Syren (35 page)

“Oh,” said Septimus, remembering the last time he had told Jenna she couldn’t manage to open a door.

“So
let me do it
, okay?”

“Yep. Of course. Stand back, 409.”

Jenna took hold of the wheel and pulled. Slowly the door to the lead-lined strong room swung open.

No one dared look in.

N
icko fell through the door like
a sack of potatoes. Jenna caught him and toppled backward with his weight.

“Nicko! Oh,
Nik
—are you okay?”

Gasping like a fish out of water, Nicko nodded. “Argh…eurgh—Jen, what are
you
doing here?”

Snorri rushed out with a small orange cat tucked under her arm.
“Nicko, Nicko. It is all right now,” she said, putting her arm around him.

But Jenna, despite herself, was still worried. “Nik,” she said, “where’s Milo?”

Nicko’s answer was lost in the general commotion of the strong room emptying, but the bark of a command answered Jenna’s question.

“Quiet!” came Milo’s voice. The relieved hubbub ceased. The crew—bloodied and unkempt, a dozen assorted shapes and sizes in a mixture of nightshirts, striped tops, dark blue breeches and some with braids to rival Lucy Gringe—fell silent. Milo strode out, white-faced, his silk nightgown crumpled and bloodstained—but very much in charge. He scanned the narrow, packed corridor, wishing he had his spectacles. “Jem!” he called out. “Jem, where are you? Did
you
let us out?”

Jenna—mistaking “Jem” for “Jen”—felt suddenly pleased. Milo had actually thought of her. “Yes, it was me!” she shouted.

“Jenna?”
Puzzled, Milo looked around. The light was dim; it was at times like this that being shortsighted bothered him. He saw his crew lined up along the corridor and, to his
surprise, he also saw—yes, he was
sure
it was—Septimus and Beetle with two ragged teenagers of dubious cleanliness. Where had they come from? And then, to his amazement, he caught sight of Jenna—pushed into the corner, half hidden by Nicko and a tangle of ropes.

“Jenna! But—how did
you
get here?”

Taking Milo by surprise—and herself too—Jenna rushed forward and flung her arms around him. “Oh, Milo, I thought you were…I mean,
we
thought you were all
dead
.”

“A few minutes more and we would have been,” said Milo, smiling down at Jenna and somewhat awkwardly patting her on the head. “However, last year I installed a ventilation system with filters for some exotic cacti I was after. Very efficient but not designed for fifteen people. We were struggling in there, I can tell you. Now—let’s see what those thugs have taken. Grabbed what they could and ran for it, I suppose. Vicious brutes. I would have fought them barehanded but…”

“But
what
?” Jenna snapped. She had heard too many stories like this from Milo.

“But when they have a knife to someone’s throat, what can you do?” said Milo.

Nicko’s hand reached for his neck, and as it did Jenna
glimpsed an angry red line just below his ear. “Nicko!” she gasped. “Not
you
?”

Nicko nodded. “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “Me. Again.”

Jenna quickly revised her opinion.

Milo’s thoughts were elsewhere. “You,” he said to the nearest crewmember, “go and fetch Jem. I need to know what he’s found down there. He’s lucky to have missed all this.”

The man turned to go, but Jenna stopped him.

“No,” she said to Milo. “He’s not lucky. He’s dead.”

“What?”

“They—those thugs—they killed him.”

A gasp of dismay spread through the crew.

“Dead?” Milo looked stricken. “
Dead
. So…where is he?”

“We…we took him to a rock near the beach. We—well, Sep, really—tried to help him, but there was nothing we could do.”

“Volunteers to go and bring Jem up,” Milo shouted.

A forest of hands was raised. Milo chose four of his crew—those who did not have any injuries from the Crowes’ vicious knives—and the party set off quickly down the corridor. “The rest of you get yourselves down to the sick bay and sort yourselves out. Then up on deck. I want
this ship fixed and ready to go on the next tide.”

“Aye, sir,” replied the crew.

“Jem was a good man,” said Milo sadly as the crew disappeared around the corner. “A good man and a good medic, too.”

“I could help with that,” Septimus said. “I know some basic Physik.”

