Septimus Heap, Book One_ Magyk - Angie Sage [114]
Sometime after the Water Nixies had dropped off, a Marsh Moaner appeared. Although it was only a small wisp of white mist, it gave off a dank smell that reminded the Apprentice of the burrow in DomDaniel’s hideout. The Marsh Moaner sat itself down behind the Apprentice and started tunelessly singing the most mournful and irritating song the Apprentice had ever heard. The tune whirled around and around inside his head—“Weerrghh-derr-waaaah-dooooooooo…Weerrghh-derrwaaaah-dooooooooo…Weerrghh-derr-waaaah-dooooooooo…”—until the Apprentice felt he might go mad.
He tried to bat the Moaner away with his paddle, but it went straight through the wailing scrap of mist, unbalanced the canoe and nearly sent the Apprentice tumbling out into the dark water. And still the awful tune went on, a little mockingly now that the Moaner knew it had the Apprentice’s attention: “Weerrghh-derr-waaaah-dooooooooo…Weerrghh-derr-waaaah-doooooooo…oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…”
“Stop it!” yelled the Apprentice, unable to stand the noise a moment longer. He stuffed his fingers into his ears and started singing in a voice loud enough to shut out the ghastly tune.
“I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not listening,” the Apprentice chanted at the top of his lungs while the triumphant Moaner swirled around the canoe, pleased with its night’s work. It usually took the Marsh Moaner much longer to reduce a Young One to a gibbering wreck, but tonight it had struck lucky. Mission completed, the Marsh Moaner flattened out into a thin sheet of mist and wafted off to spend the rest of the night contentedly hanging above its favorite bog.
The Apprentice paddled doggedly on, no longer caring about the succession of Marsh Wraiths, Bogle Bugs and a very tempting array of Marshfire that danced about his canoe for hours. By then the Apprentice did not mind what anything did, as long as it didn’t sing.
As the sun rose over the far reaches of the Marram Marshes, the Apprentice realized he had become hopelessly lost. He was in the middle of a featureless expanse of marshland that all looked the same to him. He paddled wearily onward, not knowing what else to do, and it was midday before he reached a wide, straight stretch of water that looked as though it actually went somewhere, rather than petering out into yet another soggy morass. Exhausted, the Apprentice turned into what was the upper reaches of the Deppen Ditch and slowly headed toward the river. His discovery of the giant Marsh Python, lurking at the bottom of the Ditch and trying to straighten itself out, hardly even bothered the Apprentice. He was far too tired to care. He was also very determined. He had an appointment with DomDaniel, and this time he wasn’t going to mess things up. Very soon the Queenling would be sorry. They would all be sorry. Particularly the duck.
That morning, back at the cottage, no one could believe that the Apprentice had managed to squeeze out through the cat tunnel. “I’d have thought his head was too big to fit through it,” Jenna said scornfully.
Nicko went out to search the island, but he was soon back again. “The Hunter’s canoe is gone,” he said, “and that was a fast boat. He’ll be far away by now.”
“We’ve got to stop him,” said Boy 412, who knew only too well just how dangerous a boy like the Apprentice could be, “before he tells anyone where we are, which he will do as soon as he can.”
And so Jenna, Nicko and Boy 412 took Muriel Two and set off in pursuit of the Apprentice. As the pale spring sun rose over the Marram Marshes, sending long glancing