SandRider (28 page)

Tod pushed the note into the jinnee's reluctant hand. “This is part of your Command,” she told him. “If you give it to him, I will be safe.”

With the uncomfortable feeling that Tod had outwitted
him, Jim Knee took the note. Then he stepped into the pool of darkness in the center of the courtyard and disappeared.

“Kaznim,” Tod said, “can you guide us to your tent from here? Please?”

Kaznim looked at Tod. She did not answer.

Tod was not surprised. Now that they were in Kaznim's territory the balance of power had shifted. The Tribe of Three needed Kaznim to take them to the Egg, but Kaznim no longer needed the Tribe of Three to help her get home. She could do that for herself. Now they were nothing more to Kaznim than three people who would place her sister in grave danger if they got their way about the Orm Egg.

The Tribe of Three exchanged glances. Tod could see that Ferdie and Oskar were thinking the same thing she was. So all were surprised when Kaznim said, “We must follow the stars. Just before dawn, my tent will be beneath the Great Palm of Dora.”

“Can you see trees in the dark?” Ferdie wondered.

“It's a constellation,” Kaznim said.

“I don't know that one,” Tod said, puzzled.

“Our star names are different from yours,” Kaznim said. She frowned. “I hope we do not cross the path of the sand lions.”

“Sand lions?” Oskar whispered.

“The lionesses hunt all night at this time of year, for their cubs are growing fast.”

Oskar and Ferdie exchanged anxious glances. “Maybe we should wait until daylight,” said Oskar.

“But we have to get to the Egg as soon as we can,” Ferdie said. “Don't we, Tod?”

Tod nodded. “I've got an idea,” she said. “We might have to wait a bit, but it will be worth it.” She drew out the
Wiz
's silver whistle and blew. No sound came but Tod could feel the vibrations in her throat. The whistle had worked.

Oskar knew what Tod was doing. “It won't hear you,” he said.

“It might,” said Tod.

“
What
might?” Ferdie asked.

Tod didn't want to say, in case nothing happened, which seemed very likely. She reached into her pockets. “Anyone
want a date?” she asked.

They sat in the darkness of the courtyard, eating the stuffed dates supplied by Marissa and listening to the sounds of the nighttime Red City. Once they heard footsteps approaching, but they passed by safely. Another time they heard the shrieks of fighting cats. And then, drifting across the rooftops, came a scream.
“Noooooo!”

“Was that Marissa?” Ferdie whispered.

“I don't think so,” Tod said, uncertain. All screams sounded much the same.

Oskar looked anxiously at the door. “If it was . . . she'll come looking for you. And this is the first place she'll come.”

Ferdie was on her feet, convinced that Marissa was on her way. “Tod, we've got go.
Now
,” she said.

“I know, I know . . .” Tod said. “But please, just a moment longer. It's on the way now, I'm sure it—” Tod was cut short by a flash of silver shooting out from beneath the palm. With perfect timing, the
Wiz
arrived. And behind it, to Tod's surprise, came the
Beetle
. Someone had carefully knotted the sleds' ropes together.

Ferdie stared at Tod as though she had gone crazy. “What do you want those for?” she asked.

“To get to the Orm Egg, of course,” Tod said, trying to unknot the intricately joined ropes.

“Tod, those are
sleds
,” Ferdie said. “For
snow
. They can't run on sand.”

Tod grinned. “Want to bet on it?” she asked.

Ferdie gave her friend a quizzical look. “You know something about the sleds that we don't,” she said. “I can tell.”

“Well, Oskie knows it too, don't you, Oskie?”

“Knows what?” asked Oskar.

“About the SandRider
Charm
.”

Oskar looked blank.

“It was in that book, Oskie,” Tod told him. “The one that Beetle—I mean the Chief—gave us about the sleds' history.”

Oskar looked sheepish. “I didn't get around to reading it.”

“Well, you missed something really interesting. The
Charm
for these sleds actually comes from the desert. Ancient sorcerers used huge sleds for traveling across the sands. They called them SandRiders. And the
Beetle
and the
Wiz
are both SandRiders.”

“Wow . . .” Oskar breathed. “They run on sand?”

“Yes. Even better than on snow.”

Oskar grinned. He was suddenly looking forward to the
desert a whole lot more. He kneeled down and helped Tod undo the ropes, which were tied in a very complicated knot—the kind that a turtle trader's wife once used to secure her turtle baskets.

