Arthur stopped walking to think about this. A whale one hundred and twenty-six miles long! Doctor Scamandros kept walking and talking so he had to scurry to catch up and missed a few words.
"... transformation and immersion in the Border Sea displaced a vast quantity of water. Fortunately the transformation took place over a week or more, allowing time to prepare the docks and foreshore buildings, most of which were turned into ships like the Moth. A new port was partly prepared on the ridge of Wednesday's Lookout, now Port Wednesday.
"But the greatest destruction to actual Denizens was not wrought by the Deluge, but by Lady Wednesday herself. In the shape of a Leviathan she was hungrier than ever, and in her early years, she ate not only the usual plankton, krill, and other small creatures by the ton, but also many of her own servants, including her Noon and Dusk. No one has dared approach her for millennia, save her surviving Dawn, who it is believed she communicates with by moving the pupils of her massive eye in some code, so Dawn need not get too close.
"That is why it is strange that you should be invited to lunch with her. How can you have lunch with a Leviathan? Particularly one that eats everything that comes anywhere near her?"
"Why is she called Drowned Wednesday?" asked Arthur. "I mean, she's obviously not drowned."
"I believe that when she first began to transform she flung herself into the Border Sea and was presumed drowned," said Scamandros. "A nasty fate for a Denizen, since some consciousness would remain until the fishes completely nibbled you away. I also suspect that the term "Whale Wednesday" is shied away from by her still-loyal Denizens."
Arthur nodded and hopped forward to completely catch up. They were quite a long way along the beach now, the lights of the camp a hundred yards or more behind. Arthur glanced at Doctor Scamandros's face. Most of it lay in shadow, only the lower part of his visage illuminated by the candle. His tattoos were moving and shifting, but it was too dark for Arthur to make out what they were showing, save for one of a ship that was cruising across the Denizen's cheek with all sails set.
"Perhaps we should turn around," said Arthur nervously. Scamandros halted and looked at Arthur.
"We have come far enough to try a little sorcery that may find an answer to your questions," he said, walking up the beach to set his candle down. Arthur followed, the blue sand sticking to his wet feet.
"What was it you wanted first?" asked Doctor Scamandros. "A message to Dame Primus or news of your friend?"
"I want to see what's happened to Leaf," said Arthur. Even though she hadn't listened when he'd told her to get out of the hospital room, he still felt responsible... and guilty. He hoped she was all right.
"Your friend was picked up by another ship?"
"Yes," said Arthur. "A bit like the Moth, but thinner and longer, with three masts. It had sails that glowed green. I think it was meant to pick me up, like it said in the invitation. "Transport has been arranged." Only they got Leaf instead."
"The ship sounds like the Flying Mantis. One of the ships of Wednesday's original merchant marine. Which would make sense. Now, do you have anything that belongs to your friend? A lock of hair, perhaps?"
"No!" said Arthur. "I mean, she's just a friend. Like a fairly new friend too."
"Mmm, that makes it more difficult, even though knowing the ship will narrow things down," mused Scamandros. "Did you shake hands with her? Or have anything she may have touched, like a cup or bottle?"
Arthur shook his head. He tried to think back to the hospital room. Leaf had sat on the bed...
"She did read Wednesday's invitation. Will that do?"
"That will do," said Doctor Scamandros with satisfaction. "May I have the invitation, please?"
Arthur handed it over. Scamandros took out a tortoiseshell-inlaid penknife and cut a small, curling sliver off the surface of the card, which he deposited in a tiny tin pillbox. Reaching once more into his greatcoat, he removed a cardboard chessboard — or something divided into coloured squares like a chessboard — which he unfolded. On this board he laid down with some exactitude a small round shaving mirror and a conch shell the size of Arthur's fist. He then placed the tin pillbox down as well, arranging it so mirror, shell, and pillbox formed a triangle against the red-and-black-chequered background.
"A trigon on my work-square," he said, taking out a quill pen and a small bronze bottle labelled ACTIVATED INK. BEWARE! "Arthur, please place your hand flat above the trigon, not quite touching."
He indicated the three objects. Arthur complied, holding his hand level just above the mirror, conch and pillbox.
"Now I shall have to write on your hand. It may sting," said Doctor Scamandros, in the tone doctors and dentists use when something is going to hurt. He set the bronze bottle down, carefully unscrewed the lid, and dipped his feathery pen.
"This is going to help me find out what happened to Leaf?" asked Arthur. He had a strong urge to pull back his hand and run down the beach, back to the camp.
Sunscorch did nod okay, thought Arthur. So Scamandros must be mostly trustworthy …
"Yes, yes," said Scamandros. "Hold still."
Arthur held still. Scamandros poised the pen above the back of the boy's hand. A tiny drop of ink fell from the pen and splashed on Arthur's skin like molten metal, sending up a small plume of Nothing-laced smoke.
"Aahhhhh!" screamed Arthur as intense pain shot through him.
Eleven
DOCTOR SCAMANDROS didn't pause. With incredible speed, he wrote a word on Arthur's hand even as the boy snatched it away, the ink leaving a trail of fire across his skin.
"It will only hurt for a moment," Scamandros promised, as Arthur rushed to the sea and thrust his hand in. "If I'd warned you, you wouldn't have kept still."
Arthur couldn't speak. The pain occupied his entire mind — but only for a few more seconds. Before Doctor Scamandros had finished speaking, the pain ebbed and was gone, as if it had been washed out with the last wave.
Arthur walked the few yards back up the beach. Scamandros had already packed away the board and the pillbox, leaving only the shell and the mirror. He held these out to Arthur, who didn't notice, as he was holding the back of his hand to the candlelight. As far as the boy could tell, there weren't any scars or ink stains. He couldn't see any writing either.
"What did you write?" asked Arthur.
"My signature," said Doctor Scamandros. "Most House Sorcery is done with prepared apparatus that will only work for the authorised sorcerer."
"Was there Nothing in that ink?"
"Yes. A very small, refined amount. Not made by me, I hasten to add. I do not work directly with raw Nothing. Though it is true most House Sorcery depends upon apparatus or consumables originally created from or with Nothing."
"Right," said Arthur. He took the mirror and the shell suspiciously. "What do these do, then?"
"I have, I hope, attuned the mirror to show the current situation of your friend Leaf," said Scamandros. "And the conch so you may listen as well. It should work for some days, before the spell degrades and begins to show other persons or places. I should not use it once that occurs, as it may well show you to those who look for such open passages into the mind."
"How do I make it work?"
"Merely hold the shell to your ear and gaze into the mirror. It will work best somewhere quiet, with a little but not too much light shining into the mirror. Here, with the candle, would be ideal. It is generally best to have someone watching over you, as you will not be aware of what is happening around your corporeal form."
"Thanks," said Arthur. "I think I'll try this a bit later. Closer to the camp."
"As you wish. Now, as to messages, I'm afraid that neither telephone nor telegraph will work for us. Though we are not in the Border Sea, we are of it, and any connection would thus normally go through there and the exchange has been long flooded. However, I can send a message by slower means. Have you paper, pen, and ink?"