Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [41]
Beetle and Jenna stood for a moment, trying to make sense of the place. At first it seemed to be in total darkness, but soon they noticed a few flickering candles, which were moving slowly, randomly appearing and disappearing. The unearthly sound of a nose flute drifted out from some distant place, and the stuffy air was filled with the smell of particularly pungent incense, which set Jenna sneezing. As their eyes became accustomed to the dark, Jenna and Beetle could see dim shapes of figures holding the candles as they wandered between towering stacks and teetering shelves.
Suddenly a flame flared in the gloom and they saw a tall boy lighting two candles nearby. The boy walked over and handed the candles to Jenna and Beetle with the words, “Welcome to Gothyk Grotto.”
“Wolf Boy!” gasped Jenna. “What are you doing here?”
“Huh?” said what sounded like Wolf Boy’s voice.
Jenna raised her candle and looked at the boy. It wasn’t Wolf Boy, but there was something about him that reminded her of him. The boy was about the same height and build as Wolf Boy, but his hair was short and spiky and even in the dark, Jenna could see it was black, unlike Wolf Boy’s light brown.
“Sorry,” said Jenna. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Yeah. Well, sorry I’m not Wolf Boy, whoever he is. Cool name.”
“It’s odd, you sound just like him. Don’t you think, Beetle?”
“Just like,” agreed Beetle.
“Beetle’s a cool name too. Yeah. Hey. Wow. Man, you’re the Princess. Wow. What’re you doing here?”
“We’ve come to see if you sell copies of the Two-Faced Ring,” said Jenna.
“You what?”
“We want to know,” said Beetle very clearly and slowly, “if you sell—or have ever sold—copies of the Darke Two-Faced Ring?”
“Huh?”
“The Darke Two-Faced Ring,” Beetle repeated.
“Jeez,” said the boy.
“So . . . do you sell them? Have you ever sold them?”
“You really want to know?” The boy seemed flummoxed.
“Yes, please,” said Beetle, trying to be patient. “Have you? Ever sold them? To anyone?”
“You’d better come this way,” said the boy. “Follow me, please.”
With a distinct feeling that they had done something wrong, Beetle and Jenna set off after him. Following the boy was no easy task. He wore a long black robe, which swept the ground and blended into the background, and he obviously knew his way around well enough not to need a candle as he weaved quickly between the shelves and stacks, which were set out as a double labyrinth. Jenna went first, and the only way she kept up with the boy was by following the swish of his gown over the rough wooden floorboards. They wound their way through the seemingly endless canyons of merchandise (the labyrinth was planned to lead customers past everything twice), trying to keep up with the boy at the same time as not tripping over assorted plaster bones, cheap black cloaks and tunics, false Gragull teeth (a Gragull being a mythical bloodsucking human), bottles of fake blood, buckets of heavy jewelry embellished with skulls, Charms, bits of dead hamster (the latest craze), stacks of books of popular spells, piles of board games, glow-in-the-dark paint, jelly insects in jars, spiderwebs, wolverine eyes and a thousand other examples of what was known in the Castle as “Gothyk Grot.”
At last they emerged from the labyrinth into the back of the shop—a dusty space piled high with unopened boxes and lit by a few tall, black candles. The eerie sound of the nose flute was louder here and came from behind a small door (painted black, naturally) that was set deep into an ornate gothic arch. The boy beckoned them to follow him and headed for the door. Jenna hurried after him, tripped over a pile of cardboard skulls, and steadied herself against the arch. It wobbled alarmingly.
The boy knocked on the door. The sound of the nose flute ceased—much to their relief—and a voice called out, “Yes?”
“It’s me, Matt. I’ve got a nine-nine-nine here. It’s the Princess and the ex-Manuscriptorium Clerk.”
“Very funny, Marcus. Get me a cup of tea, will you?”
“No, really, I have. And it’s the Princess, Mr. Igor.