Drowned Wednesday

Nineteen

ARTHUR TRIED TO LOOK AWAY, but an unseen force gripped his head, keeping him staring at the mirror.

"You will come to me," ordered the voice in the light. It was little more than a whisper, but it echoed in Arthur's mind. "Reach through the mirror with your red-splashed hand."

Arthur's fingers twitched. He felt them slide across the surface of the mirror without his control, his whole hand preparing to plunge through the silvered glass. At the same time, through squinting eyes, he saw a face emerge from the light. A shriveled face that looked like an ancient bog corpse that had been burnt.

"You have stolen from Feverfew — now you must make reparations," whispered the face, which Arthur knew with dread was Feverfew's own, sorcery-ravaged and twisted by Nothing. "Reach through the mirror!"

"NO!" Arthur screamed. He couldn't shut his eyes, but he managed to turn his head, dislodging the shell. Still, Feverfew's voice remained, whispering inside his skull.

"Reparations... reach through the mirror... reach through the mirror —"

There was a sharp pain in Arthur's head, and the voice vanished. Arthur blinked several times and just managed to raise his hands in time to stop Watkingle from hitting him for the second time with the pommel of his cutlass.

"No! Don't! I'm all right!"

Watkingle lowered his cutlass.

"Wasn't sure I hit hard enough," he said. "Thought I'd start with a little tap, like on a table for ordering a drink."

"Thanks," muttered Arthur, feeling the sore spot on the top of his head. He felt a small wash of nausea pass over him and gulped. Seasickness, he figured.

"You were screaming softly," said Watkingle. "Fair gave me the shudders."

"Me too," replied Arthur. He sat up and looked around, ignoring a momentary attack of dizziness. The mirror was lying on the floor, a huge crack running across it. The shell was crushed under his foot.

A fixed gaslight burned in the corner of the cabin, and there was no longer any sunshine coming through the porthole. The ship was vibrating with a low, regular hum, and he could hear a distant sound like someone hitting a punching bag, not in time with the slight roll and pitch of the ship.

"How long was I looking in the mirror?"

"From four bells in the afternoon watch to six bells of the first," reported Watkingle. "Nine hours, more or less."

"It seemed like minutes. I guess they were a long way out in the Secondary Realms. I wonder where...?"

Arthur's head throbbed and his throat was sore, probably from the soft screaming Watkingle had described. He shivered again as he thought of Feverfew's horribly burned face and his whispering voice.

Don't think about Feverfew, he told himself. Think about what must be done.

"The Flying Mantis was about to be attacked by the Shiver," Arthur said aloud, still thinking to himself.

"The Mantis?" said Watkingle. "That'd be a rare fight. She's a regular ship. Pirates don't normally go for the regulars. They might win, but they'd get mighty cut up."

"Feverfew's already taken the Moth," said Arthur. "And now he's gone for the Mantis. I wonder if...?"

He knows I have something to do with those two ships, Arthur thought, the shivers coming back. With his sorcery, he's seen the connections. I'm marked by his Red Hand and he's looking for me. I'll never get away, I'll never …

"Stop!" said Arthur, stamping his good foot. His own mind was getting out of control.

"Stop what, sir?" asked Watkingle.

"Never mind." Arthur forced the little voice of fear in his head to shut up. He was going to strike first, and once he had the Will released and the Third Key, he could sort out Feverfew without any problems. Probably. Almost for sure...

"Is Lieutenant Longtayle awake?" he asked.

"Captain Longtayle," corrected Watkingle. "Not his watch, but I could wake him if it's urgent."

"No, I guess there's no point waking him," said Arthur. He massaged his temple with his fingers as he often saw his mother doing. Perhaps that would make his headache go away. "What's wrong with calling him lieutenant, anyway? The Commodore called him that."

"He's a lieutenant in the service," explained Watkingle. "But he's the captain of this "ere ship, so he's always called Captain on board, except by higher-ranking Rats discussing matters not to do with the ship. Understand?"

Arthur shook his head. He couldn't concentrate on weird details like this.

"I'll just call him Captain all the time to be on the safe side. I suppose I should try to get some sleep."

"I would if I were you, sir," agreed Watkingle. "Always sleep when you can, that's my rule. Now, as the Captain has ordered me to keep a sentry on you for your own protection, I might just lie down on this "ere floor if you've no objection?"

"Be my guest," said Arthur. He lay down on the bunk. There was no chance of going to sleep, he thought. He had too many ideas floating around in his head, and too many nervous fears knotting up his stomach. All kinds of worries: about Leaf, Scamandros, Sunscorch, and the crew of the Moth, about insanely driving a submarine into the mouth of a monstrous whale...

* * *

Arthur woke with a start. There was sunshine streaming through the porthole again. Watkingle was propped against the door with his tail across his lap, apparently asleep. But as Arthur sat up, the Rat opened one eye and his tail flicked over.

"What time is it?" Arthur asked.

"Just past four bells of the forenoon watch," Watkingle replied. He got up, straightened out his shirt, and brushed some cheese fragments and crumbs off his breeches.

