Garth Nix - Keys to the Kingdom Series - Drowned Wednesday

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2024-12-23 0 0 511.83KB 242 页 5.9玖币
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Drowned Wednesday
By Garth Nix
Prologue
A three-masted square-rigger with iridescent green sails that shone by
day or night, the Flying Mantis was a fast and lucky ship. She sailed the
Border Sea of the House, which meant she could also sail any ocean, sea,
lake, river, or other navigable stretch of liquid on any of the millions of
worlds of the Secondary Realms.
On this voyage, the Flying Mantis was cleaving through the deep blue
waters of the Border Sea, heading for Port Wednesday. Her holds were
stuffed with goods bought beyond the House and illnesses salvaged from
the Border Sea's grasping waters. There were valuables under her hatches:
tea and wine and coffee and spices, treats for the Denizens of the House.
But her strongroom held the real treasure: coughs and sniffles and ugly
rashes and strange stuttering diseases, all fixed into pills, snuff, or
whalebone charms.
With such rich cargo, the crew was nervous and the lookouts red-eyed
and anxious. The Border Sea was no longer safe, not since the unfortunate
transformation of Lady Wednesday several thousand years before and the
consequent flooding of the Sea's old shore. Wednesday's Noon and Dusk
had been missing ever since, along with many of Wednesday's other
servants, who used to police the Border Sea.
Now the waters swarmed with unlicensed salvagers and traders, some
who would happily turn to a bit of casual piracy. To make matters worse,
there were full-time pirates around as well. Human ones, who had
somehow gotten through the Line of Storms and into the Border Sea from
some earthly ocean.
These pirates were still mortal (unlike the Denizens) but they had
managed to learn some House sorcery and were foolish enough to dabble
in the use of Nothing. This made them dangerous, and if they had the
numbers, their human ferocity and reckless use of Nothing-fueled magic
would usually defeat their more cautious Denizen foes.
The Flying Mantis had lookouts in the fighting tops of each of its three
masts, one in the forepeak, and several on the quarterdeck. It was their
task to watch for pirates, strange weather, and the worst of all things —
the emergence of Drowned Wednesday, as Lady Wednesday was now
known.
Most of the ships that now sailed the Border Sea had incompetent
lookouts and inferior crews. After the Deluge, when the Border Sea swept
over nine-tenths of
Wednesday's shore-based wharves, warehouses, counting rooms, and
offices, more than a thousand of the higher rooms had been rapidly
converted into ships. All these ships were crewed by former stevedores,
clerks, rackers, counters, tally-hands, sweepers, and managers. Though
they'd had several thousand years of practice, these Denizens were still
poor sailors.
But not the crew of the Flying Mantis. She was one of Wednesday's
original forty-nine ships, commissioned and built to the Architect's
design. Her crew members were nautical Denizens, themselves made
expressly to sail the Border Sea and beyond. Her Captain was none other
than Heraclius Swell, 15,287th in precedence within the House.
So when the mizzen-top lookout shouted, "Something big… err… not
that big… closing off the port bow… underwater!" both Captain and crew
reacted as well-trained professionals of long experience.
"All hands!" roared the mate who had the watch. "Beat to quarters!"
His cry was taken up by the lookouts and the sailors on deck, followed
only seconds later by the sharp rattle of a drum as the ship's boy
abandoned his boot polish and the Captain's boots to take up his sticks.
Denizens burst out from belowdecks. Some leapt to the rigging to climb
aloft, ready to work the sails. Some stood by the armory to receive their
crossbows and cutlasses. Others raced to load and run out the guns,
though the Flying Mantis only had eight working cannons of its usual
complement of sixteen. Guns and gunpowder that worked in the House
were very hard to come by, and always contained dangerous specks of
Nothing. Since the toppling of Grim Tuesday fourteen months before,
powder was in very short supply. Some said it was no longer being made,
and some said it was being stockpiled for war by the mysterious Lord
Arthur, who now ruled both the Lower House and the Far Reaches.
Captain Swell climbed onto the quarterdeck as the cannons rumbled
out on the main deck, their red wooden wheels squealing in complaint. He
was a very tall Denizen, even in stockinged feet, who always wore the full
dress coat of an admiral from a small country on a small world in a remote
corner of the Secondary Realms. It was turquoise blue, nipped in very
tightly at the waist, and had enormous quantities of gold braid on the
shoulders and cuffs. Consequently Captain Swell shone even more brightly
than the green sails of his ship.
