"But how can people sleep forever?" Septimus had asked, puzzled.
"Well, actually, Septimus," Marcia had said, "they die. Generally about three minutes into their sleep."
That, thought Septimus, explained the dark hollows from which Syrah's eyes shone like feverish beacons. "Oh, Syrah," he said. "I am so sorry."
Syrah looked surprised. Sympathy was not something she had expected from Septimus. Suddenly, she was overcome by the enormity of what she had forced him to agree to do. She stepped over to him and placed her hand on his arm, noticing gratefully that he did not flinch. "I am sorry that I said I would only save your dragon in return for...this. That was not right. I release you from your promise."
"Oh!" Septimus smiled with relief - things were looking better and better. Then he remembered something. "But you said that if I knew what it was, I would insist on doing it anyway?"
"I believe you would. The Castle is in grave danger."
"In danger? How?"
Syrah did not answer. "If you give me the Keye, I will try to do what needs to be done."
Septimus saw the frown lines etched deep in Syrah's face and her green eyes clouded with worry. Her thin hands were clasped together, her knuckles white with tension. If anyone needed his help, she did. "No," he said. "Whatever it is, I will do it."
"Thank you," said Syrah. "Thank you. We will do it together."
Chapter 33 The Pinnacle
While Septimus was walking into the unknown with Syrah, far below the sea Wolf Boy and Lucy were deep in their own unknown. Breathing in stale air that smelled of leather, the cold of the sea numbing their feet, they sat behind Miarr as the Red Tube purred through the depths. Each stared out of a thick glass window, seeing a strange combination of their wide-eyed, pale reflections and the darkness of the sea beyond. Far above them - so far that it made them feel a weird inverse vertigo - they could see the Light moving slowly across the surface of the water, like the moon sailing across a starless sky.
"Mr. Miarr," said Lucy. "Mr. Miarr."
Miarr's neat head appeared around the edge of his tall seat, his yellow eyes glinting in the red glow.
"Yes, Lucy Gringe?" His oddly crackly voice gave Lucy goose bumps.
"Why is your voice funny?" asked Lucy. "It's weird."
Miarr pointed to a circlet of wire around his neck. "This makes it so. It is what the pilot must wear. It is to make it easy to speak to many people in the Tube after a rescue. If it is necessary to be heard in a storm and to inform ships of the danger of the Isles, it will also carry sound to the outside. My voice is not strong, but with this it is." Miarr's head disappeared back behind his seat.
Now that she knew the reason Miarr sounded so odd, Lucy relaxed a little.
"Mr. Miarr?"
"Yes, Lucy Gringe?" There was a smile in Miarr's voice as he spoke.
"Why are we so far down? It's creepy."
"I wish to follow the Light without being seen. These marauders are bad people."
"I know," said Lucy. "But couldn't we go just a little nearer to the surface? They wouldn't notice us, surely."
"It is safer here," crackled Miarr.
Lucy gazed out, watching the beam of light from the Red Tube cut through the indigo water, illuminating forests of seaweed waving like tentacles, waiting to drag people into their clutches. Lucy shuddered. She had had enough of tentacles to last her a very long time. Suddenly something with a big, triangular, spotty head and two huge white eyes shot out of the weeds, swam up to the window and head-butted it hard. The Red Tube shook.
Lucy screamed.
"What is that?" Wolf Boy gasped.
"It is a cowfish," said Miarr. "They taste horrible."
The cowfish's googly eyes peered in wistfully.
"Oh, it's revolting." Lucy shuddered. "I bet tons of them live in that weed."