Somewhat unsteadily, Oraton-Marr was on his way back to the tower. The Queen's banquet had been an exciting taste of many important occasions he knew were to come and he had made a few mental notes on it for the life he was planning for himself in the Castle. He had particularly liked the live ducklings over which scalding-hot orange sauce was poured before the diner. This was most definitely a tradition he intended to start. He could set up a nice little hatchery on the banks of their muddy little river . . .

Oraton-Marr's mind traveled back to the earlier events of the day. He had very much enjoyed the ceremony in the Queen's Square, even though it had been cut short by that monstrous jinnee and the Queen had had to postpone the beheadings. The sorcerer turned his thoughts to another Queen, far
away—Jenna, the Castle Queen. She was, the witch had told him, no more than a girl living in a ratty old building that needed pulling down. Well, he'd soon get rid of her and her crumbling old palace. In fact, Oraton-Marr mused, most of the Castle could do with being razed to the ground; the Wizard Tower was the only decent building in it. Once he'd taken charge of that and got the Red Queen installed in a nice new palace, he'd make sure she kept the Castle under control and operating as he wished. He would insist she had a compulsory weekly roll call for all Castle inhabitants to keep them in order and let them know who was in charge. From what he had seen of the Castle in his clandestine visits through a scrappy little arch high above the Moat, the place was a shambles. But the Wizard Tower was another matter. That was very impressive indeed; he certainly would not object to living there . . .

Oraton-Marr bounced happily along the alleyways, mulling over his plans, looking forward to greeting his Apprentice in her prison. The girl would be quite amenable by now, he thought. He took the narrow ope that led to the side gate of the Queen's guest tower—known as the Hospitable Gard—and let himself in.

Marissa was dozing in a chair in the entrance hall. She
jumped guiltily to her feet as the door swung open.

Oraton-Marr frowned. “I hope you have been keeping watch,” he said.

“I haven't moved,” Marissa assured him.

“Well, you can move now,” the sorcerer told her. “I need to sit down.”

Marissa stepped aside and Oraton-Marr sank gratefully into her chair. He pulled off his spring blades with a sigh of relief and threw them clattering onto the floor. “My feet are killing me,” he muttered.

After Marissa had brought him a restorative sherbet, Oraton-Marr said, “Right then, let's have a look at my little key to all the Wizard Tower passwords.”

After a weary climb, Marissa drew back the bolts and stepped aside to let Oraton-Marr in.

“Bucket!” She heard him gasp—and then the metallic sound of the bucket being kicked across the floor. The next moment Oraton-Marr had his hands around Marissa's neck.

“Where
is
she?” he hissed.

“Erg . . .” Marissa gurgled. The hands were squeezing so hard, she could hardly breathe. Not a moment too soon, Oraton-Marr let go. Marissa swayed with relief. It was all
she could do not to fall to the floor, but she understood well enough that to show weakness was dangerous. “It's no good you getting in a temper,” Marissa told him hoarsely. “She must be here. She's done some kind of kids'
UnSeen
. She didn't get out past me, I know that.”

Oraton-Marr was furious. “I can tell you, she is
not
here. Are you suggesting I cannot
See
the spell of
a child?” he demanded. Marissa wisely refrained from saying that yes, that was exactly what she was suggesting. She watched Oraton-Marr check the room for an
UnSeen
Tod, but he knew she was gone. He could
Hear
no human heartbeat. How she had escaped was a mystery, but that did not matter. The mystery only added to her value; the Apprentice was clearly talented. She
must
be retrieved. He wheeled around to Marissa and screamed into her face,
“Find her!”

The Tribe of Three and their guide were heading toward the distant light of the two torches burning on either side of the Beggars' Gate, when a high-pitched shriek echoed across the rooftops:
“Find her!”
They picked up speed and hurried on.

Inside the Hospitable Gard, Oraton-Marr was—as Marissa observed with dismay—in a panic. How was this sorcerer going to set her up as Witch Mother of the Wendrons if he couldn't even work out where a stupid kid Apprentice had gone? It was obvious to anyone with half a brain. Marissa, however, was far too clever to use those words to Oraton-Marr.

“Your Highness.” She coughed tactfully.

“What?”

“The Apprentice—I mean
your
Apprentice—will surely have taken the Forest Way back to her home. I can go after her if you wish.”

Oraton-Marr tried not to look relieved, even though he felt it. Of course that was where she had gone. Why hadn't he thought of that himself? Oraton-Marr remembered how the Red Queen had proudly told him that every one of her guest towers contained a windowless dungeon complete with nests of scorpions for the convenience of her guests. “Servants,” she had told him, “can be such trouble.”

