed, at the top of which Jakey Fry was anxiously hovering.

“You ’eard. Gettup that ladder.
Now!
”

“Go on, Lucy,” said Wolf Boy, who was desperate to set foot on land once more, even if it was only a slimy rock in the middle of the sea.

Showered by spray from the crashing waves below, Lucy scrambled up the ladder, closely followed by Wolf Boy and Skipper Fry. Thin Crowe was left to battle with four huge coils of rope, which he eventually succeeded in hauling up the ladder with the help of Jakey and Wolf Boy.

Led by Skipper Fry, they stumbled up a narrow path worn deep into the rock that wound toward the lighthouse. Wolf Boy’s relief at being on solid ground was evaporating fast. At the end of the path he could see a rusty iron door set into the foot of the lighthouse and, as he stepped into the cold shadow cast by the lighthouse, his arms hurting from the weight of the rope he was being forced to carry, he felt as though he and Lucy were being marched into prison.

Skipper Fry reached the door first and beckoned to Thin Crowe impatiently. Thin Crowe dumped the rope and seized the small iron wheel set into the center of the door. He gave the wheel a vicious twist. For a few seconds nothing shifted except Thin Crowe’s eyes, which bulged so much that Wolf Boy thought they might, with any luck, spring out of their sockets. And then, with a deep grinding sound from within the door, the wheel began to turn. Thin Crowe put his bony shoulder to the door and shoved. Inch by inch the rusty door screamed open slowly, and a breath of musty air flowed out to meet them.

“Get in,” growled Skipper Fry. “Make it snappy.” He gave Wolf Boy a shove but wisely left Lucy to go in under her own steam.

The inside of the lighthouse felt like an underground cavern.
Rivulets ran down the slimy walls, and from somewhere came a hollow
plink-plink
of dripping water. High above them reared an immense void in which a fragile helix of metal steps clung nervously to the curved brick walls. The only light came from the half-open door, and even that was fast disappearing as Thin Crowe shoved it closed. With a hollow
clang
the door banged back into its metal frame, and they were plunged into darkness.

Skipper Fry cursed and dropped his coil of rope with a
thud
. “How many times do I have to tell yer not to close the door until I lit the lamp, dung brain?” he demanded, noisily getting out his tinderbox and scraping at his flint, with little success.

“I’ll do it, Pa,” Jakey Fry offered anxiously.

“No yer
won’t
. D’yer think I can’t light a poxy little lamp? Get out of me way,
idiot boy
.” The
thump
of Jakey being thrown against the wall made Lucy and Wolf Boy wince. Under the cover of the dark, Lucy edged toward the sound. She found Jakey and put her arm around him. Jakey tried not to snuffle.

Suddenly, from somewhere about halfway up the tower, Wolf Boy and Lucy heard the sound of a door slamming and then the ring of steel toecaps on iron stairs. Heavy footsteps
began to
clank
their way down the steps, which reverberated and shook, carrying the sound all the way to the ground. Wolf Boy and Lucy craned their necks upward and watched a dim light circle high above them, growing slightly closer with every circuit.

Five long minutes later, Thin Crowe’s twin stepped off the last step, and Skipper Fry at last managed to light the lamp. The flame flared up and illuminated the features of Fat Crowe, who was, despite the rolls of fat, uncannily like his brother. He shone his own lamp at Lucy and Wolf Boy.

“What they fer?” he growled in a voice indistinguishable from that of Thin Crowe.

“Nuffin useful,” grunted his twin. “Yer ready, pig face?”

“Yeah, rat brain, more ’n ready. Drivin’ me crazy, he is,” Fat Crowe replied.

“Not fer much longer,
hey hey
.” Thin Crowe chuckled.

The glow from the lamp shone in the skipper’s face, turning it a nasty yellow.

“Well, get a blinkin’ move on then,” he said. “And mind yer
do it right
. Don’t want no
evidence
.”

Lucy and Wolf Boy flashed each other worried glances—evidence of
what
?

“Is he comin’?” asked Fat Crowe, pointing to Wolf Boy, who was longing to put his coil of rope down.

“Don’t be
stupid
,” said the skipper. “Wouldn’t trust these two with me last moldy mackerel. Take ’is rope and get going.”

“So what’s they ’ere fer, then?” asked Fat Crowe.

“Nothing. Yer two can sort ’em out later,” said Skipper Fry.

Fat Crowe grinned. “Be our pleasure, boss,” he said.

Lucy flashed Wolf Boy a glance of panic. Wolf Boy felt sick. He’d been right. The lighthouse
was
a prison.

The Crowe twins and Jakey Fry set off up the steps.

“Wait!” Skipper Fry yelled. Jakey and the Crowes stopped. “Yer’ll forget yer heads next,” growled the skipper. “Take these.” From his pocket he took a tangle of black ribbon and dark blue glass ovals. “Crowes—one each,” he grunted. “Put ’em on yer know when. Don’t want yer going blind on me just when we’ve got a job to do.”

Thin Crowe stuck out a bony arm and took what in fact were two pairs of eye shields.

Jakey Fry looked worried. “Don’t I have one, Pa?” he asked.

“No, that’s man’s work. Yer to carry the rope and do as yer told, got that?”

“Yes, Pa. But what are they for?”

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell yer no lies. Get up them steps, boy. Now!”

Jakey staggered off under his pile of rope, leaving Skipper Fry in the well of the lighthouse guarding Wolf Boy and Lucy.

After a few minutes of strained silence, listening to the dripping water and the echoing
clang
s of the receding footsteps, an unpleasant thought occurred to Skipper Fry—he was outnumbered. Normally Theodophilus Fortitude Fry would not have even considered a
girl
when counting the opposition, but this time he felt it was wise to count Lucy Gringe. And there was something odd about the boy too, something feral. A line of goose bumps ran up the back of the skipper’s neck and made his tattooed parrot twitch. Suddenly he didn’t want to spend another second alone with Wolf Boy and Lucy Gringe.

“Right, yer two,
yer
can get up them steps an’ all,” he growled, and gave Wolf Boy a shove in the back.

Wolf Boy made sure that Lucy went first and then followed. Theodophilus Fortitude Fry came close behind, the sound of
his labored breath soon cutting out the
clang
ing steps circling far above. It was a long, long way up, and the climb took its toll on the wheezing Fry. Lucy and Wolf Boy kept on going and drew steadily ahead.

The seemingly endless steps were punctuated by landings every seven spirals. Each landing had a door leading off. Lucy and Wolf Boy had stopped briefly on the fourth landing to catch their breath when a shaft of blinding light shot down from the very top of the lighthouse, followed a few seconds later by a terrifying—or was it terrified?—yowl. In the brilliant blue-white light, Lucy and Wolf Boy exchange horrified glances.

“What was
that
?” mouthed Wolf Boy.

“Cat scream,” mouthed Lucy.

“Human scream,” whispered Wolf Boy.

“Or
both
?” whispered Lucy.