Garth Nix - Drowned Wednesday

“A stern chase is a long chase,” muttered Catapillow. “But they’ll, you know, probably catch us in the end. I suppose we should go and, er, have a look. Mister Sunscorch might have some—what-do-you-call-’em—ideas. Or Dr Scamandros. Just when I was going to examine some new additions to my collection. I suppose it will be Feverfew’s collection soon and he won’t appreciate it.”

Arthur started to ask about the Captain’s collection. He could tell from Catapillow’s fond gaze that it was housed in the display cabinets along the wall. But before he could get the words out, Ichabod trod on his foot and coughed meaningfully.

“What’s that?” asked Catapillow, looking back at the boy.

“The Captain’s needed on deck!” said Ichabod in a loud, firm voice.

“Yes! Yes!” said Catapillow. “Let’s see where that vile, um, vile ship of Feverfew’s has got to. We can talk about your passage fee later, Arth. Follow me!”

He led the way back to the door. As soon as it opened, Arthur heard the deep roar of the sea, the groan of the ship’s timbers, and the continuing shouts of the crew and Sunscorch.

He had to shut his eyes as he left the room and stepped into the corridor because the floor of the ship was rocking but the room’s wasn’t, creating a very sick-making feeling at the back of his eyes. But it passed as soon as he was in the ship proper again, though the ship was pitching up and down so much he had to use a hand to steady himself every few paces.

It was bright out on the main deck. The moon was high above them, its light cool and strong. Arthur could even have read by it, he thought, and he noticed that it was strong enough to cast shadows.

He hugged his blanket tighter around his shoulders as he felt the wind. It had grown colder still, and stronger. Looking up at the masts, all the sails were full. The Moth was heeled over quite steeply to starboard and was plunging ahead at quite a rate.

Unfortunately, when he looked over his shoulder, Arthur saw that the pirate ship was sailing even faster. It was much smaller than the Moth , and narrower too, with only two masts and triangular sails rather than the square ones on the merchant vessel.

“The ship looks white in the moonlight,” said Arthur. “And are those sails brown?”

“They’re the colour of dried blood,” said Ichabod. “A shade called ‘vintage sanguinolent’ by tailors. The hull is supposedly made from a single piece of bone, that of a legendary monster from the Secondary Realms. Feverfew himself is said to be a pirate from the Realms, once mortal, who mastered the darker depths of House Sorcery and is now half-Nithling, half—”

“That will … that will do, thank you, Ichabod,” said Catapillow nervously. “Come with me.”

He led the way up to the quarterdeck, where two Denizens wrestled with the wheel, and Sunscorch shouted orders at the Denizens aloft and on the deck, trimming sails and yards. There were two other Denizens there as well. One stood next to Sunscorch, nodding sagely at every order but saying nothing. He looked rather like Captain Catapillow, with a bland face and similar clothes, so was clearly an officer. Probably the First Mate , Arthur thought. The one who used to be the Chief Clerk in the counting house .

The other Denizen was completely different. He was crouched on the deck next to the wheel. A strange, small figure not much taller than Arthur, he was almost completely lost inside a voluminous yellow greatcoat with rolled-up cuffs. He was bald and his face and head were completely covered in small, colourful tattoos that Arthur realised after a moment were animated, moving and shifting around. Tattoos of ships and sea creatures, birds and clouds, maps and moons and stars and suns and planets.

“Mister Concort, who is First Mate,” whispered Ichabod, pointing to the Denizen next to Sunscorch. “And Dr Scamandros, our most accomplished sorcerer and navigator. He’s casting the haruspices to see where we might be able to go. No one must interrupt, take note. Dreadful things would happen.”

At that moment, a gust of wind hit the Moth hard and she heeled over even further. As everyone on the quarterdeck scrambled to keep their footing, Arthur stumbled against Captain Catapillow, and both of them ended up sliding across the deck and into the rail.

Arthur almost went over, into the dark sea that was surprisingly close below. He managed to save himself and, at the last second, his blanket, but at the cost of a jolt to his broken leg that sent a savage, stabbing pain up his side and into his head.

As the ship righted itself in response to Sunscorch’s shouted commands, Arthur noticed that almost everybody else had ended up on the starboard rail, apart from the two helmsmen clinging to the wheel, Sunscorch next to them, and Dr Scamandros to the side. He was still crouched where he’d been, as if he were glued to the deck. All the things he was studying were also still there, which seemed impossible. Several maps were laid out on the deck, with a pair of gilt-bronze dividers on top, a ruler and the skull of a small animal that had been converted into a cup to hold a dozen or so pencils.

There were also lots of small pieces of coloured cardboard strewn apparently at random next to the map. Dr Scamandros was studying them and whistling through his front teeth. After a few seconds, he gathered them up into his cupped hands and threw them down again. To Arthur’s surprise, they joined together as they fell, and he realised they were jigsaw pieces. When they hit the deck, nearly all of them had joined, but two or three pieces remained separate. The jigsaw was incomplete.

Dr Scamandros stopped whistling and the wind, as if in response, eased a little. The Denizen gathered the jigsaw pieces together again and put them in a cardboard box that had a picture of a sheep on it, which he then put inside his yellow greatcoat. After this was done, he stood up. This was obviously the point at which he could be interrupted, because Catapillow and Concort rushed over to him.

“What are the signs, Doctor?” asked Catapillow. “Is there a course out of here?”

“No,” said Scamandros. His voice was very high and pure, and reminded Arthur strangely of a trumpet. “There is some power interfering with both the goat and sheep auguries. I dare not try the ox in such circumstances. Without guidance, I can find no true course.”

“Is it Feverfew?” asked Sunscorch. “Even so far away?”

“No,” said Scamandros. He had caught sight of Arthur for the first time and his dark eyes were staring straight at the boy. “It is much closer. Who is that?”

“Arth,” said Sunscorch. “A mortal boy. We picked him up with Feverfew’s treasure.”

“He holds an object of great power,” said Dr Scamandros, excitement in his voice. He rummaged inside his coat and pulled out a pair of glasses with gold wire rims and thick smoked-quartz lenses, which he slipped on to his forehead, not over his eyes. “Bring him here.”

Arthur stepped forward of his own accord and staggered across the deck. Sunscorch caught him and held him, loosely enough for the grip to be either a friend helping out or a guard about to secure a prisoner.

“What is in your pocket, boy?” asked Dr Scamandros. “It is interfering with my augury and, thus, my navigation of this ship.”

“It’s … it’s a book,” said Arthur. “It won’t be of any use to you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Scamandros exclaimed. He reached forward to Arthur’s pocket and Sunscorch tightened his grip on the boy’s arms. “What have we—”

As he touched the top of the Atlas, there was a loud report, like a pistol shot. Scamandros’s hand came back so quickly Arthur didn’t even see it, and then the navigator was hopping around the deck with his fingers thrust into his armpit, screeching, “Ow! Ow! Ow! Throw him overboard!”