Drowned Wednesday(40)

‘A pleasure to have you aboard the Moth,’ said Captain Catapillow, who was practically hunched over with his constant bowing to both Arthur and Wednesday’s Dawn. ‘Farewell.’

Arthur nodded but didn’t offer to shake hands. He looked around instead. There was Sunscorch up by the cannons, surrounded by what looked like the whole crew, gathered in close to stare at the luminous Dawn.

‘I won’t be long,’ Arthur said. He raced up the beach to the Second Mate. This time, he did offer his hand, which was taken in a firm grip and shaken so soundly that his shoulder ached.

‘Thanks, Sunscorch,’ said Arthur. ‘For picking me up from the buoy and everything.’

‘Fare thee well,’ said Sunscorch. ‘Mention Second Mate Sunscorch of the Moth to the Mariner, if you ever walk a deck with him again.’

‘I will,’ Arthur promised. He saw Ichabod standing primly amid a gaggle of tattooed, unkempt salvagers and waved.

‘Thanks for the clothes, Ichabod!’

Ichabod bowed deeply. Arthur waved again and ran back to the sea.

‘Take a deep breath and peg your nose,’ said Doctor Scamandros. He leaned close again and Arthur felt him drop something in the pocket of his coat. ‘And if I may be of service, do not hesitate to send word. I should like to serve the Rightful Heir.’

Arthur felt in his pocket as he stepped back. The object was round, heavy, and metallic. Before he could investigate further, Dawn spread her wings and gestured for Arthur to approach.

‘I shall have to take you under my arm,’ she said with a fleeting look of distaste. ‘We shall achieve the best speed if you remain still and don’t squirm. Please also ensure your sword stays at your side.’

Arthur nodded and stood next to Dawn. Before she picked him up under the arms like a parcel, he took a deep breath, as deep as he was able, and put the peg on his nose. It hurt, but not enough for Arthur to need to take it off.

Dawn spread her wings and, with one mighty flap, launched into the air. As she rose, she began to change. She grew larger and longer, skin and clothing transforming into rough sharkskin with a golden sheen. Her arm changed too, becoming a thick tentacle, its many suckers sticking on to Arthur with nasty pops of displaced air.

Arthur shut his eyes. He didn’t want to see the tentacle.

He kept them closed as they dived into the sea, the cold shock of the water smashing into his chest. For a moment he was scared that the peg spell had failed and he would drown. But he felt no need to draw breath, and as long as he kept his eyes closed, he could almost kid himself that he was just in the bath, or mucking around in a swimming pool.

Almost. The water was rushing past too quickly, and the tentacle felt too strange. Arthur suddenly thought of something he should have asked.

How long is it going to take to get back to the House? How long will I be underwater? How long will my thousand breaths last?





Fourteen




IT WAS A TERRIBLE journey, one that seemed to Arthur to last for days, though he knew it was merely hours. At intervals, Dawn would erupt from the water for a long gliding flight, at the same time calling out to Arthur, ‘Breathe!’

He would take a breath, then down they would plunge, back into water of varying temperature, though always more cold than warm. The light changed too, often quite radically, from total darkness to daylight of different hues. Arthur realised that Dawn was taking them through several different Secondary Realms. How, he didn’t know, since there were no obvious portals and they didn’t go through the Front Door. He supposed it was something to do with the nature of the Border Sea and of Wednesday’s Dawn. Perhaps she could go wherever there was a sea of some kind.

Arthur survived the experience by going into a state where he was neither awake nor asleep. He kept his eyes closed most of the time, and his mind retreated into semiconsciousness, so he had almost no coherent thoughts or memory of any particular time within the journey. It all felt like one ghastly, overtired waking nightmare.

Finally, Dawn leapt up from the sea. Arthur heard the crack and boom of thunder and saw lightning bolts scrawl jagged paths across the entire horizon. He screwed his eyes shut and tucked his chin in tight, holding like that as the thunder got louder and louder and the white light broke through his eyelids. All of it was just too much to bear and then . . . it was gone.

They were through the Line of Storms and in the House, spiralling up and up as Dawn climbed higher into the sky, till they were many thousands of feet up. Arthur started to get worried about hitting the ceiling, then realised it was much higher here than the parts of the House he’d been in before.

Fortunately it wasn’t cold. In fact, it seemed to be warmer, which was strange, until Arthur figured out that while there was no sun, the ceiling, no matter how distant, must provide heat as well as light. And he couldn’t tell whether the air pressure was decreasing, because he wasn’t breathing. The peg was still securely on his nose and his last breath had been only twenty minutes before.