by Garth Nix
‘Unfortunately I also decided to share my plan first with my friend, the so-called Superior Saturday, who I thought might do the same. Two of us would have a better chance against the others. Or so I thought.’
She took a deep breath and staggered down the table to a barbecue plate that was sizzling away without any visible source of heat. It was crowded with thick, succulent sausages, which Drowned Wednesday picked up by the half dozen and crammed into a mouth that Arthur noticed was already bigger and wider than it had been moments before. Drowned Wednesday herself had also grown a foot or two in every direction while she was speaking.
‘Saturday betrayed me! The other Trustees, save that somnolent fool Monday, called me to a meeting. I was ambushed, five Keys against my one. They stripped me of my power and I was cast down into the Border Sea, my shape lost, my appetite unsuppressed!’
She punctuated her last remark by eating an entire watermelon, rind and all, washing it down with a huge flagon of ale that spilled down her front.
‘Ahh! Since then, I have not been fully able to wield the Key. All the power I have is directed at growing no larger, else I eat up everything in the Border Sea and beyond!’
‘What about the Will?’ asked Arthur. ‘Why didn’t you just release it like you were going to?’
‘Stolen!’ roared Wednesday as she slavered over a side of suckling pig. ‘They reached into my mind and stole out the secret of its location, then Saturday or one of the others sent that pirate Feverfew to take it. But you will get it back, Lord Arthur! You will get the Will, and I shall give you the Key, and all will yet be well. Oh, how I long not to . . . eat! Eat! Eat!’
She threw herself on the table, sliding along with her mouth gaping open like some sort of awful giant vacuum cleaner, scooping up food, plates and all. As she ate her way along the table, her torso grew larger and larger, and her arms and legs shrank back into her body.
‘Where did Feverfew take the Will?’ Arthur shouted. He started to back even farther away from the feeding frenzy, darting glances at Dawn, who did not look at all ready to fly away.
‘Aaaarrch homp homp ugh,’ Wednesday gurgled and spat, bits of mangled silver falling from her jaws. ‘Don’t know! The pirates have a secret harbour. I know it is in my very own Border Sea, I feel it in my gut! But I cannot find it. You must! Now run! Run!’
She focused on the last few yards of piled-high food on the table and swallowed the lot down in one sweep of her now enormous mouth. Then she turned towards Arthur and slid onto the deck, a huge blubbery cylinder that was not yet whale but no longer human, her now vestigial arms and legs writhing and her vast mouth chomping, the ridges of bone that had once been teeth making a hideous clattering sound.
Arthur wasn’t on the deck anymore. He was halfway up the main mast, almost jumping from ratline to ratline. He climbed so quickly that he made it to the cross-trees and was working himself onto the small platform there when Dawn caught up with him and plucked him away and into the air.
Below them, Wednesday continued to grow and grow, threshing and rolling in her hunger, biting at the timbers of the ship until her own rapidly increasing weight broke the vessel’s back and sent it to the bottom.
Dawn did not waste any time letting Arthur have a look at Wednesday’s transformation. She started flying directly away, her wings beating rapidly and full, gaining height as well as speed. It took Arthur a moment to understand that even now they might not get away, that Dawn was pushing herself to the limit in order to escape Wednesday’s remarkable growth and even more remarkable hunger.
Neither of them spoke for some time, till it was clear that their flight had taken them out of Drowned Wednesday’s ravening path.
‘Where do you wish to go?’ asked Dawn finally. ‘I will do as promised, and take you to a place of safety, if you so desire.’
Fifteen
ARTHUR DIDN’T REPLY immediately. He felt himself at an important crossroads, and his choice here would decide not only his own fate but the fate of many others as well.
‘If safety is your prime concern,’ Dawn continued, ‘then I must take you to Port Wednesday. It is the only place in the Border Sea where there are elevators to take you elsewhere within the House, and thence wherever you wish to go.’
Arthur was silent, thinking this through. It would be so easy to go to Port Wednesday, take an elevator to the Lower House, and then go home through the Front Door or Seven Dials. That would be the safe course to follow. But deep inside he felt that there were no safe courses for him anymore. Not in the long run.
‘How far are we from the Triangle?’ he asked.
