Drowned Wednesday

‘Greetings, Lord Arthur,’ said Wednesday’s Dawn. ‘Please accept Lady Wednesday’s apologies for the sad miscarriage of our transport arrangements. Unfortunately I have not yet been apprised of the exact nature of the incident that led you here, but I trust that you are now ready to accompany me to the promised luncheon?’

Arthur looked up at Dawn’s beautiful but cold face.

She would cut my throat if ordered to, Arthur thought. But what choice do I have?

‘I’m not sure,’ he said aloud. He still had his sword on his shoulder, and Sunscorch’s advice about dealing with Feverfew would probably apply equally well to Wednesday’s Dawn. He tensed, ready to strike, as he slowly said, ‘I’ve heard some scary talk about how Lady Wednesday is kind of . . . well, you know . . . a giant whale that eats everything. And I don’t want to get eaten.’

‘It is a temporary indisposition,’ said Dawn. She looked at Scamandros and Catapillow. ‘Which those of lesser orders would do well not to gossip about. However, you may be assured that Lady Wednesday intends to resume her traditional human form for this luncheon. That is in indication of the importance given to your visit, Lord Arthur. It is currently a regrettable strain for milady to take human shape. She has not chosen to do so for many centuries.’

‘What does she want from me?’ asked Arthur. There seemed no point beating around the bush. ‘She’s in with the Morrow Days. She’s a Trustee who didn’t do what she was supposed to. I’m the Will’s Rightful Heir.’

‘These are not matters to discuss in public,’ sniffed Dawn. ‘Is it enough to say that my mistress recognises a need for negotiation, not battle?’

‘Maybe,’ said Arthur.

‘Excellent. Then I take it, Lord Arthur, that you are ready to come with me?’

‘Where exactly?’

‘Back to the House,’ said Dawn. ‘To the Border Sea. I have many duties, so we must not waste any time. Do you need to breathe?’

‘What?’

‘Do you need to breathe? You are a mortal of sorts, are you not? If I am to carry you back, we shall spend large amounts of time underwater. If you have not already been ensorcelled to need less air, then I shall have to take care of that before we depart.’

‘I’m not and I don’t think I want to be,’ said Arthur. ‘I have asthma and I don’t want my lungs messed up any more with magic or anything. And I don’t want to turn into a Denizen.’

‘It is a very straightforward spell,’ said Dawn. She gave a small flick of her riding crop, as if to illustrate how small a matter it was. ‘It merely allows you to survive on far fewer breaths. Perhaps, Doctor Scamandros, you can allay Lord Arthur’s concerns. You are a university-trained sorcerer, I note, though I do not recall your name and station in the Index of Navigator-Sorcerers in the employ of Lady Wednesday.’

‘Ah, dear lady, I was a volunteer after the Deluge,’ said Scamandros. He made some nervous shuffling motions and almost tripped over his own feet. ‘So the paperwork may be a little, that is, not quite in order. But, as to the breathing spell, it is one of suspension, I take it? Perhaps the formulation known as ‘A Thousand and One Breaths’?’

‘It is a peg, purchased at Port Wednesday,’ said Dawn, removing a small cloth bag from her sleeve and proffering it to Scamandros. ‘I am unaware of its provenance. I believe it is worn on the nose.’

Scamandros took the bag, opened its drawstring, and emptied a small wooden clothespeg onto his palm. He held it up to Dawn’s light and looked at the tiny writing on it with his unaided eyes and through his smoked-quartz glasses.

‘It is a straightforward spell,’ he said to Arthur. ‘One breath will serve for a thousand, till it wears off. There will be a little magical residue, but far less than that already within your flesh and bone.’

Arthur took the clothespeg dubiously and opened and shut it, feeling the strength of the spring.

‘How will I know when it wears off?’

‘It will fall off your nose,’ said Doctor Scamandros. ‘You may take it off, of course, and reapply it — though in that case I should be careful not to be too far away from a source of air. It will work less and less well with each reapplication.’

‘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.’