"What occurs, Mister Pannikin?" Swell asked his First Mate, a Denizen
as tall as he was, but considerably less handsome. At some time Pannikin
had lost all his hair and one ear to a Nothing-laced explosion, and his bare
skull was ridged with scars. He sometimes wore a purple woollen cap, but
the crew claimed that made him look even worse.
"Mysterious submersible approaching the port bow," reported
Pannikin, handing his spyglass to the Captain. "About forty feet long by
my reckoning, and coursing very fast. Maybe fifty knots."
"I see," said the Captain, who had clapped the telescope to his eye. "I
think it must be… yes. Milady has sent us a messenger. Stand the men
down, Mister Pannikin, and prepare a side-party to welcome our
illustrious visitor. Oh, and tell Albert to bring me my boots."
Mister Pannikin roared orders as Captain Swell refocused his telescope
on the shape in the water. Through the powerful lens, he could clearly see
a dull golden cigar-shape surging under the water towards the ship. For a
second it was unclear what propelled it so quickly. Then its huge
yellow-gold wings suddenly exploded ahead and pushed back, sending the
creature rocketing forward, the water behind it exploding into froth.
"She'll broach any moment," muttered one of the crewmen to his mate
at the wheel behind the Captain. "Mark my words."
He was right. The creature's wings broke the surface and gathered air
instead of water. With a great flexing leap and a swirl of sea, the monster
catapulted itself up higher than the Flying Mantis's maintop. Shedding
water like rain, it circled the ship, slowly descending towards the
quarterdeck.
At first it looked like a golden, winged shark, all sleek motion and a
fearsome, toothy maw. But as it circled, it shrank. Its cigar-shaped body
bulged and changed, and the golden sheen ebbed away before other
advancing colors. It became roughly human-shaped, though still with
golden wings.
Then, as its wings stopped flapping and it stepped the final foot down
to the deck, it assumed the shape of a very beautiful woman, though even
the ship's boy knew she was really a Denizen of high rank. She wore a
riding habit of peach velvet with ruby buttons, and sharkskin riding boots
complete with gilt spurs. Her straw-colored hair was restrained by a
hairnet of silver wire, and she tapped her thigh nervously with a riding
crop made from the elongated tail of an albino alligator.
"Captain Swell."
"Wednesday's Dawn," replied the Captain, bending his head as he
pushed one stockinged foot forward. Albert, arriving a little too late, slid
along the deck and hastily tried to put the proffered foot into the boot he
held.
"Not now!" hissed Pannikin, dragging the lad back by the scruff of his
neck.
The Captain and Wednesday's Dawn ignored the boy and the First
Mate. They turned together to the rail and looked out at the ocean,
continuing to talk while hardly looking at each other.
"I trust you have had a profitable voyage to date, Captain?"
"Well enough, Miss Dawn. May I inquire as to the happy chance that
has led you to grace my vessel with your presence?"
"You may indeed, Captain. I am here upon the express command of our
mistress, bearing an urgent dispatch, which I am pleased to deliver."
Dawn reached into her sleeve, which was tight enough to hold no
possibility of storage, and pulled out a large thick envelope of buff paper,
sealed with a knob of blue sealing wax half an inch thick.
Captain Swell took the envelope slowly, broke the seal with deliberation,
and unfolded it to read the letter written on the inside. The crew was quiet
as he read, the only sounds the slap of the sea against the hull, the creak of
the timbers, the momentary flap of a sail, and the faint whistle of the wind
in the rigging.
Everyone knew what the letter must be. Orders from Drowned
Wednesday. That meant trouble, particularly as they had been spared
direct orders from Wednesday for several thousand years. They were
almost certainly no longer going home to Port Wednesday and the few
days' liberty they usually received while their precious cargo was sold.
Captain Swell finished the letter, shook the envelope, and picked up the
two additional documents that fell out of it like doves from a conjurer's
hat.
"We are instructed to sail to a landlocked part of the Secondary
Realms," the Captain said to Wednesday's Dawn, the hint of a question in
his voice.
"Our mistress will ensure the Sea extends there for the time it takes for
your passenger to embark," replied Dawn.
"We must cross the Line of Storms both ways," added the Captain.
"With a mortal passenger."
"You must," agreed Dawn. She tapped one of the documents with her
riding crop. "That is a Permission that will allow a mortal to pass the
Line."