“Very well,” he said. “Go after the girl. Bring her back and lock her in the scorpion dungeon. That will teach her that she will not trifle with
me
.”

Marissa dropped a curtsy and turned to go. Oraton-Marr
shouted after her, “Marissa. Before you go, call me a camel, will you?”

Marissa was glad she was facing away from the sorcerer. She fought to gain control of the laugh that was bubbling up. Over the past few weeks there were many things she had thought of calling Oraton-Marr, but a camel had not been on the list. Marissa spluttered and managed to turn it into a cough.

“One from the Queen's stable. With a night desert guide,” Oraton-Marr added.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Marissa gasped. She ran to the courtyard door, wrenched it open and, at the end of the alley, at last allowed herself to collapse into giggles.

The camel and night guide were duly delivered to the courtyard of the Hospitable Gard, and Marissa hurried off to the Forest Way. She was not looking forward to negotiating the Nighttime Forest but, she told herself, she probably wouldn't have to. No doubt she would find Tod huddled in the hut at the other end of the Forest Way, too scared to leave. She would be back with her in no time.

But all Marissa found waiting at the end of the Forest Way was a pack of hungry wolverines.

PART XI

F
IVE AND A
H
ALF
H
OURS TO
H
ATCHING

T
he
Beetle
and the
Wiz
swished
noiselessly toward Beggars' Gate. “It will be unguarded,” Kaznim had told them. “No one bothers with beggars here. In the Red City, they say that the poorer you are, the freer you become. They call their encampment ‘The City of the Free' because the Queen's guards never come here. But really, lots of the people here aren't beggars at all. They just want to not be scared all the time.”

They walked through the pool of light cast by the torches, their flames steady in the still night air, beneath the redstone arch and then were out of the city. They stopped and gazed at the strange sight before them—the ground dropped down into a sea of flickering lights, an earthly reflection of the starlit sky above. They were aware of the low murmur of
conversation mixed with the soft snuffles of sleep and knew they were in the presence of hundreds of people.

They followed Kaznim as she walked slowly along the track that curved down to the lights below, and as the track leveled out, Tod heard the whisper of a voice. “Spare a peckrin, miss?” Tod stopped and peered down. An old man wrapped in a swathe of blankets was looking up at her, his hand outstretched. Guessing that a peckrin was a small coin, Tod said, “I'm sorry. I don't have any money with me.”

“Ah, so you've come to join us, have you?” the man asked.

“Er, no. We're . . . we're heading for the desert.”

“You're mad,” came the response. A thin white arm extended from the blankets and pointed into the desert. “There's a pride on the prowl out there. Saw them at dusk. You'll be dead in an hour.”

“Oh!” Tod gasped.

“Good thing we've got the sleds, then,” Oskar said with a grin. “We'll outrun any pride. Easy-peasy.”

Kaznim led them slowly along a narrow, winding path that wandered through the City of the Free. Tod was fascinated by the huge variety of tents, ranging from a simple blanket thrown over bent poles to beautiful circular structures made
from embroidered cloth with carved wooden doors. Many tents shone with the warm glow of candlelight, which cast shadows of the people within, sitting talking quietly. The soft buzz of conversation reminded Tod of wandering through her village late at night and she felt a pang of homesickness. An urge to turn around and run almost overcame her, but Tod reminded herself that if she wanted the places and the people she loved to stay safe, then she, Ferdie and Oskar were going to have to go into the desert that night and find the Orm Egg.

Before long the City of the Free lay behind them, and they stood on the edge of the wide darkness of the desert. From somewhere in the distance a long, low roar came drifting across the sands.

A large yellow owl landed on the roof of the Manuscriptorium, where it sat for some minutes digesting a particularly bony shrew before it spat out a pellet and watched it roll down into the gutter.

Down in the Conservation basement, Darius Wrenn was
dwarfed by four figures. Each one scared him for a different reason. The ExtraOrdinary Wizard scared him because he could turn him into a toad or something. Ephaniah Grebe scared him because he was half rat and Marwick scared him because he reminded Darius of a wolf. But the person who upset him the most was Beetle, his boss. Beetle just looked very disappointed, and that made Darius feel worst of all.

The intimidating group was gathered around one of Ephaniah's worktables, upon which a strange-looking map was spread out. Beetle pushed a list of numbers across to Marwick. “These are the Ways we took the flyers through,” he said. He turned to Darius. “Are these the Way numbers that you gave to the girl, to Kaznim Na-Draa?”

