‘It never said that She was killed or slain by her own servants, the Morrow Days?’
Arthur dropped the cup he’d just picked up, the cranberry juice spreading like spilt blood towards the papers, till the liquid was hastily blotted up with a cloth by the Steward.
‘What?! No! The Will said something about choosing to go away or it was her own choice. It never said anything about her getting killed . . . Do you think the Morrow Days killed her? The Architect of everything? How would they do that?’
‘Some authorities claim She is dead, or returned to Nothing, which is the same thing,’ said Monckton. ‘We wanted to know what the Will had said to you, because the Will probably knows, and it would not lie to the Rightful Heir.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Arthur. ‘I reckon it would lie if it suited it. And the First Part of the Will used to say it didn’t know enough because it was only one-seventh of the whole Will. Though I have to say since it became Dame Primus it acts like it knows everything.’
‘You really think the Will might lie to you?’
Arthur thought for a moment. He couldn’t think of any time when the Will had told him an outright lie, but he still had the feeling that it would if it thought it might help its cause. It would certainly lie by omission, choosing not to tell him things if he didn’t ask for them.
‘Yes, I think it would, but only if it thought it needed to. You know, to make me do something the Rightful Heir should do.’
‘That is interesting. We had hoped to learn definitively what has happened to the Architect, but clearly that is not yet possible. Thank you, Arthur. Do you have your third question?’
‘I might save it for the time being, if that’s all right.’ Arthur didn’t want to waste his last question and he needed to think things through.
‘You may do so,’ said Monckton. ‘Of course that means we will also still have a question for you.’
‘That’s fine,’ Arthur agreed. He sat quietly for a moment, going over a rough plan in his head. ‘I want to send some other messages as well,’ he finally said. ‘Do you have a bottle on board the Moth? The salvage ship I was on.’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Longtayle. He pulled out a small book from his pocket and started to flick through it. ‘I’ll check the list.’
‘Is there any other way to get a message to them?’
‘There are numerous ways,’ said Monckton. ‘But most rely on sorcery, and we do not practise House sorcery, save for navigation. If Wednesday’s Dawn is still here, she might send a message for you. She has many powers within the Border Sea.’
‘I’d like to talk to her,’ said Arthur. ‘But she told me she had urgent business to attend to.’
‘We don’t have a bottle or anyone on the Moth, but I’ll send someone to check if Wednesday’s Dawn is still over at the Triangle,’ said Longtayle. He opened the door and spoke quickly to the Rat who stood at attention there.
‘Sorcery . . .’ said Arthur. He suddenly remembered Scamandros had put something in his pocket. Arthur had meant to transfer it to his boot so it would be safe, but he’d forgotten. Was it still there? He reached into the deep pocket and for a moment thought it was gone. Then his fingers closed on something cool and metallic in the corner.
He realised then that Longtayle and Monckton were looking at him curiously, so he hastily pulled his hand out. The Rats were probably trustworthy, but they didn’t need to know everything, particularly if they were going to be trading information with him. Arthur needed to keep some secrets in reserve.
‘Would you care to be shown to your cabin?’ asked Longtayle. ‘It will take an hour or so to build up steam, then we will be on our way. Earlier, if the wind shifts and we can sail. The breeze is against us for Port Wednesday at the moment, but it may change.’
‘Thanks,’ said Arthur. He thought he could take a look at whatever Scamandros gave him in the cabin, and maybe use the shell and mirror to check out how Leaf was doing.
‘You shall have my cabin, which is opposite,’ said Longtayle as he opened the door and indicated another one across the passage. There was already a replacement sailor Rat on sentry outside, who stood aside and saluted. The Rats ran a much more disciplined ship than the Moth, Arthur noted.
Arthur bowed to the sentry, crossed the passage, and went into his cabin. It was smaller than the room he’d been in, no more than fifteen feet long and twelve feet wide, with a folded-up bunk on one bulkhead and a folded-down desk and chair on the wall.
Arthur sat down and pulled his boots off as part of the process of retrieving the Atlas, Wednesday’s invitation, the shell, and the mirror. He put all these things into his inside coat pockets, then took out the metal object Scamandros had given him.