‘A half-day’s journey, by way of an ocean in the Secondary Realms,’ replied Wednesday. ‘Or a week or more if we stay within the House. Port Wednesday is even closer, only a few hours away, again by way of a suitable sea on another world in the Secondary Realms. There’s nothing for you at the Triangle.’
‘My friend Leaf is there, and some Raised Rats. Have you asked them to try and find the pirates’ secret harbour?’ asked Arthur.
‘No,’ said Dawn. ‘We do not deal with Rats. Milady Wednesday wished to ban them from the Border Sea, but they possess a patent of authority from the Architect herself, allowing them to roam where they will within the House. What can you possibly want with the Raised Rats?’
‘They’re expert finders and searchers,’ said Arthur, thinking back to the vision he’d seen of Leaf and the Commodore. ‘Or they say they are.’
‘They are braggarts and not to be trusted,’ Dawn scoffed. ‘They sell their services and the secrets of others. They have never answered to any authority within the House, save the Architect’s, and since her disappearance I doubt they have grown more obedient to anyone, not even Lord Sunday.’
‘He’s ultimately in charge of everything, right?’
‘After a fashion,’ replied Dawn. ‘Superior Saturday has the day-to-day management of affairs, as it were. Lord Sunday’s mind dwells upon higher things, not for any lesser beings to know.’
‘They’re both traitors to the Architect,’ Arthur stated boldly. ‘Saturday and Sunday, and all the other Morrow Days.’
‘Where do you wish to go?’ asked Dawn, her tone even frostier than usual.
‘The Triangle,’ Arthur answered firmly.
‘The Triangle,’ Dawn confirmed. ‘I cannot approve of this desire to deal with the Rats, but does this mean you will go in search of the Will? To aid milady?’
‘Yep,’ said Arthur. Somehow yep seemed the most positive thing he could say. Stronger than yeah and more heroic than yes. He hoped he could live up to it.
He pushed on. ‘I’m going to rescue Leaf and get the Raised Rats to help find the pirates’ secret harbour. Then I guess I’ll work out some way to release the Will and set everything straight. Including Lady Wednesday.’
Dawn was silent for a while, save for the sound of her constant wingbeat. In a small voice that sounded strange and half-strangled, she finally said, ‘Thank you.’
Then she folded her wings and dove towards the sea, with Arthur just managing to take a breath and put his nosepeg back on before they plunged through a slow rolling wave.
The journey to the Triangle was much quicker than Arthur had thought it would be. Even the Line of Storms didn’t bother him this time. He just shut his eyes and put his fingers in his ears. He figured that if the lightning hadn’t fried him the first few times it wasn’t going to now.
Shortly after crossing the Line, the sea suddenly changed colour and temperature, and they were swimming through lukewarm, orange-tinted seas full of tiny floating flowers. Sometime later the orange sea transformed to a body of freezing, black water, full of small, regularly shaped chunks of faintly luminous ice. It was as if millions of radioactive ice cubes had been dumped into the sea. Fortunately Arthur did not feel the full effect of the cold, for the golden radiance of Wednesday’s Dawn surrounded him and kept him warm. In any case, they were not in this chill sea for long, leaving it abr
uptly for the blue waters of the Border Sea and, very soon after, another crossing of the Line of Storms.
Somewhere just past the Line, the clothespeg suddenly fell off Arthur’s nose. Without meaning to, he breathed in a large amount of water and panicked. He had no idea how deep they were swimming, or how long it would take to get to the surface. He just wanted air immediately and instinctively threshed around in the grip of Dawn’s tentacle, fighting against her as he tried to push up to where he imagined the surface was.
Dawn didn’t release her hold, but she quickly slanted upward. Her huge wings gave one enormous beat that sent her bursting out of the sea and into the air. Arthur tried to take a breath but had too much water already in his lungs, so he broke into a coughing fit that ended in him throwing up what seemed like gallons of water. Even more came out of his nose and ears.
Finally he managed a few racking breaths, interspersed with bouts of coughing, till he hung exhausted in Dawn’s grasp, unable to stop thinking about what might have happened if the peg spell had failed when he was underwater in that black, freezing sea.