Milo, however, was not listening. “Come, all of you,” he said, spreading his arms wide and sweeping them along the corridor in front of him. “You’ve done
very
well—defeated those pirates, eh? Now we must see how the
Cerys
has fared. Oh, if I could get my hands on those thugs right now…”

Jenna was irritated that Milo was ignoring Septimus’s offer of help—but it was the way he was shepherding them as if they were a group of excitable toddlers that really annoyed her. “Well, you
can
get your hands on them if you want to,” she said, thinking she was calling his bluff. “They’re in the hold.”

Milo stopped dead. “In the
hold
?”

Jenna noticed Milo suddenly looked very pale. She was not surprised. She had known all along that Milo was scared.

“Yes,” she replied. “In the hold.”

“With the…
chest
?” whispered Milo. “Are they in the hold
with the chest
?”

“Yes, of
course
they’re in the hold with the chest. Sep and Wolf Boy pushed them in. It was two against three—they were really brave,” said Jenna pointedly, although she didn’t mention that they had been invisible at the time.

They had turned a corner and were now walking along a passageway, which was on the other side of the cargo-hold bulkhead. A series of heavy
thud
s were coming from the hold.

“How many of them are there?” he whispered.

“Three,” said Septimus. “We pushed in three.”

“Sounds like a lot more than three right now,” said Wolf Boy. “I suppose it’s the echo or something.”

Milo looked terrified. Jenna felt embarrassed for him—how could he possibly be so scared of three idiots locked in a hold? Worse than that, he was now talking to himself. “It is not possible,” he was saying. “They cannot know what it is. It is
not possible
.” Milo took a deep breath and appeared to collect his thoughts. “I am going up on deck,” he said. “We must secure the hold. Nicko, will you come too? I shall need your help.” And with that he rushed off. Nicko, pleased to be useful
once more, followed him.

Jenna watched her father run along the passageway, his silk nightgown flying, his velvet slippers flapping on the boards like a pair of pigeon’s wings. “He’s
crazy
,” she said.

“Well, he’s
worried
, that’s for sure,” said Wolf Boy.

“I think it may be that he has something here to worry about,” said Snorri slowly.

“What do you mean?” said Jenna. She found Snorri’s way of speaking hard to understand at times.

“There are ancient spirits on board this ship. I feel them now. I did not before. And Ullr feels them too, see?” Snorri held up Ullr, whose fur was sticking up on end. He looked like an orange puffball.

Beetle chuckled.

“Ullr is not funny,” said Snorri reprovingly. “Ullr Sees things. He Sees that something is here, and
that
is not for laughing at. I am going to help Nicko.” Head held high, Snorri stalked off after Nicko.

“Oh.” Jenna was suddenly thoughtful. She had spent some months looking after Ullr and had a lot of respect for the cat. While she was quite happy to ignore Snorri, Ullr was a different matter.

They turned a corner and found Snorri pushing her way through the crowd outside the sick bay. Inside was a scene of utter chaos. One of the crew—not much more than a boy—had collapsed in a pool of blood. Bandages were flying everywhere and a large bottle of Gentian Violet had spilled, covering everyone in splashes of purple. No one seemed to know what to do.

“It’s crazy in there,” said Septimus. “I’m going to help. 409—I could do with someone who knows his potions.”

“Okey-dokey,” said Wolf Boy with a grin. Potions, he could do.

“I’ll do the bandaging,” Lucy offered. “I’m good at bandages. They’re like ribbons, only stretchy.”

Septimus did not agree. “They are
not
like ribbons,” he retorted. He pushed through the throng and disappeared into the sickbay.

“Sep,” Jenna called after him. “I’m going up on deck.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Beetle.

Jenna and Beetle set off along the corridor, at the end of which was a ladder to the middle deck. They climbed the ladder and made their way through the deserted stateroom and along the corridor past the empty cabins. As they neared the
steps that led to the top deck, they heard a series of
thump
s behind them from inside the cargo hold.

Jenna turned to Beetle. She looked worried. “I think you should go and get Sep,” she said. “I have a feeling we might need him.”

“But what about you?”

