Syren (37 page)

Another batch of twelve jinn stepped on deck, and Milo saw the dark tide of warriors move closer. He shielded his eyes from the daggers of light glancing off the winged helmets, and he knew that the ship was no longer his to command. But he said nothing.

“Mr. Banda,
please
,” said Beetle. “Tell us the Awake.”

While Septimus had been rescuing Milo, Beetle had gathered everyone together on the raised deck (where they had
discovered Jim Knee dozing in a corner). Milo now found himself under the expectant gaze of not only Septimus and Beetle but also Jenna, Nicko, Snorri, Ullr, Lucy, Wolf Boy—and the rudely awoken Jim Knee.

Milo gulped. “I don’t know the Awake.”

Beetle was aghast. “You take something like this on board and
you don’t know its
Codes?”

Milo collected himself. “Security measure, apparently. The chest always travels separately from the Codes. I was to collect them from the Manuscriptorium when I got back. There’s a ghost there who keeps the Codes. A Mr.—”

“Tertius Fume,” said Septimus.

Milo looked surprised. “How do you know?”

Septimus didn’t answer the question. “Grub’s right,” he said. “You’ve been double-crossed.”

A long line of rats appeared from the stern hatch below and headed for the side. Milo watched them go. “The time has come,” he said, “to abandon ship.”

At that the
Cerys
gave a loud creak. Something shifted, and Milo knew that his beautiful ship was no longer earth-bound, weighed down on land. Now she was back in her element, rising with the tide.

A muted cheer rose from the crew.

Milo hesitated. It was a cruel coincidence that the sea had returned his ship to him at the very moment it was being overrun. But as the first rank of warrior jinn took another step nearer the ship’s ladder, threatening to cut off their escape route, Milo knew it was now—or possibly never.

“Abandon ship!” he shouted.

J
akey Fry had not been
able to forget Lucy’s smile as she had wished him good luck. As he sailed away into the early morning sun, the ominous silence from the
Cerys
had played on his mind, until he could stand it no longer and had turned the
Marauder
back. Now, far below the
Cerys
, at the foot of the ship’s ladder, Jakey stood at the tiller, listening to the strange
clank
ing noises from above and gathering his courage to climb aboard and rescue Lucy.

His plans were thrown into disarray by a sudden
shout from above: “Abandon ship!”

The next moment a fearsome mixture of bandaged men liberally sprinkled with splashes of purple were pouring down the ladder and leaping onto the
Marauder
.

“Hey, not so fast,” said Jakey. “I only come back fer Lucy.” Despite his protests, the
Marauder
steadily filled with crew. “Lucy!” he shouted up at the
Cerys
. “Lucy Gringe! Come down!”

From above, Lucy heard the shout and leaned over the gunnels.

“The crew are getting on the
Marauder
,” she gasped. “Tell them not to—it’s a trick!”

It was too late. Apart from the first mate, who had gone below to fetch the galley hand, all the crew were now on the
Marauder
.

“Lucy!” Jakey was desperate now. “Where are yer?”

“Go away, fish head!” Lucy yelled.

Jakey saw her now—Lucy in her salt-stained blue cloak with her braids silhouetted against the sky—and he suddenly felt happy. “Lucy, Lucy!” he shouted. “Down ’ere. Quick!”

As if in reply a figure stepped onto the ladder—but it wasn’t Lucy. It was almost, thought Jakey, the exact opposite of Lucy.
A seven-foot-tall, armor-clad warrior carrying a razor-sharp, double-edged sword—Jakey knew all about blades—was heading straight for the
Marauder
.

Jakey’s new crew saw the warrior too. “Push off,
push her off
!” yelled the bosun. As another warrior climbed onto the ladder, the crew pushed the
Marauder
safely away from the side of the
Cerys
, and Jakey Fry’s dream of rescuing Lucy disappeared.

Equally dismayed, Milo watched the
Marauder
go—his order to abandon ship had been a disaster. He had wanted to get Jenna safely away, but yet again nothing had gone to plan. Overwhelmed, he put his head in his hands.

“Right,” said Septimus, “we need to get off this ship fast. Where’s that jinnee gone?”

Jim Knee had never,
ever
wanted to be a turtle. He had seen quite enough of turtles in his time. He didn’t like their snappy little jaws, and just touching their shells set his teeth on edge—but if his Master insisted that he become a giant turtle, then a giant turtle he had to become. But it didn’t stop the jinnee from bargaining.

“I’ll do it for ten minutes, no longer, Oh Wearisome One,”
he said. “You’ll do it for as long as I say,” his Master retorted.

“No more than twenty minutes, I pray you, Oh Pitiless One,” Jim Knee wheedled.

