Drowned Wednesday by Garth Nix Page A

Arthur. He felt a bit bad now, as if he’d been a coward, but Sunscorch seemed to think it was perfectly sensible of him to refuse. He smiled and nodded at the boy as he walked past and knelt before the chest.
    Sunscorch lifted the two clasps at the same time. They snapped back with a loud click, immediately followed by a strange popping noise that made Arthur jump, till he realised that it was actually the sound of the entire crew of the Moth drawing in breaths of anticipation. They were all gathered around in a half circle up the beach, beyond the lantern light. The last of the vermilion twilight had faded, so the Denizens were just dark outlines, but Arthur could sense their concentration on Sunscorch and the chest.
    The Second Mate turned the key. It played musical notes as it turned several times in the lock.
    Ting-ting-ting-ting-ting …
    Each note seemed like it would be the last. Finally the key stopped, and instead of a jangled note, there was a soft snick as the lock released. Sunscorch leaned forward and lifted the lid.
    ‘Ahhhh!’ came from a hundred throats.
    ‘Is that all?’ asked Arthur, looking over Sunscorch’s shoulder. The contents of the chest looked very disappointing to him. It was full of little off-white blocks carved with letters. They looked like cheap mah-jong pieces.
    Sunscorch didn’t answer. He seemed quite stunned. Looking around, Arthur saw that nearly everybody else was as well. They were all staring with their mouths open.
    Except for Doctor Scamandros. He bent down and picked up one of the small blocks and tilted it so the character carved into its surface caught the light.
    ‘A deep, racking cough,’ pronounced Scamandros. ‘Fixed in auriphant ivory from Senhein. Good for twenty years or more, as House time flows.’
    He put it back again and took out another piece.
    ‘A roseola rash around the neck, head, and ears,’ said Scamandros. ‘Fixed in wood-fired clay. Good for at least a decade in the House.’
    Arthur knew that human diseases were valued by the Denizens of the House. They would get the symptoms, but not feel the effects. So these little blocks of ivory and clay were how the diseases were actually used by the Denizens, and would presumably be in demand. But what were they worth?
    ‘This is a great treasure,’ said Doctor Scamandros. ‘A very great treasure. There must be twenty thousand coughs, rashes, swellings, and other diseases here, all of the highest virulence and fixed by first-class sorcery. I would guess its value to be in excess of a million simoleons of gold.’
    His words were met by a vast cheer from the crew, who began to sing and dance around and throw their caps in the air.
    ‘And ninety per cent of it is mine?’ asked Arthur. He could barely make himself heard above the uproar.
    ‘Notionally,’ replied Scamandros. ‘As I said, if you want both yourself and the treasure to remain salvaged, you must come to an agreement with Captain Catapillow.’
    ‘Feverfew will never bear this loss,’ muttered Sunscorch, who was still staring at the open chest. He pointed at a small bronze plaque set on the underside of the chest’s lid. As his finger touched it, the letters engraved there burst into red fire, and a booming voice roared across the beach:
    ‘THIEVES! THIEVES! THIEVES! This be the treasure of Captain Elishar Feverfew! The Red Hand marks you! Feverfew’s vengeance shall be swift and slow: swift in the taking, slow in the making. Regret and repentance shall prove no —’
    Whatever else the voice was going to shout stopped as Doctor Scamandros tapped the plaque with an ebony paper knife that materialised in his hand. Silence fell over the beach, the only sound the lapping of the waves on the shore. The Denizens’ songs and cheer were gone, replaced by a mood of dread.
    ‘I’m the only one with the Red Hand,’ said Arthur. ‘Aren’t I?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Doctor Scamandros. ‘Though Feverfew would kill or enslave anyone sailing with