Septimus Heap, Book Six_ Darke - Angie Sage [75]
“Argh!” yelled Simon, totally spooked. The Thing looked back briefly and continued its crab walk toward the gallery at the top of the main stairs. Simon resolutely followed the Thing, but Sir Hereward was not going to let his enemy escape so easily. He chased after him, aiming sword swipes at him as he went. Simon felt as if he were being attacked by a demented windmill. Again and again, Sir Hereward’s sword came swishing down on him. Even though Sir Hereward’s sword had no substance, it was a highly unpleasant sensation having a ghostly sword slashing through him. Indeed such was the anger of the ghost wielding it, that the sword actually Caused a sound—a sharp whoosh—as it sliced through the air. Simon knew that if Sir Hereward’s sword had been real, he would no longer be in one piece, or quite possibly even two or three. It was not a comforting thought.
“You sir, I know who you are!” Whoosh whoosh.
Sir Hereward’s surprisingly powerful boom of a voice filled the thick silence—and stunned the governess into welcome silence.
“I see your Heap hair”—whoosh—“and your scar. The Princess has told me all about you”—whoosh whoosh. “You, Sirrah, are the black sheep Heap”—whoosh. “You are the wicked brother who kidnapped your own defenseless sister!” Whoosh whoosh whoosh Sir Hereward raged.
Doggedly Simon kept going, following the Thing while he tried to work out what on earth he was going to do. But it is hard to think when a one-armed ghost is unleashing a string of abuse and a torrent of well-aimed sword swipes.
Sir Hereward did not let up. “Do not”—whoosh—“think you can escape justice, you cur! I will have revenge!” Whoosh whoosh. “How could you treat a young Princess in such a”—whoosh—“dastardly fashion?”
Simon thought it best to ignore the ghost and keep going, but this only seemed to anger Sir Hereward more. “Sirrah! You run like the coward you surely are”—whoosh. “Stand and fight like a man!” Whoosh whoosh whoosh!
Suddenly Simon had had enough. He stopped and turned to face his tormentor. “I am a man,” he said, “which is more than I can say for you.”
Sir Hereward lowered his sword and looked at Simon with disgust. “A cheap jibe, Sir, but no more than I would expect. Stand and fight your ground.”
Simon felt very weary. He spread out his hands to show he had no weapon. “Look, Sir What-ever-your-name-is, I do not want a fight. Not right now. There’s quite enough going on here without that, don’t you think?”
“Hah!” scoffed Sir Hereward.
“And I am truly sorry about Jenna—Princess Jenna. I did a terrible thing and I would do anything to undo it, but I cannot. I have written to ask her to forgive me and I hope one day she will. I can do no more than that.”
“Silence!” the Thing commanded.
Sir Hereward peered into the Darke and saw the faint shadow of the Thing. But the Thing did not see—or hear—the ghost. Sir Hereward had chosen only to Appear to Simon; he was far too experienced to risk Appearing to anything Darke.
“You scum, Heap,” said Sir Hereward, waving his sword around once more. “You have brought Darke Things into the Palace.”
Simon felt exasperated. Why did people—and even ghosts—always think the worst of him? “Look, you silly old fool,” he snapped, “will you just get this into your head? I hate this Darke stuff.”
The Thing—a paranoid entity at the best of times—took this badly. “Silence!” it shrieked.
Sir Hereward took it no better. “How dare you insult me, you blaggard!”
Simon was reckless now. He turned on Sir Hereward. “I’ll insult you if I choose, you stupid—aaaaaaaaaargh!” The Thing’s hands were suddenly gripping