Drowned Wednesday (11 page)

Catapillow and Concort looked at Sunscorch.

‘It looks as if that’s so,’ said the Second Mate, tapping the book in front of him. ‘Doctor Scamandros had a reading of the laws for me, and it looks to be that young Arth here is entitled to ninety per cent of the value of this treasure.’

‘Ninety per cent!’ exclaimed Catapillow and Concort. Catapillow added, ‘Doctor Scamandros! How can this be so?’

Arthur hadn’t seen the Doctor, but the Denizen stepped into the light from beside the table, so he must have followed Arthur and then stood in the shadows.

‘According to
The Blue Book of Admiralty
, a fixed buoy treasure marker is itself considered a vessel. This young mortal here was in command of the vessel by virtue of being on it. Mister Sunscorch took him off at his request, but Arth did not relinquish command of the buoy, which marked the treasure, and which was not taken in tow. By taking the chest and not the buoy as well, the vessel is still considered to be afloat and the treasure it marked notionally still of it, though no longer marked by it. The matter is further complicated as the treasure was the property of a pirate outlawed by direct writ of Lady Wednesday. So it is considered immediately forfeit and property of the House authorities, with a reward equal to an amount of ninety per cent of the value of the treasure being paid to the finder. We are not the finder, Arth is, as demonstrated by the unfortunate fact that he is marked with the Red Hand. We are in the position of having salvaged the finder, and must come to some arrangement with him. But should Arth wish to be returned to that buoy with the chest, we must do so.’

‘I’m not sure I followed that,’ said Arthur. ‘You’re saying the treasure has to be given to Wednesday because it belongs to a pirate? And I’m entitled to a reward equal to ninety per cent of its value because I found it first?’

‘Yes,’ said Scamandros. ‘However, we do not have to help you. We can simply return you and the chest to the treasure marker. There is also the matter of the original owner of the treasure. So there is room to negotiate, I think.’

‘Sure.’ Arthur tried to smile as he spoke. It sounded crazy to him, but no crazier than some of the court reports on the news back home. Murderers who weren’t murderers because of weird technicalities. Companies that didn’t have to pay debts because of odd loopholes. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘We should first find out what’s in the chest,’ said Doctor Scamandros. ‘Do we have your permission to open it?’

‘Yes!’ exclaimed Arthur. He was surprised they hadn’t opened it already. He would have if they’d been asleep all afternoon.

‘I have taken the precaution of examining the chest with various magical instruments,’ Scamandros continued. ‘And I have neutralised a number of nasty little traps. So it should be quite safe to open. Just flip back those two catches and turn the key.’

‘There wasn’t a key there before,’ said Arthur.

‘Yes, I had to fashion one to fit,’ said Scamandros. ‘Go ahead, open it.’

‘Why do you want me to open it?’ asked Arthur. Scamandros knew who he really was, and there was still something slightly shifty about the sorcerer. He wouldn’t quite meet Arthur’s gaze. ‘What if there’s a trap you missed?’

‘I am merely following correct procedure. It is your —’ ‘Stand back, lad,’ interrupted Sunscorch, who had left the table. ‘Best to let a Denizen bear the brunt of any trickery. You mortals are too fragile.’

‘Thanks,’ muttered Arthur. He felt a bit bad now, as if he’d been a coward, but Sunscorch seemed to think it was perfectly sensible of him to refuse. He smiled and nodded at the boy as he walked past and knelt before the chest.

Sunscorch lifted the two clasps at the same time. They snapped back with a loud click, immediately followed by a strange popping noise that made Arthur jump, till he realised that it was actually the sound of the entire crew of the
Moth
drawing in breaths of anticipation. They were all gathered around in a half circle up the beach, beyond the lantern light. The last of the vermilion twilight had faded, so the Denizens were just dark outlines, but Arthur could sense their concentration on Sunscorch and the chest.

The Second Mate turned the key. It played musical notes as it turned several times in the lock.

Ting-ting-ting-ting-ting …

Each note seemed like it would be the last. Finally the key stopped, and instead of a jangled note, there was a soft
snick
as the lock released. Sunscorch leaned forward and lifted the lid.

‘Ahhhh!’ came from a hundred throats.

‘Is that all?’ asked Arthur, looking over Sunscorch’s shoulder. The contents of the chest looked very disappointing to him. It was full of little off-white blocks carved with letters. They looked like cheap mah-jong pieces.

Sunscorch didn’t answer. He seemed quite stunned. Looking around, Arthur saw that nearly everybody else was as well. They were all staring with their mouths open.

