‘This is a naval pattern sword, reduced in length and weight by the armourer specifically for your lordship,’ said Ichabod. He stood up and saw Sunscorch’s knife, his mouth twisting a little in distaste. ‘If I may say, milord, the knife does little for the ensemble. Perhaps if you allow me —’
‘I want to keep the knife,’ Arthur said quickly. ‘And I have to go and join Mister Sunscorch now. Thanks for your help, Ichabod. I don’t know how you got the clothes my size so quickly.’
‘Oh, I cut them down from the Captain’s and Mister Concort’s best while you were off with Doctor Scamandros,’ said Ichabod proudly. ‘Then a few minor tweaks were all that was required, as I have a very good eye, even if I say so myself. “Always anticipate!” That’s the motto of the true gentleman’s gentleman!’
‘Um, thanks,’ muttered Arthur. He hoped Catapillow and Concort wouldn’t mind their best clothes getting cut down. ‘Thanks again.’
‘And should your lordship be wounded in the forthcoming action, be assured that I have applied my motto to my other profession,’ said Ichabod.
‘What?’
‘Surgeon’s Mate,’ said Ichabod. ‘Or as the extremely vulgar call it, Loblolly Boy. I assist Doctor Scamandros. We have never had to operate upon a mortal, but I have all my equipment ready. Knives, saws, drills — all newly sharpened!’
‘Great!’ said Arthur, faking a cheerfulness he didn’t feel. ‘Well done! Keep up the good work!’
He hurried away before Ichabod had a chance to show him any newly sharpened surgeon’s tools. He was halfway through the camp to where the two cannons were pointing out to sea when he heard the sudden clang and clatter of the ship’s bell, and Sunscorch’s bellow.
‘Stand to your guns! Make ready your crossbows! Cutlasses and boarding pikes to the tidemark!’
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.’