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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.
Chapter 15 The Cerys
Septimus woke the next morning convinced that Marcia was calling him. He sat bolt upright, his hair sticking on end, his name still sounding in his ears. Where was he? And then he remembered.
He remembered stepping aboard the Cerys and Jenna throwing her arms around him, laughing. He remembered her grabbing his hand and introducing him to a tall, dark-haired man whom he had recognized as Jenna's father, Milo Banda, and realizing that the Cerys was his ship - and that was why the name sounded familiar. And what a ship the Cerys was. Jenna had proudly showed him around, and he remembered - even through his exhaustion - being amazed at the stunning opulence. The brilliant colors and gold-leaf gilding shining in the torchlight, the neatness of countless coils of rope, the richness of the wood, the deep shine of the brass and the immaculate crew in their crisp uniforms silently busy in the background. Eventually Jenna had realized how tired he was and had led him to a tall hatchway with gilded doors. One of the crew had sprung out of nowhere and opened the doors, bowing as they stepped down to the deck below. He remembered Jenna taking him down wide, polished steps into a paneled room lit by a forest of candles and then shouts of excitement - Beetle grinning broadly, punching him on the arm and saying, "Wotcha, Sep!" Nicko giving him a bear hug and lifting him off his feet, just to show that he was still his older brother, and Snorri smiling shyly, hanging back with Ullr. And then he remembered nothing more.
