Drowned Wednesday

‘If you believe, all will be well,’ intoned the Carp.

Its words were punctuated for the worse by the thud of two things hitting the ground just ahead of Jebenezer. For a moment Arthur thought they were coconuts or large round fruit. Then he saw that they were decapitated heads.

The green-mottled heads of Florenza and Padraic.

‘Feverfew!’ croaked Florenza’s head.

‘Sorry!’ whispered Padraic’s.

‘Don’t forget to —’

‘Stick our heads back on if —’

‘You win.’

‘Give me to Arthur!’ snapped the Carp. Jebenezer just managed to thrust the jam jar into Arthur’s hands before a whirl of yellow dust swept around his feet and he froze like a statue. Another gust of yellow particles wound around Suzy as she drew her knife, and she froze too, as did the two archers who were bringing up the rear.

‘I can oppose Feverfew’s powers to some degree,’ said the Carp hurriedly. ‘But it is up to you, Arthur!’

Arthur stuffed the jam jar in his pocket and drew his sword. The dust-laden breeze kept whipping around him, but it had no effect, other than to make it hard to see.

There was no other sign of Feverfew.

Arthur turned in a circle, his eyes darting from side to side. Everyone else was frozen around him. He could see no movement. The lakeshore, only twenty paces away, was bare and empty. The sick-looking trees and undergrowth would hide someone, but only if they stayed still.

Where was Feverfew?

No one ever looks up …

Arthur jumped back and looked up, just as a shadow fell across him and a blade whistled through the air. The boy raised his own sword to block, felt a shock all along his arm, and sprang away, his back up against the rough, vine-covered trunk of a large tree.

Feverfew closed his wings and dropped to the ground, the sound of both wings and footfall clouded by the whine of the yellow wind.

He looked just like Arthur imagined a pirate captain would. Tall and dashing, his long black hair flowing, his black beard braided with jewels and smoking match-cord. He was handsome, as handsome as a superior Denizen, and his clothes were bright scarlet, rimmed with gold lace and had golden death’s heads as buttons. He carried a cutlass with a blade of black iron that smoked as much as the matches in his beard.

He looked nothing like the horrid visitation Arthur had seen in the mirror. Until Arthur looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

Seen that way, Feverfew was a horrid, barely human thing. His skin was the red of severe sunburn, and shrunken against his bones. His eyes were like olive pits, black in red sockets.

He was not dressed in fine clothes, but covered in hundreds of pieces of paper. Papers of all different sizes and colours, all of them written on in a flowing, glowing script, all of them reeking of Nothing and sorcery.

‘You bear the Red Hand,’ said Feverfew. Arthur heard the pirate’s voice twice, the two voices just a little out of sync with each other. One was deep, melodious, and commanding. The other was high-pitched, whiny, and horribly penetrating. ‘You have stolen from me.’

Arthur licked his lips and took a stronger grip on his sword. He only had one chance, he knew. A clean cut to the neck . . .

‘Yet that is not all you are,’ continued Feverfew. ‘Not just a thief. But also the chosen instrument of the Architect’s Will. I know who you are, Arthur.’

Feverfew took a step forward. Arthur tensed, ready to step forward and swing.

‘I know who you are. I know all about you. Don’t I, young Leaf?’

Feverfew smiled, his cracked, too-thin lips curling back from yellow teeth.

Arthur didn’t take his eyes off Feverfew, but in the corner of his vision, he saw a line of pirates slowly walk into view. Right at the front, wearing the same clothes he’d seen her in on the Mantis, but now with a black cap, was Leaf.

‘Yes, Captain,’ said Leaf.

‘So I know you haven’t got the first two Keys with you,’ said Feverfew. ‘Of course, if you had, I’d hardly be given the time to speak, would I? And I suppose that old fish is around somewhere, talking too much about how everything is going to work out. For it, of course.’

Just one step closer, thought Arthur.

‘I expect you’d like to chop off my head,’ said Feverfew. ‘Now, as I’m a sporting gentleman, I thought I’d give you that chance. I have a proposition for you, Arthur. A wager, between two folk who once were mortals, as equals. What do you say?’

Arthur kept his sword up and ready. He would not blink or look away.

