Drowned Wednesday

Thirteen

ARTHUR BROKE INTO a limping, partly rolling run, joining a dangerous crowd of cutlass- and pike-wielding Denizens heading towards the sea. Two of the Moth's cannons had been taken off the ship and emplaced there, facing the waves.

Near the guns, the crowd split to either side of the emplacement, while Arthur stopped next to Sunscorch and one of the cannons. The weapon didn't look too sturdy or safe to Arthur. The black iron of the long barrel was pitted and rough and its wooden carriage was splintered and cracked, with uneven wooden wheels. Both cannons were stationed on a kind of wickerwork carpet laid over the sand, and that didn't look very solid either.

"Stand away from the gun," warned Sunscorch. "She'll buck when she fires. Break your other leg or your back if you're behind."

Arthur hastily walked over to Sunscorch's right, putting the large Denizen between him and the guns.

"Can you see them yet?" Arthur asked as he peered into the darkness. Apart from the lanterns farther up the beach and the glow from the gunner's slow matches — smouldering lengths of what looked like big fat shoelaces — there was no other light. Or was there? Arthur shaded his face with his hands and squinted to get a proper look straight ahead.

"There is a faint glow in the distance, isn't there?"

"Sure enough," said Sunscorch. "But it's too low in the water to be a ship. And it's moving too fast to be a raft or a longboat or suchlike. I can't fathom it, myself. Unless it's those Rats..."

"Rats?" asked Arthur. "Raised Rats?"

"Aye," said Sunscorch. "They have some uncommon vessels. But I dunno —" He broke off as the glow in the sea suddenly shot up in the air, eclipsing a red star low on the horizon with its sudden brightness. Then it arced down again, re-entering the sea and diminishing.

Sunscorch muttered something, and Arthur heard the gunners nearby whispering nervously.

"What is it?"

"It's a Denizen with marine wings and a veritable glimlight of sorcery about him," said Sunscorch quietly. "Most likely Feverfew has come by himself to reclaim his treasure."

"By himself? But surely we're... we've got these cannons... and there's a hundred of us and Doctor Scamandros..."

"We've little powder for the cannons," said Sunscorch. "And Feverfew is a master of dark sorceries the Doc wouldn't

touch. He'll turn the sea and the sand against us, like as not, same as he made the rigging of the Oceanus choke the life out of its crew. But we've a better chance ashore with our lot than in a sea fight, so you never know. If you get a go at him, Arthur, try to take off his head with a single blow, and get a handful of sand or grit on the neck-stump. Or lay the flat of your blade there, if there's nought better to hand."

Arthur swallowed and looked back at the rapidly approaching light in the water. Then he drew his sword, resting the blade on his shoulder like the Denizens with their cutlasses.

I will cut off his head, Arthur told himself. I have defeated Mister Monday and Grim Tuesday. I've been wounded before. I know I can take it. I'm not going to be killed by a pirate … I hope my leg doesn't give way suddenly … This crab armour is good and the joints work well but what if it locks up or it just gets weak as I'm fighting Feverfew and …

"Stop it!" Arthur whispered to himself. "Whatever happens, I will make the best of it. I will win."

"Wait for it to leave the water!" roared Sunscorch as the light grew even closer. "Point-blank!"

The glow streamed towards them, growing brighter and brighter, like the headlights of an oncoming car. Arthur felt transfixed by the light, unable to move as it got closer and closer. He could make out a dark shape inside the light, inside the wave. An inhuman figure, like a shark, with huge wings propelling it along. It broke the surface and began to surf in on a wave. The gunners grunted and cursed as they shoved and levered at the cannons with handspikes, trying to point them just where the thing was going to come out of the water.

Sunscorch took a breath and opened his mouth, the word "Fire!" already forming there, when suddenly Doctor Scamandros came capering about in front of the cannons, shouting.

"Hold! Hold hard! Don't! Don't fire!"

At his last word, one of the cannons went off with a tremendously loud bang, a spray of sparks and an eruption of thick white smoke that completely enveloped Arthur. Coughing and choking, he stumbled away, only to find his feet suddenly wet.

He was in the wash of the surf, and the thing from the sea was standing over him, its light shining through gunsmoke and darkness. It had not been hit.

It wasn't a 'thing" anymore, though it still had huge wings of metallic yellow-gold feathers. It was a very beautiful, very tall woman, with bright yellow hair tied back in a wire net. She was wearing a green velvet dress with a darker green, fur-trimmed jacket that hung loose on her left shoulder, the arms swinging behind. She held a short, white, scaly whip in her right hand.

