Drowned Wednesday(25)

‘Passenger Arth! The Captain’s compliments, and you are to join him for a beachside supper!’

Ichabod’s call was very welcome. Arthur struggled to his feet, pleasantly surprised to find that his leg was well supported by the crab armour. Scamandros helped him find his balance.

‘We shall speak more, and soon, Arth,’ the Doctor said. Arthur noticed that his tattoos were starting to crawl across his face again, emerging from the skin like a blush. The Denizen leaned in close as Arthur started to step away, and added, ‘Or should I say Arthur, Master of the Lower House and Lord of the Far Reaches?’





Nine




ARTHUR FELT AS I F Doctor Scamandros was watching his back the whole time it took to stomp across the beach to an open-sided tent, where he could see Captain Catapillow, Concort, and Sunscorch sitting at a long, white cloth-covered table. Lanterns hung at the tent’s corners, their soft yellow glow in stark contrast to the strange scarlet twilight.

As he walked across the beach, Arthur was thinking furiously. Was Scamandros threatening to reveal his real identity? It hadn’t sounded like a threat, but he couldn’t be sure. What did the sorcerer want? Who did he serve? He was trained in the Upper House . . . or so he said. He could easily be a servant of one of the Morrow Days, who would do anything to stop Arthur from liberating any more of the Will.

‘Mind the barrels,’ said Ichabod, leading Arthur between two pyramids of different-sized barrels. There was a huge amount of stuff on the beach, all of it very carefully stacked and ordered. Barrels and boxes and crates and bags. And there in the tent, in front of the table, was Feverfew’s chest. Arthur wondered how they’d taken it away without waking him up. Perhaps he’d already slid forward into the sand by that point.

‘Bring the passenger forward, Ichabod,’ ordered Captain Catapillow. He had a writing book open in front of him, and a pen and inkwell, as did Concort. Sunscorch had a huge, thick, leather-bound tome the size of several bricks.

It looked more like a court bench than a dinner table. And ‘passenger’ had sounded awfully like ‘prisoner’.

‘Stand in front of the Captain and bow,’ whispered Ichabod, nudging Arthur forward. The boy complied, inclining his head not just to the Captain, but also to Concort and Sunscorch. Catapillow and Concort gave the slightest nods back, and Sunscorch winked, which Arthur found encouraging.

‘Now, due to, ah, the irregular nature of the last day, we have not been able to, er, keep up-to-date the log of our good ship Moth,’ said Catapillow, leaning forward to fix Arthur with his unsteady stare. ‘Wishing to be, ah, beforehand with such records and intending to inscribe you as a passenger has reminded me that we do not, ah, know who you are, where you are going, or what fare you should be charged. There is also the matter of this treasure.’

He leaned back when he’d finished talking and folded his hands together.

‘You want to know who I am?’ asked Arthur. He wasn’t sure whether Catapillow’s speech actually needed to be answered.

‘Indeed,’ said Concort. ‘That is of the essence. Who are you? Where are you from? Where are you going? How did you come to be on Feverfew’s buoy? Why did you remove the telltale red pitch from the marker so that we didn’t know whose treasure it was below? Do you claim the treasure yourself?’

‘Well . . .’ said Arthur slowly, stalling as he tried to think of some answers that wouldn’t get him into trouble. Clearly, Scamandros already knew or strongly guessed who he was. Would it be any worse if the others knew as well? He needed help — to find Leaf, for a start.

It would be a big gamble. Sunscorch would support him, he thought, because he had the Mariner’s disc. Ichabod seemed to like him. Catapillow and Concort were kind of stupid, even if they were technically in charge, so perhaps they didn’t matter too much. Doctor Scamandros . . . Arthur really wasn’t sure about that Denizen, but after he’d recovered from having his fingers burned by the Atlas he’d been nice enough. The crab armour on Arthur’s leg worked really well . . .

‘Speak up!’ ordered Concort. His voice suddenly squeaked, which removed all authority from it.

‘My real name is Arthur Penhaligon,’ Arthur said slowly. ‘I am a mortal from Earth. But I am also Master of the Lower House and of the Far Reaches, though I have given up my Keys in trust to Dame Primus, who was once Parts One and Two of the Will of the Architect.’

Catapillow’s mouth curled up at one end as Arthur spoke. Then he broke out in uproarious laughter, followed a second later by Concort. Sunscorch neither smiled nor laughed, but looked down at the huge book in front of him.