Free Drowned Wednesday by Garth Nix

his waistcoat pocket.
    ‘Doesn’t it hurt?’ asked Arthur. He was in shock and part of his mind was telling him to check himself over again. He knew the Denizens could recover even from a beheading, but that didn’t help. It also didn’t apply to him. A wound like Ichabod’s would kill him for sure.
    ‘It certainly does hurt,’ replied Ichabod with a grimace. ‘But just look at my favourite waistcoat!’
    Arthur looked along his own arms and legs. They were fine. He gingerly felt his stomach and head. They seemed fine too. Only his finger had been touched.
    The Denizens around the wheel had not been so lucky. Arthur could hardly bear to look at them, they were so pierced by splinters. At least the blue blood didn’t look so serious as real human blood would. And they were still standing, and complaining about their bad luck.
    ‘Seriously wounded to the Captain’s quarters!’ instructed Doctor Scamandros. He didn’t appear to be injured, but blue fluid dripped from the sleeve of his yellow greatcoat. ‘You too, mortal! You could be killed up here! Get below at once. Ichabod, take charge of our valuable passenger!’
    Arthur struggled to his feet and hesitantly walked to the gangway, Ichabod at his side.
    ‘Are you going to do something, Doctor?’ asked Captain Catapillow plaintively, as he stared down at the spot where his foot and one of his third-best boots used to be. ‘I think that cannonball was coated in Nothing.’
    ‘You’d feel a lot worse if it was, Captain,’ said Doctor Scamandros. ‘As I was saying, it is theoretically possible to accelerate the transfer by bringing the portal to the traveller, rather than the other way around. It is of course exceedingly difficult and dangerous.’
    Everyone looked at the pirate vessel astern. It fired again, a great gout of water exploding out of the sea a little ahead and to the port side of the Moth .
    ‘What could happen that would be worse than eternal slavery or a slow and torturous death by Nothing-based sorceries at the hands of Feverfew?’ asked Concort. He didn’t sound like he really wanted to know.
    ‘If I fail, we shall transfer not into that Secondary Realm, but into the Void of Nothing, and be immediately expunged from existence.’
    ‘My collection too?’ asked Captain Catapillow.
    ‘The ship and everything on it or connected with it,’ said Scamandros. ‘Including all your stamps, sir. So what are your orders?’
    Arthur hesitated on the steps, waiting to hear Catapillow’s commands. Surely there was some other way? Perhaps he could escape via the Infinite Stair . . . no . . . not in his current state. He probably didn’t have the power anymore . . .
    ‘I can’t have the collection fall into Feverfew’s hands,’ said Captain Catapillow in a small voice. ‘All or . . . or Nothing!’
    Arthur saw Scamandros open his yellow greatcoat. The inside was lined with dozens of pockets and loops for magical implements and apparatus. Scamandros selected two lengths of bronze rod with curved-back hooks set near their pointed ends. Though they were in miniature under his coat, only a few inches long, they expanded as he dragged them out, till they were at least a yard in length.
    ‘Fire irons,’ said Ichabod. ‘Matching set. Very nice. Come along!’
    Arthur started to follow Ichabod down the port-side ladder to the waist, where Sunscorch and the crew had finally succeeded in cutting away the last of the broken yard and its accompanying debris. But Arthur stopped on the companionway to look back. He saw Scamandros reaching out with a fire iron in each hand, the bronze rods continuing to extend till they became shafts of curdled sunlight that reached up into the sky, and to each side of the ship.
    Only a few seconds later, the transformed fire irons reached all the way to the vast gilt-framed portal to the Secondary Realm. The hooks on the end were now easily thirty feet long. The irons wavered outside the edges of the frame, then