Jakey Fry—only ten or possibly eleven years old, he was not sure which—was terrified. Jakey knew enough about witches to know he was in big trouble. A witch had him in her Grasp, her long black fingernails felt as though they were drilling into his shoulder, and no matter how loud he tried to yell, he could make no sound. In front of him was a witch with a cracked white face, who walked on spikes and was leaning on another weird witch with a cone of hair stuck on her head. Behind him was a witch pushing a wheelbarrow that kept jabbing into the back of his legs. And behind her was something really horrible that Jakey couldn’t see, even though he knew it was there. The only person who looked kind of normal was a young man in an old black cloak who was hurrying along behind the wheelbarrow witch; but every time Jakey looked back and tried to catch his eye, the young man looked away. Jakey knew that look well enough. He’d seen it on people’s faces when his father—the notorious Skipper Fry—shouted at him in the street. It was the I-don’t-want-to-get-involved face. He’d find no help there. Jakey knew he was on his own.
Jakey was so scared that his legs kept giving way beneath him, but the witch who had her fingers dug into his shoulder didn’t care. She had dragged him halfway along Fishguts Twist, down Spider Slide, through the Dripping Duck and out into a run-down road called The Shambles, which Jakey knew very well indeed. As they went past the lodging house where he lived with his father, Jakey stared desperately up at the dark window, hoping that maybe Skipper Fry was looking out for him. But he knew his father would never do that—he didn’t want his son at home. Jakey had to earn his keep as a ship’s rat and as soon as he arrived back in the Port his father always signed him up for another voyage.
As Jakey was dragged past the battered front door of the lodging house he gave a silent sob. No one would ever know what had really happened to him—everyone would assume he had drowned in the harbor that night. For Jakey understood that whatever the witches had planned for him, he was not going to survive it.
A few streets away from Jakey, pursued by two purple snakes bristling with sharp, bright Magyk, the Darke Toad was moving fast. It hurried past the bookshops on Fishguts Twist longing to catch up with its Master, who would surely make short work of the snakes. Hoping to put them off its trail, the Darke Toad delayed its turn into Spider Slide until the very last minute and then shot into its shadows. The ploy very nearly worked. Marcia hurried by, but Septimus was not fooled. He dived into the Slide, and Marcia, realizing what had happened, followed him.
Spider Slide was so narrow that they had to go in single file. “You stay in front, Septimus,” said Marcia. “That way I can make sure you’re okay. There are some strange people around here at night.”
Septimus felt glad of Marcia’s protection and tried not to think about how scared the kidnapped boy must be, out there on his own.
The Darke Toad now headed toward one of its favorite places, a dank, covered way known as the Dripping Duck. The Dripping Duck was well named—its dripping roof was so low that Marcia had to duck, and the ground was covered in thick slime. As they emerged into the fresh air, Marcia inspected her shoes with a sigh. They were never going to be the same.
Septimus and Marcia now found themselves on The Shambles. At the far end Septimus’s keen eyesight picked out a small, round figure with a wheelbarrow rapidly disappearing around the corner. “There they are!” he said excitedly.
“Are you sure?” asked Marcia, peering along the empty street.
“Yes. I saw the little one with the wheelbarrow.”
“Aha, the wheelbarrow.”
The Darke Toad sped up. Marcia and Septimus hurried along behind it and saw it hop around the corner at the end of the street. At the corner Marcia signaled to Septimus to wait. She peered around, and to her surprise, the witches and the boy were no more than a few yards away, with the witches engaged in a furious—yet oddly silent—argument.
Marcia backtracked and bumped into Septimus. “You’re right,” she whispered. “It’s them.”
“Is the boy there?” asked Septimus.
“Yes.”
“So why are we waiting? We have to help him!”
“Shh!” shushed Marcia. “Septimus, I want you to stay here. I didn’t see DomDaniel but it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s done some kind of Invisibility. I don’t want him to know you are here. You know that the reason you ended up in the Young Army was because he wanted you for his Apprentice. If Alice is right and he is actually alive, then he is a danger to you. He may still want you as his Apprentice. Understand?”
“But the boy,” Septimus protested. “I have to rescue him!” He thought of all the times in the Young Army when he had dreamed that someone would come and rescue him, but no one ever had. And now he had a chance to help another boy who Septimus just knew was feeling just like he had—and Marcia wasn’t going to let him do it.
Marcia was afraid that Septimus would take off at any moment and run straight into the clutches of DomDaniel. She looked him in the eye and held his gaze. “Septimus, you are my Apprentice and you have to trust me. We must act together as a team. You have done your part of the rescue and now I have to do mine. That is how it works. Okay?”
Septimus could only nod in reply. He felt really upset.
“Good. Now you stay right here. I do not want DomDaniel to have the slightest suspicion that you are here. I will be back as soon as I can and I promise you that I will be bringing the boy with me.”
“Okay,” Septimus said reluctantly.
“Well done.” Marcia set off purposefully around the corner. She had made a promise to her Apprentice and she was determined to keep it.