Drowned Wednesday(22)

Immediately Sunscorch raised his volume enormously, bellowing out some incomprehensible orders involving clewgarnets, buntlines, leechlines, and slablines. These were all met with sudden activity by the crew.

‘Now, all we need to do is get her safely lodged before teatime,’ said Sunscorch cheerfully, without looking away from the rapidly closing beach. ‘Try as I might, I can never get them to give up their afternoon tea. Once made clerks, always clerks, no matter how much salt they taste.’

The ship slowed as sails were furled, and even Arthur could tell she was lower in the water and more sluggish to answer the helm. But they were only a few hundred yards from the beach, a wide crescent of sparkling sand that looked much like an earthly beach, save that the sand was a very light blue.

‘We’ll make it,’ said Sunscorch. But as he spoke, a bell rang from somewhere deep inside the ship. The peal quickly repeated several times. In answer to it, the crew left their posts, abandoned lines, and slid down from the rigging. The Denizens who’d fallen overboard stopped treading water and started to swim for the ship, showing near-Olympic speeds without Olympic-standard grace or style. Even the helmsmen made as if to join the throng milling about a grating on the main deck of the ship, till they were physically restrained by Sunscorch.

‘Oh, no you don’t,’ he cried. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? If you’re at the wheel you can’t both go to afternoon tea. You have to take it in turns.’

Arthur stared down at the main deck. The Denizens were accepting cups of tea in fine bone china cups that appeared out of the grating, even though there was no one below handing them up. Small biscuits also materialised in the air and were delicately taken and eaten in modest bites. The sight of both made Arthur aware that he was extraordinarily thirsty and hungry, despite the drink of water Sunscorch had given him in the boat. He knew he didn’t need food or water, but he felt as if he did.

‘How . . . where are the cups coming from?’

‘It’s one of the things that didn’t change when we remade the counting house,’ said Ichabod. ‘Some department in the Lower House is still supplying us with afternoon tea, wherever we are in the House or the Secondary Realms. I would venture to suppose that an order was given long ago, and it has never been rescinded. It’s quite convenient, of course, and we are the envy of many other ships.’

‘It’s a cursed nuisance,’ said Sunscorch. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, ‘All hands come aft! Hold yer cups and saucers!’

The crew was slow to respond, and Sunscorch shouted again. The beach was only fifty or sixty yards distant.

‘They’re best aft. We might lose a mast when we strike,’ Sunscorch explained to Arthur. ‘But it’ll go for’ard, like as not.’

Arthur looked up at the two very tall masts and their mass of spars and rigging. They had to weigh tons, and if one or both of them came down backwards instead of forward, they’d crush everyone.

‘Take a hold!’ roared Sunscorch.





Eight




ARTHUR HARDLY FELT the Moth’s initial impact with the beach. The deck shuddered a little under him, but he was sitting down with his bad leg straight out and he had a very firm grip on an iron cleat next to the rail.

More serious shudders followed, as the ship ground its way up and through the deep sand. Arthur watched the masts carefully, and though they shivered and the rigging rattled and a few ropes and blocks fell down, nothing worse occurred.

After a few more yards’ progress, the Moth gave a final creaking groan and slid forward no more. It sat upright for a few moments, then slowly heeled over till the deck was at an angle of twenty degrees. Arthur wondered if it was going to go over completely on its side, but the deep sand around the hull held it in place.

Amazingly, not one of the crew appeared to have dropped his or her teacup. While Arthur gingerly crawled to the side and looked over at the blue sand, Ichabod went and got a cup of tea to offer to Arthur.

Arthur drank it gratefully, though it was very strong, very sweet, and very milky. When the cup was empty, he handed it back to Ichabod, who asked, ‘More?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Arthur. He was quite surprised when Ichabod simply handed the cup straight back, but the cup was full again. Strangely, this time the tea was black and, while still sweet, had been made so by something like treacle. Arthur drank it anyway.

‘Just say ‘more’ if you want more,’ Ichabod explained. He handed Arthur a biscuit and added, ‘Similarly, as long as you have a crumb left of biscuit, just say ‘more’ and you’ll get another one. Till afternoon tea is over, which is in about five minutes by my reckoning.’