"Nosy parkers?"
"Officials. Inspectors. Quaestors. Auditors. You know."
"Officials? Why would we be hiding from them?" asked Arthur. Not that he wanted to meet any himself. Too many of them served the Trustees who were his enemies.
"We're in the Secondary Realms without a licence," explained Ichabod. "It's the Original Law, and there's fierce penalties to be here without permission. Not that there's much chance of trouble, not since Lady Wednesday's mind went adrift and she ate up half her officials and drowned —" "Avast that!" interrupted Sunscorch. "We are still in Her Ladyship's service!"
"True! True! Mister Sunscorch, I beg your pardon."
"In any case, we have good reason to be here, which might prove sufficient excuse," said Sunscorch, after a moment. Though he spoke to Arthur, his gaze continued to roam over the masts and rigging, the ship and the crew. "As soon as we're able, we'll be back to the Border Sea and our business of salvage. Now we must shorten sail. We're riding deep and the sand is soft, but we've still too much way on."
Immediately Sunscorch raised his volume enormously, bellowing out some incomprehensible orders involving clewgarnets, buntlines, leechlines, and slablines. These were all met with sudden activity by the crew.
"Now, all we need to do is get her safely lodged before teatime," said Sunscorch cheerfully, without looking away from the rapidly closing beach. "Try as I might, I can never get them to give up their afternoon tea. Once made clerks, always clerks, no matter how much salt they taste."
The ship slowed as sails were furled, and even Arthur could tell she was lower in the water and more sluggish to answer the helm. But they were only a few hundred yards from the beach, a wide crescent of sparkling sand that looked much like an earthly beach, save that the sand was a very light blue.
"We'll make it," said Sunscorch. But as he spoke, a bell rang from somewhere deep inside the ship. The peal quickly repeated several times. In answer to it, the crew left their posts, abandoned lines, and slid down from the rigging. The Denizens who'd fallen overboard stopped treading water and started to swim for the ship, showing near-Olympic speeds without Olympic-standard grace or style. Even the helmsmen made as if to join the throng milling about a grating on the main deck of the ship, till they were physically restrained by Sunscorch.
"Oh, no you don't," he cried. "How many times do I have to tell you? If you're at the wheel you can't both go to afternoon tea. You have to take it in turns."
Arthur stared down at the main deck. The Denizens were accepting cups of tea in fine bone china cups that appeared out of the grating, even though there was no one below handing them up. Small biscuits also materialised in the air and were delicately taken and eaten in modest bites. The sight of both made Arthur aware that he was extraordinarily thirsty and hungry, despite the drink of water Sunscorch had given him in the boat. He knew he didn't need food or water, but he felt as if he did.
"How... where are the cups coming from?"
"It's one of the things that didn't change when we remade the counting house," said Ichabod. "Some department in the Lower House is still supplying us with afternoon tea, wherever we are in the House or the Secondary Realms. I would venture to suppose that an order was given long ago, and it has never been rescinded. It's quite convenient, of course, and we are the envy of many other ships."
"It's a cursed nuisance," said Sunscorch. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "All hands come aft! Hold yer cups and saucers!"
The crew was slow to respond, and Sunscorch shouted again. The beach was only fifty or sixty yards distant.
"They're best aft. We might lose a mast when we strike," Sunscorch explained to Arthur. "But it'll go for'ard, like as not."
Arthur looked up at the two very tall masts and their mass of spars and rigging. They had to weigh tons, and if one or both of them came down backwards instead of forward, they'd crush everyone.
"Take a hold!" roared Sunscorch.
Eight
ARTHUR HARDLY FELT the Moth's initial impact with the beach. The deck shuddered a little under him, but he was sitting down with his bad leg straight out and he had a very firm grip on an iron cleat next to the rail.
More serious shudders followed, as the ship ground its way up and through the deep sand. Arthur watched the masts carefully, and though they shivered and the rigging rattled and a few ropes and blocks fell down, nothing worse occurred.
After a few more yards" progress, the Moth gave a final creaking groan and slid forward no more. It sat upright for a few moments, then slowly heeled over till the deck was at an angle of twenty degrees. Arthur wondered if it was going to go over completely on its side, but the deep sand around the hull held it in place.
Amazingly, not one of the crew appeared to have dropped his or her teacup. While Arthur gingerly crawled to the side and looked over at the blue sand, Ichabod went and got a cup of tea to offer to Arthur.
Arthur drank it gratefully, though it was very strong, very sweet, and very milky. When the cup was empty, he handed it back to Ichabod, who asked, "More?"
"Yes, please," said Arthur. He was quite surprised when Ichabod simply handed the cup straight back, but the cup was full again. Strangely, this time the tea was black and, while still sweet, had been made so by something like treacle. Arthur drank it anyway.
"Just say 'more" if you want more," Ichabod explained. He handed Arthur a biscuit and added, "Similarly, as long as you have a crumb left of biscuit, just say 'more" and you'll get another one. Till afternoon tea is over, which is in about five minutes by my reckoning."
Arthur nodded and concentrated on the business of drinking and eating, with occasional, mouth-full mumblings of 'more".
Precisely five minutes later by Arthur's backwards watch, his cup and half-eaten biscuit disappeared. This disappearance was followed by a stream of bellowed orders from Sunscorch, who had clearly bottled them up till afternoon tea was over. As far as Arthur could gather, the orders related to propping the ship up so it didn't fall over, getting out some anchors, and carrying lots of different things ashore.
Without imminent danger threatening, and with a full, warm stomach, Arthur found himself yawning. His watch said it was ten past ten, but he knew he must have spent more than seven hours (counting backwards) just sitting in that buoy, let alone the time on the bed in the storm.
Remembering the buoy made Arthur look at his hands. The red colour still hadn't come off. It hadn't got any lighter either. It looked deeply ingrained, almost as if it was in the skin, rather than just on it.
"The Red Hand," said Ichabod. "Doctor Scamandros might be able to clear it. Feverfew marks all his treasure caches such. The stain is supposed to last forever. Well, until Feverfew tracks the thief down and exacts his terrible punishment. What were you doing on the buoy anyway?"
"I... I was shipwrecked," said Arthur.
"From the Steelibed," interrupted Sunscorch as he slid down the deck. "Or so you say. The Captain, Mister Concort, and I will want to hear Arth's tale, Ichabod, so hold your questions till dinner. Which will be served ashore, so you can begin by getting the Captain's table on the beach. Arth, you go ashore too, and stay out of the way."
"Aye, aye," said Ichabod, without great enthusiasm.
"And look lively, you loblolly boy."
Being called a loblolly boy made Ichabod both cross and active. Bent over almost double to keep his balance on the tilted deck, he crawled over to the companionway and hustled below. Arthur was left alone.