Beetle stepped into the gloom and a wave of happiness came over him. Suddenly he knew that his father was not dead from a spider bite - as his mother and a well-worn, faded letter of condolence from the Port authorities had always told him. His father was alive. Not only alive but here in this very place, waiting to see him - his son.

Feeling as though he was walking in lead boots beneath a dark and swirling sea, Beetle moved dreamily deeper into the gloom. Everything felt muffled and his breath came slowly. Indistinct shadows of Things - although Beetle did not see them as such - moved and swayed on the edge of his vision, plucking at his clothes, pushing him forward. Feeling that this was the biggest moment in his life, Beetle walked slowly, almost reverentially, knowing that all he had to do was to push open the right door and he would find the person that he always had longed to meet.

Beetle progressed along the seemingly endless corridor, passing rooms piled high with old mattresses, bedsteads and broken furniture - but not one containing Mr. Beetle. As Beetle neared the end, he heard the sound of a sneeze. His heart leaped. This was it. The sneeze belonged to his father - he knew it. What had his mother so often told him? If only your father had not been allergic to just about everything, he would never have swelled up like a balloon when that spider bit him and he would still be alive today. And here, at the end of the corridor, was his father - sneezing just like his mother said he always did. Nervously Beetle approached the room where the sneeze had come from. The door was half open and through it he could see a figure lying on a narrow bed, the blankets pulled up around his ears. As Beetle tiptoed in, the figure shook with another violent sneeze. Beetle stopped. The words he had longed to say, but he had never had anyone to say them to, sat on the tip of his tongue. He took a deep breath and let them go.

"Hello, Dad. It's me, B - "

"Whaa?" The figure in the bed sat up.

"You!" gasped Beetle, shocked. "You. But you're not my . . ."

Merrin Meredith, hair sticking up on end, nose red raw, looked even more shocked. He sneezed violently and blew his nose on the bedsheet.

Beetle came to his senses and realized that he was not ever going to see his father. A great feeling of loss swept over him, which was quickly replaced by fear. His mind cleared and he suddenly knew what he had done - he had walked into a Darke Domaine. Beetle forced himself to stay calm. He looked at Merrin, who was a pathetic sight, hunched up in bed. His long, greasy hair straggled over a fresh crop of pimples, his thin, bony fingers played nervously with the blanket, while his swollen and discolored left thumb sported the heavy Two-Faced Ring that Beetle remembered him wearing in what he now thought of as the old days in the Manuscriptorium.

It's only Merrin Meredith, Beetle told himself. He's a total dingbat. He couldn't do a decent Darke Domaine in a million years.

But Beetle could not quite convince himself of this. The scary thing was, as soon as he had walked into Merrin's room, he had come to his senses. And if Merrin really was Engendering a Darke Domaine, then that was exactly what Beetle would have expected to happen. Merrin would be at the very center of the Domaine - in its eye - where all is calm and free of Darke disturbances. One way to test it was to step outside the room, but Beetle was loath to risk it. He knew that in a Darke Domaine your sense of time and space could change. In what might seem like a few steps you could actually be walking miles - sometimes hundreds of miles. And it had indeed felt like a long, long walk down the corridor. Supposing he was no longer in the Palace attic? He could be anywhere - in the Badlands, in Bleak Creek, in Dungeon Number One - anywhere.

Beetle decided that his only chance was to convince Merrin that his Darke Domaine had failed and get Merrin to walk out with him. That way he'd have a safe passage back. It would be tricky, but it might just work. Taking care not to lie - because lies can fuel anything Darke - Beetle took a deep breath and launched into the attack.

"Merrin Meredith, what are you doing in the Palace?" he demanded.

"Atchoo! I could say the same to you. Someone else fired you, have they? Got nothing better to do than go snooping in people's bedrooms?"

"You'd know all about snooping," Beetle retorted. "And as for being fired - I hear Jillie Djinn's at last seen sense and fired you. What took her so long I don't know."

"Stupid cow," sniffed Merrin.