Except for Doctor Scamandros. He bent down and picked up one of the small blocks and tilted it so the character carved into its surface caught the light.

‘A deep, racking cough,’ pronounced Scamandros. ‘Fixed in auriphant ivory from Senhein. Good for twenty years or more, as House time flows.’

He put it back again and took out another piece.

‘A roseola rash around the neck, head, and ears,’ said Scamandros. ‘Fixed in wood-fired clay. Good for at least a decade in the House.’

Arthur knew that human diseases were valued by the Denizens of the House. They would get the symptoms, but not feel the effects. So these little blocks of ivory and clay were how the diseases were actually used by the Denizens, and would presumably be in demand. But what were they worth?

‘This is a great treasure,’ said Doctor Scamandros. ‘A very great treasure. There must be twenty thousand coughs, rashes, swellings, and other diseases here, all of the highest virulence and fixed by first-class sorcery. I would guess its value to be in excess of a million simoleons of gold.’

His words were met by a vast cheer from the crew, who began to sing and dance around and throw their caps in the air.

‘And ninety per cent of it is mine?’ asked Arthur. He could barely make himself heard above the uproar.

‘Notionally,’ replied Scamandros. ‘As I said, if you want both yourself and the treasure to remain salvaged, you must come to an agreement with Captain Catapillow.’

‘Feverfew will never bear this loss,’ muttered Sunscorch, who was still staring at the open chest. He pointed at a small bronze plaque set on the underside of the chest’s lid. As his finger touched it, the letters engraved there burst into red fire, and a booming voice roared across the beach:

‘THIEVES! THIEVES! THIEVES! This be the treasure of Captain Elishar Feverfew! The Red Hand marks you! Feverfew’s vengeance shall be swift and slow: swift in the taking, slow in the making. Regret and repentance shall prove no —’

Whatever else the voice was going to shout stopped as Doctor Scamandros tapped the plaque with an ebony paper knife that materialised in his hand. Silence fell over the beach, the only sound the lapping of the waves on the shore. The Denizens’ songs and cheer were gone, replaced by a mood of dread.

‘I’m the only one with the Red Hand,’ said Arthur. ‘Aren’t I?’

‘Yes,’ said Doctor Scamandros. ‘Though Feverfew would kill or enslave anyone sailing with you, or giving you aid.’

‘You’re a sorcerer — can’t you get rid of it?’

‘No. It is beyond my power. Feverfew is an expert in magics I do not wish to know.’

Arthur looked down at the treasure, then at his red hands.

‘So you’re all at risk from Feverfew while I’m around?’

‘Indeed. Though, in truth, Feverfew kills or enslaves everyone he encounters anyway. But the Red Hand marks you for a particularly long and unpleasant ending, and we would probably share in it.’

‘Can you send messages to other parts of the House? And can you find out what’s happening to someone if they’re in the House? I mean, by sorcery.’

‘Yes, on both counts.’

‘In that case,’ said Arthur, turning back to Captain Catapillow, ‘I am prepared to offer you, and the crew of the
Moth
, all of my share of the reward in return for some help. I want to get a message to Dame Primus . . .’

Captain Catapillow nodded his agreement.

‘I need to find out what’s happened to my friend Leaf, who I think is aboard a ship with glowing green sails . . .’

Once again Catapillow nodded, this time with a smile.

Arthur paused, thinking about what he might need.

‘And I might . . . I might want passage as quickly as possible to wherever I can meet Drowned Wednesday.’

‘What!’ shrieked Catapillow. ‘Are you totally mad?’

Ten

‘TAKE YOU TO DROWNED WEDNESDAY!’ repeated Catapillow. ‘Do you think us fools?’

‘Uh, no,’ said Arthur. ‘I only said I
might
want to go and see her. I’m not sure where I should go next. But I have been invited to have lunch with Lady Wednesday —’

‘You mean to
be
lunch!’ scoffed Concort. He paled and added, ‘Excuse me! I didn’t mean to say that!’

‘I’m sure we can work something out with regard to the treasure,’ said Catapillow. ‘Doctor Scamandros will help you find your friend, send messages, and so forth. We will even carry you to Port Wednesday. But I’m sure you will be as grateful as we will be to not encounter our most esteemed but sadly submerged ultimate mistress.’

‘Why?’ Arthur asked, wondering why Catapillow and the others seemed unreasonably terrified at the idea. But they were in her service, or at least they operated in her demesne of the House. Presumably she gave them orders or sent them instructions from time to time. But perhaps she was slothful, like Mister Monday, and the administration of the Border Sea was all fouled up like it had been in the Lower House.

