‘Can’t the Moth take me to meet Lady Wednesday?’ asked Arthur. ‘I don’t think I want to use this spell. Or be carried underwater. No offence, it’s just I don’t like the idea.’
‘Time is of the essence,’ said Dawn. ‘Lady Wednesday cannot hold her human shape long, and the luncheon is scheduled to begin at noon, House time, on the day I left. We must hurry. No ship can carry you there in time, and unless I am mistaken, this ‘Moth’ needs considerable work. I also have numerous important tasks that need my attention. The Border Sea must be constantly tended, lest it spread into the Realms, or conjoin with Nothing.’
‘Do you swear that I will be returned somewhere safe after meeting Lady Wednesday?’ asked Arthur. ‘Swear by the Architect, and the Will, and Lady Wednesday.’
Wednesday’s Dawn scowled and her riding crop whistled back and forth through the air. But finally she said, ‘Yes. I shall do everything in my power to ensure you are returned to a place of safety after your luncheon with Lady Wednesday. I swear this by the Architect who made me, by the Will, and by my mistress, Lady Wednesday.’
‘Okay,’ said Arthur. ‘I guess I’d better go.’
He looked at Doctor Scamandros, who shuffled again and bent his head close to Arthur.
‘Captain Catapillow thought it best to inform Miss Dawn,’ muttered the sorcerer softly so only Arthur could hear. ‘Not wanting the Moth to be entangled in things beyond us, and afraid of what the Red Hand you bear might bring. I have to follow orders, you know. But I made sure your letter went first. Only Miss Dawn was already looking for you.’
Arthur shook his head, but when Doctor Scamandros offered his hand, the boy sheathed his sword and took it. He still wasn’t sure if the Denizen was lying, but Doctor Scamandros had fixed his leg up. Hopefully Arthur’s letter really was going to Dame Primus.
‘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.
‘Nearly there,’ said Dawn, her voice strange and horrible from her shark-toothed maw. ‘Look to the left.’
Arthur looked down. All he could see for miles and miles was the sea, a blue expanse flecked here and there with white. Then as his eyes blurred from the rush of the wind, he saw something long and white, reaching up to the horizon. A mountain chain. No, a mountainous island. It was long and narrow, and the snow-covered central ridge looked like it rose higher than Arthur and Dawn were flying.
‘We’re going to an island?’ he shouted, his words almost smothered by the constant flapping of Dawn’s wings.
Dawn laughed, a scornful laugh that made Arthur shudder. There was something intrinsically wrong with a laugh coming from a winged shark.
But there was reason for her scorn, Arthur saw as he looked again. What he’d thought was an island was moving. He could see the vast white wash behind it, which he’d mistaken for surf breaking on a very long reef. And the size and shape of the island changed, as it rose and fell in the water.
It wasn’t an island. It was a gigantic white whale. A Leviathan. One hundred and twenty-six miles long. A Behemoth. Thirty-two miles wide. A mouth ten
miles wide and two miles high — Dawn stopped flapping her wings and began to glide slowly down.
Down towards Drowned Wednesday.
‘Hey!’ Arthur shouted. ‘You said Wednesday was going to be in human form!’
‘She will be. She eats tons of fish and krill until the last moment, to satisfy her hunger. You see the ship in front of her?’
Arthur peered down. He could see a tiny brown fleck at least a hundred miles ahead of the vast white whale. It was like a speck of dust on the floor, with a commercial cleaner’s mop heading straight for it.
‘Yes!’
‘Milady has already begun to reduce, and will be fully in human form by the time she reaches it.’
‘What happens when she needs to change back?’ asked Arthur.
Wednesday’s Dawn did not answer, instead diving more sharply, her wingtips lifting and angling to control their descent.
‘I said, “What happens when she needs to change back?”’ Arthur repeated, knowing it was important.
‘We flee,’ said Dawn.
‘What about the people . . . the Denizens on the ship?’
