The Darke Toad (8 page)

Suddenly she heard a voice calling, “Marcia!” She spun around to see Septimus racing toward her. “Septimus, I told you to stay inside,” she said, trying—unsuccessfully—to be stern and not show how pleased she was to see him.

“I'm sorry,” said Septimus, “but the witches … they …” He stopped to catch his breath.

“I know,” said Marcia. “It's awful.”

“They …
kidnapped a boy
.”

Now at last there was something Marcia could actually stop them doing. “Right, let's get them,” she said. “Which way did they go?”

Septimus pointed toward Fishguts Twist. “Up there. I think.”

They stopped by an empty bench at the mouth of Fishguts Twist. The alleyway had numerous branches off it—or dives, as they were called in the Port.

Septimus eyed the dives despondently. “But they could have gone down any of those,” he said.

Marcia was unwilling to give up. “So we'll just have to take our chances.”

It was at that moment that the
Darke
Toad's
Listening Time
was up. It hopped out from the drainpipe and the movement caught Septimus's eye. “Oh!” he said. “It's a toad.” To Marcia's disgust Septimus squatted down and picked it up. The toad sat in his hand and stared balefully at him. Septimus stared back, remembering a rude rhyme about DomDaniel they used to whisper in the Young Army:

If you want to know where DomDaniel sat
,

Go where it smells of rotting cat
.

If you want to know where DomDaniel's gone
,

Find a fat toad and you won't go wrong
.

Because wherever he goes

There is always a toad
.

Just follow the toad in the road
.

The
Darke
Toad shifted uncomfortably on Septimus's hand. It didn't like the feel of human warmth one bit.

“Put that horrible thing down, Septimus,” said Marcia. “You don't know where it's been.”

“But I
do
know where it's been,” said Septimus.

“Up some disgusting drainpipe, no doubt.
Put it down
.”

“It's been with DomDaniel,” said Septimus.

There was something about Septimus's certainty that made Marcia take notice. “Really?” she said.

“I reckon,” said Septimus, raising his hand to his face so that he and the toad were eyeballing each other, “that this is a
Darke
Toad.”

“Most Port toads have some
Darke
in them,” said Marcia. “We have the Port Witch Coven to thank for that.”

“But this is a
DomDaniel
toad,” said Septimus. “I'm sure it is.”

Marcia looked puzzled. “How do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, they used to say that DomDaniel always took a toad with him when he went anywhere. When he left, he'd leave it there as a sort of spy. The toad would hang around for, er—” Septimus trawled his photographic memory and scrolled down page three of his old Young Army Memory Book. “It was 5.71666666666667 minutes, I think, to listen to what people said about DomDaniel after he left, then the toad would catch up with him and tell him. It got a lot of people into big trouble. When I was in the Young Army we were taught to recognize a DomDaniel toad. And not stamp on it.
Ever
. We had signs stuck up in the barracks saying
Respect the Toad
.”

“So you mean that this one will hop off now and tell DomDaniel what we've been saying?” asked Marcia.

“I reckon so,” said Septimus.

“Well, it can tell him from me that I know he's at the bottom of this and he is not getting away with it. It can tell him from me that I'm coming to get him.”

But it was not DomDaniel who concerned Septimus; it was the Port Witch Coven. “Marcia, Alice Nettles said that DomDaniel was with the Port Witch Coven, didn't she?”

“Well, yes, she did. I must admit, Septimus, I did think she was mistaken, but maybe she was right after all. Well, there's only one way to find out. Let the toad go and we'll follow it.”

Septimus put the toad onto the ground and it quickly hopped away. “Just follow the toad in the road,” he murmured.

Marcia looked at her Apprentice quizzically. “Another Young Army rhyme?” she asked.

“Well …” Septimus always felt reluctant to admit to remembering anything from the Young Army. It felt somehow disloyal to Marcia.

But Marcia was not concerned at all. She smiled. “There was a surprising amount of sense in some of their rhymes,” she said, “Come on, Septimus, let's go.”

J
akey Fry—only ten or
possibly eleven years old, he was not sure which—was terrified. Jakey knew enough about witches to know he was in
big
trouble. A witch had him in her
Grasp
, her long black fingernails felt as though they were drilling into his shoulder, and no matter how loud he tried to yell, he could make no sound. In front of him was a witch with a cracked white face, who walked on spikes and was leaning on another weird witch with a cone of hair stuck on her head. Behind him was a witch pushing a wheelbarrow that kept jabbing into the back of his legs. And behind
her
was something really horrible that Jakey couldn't see, even though he knew it was there. The only person who looked kind of normal was a young man in an old black cloak who was hurrying along behind the wheelbarrow witch; but every time Jakey looked back and tried to catch his eye, the young man looked away. Jakey knew that look well enough. He'd seen it on people's faces when his father—the notorious Skipper Fry—shouted at him in the street. It was the I-don't-want-to-get-involved face. He'd find no help there. Jakey knew he was on his own.

