Drowned Wednesday(38)

Arthur swallowed and looked back at the rapidly approaching light in the water. Then he drew his sword, resting the blade on his shoulder like the Denizens with their cutlasses.

I will cut off his head, Arthur told himself. I have defeated Mister Monday and Grim Tuesday. I’ve been wounded before. I know I can take it. I’m not going to be killed by a pirate … I hope my leg doesn’t give way suddenly … This crab armour is good and the joints work well but what if it locks up or it just gets weak as I’m fighting Feverfew and …

‘Stop it!’ Arthur whispered to himself. ‘Whatever happens, I will make the best of it. I will win.’

‘Wait for it to leave the water!’ roared Sunscorch as the light grew even closer. ‘Point-blank!’

The glow streamed towards them, growing brighter and brighter, like the headlights of an oncoming car. Arthur felt transfixed by the light, unable to move as it got closer and closer. He could make out a dark shape inside the light, inside the wave. An inhuman figure, like a shark, with huge wings propelling it along. It broke the surface and began to surf in on a wave. The gunners grunted and cursed as they shoved and levered at the cannons with handspikes, trying to point them just where the thing was going to come out of the water.

Sunscorch took a breath and opened his mouth, the word ‘Fire!’ already forming there, when suddenly Doctor Scamandros came capering about in front of the cannons, shouting.

‘Hold! Hold hard! Don’t! Don’t fire!’

At his last word, one of the cannons went off with a tremendously loud bang, a spray of sparks and an eruption of thick white smoke that completely enveloped Arthur. Coughing and choking, he stumbled away, only to find his feet suddenly wet.

He was in the wash of the surf, and the thing from the sea was standing over him, its light shining through gunsmoke and darkness. It had not been hit.

It wasn’t a ‘thing’ anymore, though it still had huge wings of metallic yellow-gold feathers. It was a very beautiful, very tall woman, with bright yellow hair tied back in a wire net. She was wearing a green velvet dress with a darker green, fur-trimmed jacket that hung loose on her left shoulder, the arms swinging behind. She held a short, white, scaly whip in her right hand.

She looked down at Arthur, and at the unscathed Doctor Scamandros, who had come up next to him, and at Captain Catapillow, who Arthur hadn’t even seen around, but was now bowing and scraping and mumbling.

‘Doctor Scamandros?’

Her voice was cold and clear. It made Arthur’s ears hurt slightly, as if they were being touched by an icy breeze.

‘Yes, ma’am. I am Scamandros.’

‘I received your message. Introduce me to Lord Arthur. I am in a hurry.’

Scamandros bowed to her, indicated Arthur with his right hand, and bowed again to both of them.

‘Lord Arthur, may I present Lady Wednesday’s Dawn?’

Arthur bowed. He had already half-guessed the identity of their surprise guest. She had the hauteur that all the chief servants of the Trustees possessed. A kind of look that said, I am superior and you had better admit it.

‘Greetings, Lord Arthur,’ said Wednesday’s Dawn. ‘Please accept Lady Wednesday’s apologies for the sad miscarriage of our transport arrangements. Unfortunately I have not yet been apprised of the exact nature of the incident that led you here, but I trust that you are now ready to accompany me to the promised luncheon?’

Arthur looked up at Dawn’s beautiful but cold face.

She would cut my throat if ordered to, Arthur thought. But what choice do I have?

‘I’m not sure,’ he said aloud. He still had his sword on his shoulder, and Sunscorch’s advice about dealing with Feverfew would probably apply equally well to Wednesday’s Dawn. He tensed, ready to strike, as he slowly said, ‘I’ve heard some scary talk about how Lady Wednesday is kind of . . . well, you know . . . a giant whale that eats everything. And I don’t want to get eaten.’

‘It is a temporary indisposition,’ said Dawn. She looked at Scamandros and Catapillow. ‘Which those of lesser orders would do well not to gossip about. However, you may be assured that Lady Wednesday intends to resume her traditional human form for this luncheon. That is in indication of the importance given to your visit, Lord Arthur. It is currently a regrettable strain for milady to take human shape. She has not chosen to do so for many centuries.’

‘What does she want from me?’ asked Arthur. There seemed no point beating around the bush. ‘She’s in with the Morrow Days. She’s a Trustee who didn’t do what she was supposed to. I’m the Will’s Rightful Heir.’