Beetle did not disagree.

"Anyway, she didn't fire me - not for long, anyway. Jillie haddock-face Djinn does what I say now, because I've got this." Merrin jabbed his left thumb in the air, taunting Beetle with the Two-Faced Ring - a thick gold ring with two evil-looking faces carved from dark green jade.

Beetle looked at the ring disdainfully. "Gothyk Grotto junk," he said scornfully.

"That shows how much you know, beetlebrain," Merrin retorted. "This is the real thing. Those stupid scribes don't dare mess with me anymore. I call the shots at that dump." Merrin was enjoying boasting to Beetle. Surreptitiously, he slipped his hand under his pillow to check - for the twentieth time that day - that The Darke Index was still there. It was. The small but deadly book that Merrin had acquired during his time working for Simon Heap at the Observatory - and which had led him to the Two-Faced Ring - felt crumpled and slightly damp to the touch, but it gave Merrin a sudden burst of confidence. "Soon I'll be calling the shots in the whole Castle. That stupid Septimus Heap and his pathetic dragon had better watch out, cuz anything he can do I can do ten times better!" Merrin waved his arms expansively. "There's no way he could even begin to do this."

"Do what?" said Beetle. "Hide up in the Palace attic and sniff?"

Beetle thought he noticed a flicker of uncertainty pass over Merrin's face.

"Nah. You know what I mean. This. And I can get anyone to come here I want. Yesterday I got the prissy Princess to put her little foot in, and this morning I got the old Heap Wizard to put his stupid head in. They both got scared and ran away but it didn't matter. We got what we needed."

"We?" asked Beetle.

"Yeah. I've got backup. You want to watch out, office boy, because today I got you good and proper." Merrin laughed. "You thought you were coming to see your stupid dad!"

Beetle had forgotten how obnoxious Merrin was. He fought down the urge to punch him. It wasn't - as Jenna would no doubt have told him - worth it.

"I am here," Beetle said, "because Princess Jenna asked me to investigate some noises in the attic. I told her it was probably rats and it turns out I was right. It's one big stupid rat."

"Don't call me stupid," Merrin flared. "I'll show you who's the stupid one here. You. You walked right in."

"Into what - your smelly bedroom?" Beetle said scornfully.

Merrin began to look less confident. "Didn't you notice anything?" he asked.

"A load of old junk and empty rooms," Beetle replied dismissively, careful to still speak the truth.

"That all?"

Beetle sensed he was winning. He avoided a direct answer and snapped, "Merrin, what are you talking about?"

Merrin's confidence suddenly left him. His shoulders sagged. "Nothing ever goes right," he moaned. He looked up at Beetle as if expecting sympathy. "It's 'cause I'm not well," he said. "I could do it if I didn't have this horrible cold."

"Do what?"

"None of your business," said Merrin gloomily.

Beetle reckoned it was time to make a move. He turned to leave, hoping that he'd done enough to convince Merrin that his Darke Domaine had failed. "Right. I'll be off then," he said. "I'll tell the Heaps where to find you." He began to walk slowly to the door.

"No! Hey, wait!" Merrin called out.

Beetle stopped. He felt immensely relieved but did not want to show it. "Why?" he demanded.

"Please, Beetle, please don't tell them. I've got nowhere else to go. I feel awful and no one even cares." Merrin inspected the sheet for a space where he hadn't blown his nose and blew noisily into it.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Oh, I expect it's my fault," said Merrin. "It always is my fault. It's just not fair." He twisted the Two-Faced Ring anxiously.

A sudden spatter of sleet drummed on the window. Merrin looked up pathetically. "Beetle. It . . . it's cold outside. It's wet and it's nearly dark. I've nowhere to go. Please don't tell."

Beetle hurried on with his plan. "Look, Merrin, Sarah Heap is really nice. She won't throw you out, not in the state you're in." Beetle reckoned he was telling the truth here. "She'll take care of you until you're better."

"Will she?"