‘What proposition?’ he asked.

‘Why, an exchange of blows,’ said Feverfew. ‘One each, and you can go first. If you slay me, then you and yours go free. If I slay you, then I inherit all that is yours. I become the Rightful Heir to the House!’

‘I don’t know if it would work like that,’ said Arthur. ‘Even if I did agree.’

There has to be a catch, he thought. Like in the story with the knight and the green giant. I know Feverfew can reattach his head, even more than most Denizens. But Sunscorch said that if I can get grit on his neck-stump, or lay the flat of my blade there …

‘That’s my concern,’ said Feverfew. ‘There’s that old fish to witness. Set it out of your pocket, so it can see the goings-on. Now, I shall give you one minute by my watch to decide. A friendly wager or a free-for-all against me and my pirate crew.’

He smiled and took a jewel-encrusted watch the size of an orange out of his pocket. At the same time, he casually stepped back, so there was no chance Arthur could reach him before his own pirates came forward.

Arthur flicked his gaze to Leaf, just for a second. She looked normal enough, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at Feverfew.

‘I get the first blow?’ asked Arthur. ‘There’ll be no interference from your crew?’

‘They shall stand as trees on a windless day,’ replied Feverfew.

‘Can you be cut by steel?’ asked Arthur.

‘Steel or silver, iron or bronze, all blades sunder my flesh. It is an honest wager, as I said, between two mortals, as transformed by time, the House, sorcery, and Nothing.’

Arthur turned his head sideways a little and looked at Feverfew out of the corner of his eye again. The scrawny, inhuman thing clad in tattered papers would be much easier to strike than someone human-looking. His neck seemed thinner too.

‘I want to talk to the Carp first,’ he said. ‘Give me another minute.’

‘One more minute,’ said Feverfew coldly. ‘Since it is you who asks.’

Arthur kept his position against the tree, and his sword in his right hand. With his left, he pulled out the jam jar and raised it close to his head.

I’m plenty afraid now, he thought. Can you hear me, Carp?

I can, responded the Carp silently. You must have faith, Arthur —

Stop! Just tell me, as far as you know, can Feverfew be killed by having his head cut off if I lay the blade flat on his neck-stump?

Perhaps, the Carp replied. That would work even with most superior Denizens. But Feverfew is devious.

Perhaps!! What kind of answer … never mind. Is there anything you can do to free Suzy and Jebenezer and the others? Or my friend Leaf? She must be under a spell. There’s no way she’d be with the pirates otherwise —

I have kept you free of Feverfew’s spell. Perhaps I could free one more …

There was that word again. Arthur couldn’t stand it.

Perhaps! he repeated in his mind. You’re the one who needs to have some faith —

Indeed, Arthur. I have never claimed otherwise —

‘Time!’ interrupted Feverfew. ‘Or close enough. What is your decision, Arthur?’

‘I accept,’ said Arthur. As he spoke, he felt suddenly sick, but he willed the nausea away.

‘Excellent,’ said Feverfew. ‘I shall kneel here then, and you may strike when you will. Please do ensure the fish has a good view of the proceedings.’

Arthur nodded. He started to set the jar down near his feet, but changed his mind and put it down right up against Suzy’s right foot. At the same time, he scooped up a handful of earth.

‘I haven’t got all day,’ said Feverfew. He had already removed his wings, and put them aside as he knelt down. His illusory self was winding back his long black hair to bare his neck. In reality, he had almost no hair and was just going through the motions.

Arthur stepped close to him, his mind racing.

Strike fast, throw the earth on the stump, lay the flat of the blade there, to be sure.

‘Oh, hurry up!’

Arthur raised his sword. It felt much heavier than it had before. He lifted it as high as he could, then brought it down with all the strength of his shoulder and the weight of his upper body.

I must keep looking, Arthur thought. Don’t be distracted. Throw the earth and lay the flat of the blade.

It felt surprisingly like hitting a home run in baseball. There was a sudden shock through his arm, then the sword was free again.

Arthur had kept his eye on the target. He threw the earth and laid the blade firmly against the neck-stump, which was dry and bloodless. Feverfew’s head rolled on the dirt for only a moment, then with frightening speed, it hurtled into the air. At the same time, his body jerked back and stood up. Arthur had to jump too, to keep the flat of the blade on the neck.

