“All the way to the Castle? All the way from here?”
“Indeed. A foul and fetid way, used only by those desperate to escape the law of the Port.”
“Or the Castle,” said Septimus.
“Quite so, Master.”
“But how do you know?” Jenna asked Jim Knee.
Jim Knee was silent. Like all jinn, he was uncomfortable speaking about previous lives.
“Answer the question, Jim Knee,” his Master told him a trifle impatiently. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been here before,” Jim Knee said. “I was once the Royal cook.”
“So you’ve been down the tunnel?”
“Er, no.” A terrifying memory flashed through Jim Knee’s mind: a midnight raid. Screams. Pistols firing. Axes hacking at the doors. And—as poor, unloved Tallula Crum—watching everyone escape down the tiny steps, knowing that there was no way she would ever be able to fit. Knowing that this was the end of another life.
“Then how do you know for sure that it goes to the Castle?” asked Jenna.
“I know it does. It was used a lot when I was cook. Precious things were taken through it for safety. The Port was wild in those days.”
“No change there, then,” muttered Nicko.
They all stared at the door, longing to open it and see what lay beyond, and yet not daring. “I think we should check to see if they’re really gone,” said Jenna.
“They won’t hang around here,” Septimus pointed out. “Not now they know you know the Committal.”
“But I want to see for myself,” said Jenna.
Nicko put his hand on his knife, which he always kept in a sheath hanging from his belt when he was in the Port. “Yeah,” he said. “If we’re going to stay here tonight, we have to check. We don’t want them sneaking up on us when we’re asleep.”
“But I Ejected them,” said Septimus, a little peeved that his Magyk was not being taken seriously. “They can’t come back.”
“They’re Darke Wizards, Sep,” said Nicko. “They can do what they like.”
“Nik’s right,” said Simon. “We should put an Anti-Darke on the door at the very least. In fact, I would suggest a Lock and Bar as well.”
“I wasn’t going to leave the door unguarded,” said Septimus irritably. “That would be stupid. But I need to think carefully about what to do.”
“We all need to think,” said Simon, annoyed at not having his expertise considered.
Jenna was tired of all the discussion. It was her Palace and she wanted to know everything about it. So while the boys were bickering, she pulled open the little door to Smugglers’ Bolt.
“Jen!” A chorus of protest greeted her action.
Jenna took no notice. She peered into the dark. A waft of stale, unpleasant air blew into her face. She picked up a nearby candle and pushed it into the darkness beyond the open door. In its light Jenna could see some tiny steps, no more than a foot wide, disappearing downward between two tapering walls of chiseled stone. It was the narrowest tunnel she had ever seen.
The boys were all looking over Jenna’s shoulder now. Even Nicko—who loathed confined spaces—wanted to see. To everyone’s relief the tunnel was deserted.
“They’ve gone,” whispered Jenna. And then she realized where they had gone. “Back to the Castle.” Quietly, Jenna closed the little door. She had heard that sound could travel a long way through a tunnel. She put her finger to her lips and beckoned everyone away to the fire, where she took up her position in front of the huge stone lintel and said, “We have some plans to make. Fast.”
Simon, Septimus and Nicko nodded.
“We can’t let them loose in the Castle—we absolutely can’t. So that means I have to do the Committal before they get out,” said Jenna. “And to do that I have to be ready and waiting for them at the exit from Smugglers’ Bolt.”
“Jim Knee, how long does it take to go through Smugglers’ Bolt to the Castle?” asked Septimus.
“It used to take about nine hours,” replied Jim Knee. “It was not a pleasant trip, I was told. But who knows the state it is in now? It could take even longer.”
“Where does it come out?” asked Jenna.
“Number Sixty-Seven Wizard Way—in the backyard. Of course it was a secret but my little scullion-boy’s mother used to live at Number Sixty-Seven and he told me. He was a brave lad. On his day off he’d run all the way home through that tunnel and be back first thing the next morning. Without fail.”
“Where is Number Sixty-Seven?” asked Simon—the numbering system in Wizard Way bore little or no relation to where the building was sited.
Septimus sighed. “It’s Larry’s place,” he said. “Larry’s Dead Languages. Great.”
Jenna had been thinking. “So . . . I need to be there in nine hours’ time. Unless Darke Wizards travel faster?”
“They are constrained by the bodies they InHabit,” said Septimus. “Until they can get their own form back—which they can’t until they win the battle with the person they are InHabiting. And so far Edmund and Ernold are still hanging on in there. So far . . .”
The full horror of what had happened to her uncles began to dawn on Jenna. “Oh, that is so horrible,” she whispered. “Poor, poor Uncle Ernold and Uncle Edmund.”
“Yes,” said Septimus. “There’s a book I had to read before my Darke Week, called InHabitees Remember. There aren’t many that do remember, of course, but a few have been rescued before they were completely Consumed. It’s unbelievably awful. There’s an entity inside your head, controlling your body, pushing you to exhaustion, trying to get you to give up, to allow them to take you over. And you can’t rest, not even for a second . . .”
“I can’t bear to think about it,” murmured Jenna.
“But our uncles are tough old birds,” said Simon. “I think we can be sure that the time the you-know-who take to travel the Bolt will still be limited by the state that Eddie and Ern are in.”
“You mean they won’t die on the way back?”
Simon looked uneasy. “Um, yes. So I think nine hours minimum to the Castle is right.”
Nicko looked worried. “We ought to get going,” he said. “The tide’s against us now, though with any luck the wind is still in our favor. It will be a bit bumpy but I reckon if we leave now we’ll get to the Castle in about five hours.”
“But the Port Barge went ages ago,” said Jenna.
“I’ve got Jannit’s supply boat, Jen,” said Nicko. “That’s how I got here.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. Okay, we’d better go.”
“You’ve forgotten something,” said Simon.
“What?”
“You’re assuming that the you-know-whos are going to keep going to the Castle. But there is nothing to stop them turning around. In fact, maybe they aren’t heading for the Castle at all.”
“Once Merrin is there, they will,” said Septimus.
“Even so, we need to make totally sure that that is where they go, now. And for all we know there may be branches off the tunnel. Are there, Jim Knee?”
Jim Knee shrugged. “I don’t know. No one ever told me there were. But then no one ever told me anything, as I recall.” Jim Knee didn’t like to remember how lonely he’d been as Tallula Crum. His only friends then had been the homesick little scullion-boy and the sweet pies he used to make at night for comfort. Now that Jim Knee thought about it, he could see that there had probably been something not right about Tallula Crum; she had, he suspected, been a little slow in the head. But when he had actually been Tallula Crum he hadn’t understood that. He had just felt puzzled and unhappy. All the time. Jim Knee sighed. Life was much better now.
Unfortunately for Jim Knee that was about to change.
“There must be other entrances in the Port,” said Nicko. “I can’t imagine all the smugglers politely lining up outside the Port Palace to get into the Bolt, can you?”
“You’re right,” said Septimus. “Jim Knee will have to go after them. Quickly.”
“What?” said Jim Knee, hoping he hadn’t heard right.