"This mortal is to be treated as a personal guest of milady?"
"He is."
"This passenger's name will be required for my manifest."
"Unnecessary," Dawn snapped. She looked the Captain directly in the
eyes. "He is a confidential guest. You have a description, a location, and
specific sailing instructions drawn up personally by me. I suggest you get
on with it. Unless of course you wish to challenge these orders? I could
arrange an audience with Lady Wednesday if you choose."
The crew members all held their breath. If the Captain chose to see
Drowned Wednesday, they'd all have to go as well, and not one of them
was ready for that fate.
Captain Swell hesitated for a moment. Then he slowly saluted.
"As ever, I am at Milady Wednesday's command. Good day, Miss
Dawn."
"Good day to you, Captain." Dawn's wings stirred at her back, sending
a sudden breeze around the quarterdeck. "Good luck."
"We'll need it," whispered the helmsman to his mate as Dawn stepped
up to the rail and launched herself in a long arcing dive that ended several
hundred yards away in the sea, as she transformed back into a golden
winged shark.
"Mister Pannikin!" roared the Captain, though the First Mate was only
a few feet away. "Stand by to make sail!"
He glanced down at the complex sailing instructions that Dawn had
given him, noting the known landmarks of the Border Sea they must sight
and the auguries and incantations required to sail the ship to the required
place and time in the Secondary Realms. As was the case with all of
Drowned Wednesday's regular merchant marine, the Captain was himself
a Sorcerer-Navigator, as were his officers.
"Mmm… Bethesda Hospital… room 206… two minutes past the hour of
seven in the evening. On Wednesday, of course," muttered the Captain,
reading aloud to himself. "House time, as per line four, corresponds with
the date and year in local reckoning in the boxed corner, and where… odd
name for a town… never heard of that country… what will these mortals
think of next… and the world…"
He flipped the parchment over.
"Hmmph. I might have known!"
The Captain looked up and across at his running, climbing, swinging,
rolling, swaying, sail-unfurling, and rope-hauling crew. They all stopped as
one and looked at him.
"We sail to Earth!" shouted Captain Swell.
Chapter One
What time is it?" Arthur asked after the nurse had left, wheeling away
the drip he didn't need anymore. His adopted mother was standing in the
way of the clock. Emily had told him she'd only pop in for a minute and
wouldn't sit down, but she'd already been there fifteen minutes. Arthur
knew that meant she was worried about him, even though he was already
off the oxygen and his broken leg, though sore, was quite bearable.
"Four-thirty. Five minutes since you asked me last time," Emily replied.
"Why are you so concerned about the time? And what's wrong with your
own watch?"
"It's going backwards," said Arthur, careful not to answer Emily's other
question. He couldn't tell her the real reason he kept asking the time. She
wouldn't — or couldn't — believe the real reasons.
She'd think he was mad if he told her about the House, that strange
building that contained vast areas and was the epicenter of the Universe
as well. Even if he could take her to the House, she wouldn't be able to see
it.
Arthur knew he would be going back to the House sooner rather than
later. That morning he'd found an invitation under the pillow of his
hospital bed, signed Lady Wednesday. Transportation has been arranged
, it had read. Arthur couldn't help feeling it was much more sinister than
the simple word transportation suggested. Perhaps he was going to be
taken, as a prisoner. Or transported like a mail package…
He'd been expecting something to happen all day. He couldn't believe it
was already half past four on Wednesday afternoon and there was still no
sign of weird creatures or strange events. Lady Wednesday only had
dominion over her namesake day in the Secondary Realms, so whatever
she planned to do to him had to happen before midnight. Seven and a half
hours away…
Every time a nurse or a visitor came through the door, Arthur jumped,
expecting it to be some dangerous servant of Wednesday's. As the hours
ticked by, he'd become more and more nervous.
The suspense was worse than the pain in his broken leg. The bone was
set and wrapped in one of the new ultra-tech casts, a leg sheath that
looked like the armor of a space marine, extending from knee to ankle. It
was super strong, super lightweight, and had what the doctor called
"nanonic healing enhancers" — whatever they were.
Regardless of their name, they worked, and had already reduced the
swelling. The cast was so advanced it would literally fall off his leg and
turn into dust when its work was done.
His asthma was also under control, at least for the moment, though
Arthur was annoyed that it had come back in the first place. He'd thought
it had been almost completely cured as a side effect of wielding the First
Key.
