Blearily Septimus looked around his cabin. It was small but extremely comfortable; his bunk was soft and wide and covered in a pile of warm blankets. A circular beam of sunlight streamed from a large brass porthole, through which Septimus could see the sparkling blue of the water and the dark shape of the harbor wall silhouetted against the sea beyond. He lay down and gazed at shifting patterns of light reflecting on the polished wood ceiling and felt pleased that it was obviously not Marcia calling him. Septimus, who was naturally an early riser, was glad to sleep in - he ached all over from the effects of two long dragon flights so close together. Dozily he wondered how many miles he and Spit Fyre had covered, and suddenly he sat bolt-upright once more - Spit Fyre!
Septimus threw on his tunic and was out of his cabin in thirty seconds flat. He tore along the paneled corridor, heading toward a companionway that led to a flight of steps up to an open hatch showing blue sky beyond. He hurtled along, feet thudding on the wooden boards, and cannoned straight into Jenna, throwing them both backward. Jenna picked herself up and hauled Septimus to his feet. "Sep!" she gasped. "What's the hurry?"
"Spit Fyre!" said Septimus, unwilling to waste any time trying to explain. He raced off, shot up the steps and out onto the open deck.
Jenna was not far behind. "What about Spit Fyre?" she asked, catching up with him. Septimus shook his head and raced on, but Jenna grabbed hold of his sleeve and gave him her best Princess stare. "Septimus, what about Spit Fyre? Tell me! "
"Left-him-on-the-sand-asleep-tide's-come-in - oh-crumbs - hours-ago," Septimus babbled. He wrenched free of Jenna and fled across the deck, heading for the gangplank. Jenna, who was always faster on her feet than Septimus, was suddenly in front of him blocking the gangway. "Jen!" Septimus protested. "Get out of the way! Please, I gotta find Spit Fyre!"
"Well, you've found him - or rather, he found you. He's here, Sep."
"Where?" Septimus swung around. "I can't see him."
"Come on, I'll show you." Jenna took Septimus by the hand and led him along the freshly scrubbed deck to the stern of the ship. The dragon lay peacefully asleep, his tail flung over the gunnels with its barb resting in the water. On the quayside was a knot of ecstatic admirers, members of the Trading Post Dragon-Spotting Club - a club formed only recently, more in hope than expectation of ever seeing a dragon.
"He turned up last night, just after you fell asleep," said Jenna. She grinned. "You were so out of it, you didn't even wake when he landed. There was a massive thud and the whole ship rocked. I thought it was going to sink. The crew went crazy, but once I explained that my dragon had - "
"Your dragon?" Septimus objected. "You said he was your dragon?"
Jenna looked sheepish. "Well, I am Spit Fyre's Navigator, Sep. And I knew that if I said he was mine, it would be okay. Because, well..." Jenna stopped and smiled.
"Anything I do on this ship is okay. Good, isn't it?"
Septimus wasn't so sure. "But he's my dragon, Jen."
"Oh, don't be so silly, Sep. I know he's your dragon. I'll tell them he's your dragon if you like. But it wasn't me who left him on the beach with the tide coming in."
"It was going out."
Jenna shrugged. "What ever. Anyway, the cook's gone ashore to find some chickens and stuff for his breakfast. Do you want breakfast too?"
Septimus nodded and somewhat sulkily followed Jenna back down below. The day on board the Cerys did not progress according to Septimus's satisfaction. He had expected to be welcomed as a rescuer once more, only to find that Milo Banda had stolen his thunder, and no one seemed at all interested in flying home with him on Spit Fyre. They were all planning to sail home "in style," as Jenna put it. "And without those dragon smells, either," Beetle had added.
Following a tedious breakfast with Milo and Jenna, which had been spent listening to Milo's accounts of his recent exploits and his excitement about the "stupendous cargo" he was expecting at any moment, Septimus had wandered up on deck. He was pleased to find Nicko and Snorri, who were sitting with their legs dangling over the side of the ship, looking out to sea. Ullr, in his daytime guise as a small orange cat, was asleep in the warm sunshine. Septimus sat down beside them.