"Which is what in normal hours?"

"Ten o'clock in the morning."

Arthur rubbed his eyes. He still felt incredibly sleepy.

"So I slept for about eleven hours, right?"

"No," said Watkingle. "You've been asleep for the last four days."

"Four days! I — I can't have," stammered Arthur. "That's impossible."

"The Captain had Mister Yongtin in to look at you when you didn't wake up the first morning," said Watkingle. The Rat shuffled a bit and his tail flicked nervously. "He said that a combination of a sorcerous insult and a... um... blow to the head had laid you low and you ought to come good in a few days. After a few days, he said he wanted to open up your head and take a look —" Arthur hastily felt his head. There were no bandages and he couldn't feel any scars or stitches.

"He was going to do it this evening if you didn't come around," said Watkingle. "So as you'd be right for when we arrive in Port Wednesday."

Arthur stopped feeling his head.

"Are we nearly there?"

"Approaching the harbour bar as we speak," said Watkingle. He scratched his nose and added, "If you're fit, the Captain and the Commodore would like to have a word."

Five minutes later, Arthur was in the great cabin sipping on cranberry juice. He felt surprisingly good. His broken leg didn't hurt at all and moved more freely, the crab cast adapting to his increased mobility. He also felt fresh and quite optimistic, no longer so weighted with fear for Leaf and the others.

I will do what I can do, he thought. There's no point worrying about anything till I've tried my best.

"We regret the blow to your head, Lord Arthur," said Longtayle. "Watkingle was following orders, but perhaps his idea of a little tap —" "It's fine," said Arthur. "If he hadn't hit me, Feverfew would have totally taken me over."

"Feverfew? You saw him?"

"I saw Leaf first. The Mantis must have gone out into the Secondary Realms, because she'd been aboard more than a month. I guess she's fit in pretty well, from the look of things. But right at the end they were getting attacked by the Shiver. That's when I saw Feverfew. He was... pretty ugly."

"The Mantis was definitely being attacked by the Shiver?" asked Monckton. He looked at Longtayle, his tail rising up in an agitated question mark. "Feverfew grows very bold. We have no separate confirmation of this."

"Watkingle said the Mantis might be able to hold off the Shiver," said Arthur.

"It's impossible to say," said Monckton. He was obviously troubled. "If Feverfew was determined, he would probably win out. From talking to Doctor Scamandros, you were very fortunate to get away from him the first time."

"Is he all right?" asked Arthur. "Doctor Scamandros? I forgot to ask..."

"He recovers well," replied Longtayle. "He will be joining us shortly. So you say that the Mantis was being attacked by the Shiver four days ago, by House time? Do you know where?"

"I think it was in the Secondary Realms, but I'm not sure."

"If Feverfew is out cruising for victims, then he and his pirates will not be in his harbour," said Monckton. "Greatly increasing your chances, Arthur. But four days ago by House time... he could be anywhere."

"It doesn't matter where Feverfew is," said Arthur, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. "I have to get into that secret harbour. Even more now, if Feverfew has taken Leaf and the crews of the Moth and the Flying Mantis to be slaves."

I hope that's what happened, Arthur thought. Better than being killed. Though maybe the Mantis defeated Feverfew …

"There is some good news," said Longtayle. "The Accelerated Coal has arrived and the Balaena is fully operational. I have just had a message via bottle from her, confirming that the submersible will rendezvous with us offshore in about ten minutes."

"We're not going into Port Wednesday?" asked Arthur.

"No," confirmed Longtayle. "Commodore Monckton and I decided that it would be best to keep your presence secret, and your transfer to the submersible even more so. Feverfew certainly has informers in the port and they are bound to have sorcerous means of communicating with him."

"That makes sense. Did any messages for me come through while I was sleeping? Dame Primus must have got my letter if you've got your fuel canister already."

Longtayle shook his head. "No messages have come through by bottle. However, there is a representative from Dame Primus aboard the Balaena. She has probably brought messages for you."

"She?" asked Arthur eagerly. "Is her name Suzy Turquoise Blue?"

Longtayle took a paper scroll from the pocket of his coat, unrolled it, and scanned the text.

"No name," he said. "Just “a representative from Dame Primus.”"

"I hope it is Suzy," said Arthur. "No one else has come aboard the sub as well, have they? Like a tall, grizzle-bearded old guy with a harpoon?"

"I presume you refer to the Mariner," said Longtayle stiffly. "If he chose to grace any of our vessels with his presence it would be reported instantly. We hold him in only slightly less esteem than his brother, our noble creator, the Piper."

"So he's not aboard, then," said Arthur. Instinctively, he touched the Mariner's medallion on his throat, to make sure it was still there. Not that it had done anything anyway. At least as far as he could tell. He'd always known it was unlikely the Mariner would show up to help him, but he had hoped. Now that small hope had all but disappeared.

"Where is Doctor Scamandros?" he asked. It was looking more and more likely that he'd have to sneak into Feverfew's secret worldlet by himself, without the team he'd been imagining would be there to help him.