‘We are nearly there,’ said Dawn. ‘Though it will take longer now that I cannot go by water.’
Arthur nodded, unable to speak. Her flying speed seemed quite fast enough.
Eventually the water stopped coming out of Arthur’s nose, and he could breathe normally again.
‘The Triangle lies dead ahead,’ Dawn informed him. ‘Though it is unusually empty. There were reportedly thirty or forty ships there a few days ago. Now, I only count eight. . .’
Arthur looked down. At first all he saw was the sea, with the white tops of the waves relentlessly moving in the same direction. Then he shifted his gaze and saw eight ships of different sizes floating next to one another, in the lee of what at first sight appeared to be a sheer rock that thrust out of the sea. On closer inspection, Arthur realised the protrusion was actually the top of a pyramid, its stones heavily weathered by wind and ocean. It rose several hundred feet above the sea, and was perhaps half a mile long on each side. If it had once ended in a point, that was gone, leaving a flat platform about the size of a basketball court, which was almost completely occupied by a huge iron ring. There was a single six-foot-thick rope tied to the ring, swinging down the lee side of the pyramid into the sea. The ships were either tied up to this rope, or rafted up to a vessel that was.
‘Can you see the Flying Mantis?’ asked Arthur. ‘Or the Rats? What kind of ship do they have?’
‘The Mantis is not there,’ said Dawn. ‘As for the Rats, one of their putrid, smoky steamers is tied up on the eastern side of the raft, next to the four-masted ship Undine.’
‘A steamship? The Rats have steamships? Why doesn’t everyone else?’
‘They are forbidden by Drowned Wednesday,’ said Dawn. ‘With good reason, for they are foul and unclean. But the Rats have their exemptions. Besides, only the steam vessels made by Grim Tuesday work in the Border Sea, and they are fuelled with Accelerated Coal, made from Nothing. As with everything from Grim Tuesday, the price of this coal is exorbitant.’
‘That’d be right,’ said Arthur. ‘Where is the Rats’ ship again? I can’t see it.’
‘Next to the big four-master on the eastern side, as I said.’
Arthur looked again. This time, he saw the Rats’ vessel. It was only a third the size of the four-masted barque next to it, and his eye had been momentarily confused because the Rats’ ship could sail as well as steam, having two masts and square-rigged sails as well as a large central funnel that was not currently smoking.
‘We will land on the Undine,’ said Dawn, ‘and see what is happening. It is unusual for so few ships to be here. Everything looks strangely quiet.’
She began to spiral down. Arthur closed his eyes as their rapid descent made him feel dizzy. He didn’t open them again until he suddenly felt a solid deck under his feet and Dawn let him go.
She had already transformed back into human form. This time, she was wearing a kind of naval uniform, with a very dark blue coat that was almost black, hung with medals and supporting two very large silver epaulettes. Arthur wondered how she managed to instantly change clothes.
There was no one on board to greet them. Dawn looked around, a frown wrinkling her forehead. There was no one to be seen on any of the other ships either. The only sounds were the groan of the wooden hulls, the high-pitched squeaking of the mooring ropes, and the wash of the sea.
Dawn opened her hand and gripped the air, and a flaming harpoon appeared in her fist. Arthur flinched, but though it was obviously magical, it was not like the Mariner’s harpoon. It didn’t make him feel odd when he looked at it, so he hoped it wouldn’t have the horrible side effects the Captain’s harpoon did when it was used.
‘The guard boat is missing,’ said Dawn. ‘This is what comes of having all one’s faithful Nisser . . .’
She restrained herself, but Arthur knew she had been going to say eaten.
‘I suppose the crews are hiding inside the Triangle,’ Dawn continued. ‘Fearful of a pirate attack, no doubt. Which reminds me — put these on.’
She pulled a pair of white leather gloves out of her sleeve and handed them to Arthur.
‘No need to cause panic at the sight of the Red Hand,’ she said.
Arthur put on the gloves as Dawn stalked across the poop deck and looked over the port side, across to the pyramid. As she walked away, Arthur heard a shout to starboard.
‘Ahoy the Undine!’