“I want to go up and see if Nik needs any help.”

“I can do that. Why don’t you go for Sep?”

“No, Beetle. I’m never there when Nicko needs me. This time I’m going to be. Go and get Sep—
please
.”

Beetle could not refuse. “Okay. Won’t be long. Jenna…be careful—promise?”

Jenna nodded and disappeared up the steps.

Beetle was surprised by the difference in the sick bay. No more than a few minutes had passed, and yet Septimus had everything organized. The boy collapsed on the floor was now lying in a bunk. Septimus was attending to him and discussing with Wolf Boy which potion to use for a nasty-looking stab wound. But what surprised Beetle the most was the sight of Lucy Gringe—looking the very model of efficiency—neatly
bandaging a crew member’s arm. Septimus ran a good sick bay, he thought admiringly.

One by one the tended crew left to go up on deck. Beetle was anxious to get on deck too, but he did not want to interrupt. He leaned against the doorway, watching Septimus at work. He looked, thought Beetle, completely at ease.

Septimus glanced up and saw Beetle in the doorway. “Okay?” he asked.

“Dunno, Sep. Jenna wants you to come up on deck. Something’s not right.”

Right on cue, a deep
thud
vibrated through the ship.

“Oh. Right. Nearly ready. Just want to check this one again. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Sounds like the ship’s shifting on the sandbank,” said the first mate, who—apart from the young galley hand in the bunk—was the last one left. He got up and winced. “I’ll be needed on deck. You coming, Miss?” he asked Lucy.

“I’m all right here,” said Lucy.

“No, Lucy, you go,” Septimus told her.

“Quite right, sir,” said the first mate. “Best be up a’ top when a ship’s shifting. We’ll be down to get you if there’s any
trouble, lad,” he said to the galley hand.

Beetle watched Lucy and the first mate leave. As he waited, a little less patiently now, for Septimus and Wolf Boy to finish, he felt something brush his foot. He looked down and saw a long line of rats, nose to tail, running past him along the companionway, heading toward the ladder at the end. Beetle shivered, and not because he didn’t like rats. Beetle had a great respect for rats, and these rats, he thought, knew something. They knew that the
Cerys
was no longer a safe ship to be on.

“Sep…” said Beetle anxiously.

Septimus was washing his hands. “Coming,” he said. “Ready 409?”

“Yep,” said Wolf Boy.

Septimus cast a last look around. All was shipshape, and the wet-iron smell of blood had been replaced by the scent of peppermint. He breezed out of the sick bay with the confidence of a job well done.

Beetle propelled him and Wolf Boy down the corridor—fast.

“Hey, what’s up?” Septimus asked.

“Jen wants you up on deck. There’s something weird going on—and the rats know it.”

“The
rats
?”

“Yep. I just watched them leave.”

Septimus shared Beetle’s respect for rats. “Oh,” he said.

As if to prove Beetle’s point, a series of rhythmic
thud
s shook the ship’s timbers.

“Come on,” said Wolf Boy, who had had quite enough of being stuck belowdecks. “Let’s get out of here.” He raced toward the ladder that led to the middle deck.

At the foot of the ladder they scooted to a halt—someone was coming down.

A tall, willowy man dressed in yellow and wearing what looked to Septimus like a pile of yellow doughnuts on his head stepped off the ladder. He turned, looked straight at Septimus and sighed heavily.

“Be you Septimus Heap?” he said in a resigned tone.

Both Septimus and Beetle knew enough to recognize a jinnee when they saw one, and Wolf Boy knew quite enough to recognize something extremely weird.

“Sep—he’s
found
you!” whispered Beetle excitedly.

“Wow,”
breathed Septimus. “Yes,” he replied. “I be Septimus Heap.”

Jim Knee looked despondent. “I thought as much,” he said.
“Just like the old witch described. Bother, bother,
bother
. Oh, well, here we go again:
What Do You Will, Oh Great One?
”

In the excitement of the moment, Septimus was suddenly unable to remember the fail-safe form of words that should always be used in response to the all-important Second Question—if you don’t want your jinnee to mess you around forevermore. He looked at Beetle and mouthed,
What are the words?