‘There are none,’ said Dawn. ‘The ship was readied at my orders and the crew taken off. It is not an important vessel.’
‘Right,’ muttered Arthur. More loudly he said, ‘Don’t forget your promise.’
‘I will not forget,’ said Dawn. ‘In any case, you are probably milady’s only hope.’
‘What?’
This time Dawn did not answer at all. As they glided steadily down, Arthur watched the approach of the Leviathan. Maybe she was getting smaller, but she still looked like a mountainous island, with enormously high cliffs of chalk at the front. Something too big to be mobile.
Then she raised her tail. Even though they were still twenty miles away or more, Arthur flinched in Dawn’s tentacular grasp. The tail rose up at least a mile and came crashing down with a rumbling explosion that Arthur could feel through the air as much as hear. He could see the wave it generated too, and was surprised that by the time the wave got to the ship it was just a slightly higher crest in the swell.
‘She’s changing,’ said Dawn confidently. ‘Already only half her normal size.’
Arthur found that hard to believe, but he supposed Dawn would know. They were circling above the ship now, still a long way up, but disturbingly no higher than Wednesday’s mighty white brow. It loomed closer and closer, and Arthur started to use his hand as a measure, holding five fingers out at arm’s length and counting the number of fingers from sea level to the top of the whale’s head. It wasn’t very scientific but Arthur was somewhat relieved to see that by this crude measure, the whale was reducing in size.
Not that it looked any smaller.
‘Shouldn’t we fly up a bit?’ he asked, repeating the question in a shout when Dawn did not answer.
‘No,’ Dawn roared. ‘That would show disrespect. I trust milady!’
Arthur took another measure from sea level using his fingers. The whale was definitely getting smaller, but she was still what he could only think of as humungous.
‘I don’t think it would be disrespectful to not go any lower,’ shouted Arthur. ‘I mean, I’m the visitor. Shouldn’t we let her get on the ship first?’
Dawn didn’t answer. But she also didn’t fly any lower.
Arthur kept looking at Drowned Wednesday. Because of her enormous size, he hadn’t really taken in how fast she was approaching. The distance between them was rapidly disappearing, and she still loomed higher than they were flying. He felt like an ant watching a freight train approaching, and he was stuck to the railway line.
At least she’s got her mouth shut, thought Arthur. She was close enough for him to see one of her huge eyes now, a thing the size of a racetrack. There were oily tears the size of buses rolling across the face of the eye, each one leaving a rainbow trace behind.
The pupil in the eye suddenly moved up and down a few times, then left and right. It looked like a weird code.
Instantly Dawn’s wings pumped the air and she veered away from the onrushing whale, circling to gain height. Arthur, taken by surprise, rotated in Dawn’s grip and found himself staring at her sharkskin belly. He urgently pushed and pulled himself around, desperate to see what was happening.
It took him a minute or more, a very long minute, with the expectation that when he next looked he would see the giant mouth open and them going straight into it, no matter how hard Dawn tried to fly away.
But he didn’t. He saw the top of Drowned Wednesday’s head, only a hundred feet or so below. A huge expanse of white whale blubber and, a few seconds later, a blowhole that looked like a billionaire’s sauna.
Which was not that big, Arthur thought. The Leviathan had shrunk considerably. She was now no more than a mile long and he could actually see the shrinking taking place. It was like watching a balloon slowly losing its air, while it still kept its basic shape.
‘A minor miscalculation,’ said Dawn as they began to glide around and down again. There was something in her tone that suggested to Arthur that she’d done it on purpose to scare him, perhaps on Wednesday’s orders.
Whether it was intentional or not, Dawn made no mistake with the landing on the ship. She circled a few times, watching the approaching white whale get smaller and smaller. Then, when Drowned Wednesday was no more than fifty feet long, Dawn swooped down onto the poop deck, dropped Arthur, and transformed herself back into human shape.
‘Go down to the main deck,’ said Dawn. ‘Milady will meet you there.’
