Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [138]
There was no reply. The bird had flown.
Chapter 45
Dragons
It’s so lovely out.” The Witch Mother’s voice carried like a bell through the Darke. From the cover of the Maker’s Mile Tally Hut, Jenna, Septimus and Nicko watched the five shadowy figures of the Port Witch Coven stroll by, as carefree as if they were out for a walk on a summer’s day. A slightly less carefree figure—Nursie under a Darke blanket—scuttled behind them.
“There goes your Coven, Jen,” whispered Septimus.
“Stop it, Sep,” hissed Jenna. The sight of the five misshapen shadows trolling past made her remember how scared she’d been in Doom Dump. She suddenly felt a little less fond of her witch’s cloak as they watched the witches disappear jauntily down the Ceremonial Way.
Jenna, Septimus and Nicko were waiting for Spit Fyre. They had chosen somewhere out of the way where the dragon could easily land. Alther had gone to collect Spit Fyre; he had promised to be as quick as he could, but they all knew so much could go wrong. Every minute in the Tally Hut felt like an hour, but the moment when they saw the shadow of a dragon hovering above felt like forever. No one—not for one second—thought it was Spit Fyre.
So different from the elegant Spit Fyre in flight, the six-winged Darke dragon descended clumsily through the Fog and, after three attempts, landed with a resounding thud on the raised circle that marked the center of the Makers’ Mile. It shook the Tally Hut to its foundations.
Jenna, Septimus and Nicko shrank back into the depths of the hut, convinced that the dragon Knew they were there. The frantic beating of its wings during its landing attempts had cleared away the Fog and they could see the Darke dragon frighteningly clearly. Its massive size was the first shock—it made Spit Fyre seem like a delicate dragonfly in comparison. The dragon squatted awkwardly, shifting its bulk from one tree trunk leg to another, while a white forked tongue flicked in and out of its red slash of a mouth. It shook its lumpen head and rolled its eyes—all six of them—as it looked around. The eyes were arranged so that the dragon had virtually 360-degree vision—its blind spot was a mere ten degrees compared with the standard dragon blind spot of ninety degrees. The all-seeing eyes swiveled like glistening red ball bearings as the dragon surveyed the ramshackle remains of the market. Pointed spines barbed like fish hooks ranged down the dragon’s back, and its four huge feet were equipped with curved black talons, each one shaped like—and as sharp as—a scimitar. It was a terrifying sight, but the most horrifying thing of all was that one talon had speared a scrap of blue cloth, which had something red and meaty stuck to it. Jenna covered her face. That, she thought, had once been someone, someone who lived in the Castle—someone like her.
A sharp nudge from Septimus made Jenna look up again.
“Look,” whispered Septimus. “In front of the Pilot Spine. There’s someone there.”
The Darke dragon’s Pilot Spine was, like Spit Fyre’s, the tallest of all the spines. But unlike Spit Fyre’s, which was solid and straight, with a rounded top, it curved forward with a razor-sharp barb on the end of it. Sitting in the Pilot Dip was a figure swathed in grubby scribe robes. Jenna knew exactly who it was.
“Merrin Meredith,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” said Septimus. “He’s gotten serious now, hasn’t he? He’s not just an irritating little tick anymore—he’s for real.”
“I can hardly believe it,” whispered Jenna. “He’s so pathetic, but he’s caused all this to happen.”
“It’s the Darke, Jen. He’s got that ring and now he’s got its power. And he’s so stupid, he doesn’t care what he does with it. He just wants to destroy everything.”
“You in particular.”
“Me?”
“Beetle said he was ranting on about you, Sep. You know, about how he was Septimus Heap first. How he was going to get you. Then he’d be Septimus Heap. With a ten-times-better dragon.”
“Yeah. Well, he’s got a ten times bigger one, that’s for sure.”
“Not better though.”
“No way. Spit Fyre’s the