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Chapter 14 The Trading Post

  S eptimus reached the top of the steps and looked around. The arguing couple was gone and the quayside was deserted. It was in semi-darkness, lit only by one large torch set high on a post in front of a line of very tall, narrow wooden huts at the back of the quayside. Despite the gusts of wind and the occasional spots of rain, the torch flame burned steadily behind a thick shield of glass and cast a pool of dim yellow light across the cobblestones. Septimus remembered that it marked the entrance of the alleyway that Nicko had dragged them all down two days earlier. Smiling at the thought that he would very soon see his brother again, Septimus hoisted the saddlebags onto his shoulders and set off toward the torch, picking his way through the clutter of barrels and crates that littered the quayside.

  Septimus reached the torch and stepped into the alley. The torchlight threw his long and flickering shadow in front of him. He turned a sharp corner and was plunged into darkness - but only for a few seconds. Soon the Dragon Ring that he wore on his right index finger began to glow and light the way. With the saddlebags balanced awkwardly on his shoulders, Septimus negotiated another corner and stopped outside a narrow, smelly, four-story wooden hut that sported a recently smashed front door tied together with rope. Septimus put down the heavy saddlebags and looked up at the tiny windows with their missing or smashed panes of glass. He was sure that this was the right hut, but there was no one there - the windows were dark and the place was silent and empty. A flicker of worry passed through Septimus, and then something caught his eye. A scrap of paper was pinned to the door, and Septimus recognized Jenna's large, looping handwriting. The note said:

  Sep!

  Hope you had a good flight! We are on the Cerys - big, flashy ship on Harbor Twelve. See you!!!

  Love, Jen xx

  Septimus smiled at the happy sight of Jenna's exclamation marks and then frowned. How was he meant to get to Harbor Twelve?

  Half an hour later Septimus's frown had deepened. He had battled the buffeting wind and a sudden squally shower on the long exposed bridge that crossed the mouth of the wide canal and had now reached an imposing wooden gateway at the end of the bridge, which marked the boundary of Harbor Four. From behind the gate Septimus could hear the sounds of the busy harbor. Wearily he went to push the gate open and to his surprise, a man stepped out of a sentry box that Septimus had taken to be some kind of store.

  "Stop right there, sonny. Afore you go in you must read the Notice. " The man, who was wearing a dark blue seafarer's uniform sprinkled with big gold buttons, pointed to a huge notice fixed to the wall. It was lit by two brass lanterns and was covered in large red letters in various languages.

  Septimus scowled. He did not like being called "sonny" - he was used to more respect.

  "An' you can take that scowl off your face too," growled the man. "Read the board, all the way through, or you can go back to where you came from. Got that?"

  Stonily Septimus nodded. Much as he wanted to tell the man to get lost, he had to get into Harbor Four and enter the Large Harbor Network. He turned his attention to the notice:

  Harbor Four

  ATTENTION!

  You are now leaving Harbor Three,

  The last of the Small Harbors (SH)

  And entering the Large Harbor Network (LHN)

  By passing through this gate you agree

  To be bound by the Rules (Rs)

  Of the Trading Post Large Harbor Association (TPLHA)

  And to Obey all Instructions issued by

  Harbor Officials, Groups or Societies (HOGS)

  This was followed by a long list, each line beginning with the words "DO NOT" in red capital letters. Septimus did not like lists written in red and beginning with the words

  "DO NOT" they reminded him of the Young Army. But under the eagle eye of the official, he read it all the way through.

  "Okay," he said as he reached the end. "I agree. "

  "You didn't read it," objected the official.

  "I read fast," Septimus told him.

  "Don't get smart with me," said the man. "Finish reading it. "

  "I have finished. So don't get smart with me," said Septimus, throwing caution to the wind.

  "Right. You're barred," snapped the official.

  "What?"

  "You heard. You are barred from the LHN. Like I said, you can go back to where you came from. "

  A wave of anger came over Septimus. He lifted his right arm and pointed to his two Senior Apprentice stripes, which shone a Magykal purple in the light of the lantern. "I am on official business," said Septimus very slowly, trying not to show his anger. "This is my badge of office. I am not who you may think I am. If you value your post, I would advise you to allow me to pass. "

  The authority with which Septimus spoke threw off the official, and the Magykal sheen on his cuffs confused him. In answer he pushed open the gate and, as Septimus stepped through, the official bowed his head almost imperceptibly. Septimus noticed but did not acknowledge it. The man closed the gate, and Septimus stepped into Harbor Four. It was another world. Dazed, Septimus stared - it was packed. This was a serious harbor, with deep water and big boats. It was lit by at least twenty torches and swarming with people. One large fishing boat was in the process of being unloaded, and two tall ships were being provisioned. An almost overwhelming feeling of weariness swept over Septimus - how was he going to push his way through this crowd? Wishing that he had left the heavy saddlebags on Spit Fyre, he set them down for a moment on the cobblestones.