“You’ll do it for as long as it takes to get us safely to shore. And you will Transform large enough for us all to get on at once.”

“
All
of you?” Jim Knee surveyed the gathering with dismay. He was going to have to be a very large turtle indeed.

“Yes. Hurry up.”

“Very well, Oh Ruthless One,” said Jim Knee gloomily. It did not bode well if the very first thing his new Master asked him to do was to Transform into the creature he hated the most—the turtle. He was going to be trapped inside a shell, the owner of four flippy, flappy flippers instead of hands and feet for as long as his Master wanted—it was his worst nightmare. The jinnee took a deep breath—his last for how long that would not taste of turtle spit? Then he climbed onto the gunnels, held his nose, jumped from the
Cerys
and splashed into the clear sea below. A moment later a huge turtle with yellow eyes surfaced.

Nicko was ready with a rope. He secured it to a cleat and
threw it over the side.

The turtle took its passengers, as directed, to the rocks at the very end of the spit, opposite Star Island, safely out of sight of the
Cerys
. The rocks were not easy to negotiate and after misjudging the width of its shell, the turtle managed to get firmly wedged between two of them. Luckily for its passengers the rocks were in shallow water, and they were able to disembark and wade ashore. Less luckily for the turtle, it remained wedged tight and—despite much pushing and shoving—had to wait until it was allowed to Transform before it was free.

Jim Knee found himself lying facedown in two feet of water. He sprang to his feet, spluttering and choking, then waded to the rocky shore, where he sat in the sun to dry out. His hat, he was sure, would never be the same again.

His ex-passengers watched the jinnee pointedly choose a rock some distance away. They too were recovering from their journey. The turtle had not been very considerate—it had chosen to swim about six inches below the water in a highly erratic fashion, as if it were trying to get rid of those riding on its back.

“Nicko,” said Milo as he finished wringing out the hem of his nightgown, “I owe you an apology.”

“Oh?” Nicko sounded surprised.

“I should not have blamed you for grounding the
Cerys
. I believe this island is Enchanted. I believe you were Called by a Syren.”

Septimus looked at Milo with new interest—maybe he was not the insensitive twit he had taken him for.

Beetle glanced at Septimus, eyebrows raised.

“Thank you, Milo, but that is no excuse,” Nicko was saying. “The ship was under my control—I was responsible for what happened to her. It is
I
who must apologize.”

“I’ll accept your apology, Nicko, but only if you will accept mine.”

Nicko looked as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He smiled for the first time since the
Cerys
had grounded. “Thank you, Milo. I accept.”

“Good!” Milo jumped to his feet. “Now I must see what is happening to the
Cerys
. I think we shall get a good view from those rocks over there, don’t you, Nicko?”

Everyone, it seemed, wanted to take a look at the
Cerys
—apart from Jim Knee, who Septimus very nearly forgot until Beetle reminded him. Having a jinnee took a bit of getting used to, Septimus thought. It reminded him of taking Maxie,
Silas Heap’s arthritic wolfhound, for a walk. Maxie had a very similar habit of lagging behind, and Septimus often forgot about the hound and had to go back to find him.

The group, complete with Jim Knee, set off to the rocks Milo had pointed out. It was a good choice; there was a clear view of the ship and the beach and enough cover not to be seen. They settled down behind the rocks, and Milo took out his telescope.

“Oh, my goodness,” he gasped. He passed the telescope to Nicko.

Nicko put the telescope to his eye and uttered a long, low whistle.

“What is it, Nik?” asked Septimus impatiently.

“Ants,” muttered Nicko.

“Ants?”

“Yeah—like ants leaving the nest. Look.”

Septimus took the telescope. Immediately he saw what Nicko meant. A black stream of warrior jinn was pouring down the side of the
Cerys
. He watched them descending, their movements eerily synchronized—left, right, left, right—until they reached the surface of the sea and disappeared beneath it without a break in step. As the waves closed over the winged
helmet of one jinnee, another stepped onto the ladder at the top. Septimus let out a whistle uncannily similar to Nicko’s. Beetle, unable to contain his impatience any longer, snatched the telescope.

“Crumbs,” he said. “What are they
doing
?”

“Well, I don’t think they’re off for a picnic,” said Septimus.

“They’d be enough to spoil anyone’s picnic,” said Nicko. “Imagine finding
them
crawling all over your sandwiches.”

“It’s not funny, Nik,” said Septimus. “This feels really bad.”

The telescope was passed around the group; Jenna was last to get it. She looked quickly at the jinn—which gave her the creeps—then swung it away from the ship and surveyed the beach—the beach that until that moment she had thought of as
their
beach. But what she saw made her realize that it did not belong to them anymore.