"He should be here by now," said Longtayle. He strode over and opened the door to look in the passageway, startling the sentry. "Ah — here he comes."

Doctor Scamandros entered a few seconds later. He looked the same as he always had, but was walking with the aid of an ebony walking stick that had a carved parrot head for a handle.

"Lord Arthur!" he exclaimed, using his stick to balance in order to offer a low bow. "I am most pleased to see you recovered. I cannot thank you enough for my timely rescue, as it is clear that without the friendly and most expert attentions of Mister Yongtin — worth every silver real, I may add — I would have expired quite rapidly from Nothing poison."

"I'm glad you're okay," said Arthur. "I mean, that you're all right. You are basically all right now, aren't you?"

"Indeed, “basically all right” describes my condition quite well."

Arthur looked dubiously at the little Denizen. Scamandros hadn't fully straightened up after his bow, and the tattoos on his face showed derelict hulks barely afloat amid the wreckage of battle, with sunken masts poking up through matted rafts of debris populated by desolate castaways.

"I was hoping you might be able to help me get into Feverfew's secret harbour," said Arthur. "But you don't look well enough —" "Poppycock!" snorted the Doctor, wincing as he put his shoulders back and stood to attention. A tattooed wind blew across his face, and the hulks sprouted jury-rigged masts and sails. "Why, an hour or two of rest aboard these kind Rats" submersible and I'll be right as a trivet."

"You'll be at least a day aboard the Balaena unless Drowned Wednesday changes her course dramatically," said Longtayle. At the same time, Arthur asked, "What's a trivet?"

"There you are, at least a day's more rest and I shall once more be fighting fit. As to trivets, they are three-legged stands that are notionally most sound but in practice tend to fall over, so perhaps I erred in my metaphor. Right as rain is what I meant."

"What — oh, never mind. I'll be happy with whatever help you can give me. Particularly if you can disguise me. With sorcery, I mean. To fool the pirates."

"Sorcerous disguises? A snap!" declared the Doctor. "Though to be entirely accurate, while I could weave a most excellent disguise over you, it would not stand up to Feverfew's burning gaze. Ordinary pirates, yes. Feverfew himself, no."

"I don't plan to let Feverfew get a look at me," muttered Arthur. He glanced over at Monckton and Longtayle, who were taking delivery of another scroll from a messenger, clearly the latest arrival from a simultaneous bottle.

"One of our ships is shadowing Drowned Wednesday," said Monckton, indicating the ivory whale on the chart. "She is maintaining her usual course for this time of year, following fish patterns, and the Balaena should be able to intercept her without trouble. But we need to get you on board immediately. Drowned Wednesday moves far more swiftly than any ship, so the submersible will have to get in position directly in front of her and then steam full ahead in order to navigate the great intake of water through the straining bones of the great creature's mouth."

"Straining bones?" asked Arthur. No one had mentioned anything about straining bones. "What... what are they?"

"Drowned Wednesday in her Leviathan form is not just an overgrown Earth whale," said Monckton. "But she has some similarities with the larger types. As far as we have been able to ascertain, she does not have teeth as such, nor the typical baleen structure of some whales. But her upper and lower jaws hold vast vertical sheets of perforated bone, which form a lattice that strains the water that rushes into her mouth. The holes aren't big enough to admit any ship larger than a brig, but the submersible should fit easily. Provided it can aim at one of the holes, of course. It is possible that the rush of water may be too fast for the submersible to have any steerageway, and it will smash into the bone. Or end up between the upper and lower plate and be ground to pieces."

"But you think your submersible has a good chance of getting through?" Arthur hadn't thought getting swallowed by Drowned Wednesday was going to be easy, but he hadn't considered the possibility of smashing into some weird whale-teeth or getting crunched up. "What comes after the straining plates? Do we just keep on going with the flow into her stomach? And is that completely full of water or does it ebb and flow like a tide?"

"We don't know," said Monckton. "One of the reasons we have agreed to supply the Balaena to your expedition, Arthur, is that it will provide us with new information. The Balaena will send us reports via simultaneous bottle for as long as it — that is to say, we will be very interested to see what else is inside Drowned Wednesday in addition to Feverfew's private worldlet."

"We'd best be getting aboard," said Longtayle. One of his ears twitched, and Arthur realised the Rat was listening to the sound of the ship's engines, which had just grown softer. "We've heaved to. The submersible must be about to rendezvous."

"Submersible Rattus Balaena alongside!" reported a Rat a second later.

"Are you coming with us, Captain?" Arthur asked Lieutenant Longtayle.

"I am assuming command of the submersible," said Longtayle. "Due to the nature of the expedition, all the crew are volunteers. Are you ready to go, Lord Arthur? And you, Doctor Scamandros?"

"I'm ready," said Arthur.

"Yes, I believe I am," replied Scamandros.

"Good luck!" said Commodore Monckton. He stood and saluted as they left, as did the Steward and sentry Rats.

"And to you too," muttered Doctor Scamandros as he followed Arthur out the door.