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 one of your knots?’
‘No,’ replied Scamandros. ‘Feverfew is already working the wind, and his workings are stronger. There is no escape within the Border Sea.’
‘And is there, er, no plausible course out to the Realms?’ Catapillow pulled his sword partly out of its scabbard as he spoke, and almost cut his nervous fingers on the exposed blade.
‘There is one possibility that I may have overlooked due to extreme pain in my hand,’ said Scamandros. ‘I cannot cast the haruspices because of magical interference. But the young have natural ability, so this boy may be able to. Can you read portents of the future in the strewn intestines of animals, young sir?’
‘No,’ said Arthur with a grimace of revulsion. ‘That sounds disgusting!’
‘They don’t use actual intestines anymore,’ whispered Ichabod. ‘Just magical jigsaw puzzles of intestines.’
‘Indeed, the art has grown more orderly and less troublesome for the laundry,’ said Scamandros, who clearly had very superior hearing. ‘Though personally I believe it is best to be trained the old way, before coming to the puzzles. So you are not a haruspex or seer?’
‘No . . .’
‘Then you shall cast the pieces and I will read them.’ Scamandros took a large box out from under his coat — bigger than the one he’d put away before — and handed it to Arthur. There was a picture of an ox on the box, the back half cross-sectioned to show its innards. ‘Quickly now. Take the box and empty the pieces into your hands.’
As Arthur opened the box, something shrieked overhead. It sounded like a cross between a train whistle and a terrified parrot. Sunscorch looked up, then muttered, ‘They’ve got powder! That’s a ranging shot!’ and started to shout more commands to the helmsman and crew. The Moth lumbered and rolled to port as the wheel spun and the crew hauled on lines to trim the yards (the horizontal spars on the mast that the sails were attached to).
Arthur knelt down on the deck and put his hands in the box. Though all he could see were pieces of coloured cardboard, he recoiled as he touched them.
‘Ugh! They feel like raw mince or . . . or worse!’
‘Ignore that!’ instructed Scamandros. ‘Pick them up and cast them on the deck! Quickly now!’
Arthur shuddered and hesitated. Then he heard the whistling again, and a huge plume of water exploded just behind the Moth , showering them all with freezing water.
‘Over and under,’ said Sunscorch grimly. ‘They’ll have the range inside a minute.’
Arthur took a deep breath and plunged his hands into the box. Picking up the pieces was like picking up handfuls of dead worms. But he got them all, raised them up, and threw them at Scamandros’s feet.
As before, the jigsaw came together as it fell. But this time all the pieces joined to make a perfect rectangle. The colours ran and shimmered like spilled paint, then formed into lines and patterns. In a few seconds, a picture appeared. A picture of a rocky island, a mound of tumbled yellow stones, surrounded by a sea of curious colour, more violet than blue.
Scamandros looked at the picture, muttering to himself, then he rolled up the chart at his feet and immediately unrolled it again, revealing a completely different map.
‘Forlorn Island, Sea of Yazer, on the planet we call Gerain,’ said Scamandros. ‘That’ll do!’
‘Err, Mister Concort . . .’ said Catapillow.
‘Ah, Mister Sunscorch . . .’ said Concort.
‘Prepare to Cross the Line!’ roared Sunscorch. ‘Idlers take a hold!’
Catapillow and Concort rushed to the rail and gripped it. Sunscorch joined the two Denizens on the wheel. Scamandros picked up the jigsaw, which didn’t
‘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 one of your knots?’
‘No,’ replied Scamandros. ‘Feverfew is already working the wind, and his workings are stronger. There is no escape within the Border Sea.’
‘And is there, er, no plausible course out to the Realms?’ Catapillow pulled his sword partly out of its scabbard as he spoke, and almost cut his nervous fingers on the exposed blade.
‘There is one possibility that I may have overlooked due to extreme pain in my hand,’ said Scamandros. ‘I cannot cast the haruspices because of magical interference. But the young have natural ability, so this boy may be able to. Can you read portents of the future in the strewn intestines of animals, young sir?’
‘No,’ said Arthur with a grimace of revulsion. ‘That sounds disgusting!’
‘They don’t use actual intestines anymore,’ whispered Ichabod. ‘Just magical jigsaw puzzles of intestines.’
‘Indeed, the art has grown more orderly and less troublesome for the laundry,’ said Scamandros, who clearly had very superior hearing. ‘Though personally I believe it is best to be trained the old way, before coming to the puzzles. So you are not a haruspex or seer?’
‘No . . .’
‘Then you shall cast the pieces and I will read them.’ Scamandros took a large box out from under his coat — bigger than the one he’d put away before — and handed it to Arthur. There was a picture of an ox on the box, the back half cross-sectioned to show its innards. ‘Quickly now. Take the box and empty the pieces into your hands.’
As Arthur opened the box, something shrieked overhead. It sounded like a cross between a train whistle and a terrified parrot. Sunscorch looked up, then muttered, ‘They’ve got powder! That’s a ranging shot!’ and started to shout more commands to the helmsman and crew. The Moth lumbered and rolled to port as the wheel spun and the crew hauled on lines to trim the yards (the horizontal spars on the mast that the sails were attached to).
Arthur knelt down on the deck and put his hands in the box. Though all he could see were pieces of coloured cardboard, he recoiled as he touched them.
‘Ugh! They feel like raw mince or . . . or worse!’
‘Ignore that!’ instructed Scamandros. ‘Pick them up and cast them on the deck! Quickly now!’
Arthur shuddered and hesitated. Then he heard the whistling again, and a huge plume of water exploded just behind the Moth , showering them all with freezing water.
‘Over and under,’ said Sunscorch grimly. ‘They’ll have the range inside a minute.’
Arthur took a deep breath and plunged his hands into the box. Picking up the pieces was like picking up handfuls of dead worms. But he got them all, raised them up, and threw them at Scamandros’s feet.
As before, the jigsaw came together as it fell. But this time all the pieces joined to make a perfect rectangle. The colours ran and shimmered like spilled paint, then formed into lines and patterns. In a few seconds, a picture appeared. A picture of a rocky island, a mound of tumbled yellow stones, surrounded by a sea of curious colour, more violet than blue.
Scamandros looked at the picture, muttering to himself, then he rolled up the chart at his feet and immediately unrolled it again, revealing a completely different map.
‘Forlorn Island, Sea of Yazer, on the planet we call Gerain,’ said Scamandros. ‘That’ll do!’
‘Err, Mister Concort . . .’ said Catapillow.
‘Ah, Mister Sunscorch . . .’ said Concort.
‘Prepare to Cross the Line!’ roared Sunscorch. ‘Idlers take a hold!’
Catapillow and Concort rushed to the rail and gripped it. Sunscorch joined the two Denizens on the wheel. Scamandros picked up the jigsaw, which didn’t
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