"Jenna, I insist. And I do not want you to tell anyone what is in this chest. This must be our secret. No one is to know."
"Milo, I am not keeping any secrets from Marcia," said Jenna.
"Oh, of course we shall tell Marcia," said Milo. "In fact, we shall need her to accompany us to the Vaults in the Manuscriptorium, where I shall be collecting the final, er, piece of this consignment. But I do not wish anyone on board or here in the Trading Post to know. I am not the only person who has been searching for this - but I am the one who has got it, and that is the way I intend it to stay. You understand, don't you?"
"I understand," said Jenna, a little reluctantly. She decided that, whatever Milo said, she would tell Septimus as well as Marcia.
"Good. Now, let us secure the chest for its voyage home." Milo raised his voice.
"Deckhands to the hold!"
Ten minutes later the smell of hot tar filled the air. Jenna was back on deck, watching the doors to the hold being lowered. One by one they settled into place, the strips of teak on the doors lining up perfectly with those on the deck. Milo checked that all was secure, and then he signaled to a young deckhand who was melting a small pan of tar over a flame. The deckhand took the pot from the flame and brought it over to Milo. Jenna watched Milo fish around in a pocket in his tunic and, a little surreptitiously, take out a small black phial.
"Keep the pan steady, Jem," Milo told the deckhand. "I'm going to add this to the tar. Whatever you do, don't breathe in."
Concerned, the deckhand looked at Milo. "What is it?" he asked.
"Nothing you've ever come across," said Milo. "Well, I hope not anyway. Wouldn't want our medic messing with this. Jenna, stand well back, please."
Jenna stepped away. She watched Milo quickly take out the phial's cork and tip the contents into the tar. A small cloud of black vapor arose; Jem turned his face away and coughed.
"Heat it to boiling," said Milo, "then pour it on as usual and seal the hold."
"Aye, sir," Jem said, and returned the pot to the flame.
Milo joined Jenna.
"What was that stuff?" she asked.
"Oh, merely a little something I got from the Darke Deli on Harbor Thirteen. Just to keep our treasure safe until the Port. I don't want anyone getting in that hold," Milo replied.
"Oh, right," said Jenna. She did not believe for a moment that Milo was messing with Darke stuff, and it annoyed her that he thought she would. Silently, she stood and watched Jem take the tar pan off the flame and very carefully walk around the edges of the doors to the hold, pouring a thin stream of glistening black tar into the gap between them and the deck. Soon all that marked the entrance to the hold were two inset brass rings and a thin line of tar.
To Jenna's irritation, Milo placed his arm around her shoulders and walked her along the deck on the opposite side from the harbor, away from the small admiring crowd that always gathered to stare at the Cerys. "I know you think I am a neglectful father," he said. "It is true, maybe I am, but this is what I have been looking for, this is why I have been away so much. And soon, safe passage and fair winds permitting, it shall be safe in the Palace - and so will you."
Jenna looked at Milo. "But I still don't understand. What is so special about it?"
"You will find out When the Time Is Right," said Milo. Blissfully unaware that his daughter longed to yell, "Why don't you ever answer my questions properly?" Milo continued, "Come, Jenna, let us go below. I think some celebrations are in order."
Jenna fought back the urge to kick him.
While Milo ushered Jenna below, Jem was looking doubtfully at the black residue stuck to the bottom of the pan. After some consideration, he tossed the pan over the side of the ship. Jem had not always been a lowly deckhand. He had once been Apprenticed to a famed Physician in the Lands of the Long Nights, until the Physician's daughter had fallen for his crooked smile and dark curly hair, and life had become a little too complicated for Jem's liking. Jem had left his Apprenticeship early, but he had learned enough to know that Darke Sealants were not the kind of things you wanted on board a ship. He stepped carefully over the thin streak of tar that delineated the line of the cargo hatch doors and went below to the sick bay, where he wrote out a notice for the crew informing them not to step on the cargo hatch door seals.
Deep in the cargo hold, the contents of the ancient ebony chest settled into the darkness and Waited.
Chapter 18 A Performance
Milo's celebration took the form of a highly embarrassing banquet held on deck, in full view of the quayside of Harbor Twelve. A gold-tasseled red awning was set up and a long table was placed underneath, laid with all manner of finery: a white linen cloth, silver goblets, golden cutlery, piles of fruit (not all of it real) and a forest of candles. Six high-backed chairs with what looked suspiciously like coronets perched on the tops were arranged around the table. Milo had placed himself at the head of the table, with Jenna on his right. Septimus was next to Jenna, and Beetle, suitably resplendent in his Admiral's jacket, was somewhat stranded at the far end, near to the sleeping Spit Fyre and occasional wafts of dragon breath. On Milo's left was Snorri, with the Night Ullr lying quietly at her feet and, next to her, Nicko.
Milo did the talking - which was just as well, as everyone else felt far too embarrassed to talk. On the quayside below an increasing crowd was gathering, observing the show with amused interest, rather as people will watch chimps in a zoo. Jenna tried to catch Septimus's eye, hoping for a sympathetic glance, but Septimus sat glowering resolutely at his plate. Jenna glanced around the table and no one would meet her eye, not even Beetle, who appeared to have found something very interesting to look at on the top of the nearest mast.
Jenna felt horribly uncomfortable; she was beginning to wish she had never bumped into Milo in the dingy cafe on Harbor One. But at the time it had all seemed so thrilling - being invited to Milo's ship, Nicko and Snorri's delight at being on board the Cerys, and the wonderful feeling, so welcome after the last grueling days, of being cared for, of sleeping in a comfortable bed and waking up knowing that she was safe. And then there was the excitement of Milo telling her that the Cerys was now her ship, though he had spoiled that somewhat when he later said that, naturally, it could not truly be hers until she reached the age of twenty-five, the age at which it was possible to register ownership. That was, thought Jenna, typical of most things that Milo offered - he always kept something back, in his control. A wave of embarrassment suddenly swept over Jenna. She was with three of the people she cared most about - Jenna excluded Snorri from this list - and she was making them sit through this performance, all because she had allowed herself to be carried away by Milo's attention. The banquet progressed agonizingly slowly. Milo, as usual, regaled them with his stock of sea stories, many of which they had heard before and which always seemed to end in Milo triumphing at the expense of others.
And while Milo droned on, the ship's cook supplied a succession of overwrought dishes, each one more ornate and piled ever higher, not unlike the wigs worn by the officials on Harbor Twelve. Each dish was accompanied by a great flourish from the deckhands - now dressed in their evening white and blue robes - and, worst of all, a horribly embarrassing speech from Milo, who insisted on dedicating each dish to one of them, starting with Jenna.
By the time the dessert was due - which was to be dedicated to Beetle - the crowd of onlookers were becoming boisterous and beginning to pass comments, none of them particularly favorable. Wishing more than anything in the world that he could disappear right now, Beetle's ears glowed brilliant red as he watched a deckhand emerge from the hatch, proudly bearing the dessert aloft. It was an exceptionally odd creation - a large plate of something black and wobbly, possibly a jellyfish, but equally possibly a fungus plucked from the depths of the hold. Reverentially the deckhand placed the dish in the center of the table. Everyone stared in astonishment. With a shock they all realized that it looked like - maybe even was - a giant beetle boiled, peeled and laid on a bed of seaweed.
Milo was relishing the moment. Glass in hand, accompanied by sporadic clapping and whistles from the crowd below, he stood up to dedicate the dessert to Beetle, who was seriously considering jumping overboard. But, as Milo opened his mouth to begin his speech, Spit Fyre pounced.