She looked down at Arthur, and at the unscathed Doctor Scamandros, who had come up next to him, and at Captain Catapillow, who Arthur hadn't even seen around, but was now bowing and scraping and mumbling.

"Doctor Scamandros?"

Her voice was cold and clear. It made Arthur's ears hurt slightly, as if they were being touched by an icy breeze.

"Yes, ma'am. I am Scamandros."

"I received your message. Introduce me to Lord Arthur. I am in a hurry."

Scamandros bowed to her, indicated Arthur with his right hand, and bowed again to both of them.

"Lord Arthur, may I present Lady Wednesday's Dawn?"

Arthur bowed. He had already half-guessed the identity of their surprise guest. She had the hauteur that all the chief servants of the Trustees possessed. A kind of look that said, I am superior and you had better admit it.

"Greetings, Lord Arthur," said Wednesday's Dawn. "Please accept Lady Wednesday's apologies for the sad miscarriage of our transport arrangements. Unfortunately I have not yet been apprised of the exact nature of the incident that led you here, but I trust that you are now ready to accompany me to the promised luncheon?"

Arthur looked up at Dawn's beautiful but cold face.

She would cut my throat if ordered to, Arthur thought. But what choice do I have?

"I'm not sure," he said aloud. He still had his sword on his shoulder, and Sunscorch's advice about dealing with Feverfew would probably apply equally well to Wednesday's Dawn. He tensed, ready to strike, as he slowly said, "I've heard some scary talk about how Lady Wednesday is kind of... well, you know... a giant whale that eats everything. And I don't want to get eaten."

"It is a temporary indisposition," said Dawn. She looked at Scamandros and Catapillow. "Which those of lesser orders would do well not to gossip about. However, you may be assured that Lady Wednesday intends to resume her traditional human form for this luncheon. That is in indication of the importance given to your visit, Lord Arthur. It is currently a regrettable strain for milady to take human shape. She has not chosen to do so for many centuries."

"What does she want from me?" asked Arthur. There seemed no point beating around the bush. "She's in with the Morrow Days. She's a Trustee who didn't do what she was supposed to. I'm the Will's Rightful Heir."

"These are not matters to discuss in public," sniffed Dawn. "Is it enough to say that my mistress recognises a need for negotiation, not battle?"

"Maybe," said Arthur.

"Excellent. Then I take it, Lord Arthur, that you are ready to come with me?"

"Where exactly?"

"Back to the House," said Dawn. "To the Border Sea. I have many duties, so we must not waste any time. Do you need to breathe?"

"What?"

"Do you need to breathe? You are a mortal of sorts, are you not? If I am to carry you back, we shall spend large amounts of time underwater. If you have not already been ensorcelled to need less air, then I shall have to take care of that before we depart."

"I'm not and I don't think I want to be," said Arthur. "I have asthma and I don't want my lungs messed up any more with magic or anything. And I don't want to turn into a Denizen."

"It is a very straightforward spell," said Dawn. She gave a small flick of her riding crop, as if to illustrate how small a matter it was. "It merely allows you to survive on far fewer breaths. Perhaps, Doctor Scamandros, you can allay Lord Arthur's concerns. You are a university-trained sorcerer, I note, though I do not recall your name and station in the Index of Navigator-Sorcerers in the employ of Lady Wednesday."

"Ah, dear lady, I was a volunteer after the Deluge," said Scamandros. He made some nervous shuffling motions and almost tripped over his own feet. "So the paperwork may be a little, that is, not quite in order. But, as to the breathing spell, it is one of suspension, I take it? Perhaps the formulation known as "A Thousand and One Breaths"?"

"It is a peg, purchased at Port Wednesday," said Dawn, removing a small cloth bag from her sleeve and proffering it to Scamandros. "I am unaware of its provenance. I believe it is worn on the nose."

Scamandros took the bag, opened its drawstring, and emptied a small wooden clothespeg onto his palm. He held it up to Dawn's light and looked at the tiny writing on it with his unaided eyes and through his smoked-quartz glasses.

"It is a straightforward spell," he said to Arthur. "One breath will serve for a thousand, till it wears off. There will be a little magical residue, but far less than that already within your flesh and bone."

Arthur took the clothespeg dubiously and opened and shut it, feeling the strength of the spring.

"How will I know when it wears off?"

