‘Sounds better than a hanging,’ said Suzy brightly. Then she frowned and added, ‘Only I can’t remember any hangings. We used to go to them, and my mum’d take our nuncheon wrapped up in a white cloth . . .’
Her voice trailed off as she tried to recall her long-ago human life.
‘I will also have to give you something to wrap the Fifth Key in,’ Scamandros continued. ‘To hide its sorcerous emanations. I have just the thing, somewhere . . . but first I must finish constructing this spell. If you would both be so kind as to remain totally silent and look the other way for a few minutes, I need complete concentration.’
Arthur and Suzy complied. Arthur twitched one of the fine curtains aside and looked out at the rolling sea. The waves came almost to the window, and spray splashed across every time the ship heeled over. But it was a tight window and didn’t leak. Arthur found it quite hypnotic just watching the mass of moving grey-green water topped with white. For a few minutes he could empty his mind of all his troubles and just watch the endless sea . . .
‘Done!’ exclaimed Scamandros.
Arthur and Suzy turned back. The plaster footprints and the Rat hair had disappeared and the bottle of activated ink was empty. Scamandros was holding the tin of grey paint in one hand and the large brush in the other.
‘Right, clothes off. I’ve got to get you painted up.’
Suzy took off her battered hat and started unbuttoning her coat.
‘Hang on, uh, wait a moment.’ Arthur’s cheeks coloured with embarrassment. He’d got used to mixed washrooms in the Glorious Army of the Architect, though they never really got completely undressed. But that was with Denizens. Suzy, though he could forget about it most of the time, was practically a normal human girl. ‘Why do we have to take our clothes off?’
‘The paint is transformative – it will prepare you to become a Raised Rat,’ Scamandros answered. ‘The activation I shall write upon the rind of the cheese, and then when you eat it, you will become a Raised Rat. I think.’
‘Okay,’ muttered Arthur. He turned back to look out the window and hesitantly undressed.
‘Least there’s ain’t no bibliophages wanting to have a nibble on any writing, like,’ said Suzy. ‘You had writing all over your other clothes, Arthur. Is that what they do back home these days?’
‘Yes,’ said Arthur. He took a deep breath and slipped off his underwear. ‘Start painting, Scamandros.’
‘He’s painting me,’ said Suzy. ‘You’ll ’ave to wait. Youch, that’s cold paint!’
Arthur bit back an order to hurry up and focussed on the view out the window. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Putting them on his hips seemed ridiculous when naked, but so did just letting them hang. Finally he folded them at the front, even though he thought that probably didn’t look too good either.
‘Right, Lord Arthur, here we go,’ said Scamandros. The next second Arthur felt a slap of cold fluid on his back, and flinched.
‘Steady!’ instructed Scamandros. ‘Haven’t any to waste.’
Arthur gritted his teeth and stood very still as Scamandros quickly brushed paint from his head to his heels.
‘Very good, Lord Arthur. Turn around, if you please.’
Arthur shut his eyes and slowly turned around. He heard a knock at the door at the same time, and a Raised Rat called out, ‘Got that cheese for you, sir. I’ll just put it here.’
‘Arms up, Lord Arthur,’ said Scamandros cheerily.
Arthur screwed his eyes shut even tighter and quickly raised his arms. He couldn’t help flinching as the paint went on some delicate areas.
‘You’re done!’ said Scamandros.
Arthur opened his eyes and looked down. He’d been expecting to see grey paint on himself, but instead he saw a fine coat of grey-black fur that covered him from ankle to wrist like a hairy wetsuit.
Though the fur went some way to preserving his modesty, Arthur quickly sat down, crossed his legs, and draped his coat across his lap.
‘You won’t have tails,’ said Scamandros sadly. ‘Couldn’t do it. But quite a few of the Rats go without, having lost them in sea fights and the like.’
He picked up the slab of cheese, broke it into two equal parts, and started writing with a peacock-feather pen he dipped in a tiny bottle of activated ink no larger than Arthur’s little fingernail.
‘I could get used to fur,’ said Suzy. ‘Saves washin’ and changin’ clothes.’
Arthur raised his eyebrows.
‘I do wash ’em,’ Suzy protested. ‘And change ’em. Lot of Denizen clothes clean themselves, you know. And change to fit. I wonder if this fur gets all manky in the rain . . .’