The head dropped like a hawk, landing true where Arthur’s blade lay on the neck-stump. But neither earth nor blade inconvenienced it at all. Arthur watched in horror as the flesh spread up from the body’s part of the neck, and down from the head’s share, meeting in the middle.

Feverfew reached up and pulled Arthur’s sword free of his almost totally healed neck. The point of the blade came out with a pop as the boy staggered back.

‘My turn, I think,’ said Feverfew with a smile that was as horrible in both his true and illusory forms.

Arthur had failed.

Twenty–eight

‘JUST KNEEL DOWN where you are,’ said Feverfew. He ran his thumb down the black blade of his cutlass, and flicked away a single drop of blood that was so tainted with Nothing it sizzled as it hit the earth. ‘I’m hoping you haven’t the trick of reattachment. Many centuries it took me to learn the way of it. And twice as many to do it with complications. Young Leaf tells me you’ve had no such time. Kneel, I said!’

Arthur found himself kneeling, his body moving independently of his mind, which was furiously trying to think of some way out of his predicament.

We agreed to exchange blows … exchange blows … I went first …

‘You won’t feel a thing,’ said Feverfew. ‘Which is a pity. I shall enjoy sinking your companions in the Hot Lake.’

I only agreed to exchange blows … I didn’t say I wouldn’t dodge or duck … I didn’t even say I’d be still …

Arthur tried to move, but found his muscles would not obey him. The yellow wind was winding round his wrists and ankles, holding him in place. He turned his head, and saw Feverfew raising the black cutlass.

Carp! Carp! Help me move! Help me!

Have faith in yourself.

Blinding anger filled Arthur. He couldn’t believe the Carp couldn’t do anything except carry on about faith!

Fury coursed through his blood and muscle, and the yellow wind flinched before it. Arthur sprang back, just as the black cutlass swept down — into the dirt.

‘What!’ roared Feverfew. He twisted around, his cutlass sweeping at Arthur’s knees.

Arthur sprang over the black blade, cutting back with his own two-handed stroke, his sword once again severing the pirate’s neck. This time, as the pirate’s head bounced on the ground, Arthur tried to kick Feverfew in the chest, only to find his foot suddenly wrapped in paper and deflected towards a tree.

Arthur hit the tree and staggered back, badly off balance made worse because his crab armour was trying to keep his leg straight.

The boy teetered backwards as Feverfew’s head shrieked into the air and then plummeted once again towards the stump of his neck.

It never got there. Suzy suddenly leapt across and smashed Feverfew’s head to the ground with a broken branch. As it started to rise again, Leaf darted out of the ranks of pirates and, in true soccer striker-style, kicked the head as hard as she could out towards the bubbling, Nothing-laden waters of the Hot Lake.

Everyone, including the pirates, watched as Feverfew’s head splashed down. Ripples spread around its impact point, but still everyone kept watching to see if it would rise again.

Arthur was staring too, when he was suddenly gripped from behind by two paper-shrouded, slithery hands that began to tighten around his neck. He just managed to get three of his fingers under those grasping hands, but he couldn’t get them off, or stop them from slowly strangling him to death.

To make things even worse, Feverfew’s head rose back out of the boiling mud. All the flesh, illusory and real, had been stripped from it, and it was now just a yellow-tinged skull, its teeth chattering, a sorcerous tongue of blue smoke flickering as Feverfew shouted his last words before tumbling back down into the muddy depths, to be totally destroyed by Nothing.

‘Let Nothing remain!’

The hands around Arthur’s neck suddenly fell away. The boy staggered forward, his crab-armoured leg failing to bend at the knee, and was caught by Jebenezer, who twirled him into a sudden and unwelcome dance.

‘You did it! You slew Feverfew! And I saw it happen!’

‘Stop! The pirates!’

Jebenezer paused in mid-twirl, sending Arthur cannoning into Suzy and Leaf, who were shaking hands. They caught Arthur and turned him so that he could see Feverfew’s pirates running into the trees, throwing away their weapons as they ran.