In the eye of the telescope she saw Tertius Fume standing by the water’s edge, his face almost alive with excitement. And in the sea, just below the surface of the water, Jenna saw a dark shape surmounted by a silvery glint. As she watched, the silver-winged helmet of a warrior jinnee broke the surface
and, water cascading from the joints in its armor, the warrior jinnee marched out of the sea, onto the beach and saluted Tertius Fume.

Septimus saw Jenna’s expression change. “What is it, Jen?”

“Tertius Fume,” Jenna replied. She pointed down at the beach. “Look.”

Oblivious to the gasps around him, Milo got to his feet. “Good!” he said. “I’m glad he’s made the effort to come and work this out. You see—I
wasn’t
double-crossed at all. Most conscientious of him, I must say.” Milo brushed the sand off his nightgown. “I shall go and ask him for the Awake, then we can put all this behind us and get the
Cerys
safely home with her cargo.” He smiled benignly down at the group.

Septimus jumped up. “Are you crazy?” he said, asking the question for real. “Have you actually
seen
what Fume is doing?”

“My spectacles are, unfortunately, still on board,” said Milo, peering shortsightedly into the distance. “Nicko, pass me the telescope please.” Milo took the telescope and saw what everyone else was looking at. Forgetting that he was no longr onboard his ship, Milo swore. “So Grub was right,” he muttered. “I’ve been double-crossed good.”

“May I have another look?” asked Septimus. Milo passed him the telescope. Septimus swung it across to the
Cerys
and then back to the beach, where a steady flow of jinn were emerging from the sea. As the jinn reached the beach they were confidently marshaled by Tertius Fume, who had an expert touch that Septimus could not help but admire. At some time in his life Tertius Fume had been a soldier—that he could tell. Septimus passed the telescope on to Wolf Boy and continued watching the exodus from the
Cerys
. Without the telescope the jinn looked like a long line of black rope being pulled over the side of the ship, under the water and up onto the beach. There was no doubt about it—the island was being invaded. But why?

“I’m going to check on Spit Fyre,” Septimus said suddenly. “We might need to move him. I could use some help.”

“We’ll all come,” said Jenna. “Won’t we?”

“Snorri and I need to watch the
Cerys
, Sep,” said Nicko apologetically. “She’s still in danger from the rocks.”

“That’s fine, Nik. See you later.”

“Yep.” Nicko looked up at Septimus. “Don’t get too near to those
things
down there, little bro—okay?”

“I’ll try not to,” said Septimus. “You staying here, Milo?”
he asked, hoping that Milo would.

“Yes,” Milo said irritably. “And you can give me the telescope. I want to watch
my
army. Goodness knows I paid enough for it.”

Septimus made Jim Knee take off his precious hat—which stuck up like a marker buoy—and, in single file, they left the rocky spit and headed for the dunes above Spit Fyre’s rock. Jim Knee came second to last, corralled very effectively by Wolf Boy, who had discovered that the jinnee had more respect for a decomposing tentacle tip than he did for his Master.

“You’d think after all these years stuffed into a tiny bottle in Aunt Zelda’s cupboard he’d be wanting to rush around doing things, wouldn’t you?” Septimus said to Beetle.

“There’s no understanding jinn, Sep,” said Beetle. “They never do quite what you expect them to.”

They reached Spit Fyre without incident. The dragon was sleeping peacefully, but at Septimus’s approach, Spit Fyre opened one eye and regarded him with his familiar quizzical expression.

“Hello, Spit Fyre,” said Septimus, gently patting the dragon’s nose.

Spit Fyre gave an irritable snort and closed his eye.

“How is he?” asked Beetle.

“Fine,” Septimus said with a grin.

Septimus gave Spit Fyre a long drink from the WaterGnome and checked out the dragon’s tail. It was healing well—the Magykal shimmer had all but disappeared, and it seemed that Syrah’s spell was very nearly done. The image of Syrah casting her Magykal healing spell over Spit Fyre was so vivid that, when Syrah actually spoke to him, Septimus thought she was still part of his thoughts.

“Septimus!” She sounded breathless. “Oh, I
hoped
I would find you with Spit Fyre.”

It wasn’t until he heard Beetle saying in amazement,
“Syrah?”
that Septimus realized Syrah was actually there—for real.

He looked up and saw Syrah standing bemused, surrounded by Lucy, Wolf Boy, Jenna and Beetle. “Who…who are all these people?” she asked. “Where are they from?” Suddenly Syrah noticed Jenna and, beneath her sunburn, the color left her face. “Princess Esmeralda,” she gasped. “Why have you come here? You must flee this place. It is cursed.”