It was egg-shaped and made of gold, and there was a small curved catch on the side. Arthur flicked this up and the egg opened. One side was a watch, with an ivory face and ornate numbers picked out in tiny emeralds. The two hands were made from some kind of faintly glowing blue metal. The other side had a miniature portrait of Doctor Scamandros. It was very lifelike. As Arthur looked at the painting, the tattoos on his face began to move, and the pale blue sky behind him changed to show a background of dark smoke and dimly lit figures that were either fighting or dancing. At the same time, the Doctor’s head turned away, as if he was looking behind him.
Arthur gasped, and Doctor Scamandros looked back. His wild eyes met Arthur’s.
‘Arthur!’ shrieked the tiny figure, barely audible over the sudden din of screams, shouts, explosions, and clashing metal that came through as well. ‘Help! Give me your hand!’
Without even thinking about it, Arthur touched the miniature with his finger. It was instantly seized and drawn in somewhere, along with Arthur’s other fingers and then his whole hand. He felt someone — or something — grip it fiercely. Panicked, Arthur pulled back as hard as he could.
It was like trying to pick up a very heavy weight — Arthur felt his elbow and shoulder joints stretch and almost crack. He leaned back and put his feet against the wall, pulling with all his strength. Then suddenly he was lying on his back and Doctor Scamandros was sprawled next to him on the floor.
‘Shut the watch!’ squealed Scamandros. ‘Shut the watch!’
Arthur leapt up. Just as he reached for the watch, he heard a strange zinging sound, and a long, oily flame shot out of the open watch and struck the iron ceiling, the flames burning off the paint and sending billows of choking smoke everywhere.
Arthur, thankful he was still wearing gloves, swiped at the watch, shutting it with one blow. The oily flame disappeared as the watch shut, but there was still lots of smoke. Arthur, coughing and rubbing his eyes, opened the door and the porthole to let it out, then turned to Scamandros, who was still lying on the floor.
‘Are you all right? Where did you come from — and how?’
‘Just recovering my strength,’ gasped Doctor Scamandros. ‘You called at an opportune time, Lord Arthur. Thank the Architect I had the foresight to give you my transfer watch!’
‘Is that what it is?’
‘Yes, one of my graduation projects.’ Scamandros tried to get up, but got tangled in the tails of his yellow greatcoat, till Arthur gave him a hand. ‘I had thought I might need to merely talk with you again, but the transfer was most fortunate.’
‘Why? What’s happened to the Moth and everyone?’
‘The Moth has been taken,’ said Scamandros, his eyes downcast. ‘By the pirate Feverfew.’
‘What —?’
Arthur was interrupted by shouts of ‘Fire!’ from outside, followed a few seconds later by several seaman Rats bursting in with buckets and a hose, fortunately not yet fully up to pressure so it only dribbled water.
‘Where’s the fire?’ shouted the first Rat into the room.
‘It’s out,’ said Arthur. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Who’s this?’ asked the Rat suspiciously, looking at the bedraggled, yellow-overcoated, surprisingly short Denizen who had so mysteriously appeared. Doctor Scamandros bowed, but this didn’t help. The Rat looked around, made sure there really was no fire, then nodded to Arthur and backed out.
‘Stay here, please, sir, while I fetch the officer of the watch,’ the Rat said as she shut the door.
Arthur wasn’t sure what would happen next.
Eighteen
NO MORE THAN a minute later, there was a knock at the door. Arthur opened it and found Lieutenant Longtayle standing there, now wearing a sword. Behind him were half a dozen Rats wearing steel cuirasses and helmets, and carrying short crossbows or cut-down boarding pikes.
‘You have a visitor, Lord Arthur?’ asked Longtayle politely, but his eyes were cold and did not stray from Doctor Scamandros, who was sitting in the chair mopping his forehead with a yellow silk handkerchief.
‘It’s Doctor Scamandros, from the Moth,’ Arthur explained. ‘He came through a transfer watch.’
‘Are you sure it is Doctor Scamandros?’ asked Longtayle. ‘It could be a Nithling masquerading as him. Transfers can be intercepted or redirected.’
Arthur looked at Scamandros more carefully than he had before. The Doctor certainly looked the same. . .
‘I am Doctor Scamandros!’ the Denizen protested weakly.
‘Prove it,’ said Longtayle.
‘You Rats! Never prepared to take anyone’s word for anything,’ Scamandros complained. ‘Well, if you must insist upon proof, here are some documents for you.’