"Of course she will. Sarah Heap will take care of anything. Even you."

Merrin had run out of dry sheet. He blew his nose on his blanket.

Beetle pressed on. "So why don't you come downstairs with me to where it's nice and warm?"

"All right then," said Merrin. He coughed and fell back against his stained pillow. "Oh . . . I think I'm too weak to get up."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've only got a cold," said Beetle scathingly.

"I've got . . . flu. Probably pneu . . . pneumonia in fact."

Beetle wondered if Merrin might, for once, be telling the truth. He did actually look ill. His eyes were bright and feverish and he seemed to be having trouble breathing.

"I'll come with you . . . I'll give myself up, I will," wheezed Merrin. "But you'll have to help me. Please."

Reluctantly Beetle went over to the bed. It smelled of dirty, damp clothes, sweat and sickness.

"Thank you, Beetle," Merrin murmured, gazing oddly over his shoulder into the distance. The hairs on the back of Beetle's neck began to prickle uncomfortably and the temperature in the chilly little room dropped a few degrees lower. Merrin held out his snotty hand and as Beetle leaned forward, steeling himself to take it, Merrin sat bolt upright and grabbed hold of Beetle's arm. Tight as a vice Merrin's bony fingers encircled his forearm. The ring on Merrin's thumb pressed into his flesh and began to burn into it. Beetle gasped.

"Never, ever call me stupid," Merrin hissed, looking intently over Beetle's shoulder. "I am not stupid - you are."

Beetle felt chilled. He knew that something very nasty was standing behind him and he dared not turn around. Beetle did not reply. His throat had suddenly gone dry.

Behind Beetle was a mass of Things, which had sensed Merrin losing his grip on the Darke Domaine. Merrin had acquired them in the Badlands some eighteen months previously, when he had taken possession of the Two-Faced Ring. Once the ring reached its full power, Merrin had Summoned the Things to the Palace because he had what he called "plans."

Merrin's confidence had returned. "You are in my Darke Domaine and you know it," he crowed. "And I know you know it."

Beetle swayed. Merrin's ring was sending stabs of pain shooting up his arm and into his head. He felt sick and very, very dizzy. He tried to pull away but Merrin held him fast. With his free hand Merrin pulled a small, dog-eared book from under the bedcovers and waved it triumphantly at Beetle. "See this? I've read all of this and I can do stuff you can't even dream of," he hissed into Beetle's ear. "You wait, office boy. I am going to show them all in this smelly little Castle and that stuck-up Manuscriptorium that they should have been nice to me. They're going to regret it big time. This is my Palace now, not the stupid Princess's. Soon the Castle will be mine and I am going to have everything I want. Everything!" Merrin was spitting with excitement. Beetle longed to wipe the spittle off his cheek but he could not move. Merrin had a grip like a vice. "And that stupid Septimus Heap, he'll be sorry he stole my name. I'll get him, you'll see. I'm going to be the only Septimus Heap around here. It will be my Wizard Tower, my Manuscriptorium and I'll have a ten-times better dragon than that moth-eaten Spit Fyre he prances around on. You'll see!"

"In your dreams," Beetle retorted, sounding more confident than he felt. Merrin's rant spooked him. There was such a crazy kind of power behind it that Beetle almost believed him.

Merrin did not bother to reply. With one hand keeping an iron grasp on Beetle and the other clutching his open book, Merrin began to chant the words on the page in a low, monotonous voice. A Darke mist began to envelope Beetle. As Merrin came toward the end of the chant, the terrible words reached down to Beetle as if he were at the bottom of a deep, dark pit. His heart raced and he could hardly breathe from the fear that came over him. His vision closed in so that all he could see was a tunnel with Merrin at the end of it, waving his book and opening his huge red mouth to say . . .

But Beetle never heard what Merrin said. With his last conscious effort he reached out and snatched the book from Merrin's grasp.

"BeGone!" yelled Merrin. And then, "Oi! Give it back!"

But Beetle didn't give it back. Beetle was gone.