Arthur unpegged his nose and slowly climbed down the companionway to the quarterdeck and then to the waist of the ship. Tables had been laid end to end on both the port and starboard sides, from the forecastle back to the mainmast. They were covered in fine white tablecloths and loaded with many different kinds of food on fancy silver platters and trays and china plates and bowls.
This, Arthur guessed, was the luncheon of seventeen removes, though all seventeen courses were already laid out and, as far as he could see, there were no places set, or chairs.
The slap of water on deck made him look to the side ladder. A pulpy-fingered, dripping hand gripped the top rung, followed by another.
Drowned Wednesday was coming aboard.
She did not look good. Her skin was pallid and strangely lumpy, and her arms and legs were of different sizes, the left much puffier than the right. She was wearing a one-piece garment that looked like a huge flour sack with holes cut for her head and arms. Her hair hung limp and wet like a bunch of brown seaweed on her head, obscuring much of her face. Arthur could see that once she must have been beautiful, as were all the superior Denizens, but the fine bones of her face were lost in fat.
She had a rope tied around her waist in place of a belt, and thrust through the rope was a long silver fork — perhaps a short trident. Arthur’s eye was drawn to it at once, and he knew without being told that this was the Third Key. Right in front of him! He could run forward and snatch it out — ‘
Greetings, Lord Arthur,’ muttered Lady Wednesday as she staggered past him to the table and picked up a huge, meaty bone. She immediately began to gnaw at it, tearing off huge chunks of meat, which she swallowed down with barely a chew. ‘Wouldn’t believe how tired . . . I am of krill and . . . microscopic shrimps!’
Arthur tried to keep the look of disgust off his face as she threw the bone away and picked up an enormous cake and forced it into her face.
‘Repulsive, aren’t I?’ mumbled Wednesday. ‘Not my choice, you understand. Can’t stop eating.’
‘Why?’ asked Arthur. ‘I don’t understand. What’s wrong with you? What do you want with me?’
‘Cursed,’ came the indistinct reply, as Wednesday moved to a huge silver tureen of soup and started to drink it down. ‘Or something similar. Never should have gone in with the other Trustees. Started getting hungry back then, almost as soon as I took my part of the Will. But held it in check with the Key. Pass me that t
urkey.’
Arthur looked at the table. It took him a moment to locate a huge roast bird that had to be the turkey, though it was twice the size of any he’d ever seen. He lifted it up with some effort and handed it to Wednesday, who grabbed it one-handed and managed to get her jaws around two-thirds of the huge bird in one go.
Arthur had thought of snatching the Key as he handed over the turkey, but he couldn’t bring himself to get close enough. Lady Wednesday’s hunger was really frightening and it took all Arthur’s courage just to stay and listen to her — from a distance.
‘As I was saying . . . this good . . . started getting hungry but held it in check for a couple of thousand years without too much trouble . . . sauce for this duck, ah . . . ate a huge amount but didn’t matter . . . then I realised wasn’t just my appetite getting out of hand . . . cucumber sandwiches excellent, only four dozen, pity . . . the Border Sea was spreading without my direction . . . extending into the Secondary Realms, which was bad enough, but also into Nothing . . .’
She paused to eat a huge, towering jelly-cake, shoving handfuls of it into her maw in quick time. Then, between mouthfuls of bread torn from a loaf the size of Arthur himself, she continued.
‘I could stop the Sea spreading when I noticed it, using the Key . . . ugh, fish, you can have that . . . but I didn’t like what was going on. Eventually I concluded that the problem went back to our actions with the Will. So I decided —’ She stopped suddenly and flung herself on a platter of small chocolate desserts, smearing chocolate all over her pasty face. Then, through bubbles of chocolate, she continued what she was saying.
‘I decided that I would free Part Three of the Will and relinquish the Key. That I was not equipped to deal with whatever was wrong with the Border Sea and with myself.’
Wednesday stopped eating for a few seconds. Her face screwed up with a look of pain.