Darius nodded.

“You are sure?”

Beetle sounded so stern that it was all Darius could do to squeak, “Yes.”

Darius watched Marwick check the numbers against the map. After some minutes Marwick looked up and said, “It goes to the Port of the Singing Sands—to a
Hidden
arch. It's the end of the road.”

“Sounds right to me,” Beetle said. “I could hear gulls.” He
grinned. “Actually, I didn't see much. I just dumped the flyers and ran.”

Marwick smiled at Darius. “You remembered the Ways well.”

“He would have done better to have remembered his Manuscriptorium Promise,” Beetle said.

Darius gulped and stared at his shoes. He wished he could disappear. If only he could get through the big door and into the Way, he would run and run and run and never,
ever
come back.

“Ah, well,” Marwick said. “I don't suppose he meant to. And he
was
under instructions to be helpful.”

Darius cast a grateful glance at Marwick, who was carefully rolling up the map. “Need a guide?” Marwick asked Septimus.

“Yes, please,” Septimus said. “If you don't mind leaving Sam?”

Marwick smiled. “Sam needs to sleep. And whenever I go to see him he wakes up and wants to talk, which annoys Dandra, I can tell you. So I reckon I am doing him a favor by disappearing for a day or two. Anyway, I'm intrigued.”

“Thank you, Marwick,” Septimus said. “That would be a great help. Even when we get to the Port of the Singing Sands,
we have absolutely no idea where to go from there.”

Darius hardly dared to speak, but he knew he could not possibly make things worse. “Um. Excuse me . . .” he said.

“What?” Beetle snapped.

“The girl, Kaznim. She said she lived in the desert in a tent with stars on it. If that's any help?”

“A tent with stars on it . . .” Septimus mused, wondering why that sounded familiar.

“Yes. Her mother is an . . . er . . . Pothy Cary.”

Septimus suddenly made the connection. “Dandra!” he said. “
She
lived in a tent with stars. And Kaznim's mother took it over. Dandra will know how to get there.”

Beetle was not so sure. “But don't they move the tents around in deserts?” he asked. “It may not be in the same place now.”

Septimus was already hurrying along the corridor, heading for the wide white stairs. “It's the only clue we've got! Wait here. I'll be back with Dandra as soon as I can.”

“Right,” Marwick said as Septimus's purple cloak disappeared around the corner. “We'd better get a few things together. We'll need water, for a start.”

“I'll get it!” Darius said. “Do you want it in water bottles you can carry?”

“Yes, we do.” Marwick smiled.

“I won't be long,” said Darius, and he raced off along the corridor and clattered up the stairs, glad for any excuse to be away from the angry glare of his boss.

Beetle and Marwick watched him go.

“Don't be too hard on the boy,” Marwick said.

“He broke the Promise,” Beetle replied grimly.

“Then you should give him a chance to mend it,” Marwick replied.

The yellow owl watched his Master running to the Wizard Tower. The languor of a full stomach began to overtake the owl and its eyes began to close. Its claws uncurled and a tiny tube of paper rolled down the slope of the roof and landed in the gutter. There it unfurled and a gust of wind picked it up and sent it fluttering down onto the pavement below.

As the light of the moon shone down on the piece of paper, the owl on the roof fell asleep. As it closed its eyes, the weakness of too many
Transformations
in too short a time overcame it. The owl-form left the jinnee and the long yellow figure of Jim Knee lay draped along the ridge of the roof. He rolled over, slipped off, and slid down into the large gutter that
lay between the double-gabled Manuscriptorium roofs. And there he curled up and fell deep into hibernation.

Ten minutes later, Septimus and Dandra Draa came hurrying toward the Manuscriptorium. “I can't believe that Alice would go off without saying anything,” Dandra was saying. “Something awful must have happened to her.”

Septimus was shaking his head. “I don't know, Dandra. I really don't know.”

The scrap of paper shining in the moonlight caught Septimus's eye and he stopped to pick it up. “Well!” he gasped. “Another note. How extraordinary.” He passed it over to Dandra, who read it. The note said:

Dear Septimus,

We are going to get the Egg of the Orm. Jim Knee will explain and will tell you how to find us.

Your Apprentice,

Alice TodHunter Moon

“Oh my goodness!” Dandra gasped. “So where's Jim Knee?” She put her hand on Septimus's arm. “Septimus, you've
got
to ask him. We have to know where she is!”

