In reply the scorpion opened its pincers and shut them with a sharp snap. It wanted to say that it didn’t get much more personal than this, thank you very much, but its conversational skills were severely limited. It consoled itself with waving its sting angrily at its Master. It could tell from the expression on its Master’s face that he wasn’t too keen on pointy stings.

Septimus was not at all keen on pointy stings. He moved smartly off and opened the door to Smugglers’ Bolt. “Jim Knee, it’s time to go. Move.”

Jim Knee’s Master had no idea how difficult it was to obey. The scorpion swayed from side to side in utter confusion. There were so many legs. How did you move eight of them? And they were so complicated—he had, for goodness’ sake, fifty-six knees. Which way did they bend? And—oh, no—some of them swiveled too. What should he do—move the front two first and then the back two? Or first one side and then the other? Or was there some weird combination like one-three-five-seven, then two-four-six-eight? And if there was, how did you number your legs? Did you begin at the front or at the back? Left or right?

Septimus returned to the scorpion. “Come on, Jim Knee,” he said impatiently. “Get a move on.”

The scorpion regarded Septimus accusingly. Clearly its Master had given not a moment’s thought to the question of legs.

“Command him,” said Jenna. “Then he’ll have to.”

“Jim Knee, I command you to—” He glanced back at the open door to the tunnel and lowered his voice. “Enter Smugglers’ Bolt. Go!”

The scorpion was thrown into a state of panic: it was commanded; therefore it had to go. It activated its third left leg, the leg shot backward and its pincer feet snagged on the back leg. The back leg, which was more powerful than the others, wiggled to free itself and the scorpion began to wobble. It teetered for a few seconds, its legs splayed out and it landed on its stomach. Its tail drooped and clattered down onto the floor. Ten long feet of glistening black scorpion—plus pincers—was laid out in front of them like a bizarre rug.

“Rats,” said Septimus.

“Might be better if he was a rat,” observed Nicko.

“Rats are notoriously sensitive to the Darke, unlike scorpions, which are impervious,” said Septimus. “Come on, everyone. Help him get up.”

“Right.” Nicko gulped.

Jenna kneeled down and pushed her hands under the smooth black carapace. “It’s only Jim Knee,” she said. “If we all just put our arms underneath we can kind of flip him back on his feet.”

The scorpion’s pectines waved unhappily. It did not like the sound of “flip.”

Septimus, Simon and Nicko joined Jenna. “One, two, three—flip!”

The giant insect was surprisingly light. It flew up into the air, legs waving, and landed delicately on its eight little pointy pincer feet. Its tail resumed its curve and the scorpion staggered forward, segments breathing hard, inhaling the damp air that was rolling in from Smugglers’ Bolt.

Transformations are slower to take over the mind than the body, but now the scorpionness of Jim Knee’s being was seeping into his brain and his legs began to work. He discovered that it was easy—there were just two movements.

Legs-number-one: forward. Legs-number-two: back. Legs-number-three: forward. Legs-number-four: back.

And then: legs-number-one: back. Legs-number-two: forward. Legs-number-three: back. Legs-number-four: forward. It was simple: in the first step the middle two legs acted as a pair. In the second step the front two legs and the back two legs acted as two pairs.

Chanting silently to himself, Two-three-together, two-three-apart, Jim Knee trundled past four tall, blobby things—wondering how they balanced on only two legs—and headed gratefully for the delicious smell of damp and decay that wafted out from the darkness of Smugglers’ Bolt.

The four blobby things watched him go, seeing the reflection of the candle flame on his shiny pincers and listening to the rattle of pincers on stone as Jim Knee headed slowly downward. (With fifty-six knees, steps required particular attention.) As the scorpion disappeared into the darkness and all became quiet, Nicko closed the door. “I wouldn’t like to hear that coming along the tunnel behind me,” he said.

Far below in the darkness, Tallula Crum’s final wish had been granted: she was running freely through Smugglers’ Bolt.

34

SMUGGLERS’ BOLT

When a jinnee is Transformed, he or she becomes a strange hybrid. In the very center of the Transformed creature, like the stone within the fruit, its old human self remains, observing and guiding from deep within. But it is the outer creature that it has become that floods the jinnee’s senses. And so, as Jim Knee scuttled along the rough rock floor of the Smugglers’ Bolt, it was scorpion instincts that drove him onward through the dark—which was lucky for Jim Knee, for the Smugglers’ Bolt was a place no human would choose to be.