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“I . . . I don’t know.” It was true; Jenna didn’t know why. She felt as if she had just woken up from a bizarre dream.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Beetle, glancing around uneasily. “We’ll have to go back the way we came. It’s a dead end just around the corner and you don’t want to end up there.”

“I know,” said Jenna, “I know.”

Beetle set off quickly and Jenna went to follow—but she could not move. She swung around to check that her cloak was not caught in something but it hung freely. She tugged at her long robe, which, to her dismay, was spattered with mud, but that was not stuck either. Trying not to panic, she lifted first one foot and then the other, and neither of them were stuck—but when she once again tried to follow Beetle, she could not move.

Jenna lost the fight against panic. “Beetle!” she yelled. “Beeee . . . tle!” To her horror, no sound came from her mouth. Above her the lantern fizzled out and Jenna was plunged into darkness.

Beetle had not gotten far when he realized that Jenna was not following him. He felt exasperated—what was she playing at? Annoyed now, he went back to get her, but as he once more rounded the corner he saw that the lantern above the studded door had gone out and Jenna was not there.

Beetle stopped outside the door. “Jenna?” he said in a half whisper. “Jenna?”

There was no reply. A cold spatter of rain fell; Beetle shivered in his Admiral’s jacket and wound his woolly scarf another turn around his neck. He wished he were somewhere else. And he wished he understood what Jenna was up to—sometimes he just could not figure her out. Assuming that Jenna had plans that she was not telling him about and had tried to get rid of him once again, Beetle grumpily set off toward the Dive’s notorious dead end. Whatever Jenna might have planned, he was not going to leave her on her own at the end of Dagger Dan’s Dive.

The dead end was deserted. Beetle’s irritation began to be replaced with concern. He peered down into the open drain, beside which someone had thoughtfully placed a rotten plank with the words “Watch Out!” scrawled on it. Beetle took out his blue light and flicked it open, then he gingerly kneeled down and peered into the drain. A bad smell hit him.

“Jenna . . . Jenna?” he called nervously, his voice sounding hollow in the darkness below.

There was no reply, for which Beetle was grateful, until a horrible image flashed in his mind—Jenna lying unconscious far below. He leaned forward and held out his light. Deep down he saw the dark, sluggish waters of the drain half covering—oh no—a dark lump of something.

“Jenna!” Beetle called down, his voice echoing hollowly inside the drain.

Behind him came a cough. “Hey. Lost something?” asked a familiar voice.

“Wolf Boy!” Then Beetle looked up. “Oh, sorry. It’s you.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It is me,” said the boy. “So who are you?”

“Beetle. You remember, at Goth—oh, I see. You must be Marcus.”

Marcus grinned. “You’ve been to the Grot, yeah? Matt still there?”

“Oh . . . yes. Yes, he is.” Beetle’s voice echoed into the drain.

“Good,” said Marcus. “I’m late for my shift. Wouldn’t come this way if I wasn’t in a hurry—it’s a shortcut over the wall.” He looked closely at Beetle. “So why’d you come here, then?”

Beetle pointed his blue light into the drain. “I think Jenna’s fallen in. Look.”

“Hey, cool light,” said Marcus. He peered into the drain, and Beetle played his light on the form lying far below in the water. “Nah, that’s not anyone,” said Marcus. “It’s just some old clothes and stuff.”

Beetle wasn’t so sure.

“You can go down and check if you like,” said Marcus. “See if it is—who did you say?”

“Jenna. Princess Jenna.”

Marcus whistled in amazement. “Princess Jenna? Hey, what’s she doing down here?” He peered in once more. “Well, if you think it really is Princess Jenna, you’d better take a look. There are some rungs going down the side—see?”

The last thing Beetle wanted to do was climb down into the