‘By the way,’ Arthur continued, ‘do you have any orders about Lord Arthur? I mean, if you happened to pick him up, what would you do with him?’

‘Pick up Lord Arthur? Well, naturally, we should do whatever he wanted us to do,’ replied Catapillow. ‘He’s lord of two domains within the House!’

‘We wouldn’t want to cross that half-frog thing,’ said Concort. ‘Or the killer girl either.’

‘So you haven’t been instructed by Lady Wednesday or her officers to do anything to Arthur if he does show up?’

Sunscorch snorted. Catapillow and Concort looked at each other. Eventually Concort muttered, ‘Very busy these days, Drowned Wednesday, what with eating . . . with various things . . . unfortunately Noon and Dusk went missing some years ago, the confusion arising out of the flooding . . .’

‘What Mister Concort means,’ cut in Doctor Scamandros, ‘is that the
Moth
has been largely forgotten these six or seven thousand years. I don’t believe we have had any instructions in that time. We simply cruise the Border Sea, take our salvage from it, and sell it and replenish our stores at Port Wednesday or, if we are pressed, at less salubrious anchorages both in the Border Sea and out in the Secondary Realms. Now tell me, have you really been invited to luncheon with Lady Wednesday?’

‘Yes,’ said Arthur. He reached into his pocket and drew out the soggy invitation. Doctor Scamandros took it, raised his eyebrows at the almost complete absence of readable type upon it, and set it on the table. He took an oval-shaped felt blotter out of his coat and rolled it across the card several times. With each pass, the card dried and the ink returned to its former density and blackness. Catapillow and Concort craned over the table to look, and even Sunscorch tilted his head to get a proper view.

Arthur watched the two officers’ faces change as they read the invitation, going from curiosity through puzzlement to shock. Sunscorch, though he moved his lips to read, did not seem unduly affected.

LADY WEDNESDAY

TRUSTEE OF THE ARCHITECT

AND DUCHESS OF THE BORDER SEA

HAS GREAT PLEASURE IN INVITING

ARTHUR PENHALIGON

TO A PARTICULAR LUNCHEON

OF SEVENTEEN REMOVES

TRANSPORT HAS BEEN ARRANGED

RSVP NOT REQUIRED

‘I don’t understand,’ said Catapillow. ‘Then you must be —’

‘But you can’t be,’ said Concort. ‘You’re just a boy!’

‘He is,’ said Scamandros. ‘Who else might have
A
Compleat Atlas of the House
in his top pocket and the mark of the Mariner’s favour on a string around his neck? Not to mention this very curious invitation.’

‘Why is it curious?’ asked Arthur. For the first time since the wave picked him up he had time to ask some questions instead of just trying to stay alive, or recover from the effort of staying alive. ‘Why is everyone scared of her? Why do you call her Drowned Wednesday? And what was the Deluge and all that?’

Catapillow and Concort still looked stunned. Sunscorch looked at Scamandros.

‘Best if the Doctor explains all that to you,’ said Sunscorch after a moment. ‘The Captain and Mister Concort have duties to attend to, as do I.’

‘I trust you’ll join us for supper, Lord Arthur?’ murmured Captain Catapillow, without meeting Arthur’s eye. ‘Without any, ah, hard feelings as to our regrettable lack of, er —’ ‘Sure,’ said Arthur. ‘I understand. It’s just that the book makes me seem more like a big hero. Who wrote it anyway?’

Concort opened the book again and showed Arthur the title page. Catapillow looked embarrassed and walked off, muttering something to Doctor Scamandros as he went past.

‘It is, um, written by someone called Japeth, “Official Biographer, Chronicler, Annalist, and Recorder of Lord Arthur,”’ said the First Mate. ‘Published by the Dayroom Press of the Lower House.’

‘I see,’ said Arthur with a frown. Japeth was his friend, the Thesaurus he’d met in the Pit. He had asked Dame Primus to give him a job, but he hadn’t expected it would be writing something that was basically propaganda. He wondered what the point of it was. Why make him out to be such a big hero?

‘If you would care to walk with me, I shall attempt to answer your questions about Lady Wednesday and the Deluge,’ said Doctor Scamandros. He lifted his hand and a candle appeared there, lighting up as he blew softly on the wick. ‘We shall wade in the shallows, so that the sea shall cloak our conversation. There are some matters it is best not to excite the crew with.’