"Hey, Sep," said Nicko quietly. "Sleep well?"
"Yeah. Too well. Forgot Spit Fyre," Septimus said with a grunt.
"You were very tired, Septimus," said Snorri. "Sometimes it is good to sleep well. And Spit Fyre is safe. He sleeps too, I think?" At that a loud snore shook the decks, and Septimus laughed.
"It's really good to see you, Nik," he said.
"You too, little bro."
"I thought we could go back on Spit Fyre later on this afternoon?"
Nicko took a while to reply. And when he did it was not what Septimus wanted to hear. "No thanks, Sep. Snorri and me, we're going to sail the Cerys back home with Milo. Take some time out at sea."
"But Nik, you can't," said Septimus.
"Why not?" Nicko sounded irritable.
"Mum, she really wants to have you safe at home, Nik. I promised her I would bring you back on Spit Fyre." Septimus had imagined the homecoming many times - the excitement of landing his dragon on the Palace lawns, Sarah and Silas running down to greet them, Alther and Marcia too, and maybe even Aunt Zelda. It was something he had been looking forward to, the final completion of the search for Nicko that he and Jenna had begun what seemed like so long ago. He suddenly felt cheated.
"Sorry, Sep," said Nicko. "Snorri and I have to do this. We need time to get used to things. I don't want to see Mum again just yet. I don't want to have to answer all her questions and be happy and polite to everybody. And Dad won't mind waiting, I know he won't. I just...I just need time to think. Time to be free, time to be me - okay?"
Septimus didn't think it was okay at all, but it felt mean to say so. So he said nothing, and Nicko said no more. Septimus sat with Nicko and Snorri for a while, looking out to sea, wondering about the change that had come over his brother. He didn't like it. Nicko was ponderous and sluggish, as though the hands on his clock were traveling more slowly - and he didn't seem to care much about what anyone else felt either, Septimus thought. And neither he nor Snorri seemed to feel the need to speak, which was weird - Nicko had always had something to say, even if it was completely crazy. Septimus missed the old Nicko, the Nicko who laughed when he shouldn't and said things without thinking. Now it felt as if Nicko would have to think for hours before he said anything - and then it would be something serious and rather boring. After a while spent sitting in silence, Septimus got up and wandered off. Neither Nicko nor Snorri appeared to notice.
Later that afternoon, after a lunch spent listening to yet more seafaring tales from Milo, Septimus was sitting morosely on deck, leaning against Spit Fyre, who was still asleep. In fact, apart from gulping down half a dozen chickens, a bag of sausages and the cook's best frying pan, the dragon had done nothing but sleep since he had arrived on the Cerys. Septimus had loaded up the dragon with the saddlebags - more in hope than expectation of being able to leave - and now he sat leaning against the scales, warmed by the sun and feeling the slow rise and fall of the dragon's breathing. He stared moodily out at the encircling harbor wall. It was bright and sunny, with a slight breeze - perfect dragon-flying weather - and he was impatient to be off. He had tried his best to wake Spit Fyre but to no avail. Even the surefire tricks of blowing up the dragon's nose and tickling his ears had not worked. Irritably Septimus kicked out at a perfect coil of bright red rope and stubbed his toe. He wanted to get on Spit Fyre right now and go home on his own. No one would notice. If only his stupid dragon would wake up.
"Wotcha, your most Senior Apprenticeness!" Beetle's voice sounded out cheerily.
"Oh, very funny. Hello, Beetle - gosh, what are you wearing?" asked Septimus. Beetle flushed. "Oh," he said. "You noticed."
Septimus stared at Beetle's new acquisition - a short, navy blue jacket adorned with a plethora of gold braid and frogging. "I could hardly not notice," he replied. "What is it?"
"It's a jacket," said Beetle a little peevishly.
"What, a captain's jacket?"
"Well, no. Admiral's, actually. The shop's got lots of 'em if you want one too."