Spit Fyre's wings beat steadily as he flew over each harbor in succession. Excited, Septimus peered down and saw the dark shapes of ships tied up along harbor walls standing out against the light from lines of lanterns and torches along the quaysides. He could see throngs of people bustling about, busy loading and unloading, bargaining and trading. The sound of voices drifted up - a cacophony of unfamiliar languages, of arguments and laughter punctuated by the odd shout. No one noticed the dark shape of the dragon above or its faint moon shadow moving silently over the quays. Septimus patted Spit Fyre's neck and whispered, "Well done, Spit Fyre, well done. We're nearly there."
The Trading Post had grown along a sheltered shoreline on the edge of the vast, open land that contained - among many other wonders - the House of Foryx. It had become a center for Traders, not only the Northern Traders but those from even farther away. Before the winter's ice had even melted, fur-clad traders marooned deep in the Ice Countries would push their long, narrow boats along the frozen ditches that snaked through the forests until they came to the wide, free-flowing canals that eventually gave out into the Trading Post. Tall, bright-robed Traders from the Hills of the Dry Deserts brought their brilliantly painted ships across the sea, and occasionally even Traders from countries beyond the Eastern Snow Plains could be seen with their distinctive tall pointy hats and their staccato voices could be heard cutting through the hubbub. As Spit Fyre flew on, Septimus kept a lookout for Harbor Number Three. It was one of the smaller harbors at the very end of the Trading Post, just beyond the widest canal (the one that led all the way to the other side of the world, so they said). Harbor Number Three was, he knew, easy to recognize by its unusual horseshoe shape. It was not a deep-water harbor but was used by fishermen with small boats, which they left tied onto outhauls stretched over the sand that was uncovered at low tide. It was not long before Spit Fyre had crossed the wide, windswept canal and Septimus saw the welcome horseshoe shape below. Spit Fyre began circling, looking for somewhere to land, but the quay was cluttered with fish boxes and piles of nets. There was no open patch of ground large enough for a dragon to land, and no dragon will ever land near nets, due to a deep-seated dread of getting their talons trapped in the mesh, a fear left over from the great dragon-hunting days of the past. The tide was going out, and in the shadows along the edge of the harbor wall Septimus spotted an empty strip of sand with no ropes across it. He steered the dragon a few hundred yards out to sea and then brought him in low across the water, allowing him to glide gracefully down until, with a soft thud and in a spray of wet sand, Spit Fyre landed. The dragon sniffed the air and then wearily laid his head on the damp sand, allowing Septimus to clamber down and set foot on land once more. Septimus wiggled his feet to try to get some feeling back into his toes. Then, a little unsteadily, he went and rubbed the dragon's velvety, ice-cold nose.
"Thank you, Spit Fyre," he whispered. "You're the best."
The dragon snorted, and from the shadows of the quayside above came a woman's voice: "Don't do that. It's so rude."
A man's voice protested, "Don't do what? I didn't do anything!"
"Huh. You always say that. You can't blame it on the dog out here."
The arguing couple wandered off, and before they were out of earshot, Spit Fyre had fallen asleep. Septimus checked the tide. It was on its way out, and from the look of the high-tide mark on the harbor wall he figured Spit Fyre had at least six hours to safely sleep where he was. Septimus heaved off Marcia's saddlebags, extracted four roast chickens and a bag of apples and placed them beside the dragon's nose in case he woke for a midnight snack.
"Wait here, Spit Fyre. I'll be back," Septimus whispered. Spit Fyre opened a bleary eye, blinked and went back to sleep.
Septimus shouldered the heavy saddlebags and wearily headed up the harbor steps. Now all he had to do was remember which net loft it was that Nicko had chosen.
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."