“How very.”

“Quaint.”

There was a sharp snap like bones cracking, a flash of light, and suddenly Edmund and Ernold Heap were each holding a gleaming black stave, smooth as glass.

Simon stared at the staves in horror. He had never seen one, but he knew at once what they were: Volatile Wands. He knew that within them, concentrated in the tiny silver spine that ran through the length of the Wand, lay a distillation of Darke power. Volatile Wands were powerful, accurate and incredibly dangerous. Simon felt sick—they didn’t have a chance.

There was a thunderous craaaack. The walls of the hall shook and from the ends of each Wand a bullet of light emerged, zub zub, heading straight for the SafeShield. Jenna and Nicko threw themselves to the ground but the bullets never reached the Shield—Simon twisted his cloak up into the air and caught them. His cloak burst into flames and, unperturbed, as though his cloak caught fire on a regular basis, Simon threw it to the floor and stamped on it.

“Come on,” he dared the Wizards. “You can do better than that.”

Septimus thought Simon was being a little rash. He had no doubt that not only could the Wizards easily do better than that, but they were about to prove it.

Simon, however, knew the game to play. He knew Darke Wizards fed off fear and that a scornful disdain was the best defense. He also knew that he had to back it up with a show of strength, and so Simon reneged on his promise to Lucy that he would never again mess with the Darke.

Using the last of the flame from his cloak, he Conjured a FireSnake and sent it blazing through the air. It hit the Wizards and wrapped itself around them once, twice, three times and began to tighten. But like all things Darke it was a two-sided weapon. In a moment Shamandrigger Saarn and Dramindonnor Naarn had turned it to their advantage. Using the flame they sent up a plume of black smoke and Threw it over Simon and Septimus, imprisoning them in a circle of burnt-snake fumes. Then Shamandrigger wound the FireSnake around his Wand and hurled it into the smoke, where it scorched Septimus’s hair and fell writhing to the floor. Simon had the presence of mind to stamp on it, but neither he nor Septimus could find a way out of the choking smoke.

Now the Darke Wizards headed across to the SafeShield. Holding their Wands like javelins, they stabbed them into the shimmering purple dome. It emitted a wounded groan and the purple light began to grow dim.

“Jen, I’ll distract them and you make a break for it,” whispered Nicko. “Get to the Queen’s Way. They can’t follow you there.”

“Shut up, Nik,” said Jenna.

“You what?” asked Nicko, not sure he’d heard right.

“Just be quiet, will you?” Jenna snapped.

Nicko felt scared. Something odd had happened to Jenna.

With that the SafeShield died.

Jenna found herself looking into the eyes of her pitiful, bruised, battered and utterly terrified uncles. But lurking deep within she saw the Darke Wizards’ malice. Jenna had been scared a few times since the day she had learned she was Princess, but had never felt as frightened as she did now. Nicko grabbed her hand and squeezed it, and Jenna regained her courage. She squared up to the disheveled, muddy figures and demanded, “What do you want?”

The reply came, filling the hall with fear.

“The end.”

“Of your.”

“Line.”

“As we.”

“Promised.”

Jenna reached up and took off her gold circlet—the one that so very long ago Hotep-Ra had given to the Queen.

“No, Jen!” whispered Nicko, thinking she was surrendering.

“Yes, Nik,” said Jenna. She held the circlet in both hands at arms length as though offering it to the Wizards, while Nicko looked on, shocked and unsure what to do.

Among the many things that Jenna had listened to on her Journey was the story of the Queen’s Committal of the two Darke Wizards to the ring. She had listened to it carefully because it was about something she recognized. But the story had come at the end of a long and tedious day involving many rules and regulations and Jenna had been sleepy. She remembered her grandmother chanting the Committal to her as the evening sun came streaming through the tiny round windowpanes. She even remembered dozily chanting it back. Now—hoping that it would come back to her as she spoke—Jenna began the one thing that the Ring Wizards dreaded to hear: “By our Power, at this hour, we do you . . .”

At the onset of the Committal, the Wizards shrank back.

From within the Darke smoke Septimus and Simon saw a chink of light and threw themselves at it. They burst out, spluttering, to find to their amazement the two Wizards backing away from Jenna. Now was their chance.