‘I am not sure exactly what happened then. Either the power of the Key failed, or she misdirected it. In any case, she was transformed into a shape and size appropriate to the amount of food she was eating. She became a Leviathan.’
‘A what?’
‘A Behemoth.’
‘Um, I don’t —’
‘A monstrous white whale. A stupendous whale! One hundred and twenty-six miles from tail to head, and thirty-two miles in width, with a mouth when open that is two miles high and ten miles wide.’
Arthur stopped walking to think about this. A whale one hundred and twenty-six miles long! Doctor Scamandros kept walking and talking so he had to scurry to catch up and missed a few words.
‘. . . transformation and immersion in the Border Sea displaced a vast quantity of water. Fortunately the transformation took place over a week or more, allowing time to prepare the docks and foreshore buildings, most of which were turned into ships like the Moth. A new port was partly prepared on the ridge of Wednesday’s Lookout, now Port Wednesday.
‘But the greatest destruction to actual Denizens was not wrought by the Deluge, but by Lady Wednesday herself. In the shape of a Leviathan she was hungrier than ever, and in her early years, she ate not only the usual plankton, krill, and other small creatures by the ton, but also many of her own servants, including her Noon and Dusk. No one has dared approach her for millennia, save her surviving Dawn, who it is believed she communicates with by moving the pupils of her massive eye in some code, so Dawn need not get too close.
‘That is why it is strange that you should be invited to lunch with her. How can you have lunch with a Leviathan? Particularly one that eats everything that comes anywhere near her?’
‘Why is she called Drowned Wednesday?’ asked Arthur. ‘I mean, she’s obviously not drowned.’
‘I believe that when she first began to transform she flung herself into the Border Sea and was presumed drowned,’ said Scamandros. ‘A nasty fate for a Denizen, since some consciousness would remain until the fishes completely nibbled you away. I also suspect that the term ‘Whale Wednesday’ is shied away from by her still-loyal Denizens.’
Arthur nodded and hopped forward to completely catch up. They were quite a long way along the beach now, the lights of the camp a hundred yards or more behind. Arthur glanced at Doctor Scamandros’s face. Most of it lay in shadow, only the lower part of his visage illuminated by the candle. His tattoos were moving and shifting, but it was too dark for Arthur to make out what they were showing, save for one of a ship that was cruising across the Denizen’s cheek with all sails set.
‘Perhaps we should turn around,’ said Arthur nervously. Scamandros halted and looked at Arthur.
‘We have come far enough to try a little sorcery that may find an answer to your questions,’ he said, walking up the beach to set his candle down. Arthur followed, the blue sand sticking to his wet feet.
‘What was it you wanted first?’ asked Doctor Scamandros. ‘A message to Dame Primus or news of your friend?’
‘I want to see what’s happened to Leaf,’ said Arthur. Even though she hadn’t listened when he’d told her to get out of the hospital room, he still felt responsible . . . and guilty. He hoped she was all right.
‘Your friend was picked up by another ship?’
‘Yes,’ said Arthur. ‘A bit like the Moth, but thinner and longer, with three masts. It had sails that glowed green. I think it was meant to pick me up, like it said in the invitation. ‘Transport has been arranged.’ Only they got Leaf instead.’
‘The ship sounds like the Flying Mantis. One of the ships of Wednesday’s original merchant marine. Which would make sense. Now, do you have anything that belongs to your friend? A lock of hair, perhaps?’
‘No!’ said Arthur. ‘I mean, she’s just a friend. Like a fairly new friend too.’
‘Mmm, that makes it more difficult, even though knowing the ship will narrow things down,’ mused Scamandros. ‘Did you shake hands with her? Or have anything she may have touched, like a cup or bottle?’
Arthur shook his head. He tried to think back to the hospital room. Leaf had sat on the bed . . .
‘She did read Wednesday’s invitation. Will that do?’
‘That will do,’ said Doctor Scamandros with satisfaction. ‘May I have the invitation, please?’
Arthur handed it over. Scamandros took out a tortoiseshell-inlaid penknife and cut a small, curling sliver off the surface of the card, which he deposited in a tiny tin pillbox. Reaching once more into his greatcoat, he removed a cardboard chessboard — or something divided into coloured squares like a chessboard — which he unfolded. On this board he laid down with some exactitude a small round shaving mirror and a conch shell the size of Arthur’s fist. He then placed the tin pillbox down as well, arranging it so mirror, shell, and pillbox formed a triangle against the red-and-black-chequered background.