Longtayle's tail whipped out from behind his chair and slapped the floor in agitation.
"What's the problem?" Arthur asked nervously. He decided that he didn't really like being in a submarine. It was all so enclosed, and if anything went wrong, there was just nowhere to go...
"There's a wreck wedged in this particular hole through the plate, and we've run straight into it," explained Longtayle. "Our ramming spike is stuck in it. Normally we could reverse and pull it out that way. But our maximum backing speed is eighteen knots, and the current is stronger than that."
"So we really are stuck?"
"Temporarily," said Longtayle. "Fortunately we have time to deal with the situation. A number of options present themselves —"
"We're deeping, sir," interrupted the helmsrat.
"What?" asked Longtayle. "Within the tunnel?"
"No, sir. It must be the Leviathan herself. She's diving."
"But she hardly ever dives! How deep?"
"Forty-five fathoms. Forty-eight. Fifty-three..."
"Emergency diving stations!" snapped Longtayle into the voice-pipe. "Brace all watertight doors!"
A chorus of "aye, ayes" came over the speakers. Longtayle leaned over to watch the depth meter with the helmsrat, who kept calling out the depth anyway.
"She's leveling off," reported the helmsrat. "Level at sixty-seven fathoms."
"How deep can we go?" asked Arthur.
"Deeper than this," said Longtayle. "The danger is that a very small movement for Drowned Wednesday might take us down too far. We counted on her just cruising along the surface like she normally does."
"I bet she saw something to eat," said Arthur. "But we're okay for now, aren't we?"
"We have to get out of this hole in the plate," said Longtayle. "Once we have freedom to move within her, we'll be fine. But we're too deep to send divers out now, to chop away the obstruction. Perhaps, Doctor Scamandros, you might have some sorcerous solution?"
Scamandros cleared his throat.
"Hmmph, can't say anything springs to mind, sadly. Most of my practical knowledge is for wind and wave, on top of the sea, not underneath it."
"We'll try to shake ourselves out then —" "She's diving again, Captain."
"Depth?"
"Seventy-two fathoms and getting deeper. Eighty-two fathoms. Eighty-seven fathoms. Ninety fathoms. Ninety-five fathoms."
The helmrat's impassive voice was suddenly drowned by a horrible, metallic booming that sounded like someone hitting an enormous bell. It was so loud it completely drowned out all other noise. Then it slowly eased into a host of different booms and squeals, none of them as loud, but all of them very frightening.
"We can go deeper," said Longtayle. He sounded confident, but Arthur saw that the Rat's tail had gone completely white.
"One hundred fathoms. One hundred and two fathoms."
"Send a bottle message," ordered Longtayle suddenly into the voice-pipe. "Test depth reached. DW still diving."
"Aye, aye," came the disembodied response.
"Doctor Scamandros!" Arthur turned to the sorcerer. "What about communicating with Drowned Wednesday? Is there anything you can do to... to, I don't know... cast a light in the sky so she'll look up at it?"
Scamandros was mopping his forehead with his yellow silk handkerchief. He put this away and started hunting through the numerous inside pockets of his coat. In fact, he seemed to have more pockets than it was possible to have inside a coat.
"No, no, that won't do... won't work from down here... never quite mastered that one... perhaps, no, used that up... have to be able to see the target..."
"How about you bung an illusion of a big hunk of roast beef on top," suggested Suzy. "I reckon she'd go for that."
"I can make the illusion," said Scamandros peevishly. "But I can't get it outside!"
"One hundred and six fathoms," reported the helmsrat. He turned to look at the Captain and said, without a tremor in his voice, "Estimated crush depth is one hundred and ten fathoms."
Arthur didn't need to ask what the crush depth was. It was obvious from the horrible booming and screeching sounds coming from all around them. He jumped as a new sound started, and turned to see water spraying up from the floor.
"One hundred and eight fathoms."
"Can Drowned Wednesday hear underwater?" asked Suzy.
"Crush depth exceeded," reported the helmsrat. "One hundred and eleven fathoms... and getting deeper."
As if in answer to his voice, all the lights suddenly went out. Arthur stared into the darkness, expecting any moment to hear the hull completely buckle... followed immediately by the cold shock of tons of water and almost instantaneous death. At least it would be quick...
Everyone else seemed to be expecting the same thing. They were totally silent for about ten seconds, then Longtayle spoke.
"Switch to circuit B!"
The helmsrat moved. Through the constant booming and whistling, Arthur heard a switch click and the Rat swear under his breath. Then there was a glimmering of light in the filaments as the bulbs heated up, gradually brightening to cast a strange red glow over the submariners.
"Depth!"
Once again the passengers held their breath. Surely they couldn't still be going down, or they would already be crushed.
"One hundred... one hundred and thirteen fathoms! And steady!"
"What did you say, Suzy?" asked Arthur.
"I said, “Can Drowned Wednesday hear underwater?”"
"I bet she can," said Arthur quickly. "Whales have sonar! They sing to one another! If we can make a really high-pitched loud noise, then she'll... she'll know there's someone stuck in her jaw... That's probably not going to help, is it?"
"Why not?" asked Suzy.
"Well, she might just dive even deeper to get rid of whatever's making the annoying noise."
"One hundred and fourteen fathoms!" reported the helmsrat. "She's diving again!"
"It's not going to make things worse, is it?"
"Do whatever you can," ordered Longtayle. "The crush depth is an estimate, but —" His voice was cut off as several jets of water burst out of the walls at the same time, accompanied by a terrible, deep groan from the hull.
"Doctor!" yelled Arthur. "Can you make a really long, really high-pitched squeal?"
Scamandros was already unscrewing the parrot head of his walking stick. He nodded as he reached inside the head and made some adjustments.
"Block your ears!"
Arthur just had time to put his fingers in his ears as the parrot head suddenly shone with a bright light and its beak opened, emitting an incredibly piercing shriek that went on for several seconds, completely cutting through the groans and bellows of the distressed submarine. Scamandros worked the parrot head like it was a puppet, pulling on little levers, and its shriek began to go up and down to a regular rhythm.
The helmsrat was trying to shout something but Arthur couldn't hear him. The parrot shriek was so loud and so high-pitched that it actually hurt. He could feel it making his cheekbones ache.
Water touched Arthur's feet. He yelped and pulled his legs up. There was at least a foot of water in the compartment and it looked like it was rising. So it hadn't worked, and they were all going to be crushed and drowned — The screech stopped. Hesitantly, Arthur pulled one finger out of his ear, just enough to hear a confused babble of voices that included the helmsrat shrieking, all calm gone.
"One hundred fathoms and rising! She's going up! She's going up!"
Whether it was in response to the parrot shriek or not, Drowned Wednesday rose up far faster than she'd sunk. Not that either motion had been very significant for her, Arthur thought. A bit like him bobbing his head down an inch.
"Ten fathoms and shallowing! Six fathoms! Sea level! We're out of the water. We're right out of the water."
Everyone stared at the crystal globe. All the water was running out of the hole they were in, to reveal the obstruction as a barnacle-encrusted wall of copper-sheathed timber.