Then Dame Primus had used the Second Key to remove all the effects of
the First Key upon him, reversing both his botched attempt to heal his
broken leg and the Key's beneficial effect on his asthma. But Arthur had to
admit it was better to have a treatable broken leg and his familiar,
manageable asthma than to have a magically twisted-up, inoperable leg
and no asthma.
I'm lucky to have survived at all, Arthur thought. He shivered as he
remembered the descent into Grim Tuesday's Pit.
"You're trembling," said Emily. "Are you cold? Or is it the pain?"
"No, I'm fine," said Arthur hastily. "My leg's sore but it's okay, really.
How's Dad?"
Emily looked at him carefully. Arthur could see her evaluating whether
he was fit enough to be told the bad news. It was bound to be bad news.
Arthur had defeated Grim Tuesday, but not before the Trustee's minions
had managed to interfere with the Penhaligon family finances… as well as
causing minor economic upheaval for the world at large.
"Bob has been sorting things out all afternoon," Emily said at last. "I
expect there'll be a lot more sorting to do. Right now it looks like we'll keep
the house, but we'll have to rent it out and move somewhere smaller for a
year or so. Bob will also have to go back on tour with the band. It's just
one of those things. At least we didn't have all our money in those two
banks that failed yesterday. A lot of people will be hurt by that."
"What about those signs about the shopping mall being built across the
street?"
"They were gone by the time I got home last night, though Bob said he
saw them too," said Emily. "It's quite strange. When I asked Mrs. Haskell
in number ten about it, she said that some fast-talking real estate agent
had gotten them to agree to sell their house. They signed a contract and
everything. But fortunately there was a loophole and they've managed to
get out of it. They didn't really want to sell. So I guess there'll be no
shopping mall, even if the other neighbors who sold don't change their
minds. The Haskell place is right in the middle, and of course we won't be
selling either."
"And Michaeli's course? Has the university still got no money?"
"That's a bit more complicated. It seems they had a lot of money with
one of the failed banks, which has been lost. But it's possible the
government will step in and ensure no courses are cancelled. If Michaeli's
degree is discontinued, she'll have to go somewhere else. She was accepted
by three… no, four other places. She'll be okay."
"But she'll have to leave home."
Arthur left another sentence unsaid.
And it's my fault. I should have been quicker to deal with the
Grotesques…
"Well, I don't think she'll be too concerned about that. How we'll pay for
it is a different matter. But you don't need to worry about all of this,
Arthur. You always want to take too much on. It's not your responsibility.
Just concentrate on getting better. Your father and I will make sure
everything will be —"
Emily was cut off by a sudden alert from the hospital pager she always
wore. It jangled a few times, then a line of text ran around the rim. Emily
frowned as she read the scrolling message.
"I have to go, Arthur."
"It's okay, Mom, you go," said Arthur. He was used to Emily having to
deal with gigantic medical emergencies. She was one of the most
important medical researchers in the country. The sudden attack and then
abrupt cessation of the Sleepy Plague had given her a great deal of extra
work.
Emily gave her son a hurried kiss on the cheek and a good luck rap of
her knuckles on the foot of the bed. Then she was gone.
Arthur wondered if he'd ever be able to tell her that the Sleepy Plague
had come from Mister Monday's Fetchers, and had been cured by the
Nightsweeper, a magical intervention he'd brought back from the House.
Though he had brought back the cure, he still felt responsible for the
plague in the first place.
He looked at his watch. It was still going backwards.
A knock on the door made him sit up again. He was as ready as he
could be. He had the Atlas in his pajama pocket, and he'd twisted
numerous strands of dental floss together so he could hang the Captain's
medallion around his neck. His dressing gown was on the chair next to the
bed, along with his Immaterial Boots, which had disguised themselves as
slippers. He could only tell what they really were because they felt slightly
electric and tingly when he picked them up.
The knock was repeated. Arthur didn't answer. He knew that Fetchers
— the creatures who had pursued him on Monday — couldn't cross a
threshold without permission. So he wasn't going to say a word — just in
case.
He lay there silently, watching the door. It slowly opened a crack.
Arthur reached across to the bedside table and picked up a paper packet
of salt he'd kept from his lunch, ready to tear it open and throw it if a
Fetcher peered around.
But it wasn't a dog-faced, bowler-hatted creature. It was Leaf, his
friend from school, who had helped save him from a Scoucher the day
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