and his face and head were completely covered in small, colourful tattoos that Arthur realised after a moment were animated, moving and shifting around. Tattoos of ships and sea creatures, birds and clouds, maps and moons and stars and suns and planets.
“Mister Concort, who is First Mate,” whispered Ichabod, pointing to the Denizen next to Sunscorch. “And Dr Scamandros, our most accomplished sorcerer and navigator. He’s casting the haruspices to see where we might be able to go. No one must interrupt, take note. Dreadful things would happen.”
At that moment, a gust of wind hit the Moth hard and she heeled over even further. As everyone on the quarterdeck scrambled to keep their footing, Arthur stumbled against Captain Catapillow, and both of them ended up sliding across the deck and into the rail.
Arthur almost went over, into the dark sea that was surprisingly close below. He managed to save himself and, at the last second, his blanket, but at the cost of a jolt to his broken leg that sent a savage, stabbing pain up his side and into his head.
As the ship righted itself in response to Sunscorch’s shouted commands, Arthur noticed that almost everybody else had ended up on the starboard rail, apart from the two helmsmen clinging to the wheel, Sunscorch next to them, and Dr Scamandros to the side. He was still crouched where he’d been, as if he were glued to the deck. All the things he was studying were also still there, which seemed impossible. Several maps were laid out on the deck, with a pair of gilt-bronze dividers on top, a ruler and the skull of a small animal that had been converted into a cup to hold a dozen or so pencils.
There were also lots of small pieces of coloured cardboard strewn apparently at random next to the map. Dr Scamandros was studying them and whistling through his front teeth. After a few seconds, he gathered them up into his cupped hands and threw them down again. To Arthur’s surprise, they joined together as they fell, and he realised they were jigsaw pieces. When they hit the deck, nearly all of them had joined, but two or three pieces remained separate. The jigsaw was incomplete.
Dr Scamandros stopped whistling and the wind, as if in response, eased a little. The Denizen gathered the jigsaw pieces together again and put them in a cardboard box that had a picture of a sheep on it, which he then put inside his yellow greatcoat. After this was done, he stood up. This was obviously the point at which he could be interrupted, because Catapillow and Concort rushed over to him.
“What are the signs, Doctor?” asked Catapillow. “Is there a course out of here?”
“No,” said Scamandros. His voice was very high and pure, and reminded Arthur strangely of a trumpet. “There is some power interfering with both the goat and sheep auguries. I dare not try the ox in such circumstances. Without guidance, I can find no true course.”
“Is it Feverfew?” asked Sunscorch. “Even so far away?”
“No,” said Scamandros. He had caught sight of Arthur for the first time and his dark eyes were staring straight at the boy. “It is much closer. Who is that?”
“Arth,” said Sunscorch. “A mortal boy. We picked him up with Feverfew’s treasure.”
“He holds an object of great power,” said Dr Scamandros, excitement in his voice. He rummaged inside his coat and pulled out a pair of glasses with gold wire rims and thick smoked-quartz lenses, which he slipped on to his forehead, not over his eyes. “Bring him here.”
Arthur stepped forward of his own accord and staggered across the deck. Sunscorch caught him and held him, loosely enough for the grip to be either a friend helping out or a guard about to secure a prisoner.
“What is in your pocket, boy?” asked Dr Scamandros. “It is interfering with my augury and, thus, my navigation of this ship.”
“It’s … it’s a book,” said Arthur. “It won’t be of any use to you.”
“I’ll be the judge of that!” Scamandros exclaimed. He reached forward to Arthur’s pocket and Sunscorch tightened his grip on the boy’s arms. “What have we—”
As he touched the top of the Atlas, there was a loud report, like a pistol shot. Scamandros’s hand came back so quickly Arthur didn’t even see it, and then the navigator was hopping around the deck with his fingers thrust into his armpit, screeching, “Ow! Ow! Ow! Throw him overboard!”
Sunscorch hesitated, then picked up Arthur in a bear hug and tottered to the starboard rail, crashing into it with considerable force.
“Sorry, lad,” he said as he lifted Arthur up and prepared to heave him into the waiting sea. “We need the doctor.”
“No!” screamed Arthur. Then, as Sunscorch continued to lift him up, “I’m a friend of the Mariner! Captain Tom Shelvocke!”
Sunscorch lowered Arthur to the deck.
“Prove it,” he said coldly. “If you’re lying, I’ll carve you a set of gills before I throw you over.”
Arthur reached with a shivering hand into his pyjama top and pulled out his makeshift floss-chain. For a dreadful moment he thought the disc was gone, then it slid free and hung on his chest.
“What are you waiting for, Sunscorch?” yelled Dr Scamandros angrily. “Throw him overboard!”
Sunscorch looked closely at the disc, flipped it with his finger and looked at the other side. Then he sighed and let go of Arthur. Just then, the ship rolled to port and back again, almost sending Arthur over the side anyway.
“Do as the doctor says, Mister Sunscorch!” called Catapillow. “We must have a course to get away!”
“I can’t, Captain!” shouted Sunscorch. “The boy has the mark of the Mariner. If he asks for aid, as sailors we must give it.”
“I am asking,” said Arthur hastily. “I don’t want to be thrown overboard. I only want to send a message to the Lower House. Or the Far Reaches.”
“He has the what? The who?” asked Catapillow.
Sunscorch sighed again and helped Arthur along the sloping deck to the group gathered around the wheel. Dr Scamandros still had his hand under his arm. He scowled at Arthur.
“No seaman will go against the Mariner,” said Sunscorch. “The boy has the Mariner’s medal, so you’ll have to figure something else out, Doc. He ain’t going over the side.”
“The Mariner,” said Scamandros. “A figure of reverence for the nautically inclined. One of the Old One’s sons, I believe?”
“Yes,” said Arthur, though the question hadn’t been asked of him. “And the Architect’s.”
“Perhaps I was a little hasty,” Scamandros continued. “I thought perhaps you had something in your pocket we wouldn’t want aboard. But any friend of the Mariner … please do accept my apology.”
“Sure,” said Arthur. “No problem.”
“Well, ah, welcome aboard,” said the Captain. “We’re delighted to have you here. Though I fear that our voyage is, um, about to be cut short.”
Everyone looked back over the stern. The Shiver had closed in and was now less than a mile away.
“She’ll be firing her bowchasers soon,” said Sunscorch. “If they’ve any powder. They’ve the weather gauge too. We’ll have to fight it out.”
“Oh,” said Concort. He swallowed and frowned at the same time. “That doesn’t sound very good.”
“Can you get us a better wind, Doctor?” asked Sunscorch. “Untie