Septimus shook his head. “Unfortunately, I have no idea where that jinnee has got to,” he said. “But at least I now have some idea where my Apprentice might be. With your help, Dandra, we'll get to your old star tent, and with any luck we'll find her there.”

Bemused, Dandra shook her head. “But how will Alice get there? How on earth does she know where to go?”

“My Apprentice is a PathFinder,” Septimus said. “I am beginning to realize that means she can go pretty much anywhere she wants to.” He smiled. “I suppose it's a little like having a cat.”

“A
cat
?” Dandra said indignantly as she followed Septimus into the Manuscriptorium.

“You're never quite sure where they go, or why. You just hope they come back to you.” Septimus looked at Tod's note and smiled. “The only difference is, cats don't send you regular updates.”

As the door to the Manuscriptorium swung closed, a loud snore came from above. But no one heard it. It was only the next day, when Colin Partridge went to investigate the strange noises on the roof, that Jim Knee was discovered, half frozen and delirious. He spent the rest of the winter in front of the
fire on the big purple sofa in Septimus's rooms—which was what he'd wanted in the first place.

Nighttime in the desert is hunting time. It is a time when small, soft-skinned creatures bury themselves in the sands and hope that nothing with teeth, claws or stings will come calling. But that night there were four creatures—not so small but relatively soft-skinned—who were about to brave the hunting ground.

The open desert spread out before them. Above, the clear night sky was alive with stars that seemed so vibrant and busy, they almost took away the loneliness of the empty sands ahead. A feeling of excitement began to creep over Tod. They had left the encampment behind and now stood at the beginning of the road that would take them to the Orm Egg—or to within sight of where it lay. All they had to do was follow the road as fast as they could.

The only thing that worried Tod now was if they were going to get to the Egg in time. “How many more grains to go
through in the
Egg Timer
?” Tod asked Kaznim.

Kaznim took the
Egg Timer
from her pocket and peered at it, taking care to hold it away from Tod. The grains of silver shone like tiny points of light and there were only three left, which Kaznim knew meant that—depending on how soon the next grain was due to move—there was at the most nine hours to go until the Egg hatched. And possibly, if a grain was about to move, only six.

“Let's have a look,” Oskar said.

Kaznim closed her hand tightly over the
Egg Timer
. “It loses energy in the dark,” she said. “You can see it in the morning.”

“So how many grains are left?” Tod asked again.

“Six,” Kaznim lied.

“And how many to each hour?” Oskar asked.

Kaznim was pleased to be able to tell the truth this time. “One goes through every three hours,” she said.

“So . . . it looks like the hatching is set for sometime tomorrow evening, then,” Tod said. “That's good. It gives us lots of time.”

Oskar liked to have things planned out. “Time to steal the Egg?” he asked.

“No, time to get there,” Tod said. “I've been thinking. We don't have to steal the Egg, all we have to do is be there. As long as we make sure that one of us is the first person the Orm sees when it comes out of the Egg so that we stop it from
Imprinting
on . . .” She dropped her voice to a whisper.
“You-know-who.”

Oskar grinned. “Wouldn't it be great to have a little Orm
Imprinting
you? I hope it chooses me.”

“Don't be so stupid, Oskie,” Ferdie snapped. “It's not going to be that easy. Oraton-Marr is not just going to stand aside and say, ‘Oh, hello, Oskar Sarn, do you want an Orm all of your own? Go ahead, be my guest and have mine,' is he? Really, Oskar, think about it. This is not going to be a picnic.”

Tod knew that Ferdie and Oskar picked fights when they were nervous. She tried to be peacemaker. “It's not going to be easy, that's true,” she said, “but we can do it. Tribe of Three, remember?” Tod made the Tribe of Three sign and Ferdie and Oskar returned it.

“Time to go,” Tod said.

The
Wiz
and the
Beetle
sat patiently in the starlight, two steeds waiting for their riders. No one spoke. The two riders
took their places, then Kaznim joined Tod, and Ferdie joined Oskar.

“I hope Oraton-Marr doesn't have a sled,” Oskar said.

“The sorcerer uses
Magyk
and camels,” Kaznim said. “But they say, in the olden days, the Red Queen had a beautiful SandRider.”

“Okay,” Tod said, a little nervously. “Ready?”

“Ready!” said Oskar.

Tod leaned forward on the
Wiz
. “Go!” she whispered. The SandRider
Charm
kicked in.