  A loud voice came from behind him. "Don't block the way, boy. There's people here with jobs to do. "

  Septimus stepped to one side, forgetting the saddlebags. A burly fisherman carrying a pile of precariously balanced fish boxes pushed past and promptly tripped over them, sending the contents of the boxes flying. In a shower of herring, accompanied by an angry torrent of words that he had not heard before, Septimus heaved up the saddlebags and disappeared into the crowd. When he looked back, the crowd had closed behind him and the fisherman was lost from view. Septimus smiled. Sometimes crowds had their uses. He took a deep breath and began to push his way across the quayside of Harbor Four until at last he reached the gateway to Harbor Five. This, to his relief, was unmanned, though accompanied by the same domineering notice. Septimus ignored the notice and stepped into Harbor Five.

  An hour later Septimus had very nearly reached his goal. He stood before a sign that informed him he was leaving Harbor Eleven and about to enter Harbor Twelve. Septimus felt exhausted, and was by now extremely irritated with Jenna. Why did she have to go prancing off to some fancy ship? Why couldn't they have waited for him in the net loft as they had arranged? Didn't they even think that he might be tired after such a long flight?

  He had had to cross eight harbor fronts to reach them, and it had not been easy. Some had been packed with people not always willing to make way for a bedraggled boy carrying large saddlebags. One was deserted, unlit and crisscrossed with ropes that he had to pick his way through like a dancing circus pony; two were all but blocked by a maze of barrels and packing cases; and many had felt distinctly unfriendly. The frazzled Septimus stopped to take stock. Harbor Twelve looked the most difficult of all. It was the largest so far and was buzzing with activity. As he peered across the hustle and bustle of the quayside, he could see a forest of tall masts with their furled sails soaring into the night sky, illuminated by the rank of blazing torches that lined the water's edge. The light from the torches sent a rich orange glow across the scene, turning the night a deep indigo velvet and transforming the falling rain to drops of diamonds.

  There was a sense of wealth and pomp to Harbor Twelve that Septimus had not encountered in the previous harbors. Officials were everywhere, and each one seemed to Septimus to have more gold braid than the last. They wore short navy blue robes from which their legs emerged swathed in buttoned leggings of golden cloth, and on their feet they wore heavy boots festooned
with a multitude of silver buckles. But what really caught Septimus's eye were the wigs - and surely these must be wigs, he thought, for no one could possibly have enough hair for such complicated arrangements. Some were at least a foot high. They were brilliant white and coiled with curls, topknots, braids and pigtails, and each one sported a large gold badge not unlike the rosettes that Septimus had seen decorating the stable of Jenna's horse, Domino. Septimus smiled, imagining for a moment the officials lined up in a ring being judged on "the official with the softest nose" and "the official the judges would most like to take home. "

  Septimus watched, getting his energy together for a final push through the throng. He had no idea what kind of ship the Cerys was, although the more he thought about it, the more the name sounded familiar. He took a deep breath, picked up the saddlebags - which felt as though someone had just slipped in a handful of rocks - and stepped into the crowd. A moment later he was roughly shoved aside by a couple of uniformed dockhands making a path through the crowd for a tall woman swathed in gold cloth. She looked ahead disdainfully, seeing nothing except the beautiful multicolored bird that she carried high on her wrist, like a lantern. Septimus had learned a lot about pushing through crowds in the previous hour, and he took his chance. Quickly, before the crowd could close in once more, he stepped in behind the woman and followed in her wake, taking care not to step on her trailing, shimmering gown. A few minutes later Septimus watched the woman ascend the gangplank of an ornate three-masted ship, very nearly the biggest in the harbor, he figured. In fact, only the one right next to it seemed bigger and possibly more ornate. Feeling faint with fatigue, Septimus stood under a golden torchpost and looked down the long line of ships, moored prow to stern, that disappeared into the night. They seemed to go on forever, and some had two or three ships tied up alongside them, stretching out into the harbor. A feeling of impossibility came over Septimus - there were so many ships, how was he possibly going to find the Cerys? And supposing the Cerys was one of the ships tied up on the outside of another ship - how did you get to those? Did people mind you walking across their ships? Were you supposed to ask? What if they said no? A hundred anxious questions flooded his mind. Septimus was so immersed in his worries that he did not hear his name being called.

  "Septimus! Sep. . . ti. . . mus!" And then, more impatiently, "Sep, you cloth-ears, we're here. " It was the "cloth-ears" that caught Septimus's attention above the noise of the crowd. Only one person called him that.

  "Jen! Jen, where are you?" Septimus cast around looking for the owner of the voice.

  "Here! Here - no, here!"

  And then Septimus saw her, leaning over the prow of the huge, richly embellished ship on the right, waving her hardest and smiling broadly. Septimus grinned with relief, and all the irritations of the previous hours fell away. Trust Jen to get herself onto the best ship in the harbor, he thought. Septimus pushed his way past the small knot of people who had gathered to look at the beautiful, dark-haired figurehead on the Cerys and, aware of envious glances, he approached the liveried sailor on duty at the end of the gangplank. The sailor bowed. "Septimus Heap, sir?" he inquired.

  "Yes," replied Septimus, much relieved.

  "Welcome aboard, sir," said the sailor, and saluted.

  "Thank you," said Septimus, and then, suddenly remembering something Nicko had told him about it being considered bad luck to board a ship for the first time without giving some kind of offering, he reached into the pockets of his cloak and took out the first thing that came to hand - a herring.

  He placed the fish into the sailor's hand, then heaved the saddlebags over his shoulder and stumbled up the gangplank - leaving the sailor and the fish staring, blank and bemused, at each other.