"It will fall off your nose," said Doctor Scamandros. "You may take it off, of course, and reapply it — though in that case I should be careful not to be too far away from a source of air. It will work less and less well with each reapplication."

"Can't the Moth take me to meet Lady Wednesday?" asked Arthur. "I don't think I want to use this spell. Or be carried underwater. No offence, it's just I don't like the idea."

"Time is of the essence," said Dawn. "Lady Wednesday cannot hold her human shape long, and the luncheon is scheduled to begin at noon, House time, on the day I left. We must hurry. No ship can carry you there in time, and unless I am mistaken, this "Moth" needs considerable work. I also have numerous important tasks that need my attention. The Border Sea must be constantly tended, lest it spread into the Realms, or conjoin with Nothing."

"Do you swear that I will be returned somewhere safe after meeting Lady Wednesday?" asked Arthur. "Swear by the Architect, and the Will, and Lady Wednesday."

Wednesday's Dawn scowled and her riding crop whistled back and forth through the air. But finally she said, "Yes. I shall do everything in my power to ensure you are returned to a place of safety after your luncheon with Lady Wednesday. I swear this by the Architect who made me, by the Will, and by my mistress, Lady Wednesday."

"Okay," said Arthur. "I guess I'd better go."

He looked at Doctor Scamandros, who shuffled again and bent his head close to Arthur.

"Captain Catapillow thought it best to inform Miss Dawn," muttered the sorcerer softly so only Arthur could hear. "Not wanting the Moth to be entangled in things beyond us, and afraid of what the Red Hand you bear might bring. I have to follow orders, you know. But I made sure your letter went first. Only Miss Dawn was already looking for you."

Arthur shook his head, but when Doctor Scamandros offered his hand, the boy sheathed his sword and took it. He still wasn't sure if the Denizen was lying, but Doctor Scamandros had fixed his leg up. Hopefully Arthur's letter really was going to Dame Primus.

"A pleasure to have you aboard the Moth," said Captain Catapillow, who was practically hunched over with his constant bowing to both Arthur and Wednesday's Dawn. "Farewell."

Arthur nodded but didn't offer to shake hands. He looked around instead. There was Sunscorch up by the cannons, surrounded by what looked like the whole crew, gathered in close to stare at the luminous Dawn.

"I won't be long," Arthur said. He raced up the beach to the Second Mate. This time, he did offer his hand, which was taken in a firm grip and shaken so soundly that his shoulder ached.

"Thanks, Sunscorch," said Arthur. "For picking me up from the buoy and everything."

"Fare thee well," said Sunscorch. "Mention Second Mate Sunscorch of the Moth to the Mariner, if you ever walk a deck with him again."

"I will," Arthur promised. He saw Ichabod standing primly amid a gaggle of tattooed, unkempt salvagers and waved.

"Thanks for the clothes, Ichabod!"

Ichabod bowed deeply. Arthur waved again and ran back to the sea.

"Take a deep breath and peg your nose," said Doctor Scamandros. He leaned close again and Arthur felt him drop something in the pocket of his coat. "And if I may be of service, do not hesitate to send word. I should like to serve the Rightful Heir."

Arthur felt in his pocket as he stepped back. The object was round, heavy, and metallic. Before he could investigate further, Dawn spread her wings and gestured for Arthur to approach.

"I shall have to take you under my arm," she said with a fleeting look of distaste. "We shall achieve the best speed if you remain still and don't squirm. Please also ensure your sword stays at your side."

Arthur nodded and stood next to Dawn. Before she picked him up under the arms like a parcel, he took a deep breath, as deep as he was able, and put the peg on his nose. It hurt, but not enough for Arthur to need to take it off.

Dawn spread her wings and, with one mighty flap, launched into the air. As she rose, she began to change. She grew larger and longer, skin and clothing transforming into rough sharkskin with a golden sheen. Her arm changed too, becoming a thick tentacle, its many suckers sticking on to Arthur with nasty pops of displaced air.

Arthur shut his eyes. He didn't want to see the tentacle.

He kept them closed as they dived into the sea, the cold shock of the water smashing into his chest. For a moment he was scared that the peg spell had failed and he would drown. But he felt no need to draw breath, and as long as he kept his eyes closed, he could almost kid himself that he was just in the bath, or mucking around in a swimming pool.

Almost. The water was rushing past too quickly, and the tentacle felt too strange. Arthur suddenly thought of something he should have asked.

How long is it going to take to get back to the House? How long will I be underwater? How long will my thousand breaths last?