Jakey was so scared that his legs kept giving way beneath him, but the witch who had her fingers dug into his shoulder didn't care. She had dragged him halfway along Fishguts Twist, down Spider Slide, through the Dripping Duck and out into a run-down road called The Shambles, which Jakey knew very well indeed. As they went past the lodging house where he lived with his father, Jakey stared desperately up at the dark window, hoping that maybe Skipper Fry was looking out for him. But he knew his father would never do that—he didn't want his son at home. Jakey had to earn his keep as a ship's rat and as soon as he arrived back in the Port his father always signed him up for another voyage.

As Jakey was dragged past the battered front door of the lodging house he gave a silent sob. No one would ever know what had really happened to him—everyone would assume he had drowned in the harbor that night. For Jakey understood that whatever the witches had planned for him, he was not going to survive it.

A few streets away from Jakey, pursued by two purple snakes bristling with sharp, bright
Magyk
, the
Darke
Toad was moving fast. It hurried past the bookshops on Fishguts Twist longing to catch up with its Master, who would surely make short work of the snakes. Hoping to put them off its trail, the
Darke
Toad delayed its turn into Spider Slide until the very last minute and then shot into its shadows. The ploy very nearly worked. Marcia hurried by, but Septimus was not fooled. He dived into the Slide, and Marcia, realizing what had happened, followed him.

Spider Slide was so narrow that they had to go in single file. “You stay in front, Septimus,” said Marcia. “That way I can make sure you're okay. There are some strange people around here at night.”

Septimus felt glad of Marcia's protection and tried not to think about how scared the kidnapped boy must be, out there on his own.

The
Darke
Toad now headed toward one of its favorite places, a dank, covered way known as the Dripping Duck. The Dripping Duck was well named—its dripping roof was so low that Marcia had to duck, and the ground was covered in thick slime. As they emerged into the fresh air, Marcia inspected her shoes with a sigh. They were never going to be the same.

Septimus and Marcia now found themselves on The Shambles. At the far end Septimus's keen eyesight picked out a small, round figure with a wheelbarrow rapidly disappearing around the corner. “There they are!” he said excitedly.

“Are you sure?” asked Marcia, peering along the empty street.

“Yes. I saw the little one with the wheelbarrow.”

“Aha, the
wheelbarrow
.”

The
Darke
Toad sped up. Marcia and Septimus hurried along behind it and saw it hop around the corner at the end of the street. At the corner Marcia signaled to Septimus to wait. She peered around, and to her surprise, the witches and the boy were no more than a few yards away, with the witches engaged in a furious—yet oddly silent—argument.

Marcia backtracked and bumped into Septimus. “You're right,” she whispered. “It's them.”

“Is the boy there?” asked Septimus.

“Yes.”

“So why are we waiting? We have to help him!”

“Shh!” shushed Marcia. “Septimus, I want you to stay here. I didn't see DomDaniel but it wouldn't surprise me if he's done some kind of
Invisibility
. I don't want him to know you are here. You know that the reason you ended up in the Young Army was because he wanted you for his Apprentice. If Alice is right and he is actually alive, then he is a danger to you. He may still want you as his Apprentice. Understand?”

“But the
boy
,” Septimus protested. “I
have
to rescue him!” He thought of all the times in the Young Army when he had dreamed that someone would come and rescue
him
, but no one ever had. And now he had a chance to help another boy who Septimus just
knew
was feeling just like he had—
and Marcia wasn't going to let him do it
.

Marcia was afraid that Septimus would take off at any moment and run straight into the clutches of DomDaniel. She looked him in the eye and held his gaze. “Septimus, you are my Apprentice and you have to trust me. We must act together as a team. You have done your part of the rescue and now I have to do mine. That is how it works. Okay?”

Septimus could only nod in reply. He felt really upset.

“Good. Now you stay right here. I do not want DomDaniel to have the
slightest suspicion
that you are here. I will be back as soon as I can and I promise you that I will be bringing the boy with me.”

“Okay,” Septimus said reluctantly.

“Well done.” Marcia set off purposefully around the corner. She had made a promise to her Apprentice and she was determined to keep it.

D
omDaniel saw Marcia coming and
scuttled into the shadows of a nearby doorway.
Invisible
or not, he was taking no chances.
Invisibility
is not a reliable state, particularly between Wizards—and even more so between ExtraOrdinary Wizards. And
Selective Invisibility
is even more unreliable.

Marcia was not fooled. She saw the dim shape in the doorway with its familiar stovepipe hat, she saw the glint of the Two-Faced Ring—which she knew was almost impossible to make
Invisible
—and the
Darke
Toad sitting fat and gulping on the doorstep and she knew for sure that Alice was right. DomDaniel
was
here. But Marcia paid him no attention; the only thing that mattered to her right then was her promise to Septimus. She had to rescue the kidnapped boy—and fast. She had a feeling that Septimus was not going to wait around the corner for long.