"I don't know what to do with this collar," Arthur said a few minutes later. The collar was separate from the shirt and he couldn't figure it out.
"Allow me," said Ichabod. He quickly stepped in and fastened Arthur's collar. Before the boy could protest, Ichabod had wrapped a red cloth around his neck and tied it as a necktie as well. "Arms up, sir, for the belt."
A broad leather belt seemed to be the last thing to put on, but when it was buckled up and Arthur tried to take a step out, Ichabod held up his hand and gave a slight bow. "Your sword, sir. One mustn't venture into a prospective battle without one's sword."
"I suppose, er, one mustn't," repeated Arthur.
I'm even starting to sound like Catapillow, he thought. I hope I don't turn into someone like him. I'd rather be like Sunscorch. Someone who gets things done.
Ichabod picked up a scabbarded sword from the floor and fastened it to Arthur's belt on his left hip. At the same time, Arthur tied the knife he'd been given by Sunscorch onto the other hip.
"This is a naval pattern sword, reduced in length and weight by the armourer specifically for your lordship," said Ichabod. He stood up and saw Sunscorch's knife, his mouth twisting a little in distaste. "If I may say, milord, the knife does little for the ensemble. Perhaps if you allow me —"
"I want to keep the knife," Arthur said quickly. "And I have to go and join Mister Sunscorch now. Thanks for your help, Ichabod. I don't know how you got the clothes my size so quickly."
"Oh, I cut them down from the Captain's and Mister Concort's best while you were off with Doctor Scamandros," said Ichabod proudly. "Then a few minor tweaks were all that was required, as I have a very good eye, even if I say so myself. “Always anticipate!” That's the motto of the true gentleman's gentleman!"
"Um, thanks," muttered Arthur. He hoped Catapillow and Concort wouldn't mind their best clothes getting cut down. "Thanks again."
"And should your lordship be wounded in the forthcoming action, be assured that I have applied my motto to my other profession," said Ichabod.
"What?"
"Surgeon's Mate," said Ichabod. "Or as the extremely vulgar call it, Loblolly Boy. I assist Doctor Scamandros. We have never had to operate upon a mortal, but I have all my equipment ready. Knives, saws, drills — all newly sharpened!"
"Great!" said Arthur, faking a cheerfulness he didn't feel. "Well done! Keep up the good work!"
He hurried away before Ichabod had a chance to show him any newly sharpened surgeon's tools. He was halfway through the camp to where the two cannons were pointing out to sea when he heard the sudden clang and clatter of the ship's bell, and Sunscorch's bellow.
"Stand to your guns! Make ready your crossbows! Cutlasses and boarding pikes to the tidemark!"
Thirteen
ARTHUR BROKE INTO a limping, partly rolling run, joining a dangerous crowd of cutlass- and pike-wielding Denizens heading towards the sea. Two of the Moth's cannons had been taken off the ship and emplaced there, facing the waves.
Near the guns, the crowd split to either side of the emplacement, while Arthur stopped next to Sunscorch and one of the cannons. The weapon didn't look too sturdy or safe to Arthur. The black iron of the long barrel was pitted and rough and its wooden carriage was splintered and cracked, with uneven wooden wheels. Both cannons were stationed on a kind of wickerwork carpet laid over the sand, and that didn't look very solid either.
"Stand away from the gun," warned Sunscorch. "She'll buck when she fires. Break your other leg or your back if you're behind."
Arthur hastily walked over to Sunscorch's right, putting the large Denizen between him and the guns.
"Can you see them yet?" Arthur asked as he peered into the darkness. Apart from the lanterns farther up the beach and the glow from the gunner's slow matches — smouldering lengths of what looked like big fat shoelaces — there was no other light. Or was there? Arthur shaded his face with his hands and squinted to get a proper look straight ahead.
"There is a faint glow in the distance, isn't there?"
"Sure enough," said Sunscorch. "But it's too low in the water to be a ship. And it's moving too fast to be a raft or a longboat or suchlike. I can't fathom it, myself. Unless it's those Rats..."
"Rats?" asked Arthur. "Raised Rats?"
"Aye," said Sunscorch. "They have some uncommon vessels. But I dunno —" He broke off as the glow in the sea suddenly shot up in the air, eclipsing a red star low on the horizon with its sudden brightness. Then it arced down again, re-entering the sea and diminishing.
Sunscorch muttered something, and Arthur heard the gunners nearby whispering nervously.
"What is it?"
"It's a Denizen with marine wings and a veritable glimlight of sorcery about him," said Sunscorch quietly. "Most likely Feverfew has come by himself to reclaim his treasure."
"By himself? But surely we're... we've got these cannons... and there's a hundred of us and Doctor Scamandros..."
"We've little powder for the cannons," said Sunscorch. "And Feverfew is a master of dark sorceries the Doc wouldn't
touch. He'll turn the sea and the sand against us, like as not, same as he made the rigging of the Oceanus choke the life out of its crew. But we've a better chance ashore with our lot than in a sea fight, so you never know. If you get a go at him, Arthur, try to take off his head with a single blow, and get a handful of sand or grit on the neck-stump. Or lay the flat of your blade there, if there's nought better to hand."
Arthur swallowed and looked back at the rapidly approaching light in the water. Then he drew his sword, resting the blade on his shoulder like the Denizens with their cutlasses.
I will cut off his head, Arthur told himself. I have defeated Mister Monday and Grim Tuesday. I've been wounded before. I know I can take it. I'm not going to be killed by a pirate … I hope my leg doesn't give way suddenly … This crab armour is good and the joints work well but what if it locks up or it just gets weak as I'm fighting Feverfew and …
"Stop it!" Arthur whispered to himself. "Whatever happens, I will make the best of it. I will win."
"Wait for it to leave the water!" roared Sunscorch as the light grew even closer. "Point-blank!"
The glow streamed towards them, growing brighter and brighter, like the headlights of an oncoming car. Arthur felt transfixed by the light, unable to move as it got closer and closer. He could make out a dark shape inside the light, inside the wave. An inhuman figure, like a shark, with huge wings propelling it along. It broke the surface and began to surf in on a wave. The gunners grunted and cursed as they shoved and levered at the cannons with handspikes, trying to point them just where the thing was going to come out of the water.
Sunscorch took a breath and opened his mouth, the word "Fire!" already forming there, when suddenly Doctor Scamandros came capering about in front of the cannons, shouting.
"Hold! Hold hard! Don't! Don't fire!"
At his last word, one of the cannons went off with a tremendously loud bang, a spray of sparks and an eruption of thick white smoke that completely enveloped Arthur. Coughing and choking, he stumbled away, only to find his feet suddenly wet.
He was in the wash of the surf, and the thing from the sea was standing over him, its light shining through gunsmoke and darkness. It had not been hit.
It wasn't a 'thing" anymore, though it still had huge wings of metallic yellow-gold feathers. It was a very beautiful, very tall woman, with bright yellow hair tied back in a wire net. She was wearing a green velvet dress with a darker green, fur-trimmed jacket that hung loose on her left shoulder, the arms swinging behind. She held a short, white, scaly whip in her right hand.