Arthur went to the rail and looked down. The shout had sounded high-pitched, so he wasn’t that surprised to see a four-foot-tall Rat wearing a blue cap, blue breeches, and a loose white shirt hailing him from the forecastle of the steamship. A ship, Arthur noticed, that despite Dawn’s disdain looked very spick-and-span. It also had a name, painted in white on the bow. Rattus Navis IV.
‘Ahoy to you too,’ Arthur called out. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘A score or more ships sailed within the last few hours, and of those that are left, most of the crews are quivering inside the Triangle,’ replied the Rat. ‘It started with the sea level dropping four fathoms for half an hour yesterday. Then the Shiver was sighted to the south this morning. What with the rumour of someone afflicted with the Red Hand and all, a dreadful fright got among the Denizens. The braver ones decided to chance it on the high seas, preferring not to be sitting here. Those less brave thought to barricade themselves inside the pyramid and leave the pickings to Feverfew.’
‘But he has not come,’ interrupted Dawn, looming up at Arthur’s side. ‘Or he has become uncommonly gentle with his prey. Has Shiver been seen again today, Rat?’
The Rat doffed his cap before replying.
‘No, ma’am.’
‘Is your captain aboard?’
‘Captain and crew, ma’am, awaiting custom.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Gunner’s Mate First Watkingle, ma’am.’
‘And your captain?’
‘That would be Longtayle, ma’am. Do you wish to come aboard?’
‘No. I have other pressing matters to attend to, but my companion here has business with your captain. This is Lord Arthur, Master of the Lower House and the Far Reaches. For some reason he believes you Rats might be useful. He is an honoured guest of Lady Wednesday and is to be treated with all courtesy.’
Watkingle bowed low, but didn’t answer.
‘Farewell, Lord Arthur,’ said Dawn, offering her hand. ‘I hope you succeed.’
Arthur wasn’t sure what to do, but he took it and gave a kind of half bow and a little shake.
‘I’ll do my best.’
Dawn nodded, withdrew her hand, and took a standing jump over the rail and onto the deck of the next ship, without even flapping her wings.
‘Just come down the Undine’s ladder amidships, sir,’ called up Watkingle. ‘Then jump down, if you don’t object.’
As Arthur walked along to the waist of the ship, Watkingle called out something an
d more Rats came on the steamship’s deck, arranging themselves in a line opposite the Undine’s ladder. When Arthur climbed down and jumped across to the deck of the Rattus Navis IV, one of them played several piercing notes on a silver whistle. All the Rats immediately stood to attention.
Watkingle saluted Arthur, then said, ‘Welcome aboard, sir. Please follow me. Mind your head.’
Though the deck was wooden, as soon as Arthur followed Watkingle through a door between the two quarterdeck companionways, his feet rang on iron. Arthur stopped to look around, and felt the rivets in the iron wall. He had to bend his head a lot lower than he had in the Moth, as the ship was built to Raised-Rat scale.
‘She’s an iron ship, sir,’ said Watkingle. ‘Timbered up to ease the sensibilities of Wednesday and her officials. Built by Grim Tuesday himself, four thousand years ago, and still as sound a vessel as anyone would wish.’
He knocked on a door at the end of the passage.
‘Lord Arthur, Master of the Lower House and the Far Reaches, sir!’
The door was opened immediately by another seaman Rat, dressed like Watkingle but rather more neatly. Beyond him, there was a large stern cabin with dinner-plate-sized portholes on three sides, a map table loaded with charts and augury puzzle boxes with pictures of animals on them, several upholstered chairs, and a couple of riveted iron chests. Two Rats stood over the table, both in blue coats with gold epaulettes. Arthur recognised one of them as Commodore Monckton. The other was a black Rat, not brown, taller and younger-looking, his whiskers shorter and not as white.
The black rat said, ‘Thank you, Watkingle, that will be all. Lord Arthur, welcome aboard the Rattus Navis IV! I am Captain Longtayle, and may I introduce Commodore Monckton.’
Both Rats inclined their heads and snapped their tails like whips, the crack echoing through the cabin. Arthur jumped in surprise, then bowed.
Longtayle pulled out a chair from the table and offered it to Arthur. When he sat, so did the two officers. The Rat who had opened the door immediately put a glass in front of Arthur and poured what looked like red wine from a silver jug.
