W hile Septimus and Beetle were running the pigeon gauntlet once more, Jenna was perched not unlike a pigeon herself. She was sitting, confidently swinging her feet, on the lowest yardarm of the fore mast while she watched the loading of Milo's long-awaited cargo. Suspended from the arm of a gantry, a massive, battered ebony chest bound with iron bands was swinging and twisting as it made its slow descent into the cargo hold. Milo Banda stood at the edge of the hold, arms folded, the sun catching the gold edging on his long red tunic. His dark curly hair fell to his shoulders and was held in place by yet more gold - a broad headband that Milo thought gave him authority (it certainly gave him red marks on his forehead when he took it off at night). Right then, Milo Banda looked like a man who had succeeded and was proud of it. Far below Milo's sandaled feet, the cargo hold opened into the depths of the Cerys. It was lit by six torches dipped in tar, each one carried by an anxious deckhand guiding the precious chest into place. The hold itself was no more than half full. It contained the usual mixture of strange objects destined for the Palace and some things that Milo intended to sell in the Port - bales of woolen cloth, a selection of pearl necklaces from the Islands of the Shallow Seas, a stack of reindeer skins from the Lands of the Long Nights and ten crates containing assorted dishware, boots, cotton tunics and mousetraps procured at knock-down prices from one of the shadier Trading Post midnight auctions. For Sarah Heap there was a case of silver goblets, which Milo thought would be a great improvement on the rough pottery ones that she insisted on using. There were also the objects intended to liven up (as Milo put it) the Long Walk. Among these were a pair of painted statues that he had bought at a good price from some Traders from the Lands of the Singing Sands - accompanied by the usual ghastly ornate tourist jars of so-called singing sand, which had a habit of remaining silent once bottled. There was also a collection of bizarre pictures made from seashells and a family of stuffed giant sea snakes, which Milo (overly optimistically, as it turned out) envisaged hanging from the Long Walk ceiling.

Milo was pleased with these acquisitions, but they were not the reason the Cerys had sat in her prime berth in Harbor Twelve for so many expensive weeks. The reason for that was now being very carefully lowered past Milo's watchful gaze and disappearing into the torchlit depths. Milo smiled as, guided by the deckhands, the chest settled into its allotted place, fitting perfectly.

Milo beckoned to Jenna, still perched high on her vantage point. As practiced as though she were a sailor herself, Jenna swung herself off the yardarm, slid down a rope and landed lightly on the deck. Milo watched her with a smile, remembering the day her mother had insisted on climbing the vine up the Palace wall, all the way up to the roof, just to collect a tennis ball, and then slid down, taking most of the leaves with her. She had landed laughing, covered in twigs and scratches - and had still won the game. Jenna was so like Cerys, he thought. Every day he spent with Jenna, he remembered more about her mother, though sometimes Milo wished he didn't - there was only so much remembering that he could manage.

Jenna joined him, and Milo shook off his thoughts. He jumped onto the ladder and led the way down into the hold. Jenna followed, the air becoming cold and damp as she descended into the depths of the Cerys toward the flickering light of the torch flames and the buzz of excitement that surrounded the new acquisition. It was a surprisingly long way down; Jenna had not realized just how much of the ship lay beneath the waterline. At last she joined Milo at the foot of the ladder and, accompanied by a deckhand holding a torch to light their way, he ushered her over to the chest. Jenna hung back. There was an odd atmosphere around the chest, and she wasn't sure that she liked it very much.

Milo smiled. "You can touch it, it won't bite," he said.

Warily Jenna stepped up to the chest and touched it. The ancient wood was as cold and hard as metal. It was dented and scratched and had a deep brown-black shine that reflected the light from the torch flames and gave it an odd appearance of movement. The iron straps around it were pitted with rust and notches and the chest looked as though it had seen some troubled times. Jenna stood on tiptoe and could just about manage to see the top of the chest, where a large square of gold was inset into the wood. Three lines of hieroglyphs were etched into the gold.

"Those look interesting," said Jenna. "What do they say?"

"Oh, don't bother about those old things," said Milo dismissively. He turned to the deckhands. "Leave us," he said.

The deckhands saluted briefly and left.

Milo waited until the last man had climbed off the top of the ladder, then he turned to Jenna with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. Jenna knew Milo well enough by now to sense that he was building up to a speech. She suppressed a sigh.

"Well," said Milo, "this is quite a moment. Ever since I met your mother I have searched for this - "

"My mother?" asked Jenna, wondering why Sarah Heap had told Milo to go looking for a battered old chest, until she remembered that Milo was talking about Queen Cerys, whom Sarah Heap called her "first mother."

"Yes, your dear, dear mother. Oh, Jenna, how like her you are. You know, your mother used to look at me with the very same expression you have now, particularly when I was telling her all my wonderful plans. But now my plans have at last borne fruit, and we have that very fruit - er, chest - safe in the Cerys. And even better, my Princess is here too, at the very moment of its arrival. A wonderfully good omen, would you not say?" After his many years at sea, Milo had acquired a certain amount of seafarer's superstition.

Jenna, who did not think much of omens, did not reply.

Milo put his hands on the lid of the chest and smiled down at Jenna. "I think we should open it, don't you?"

Jenna nodded uncertainly. Although she was very curious to see what was in the chest, she could not shake off her feeling of unease in its presence. Milo hardly waited for Jenna's agreement. Taking his knot spike from his belt, he began to ease the ancient, hardened leather straps that held the iron bands together out of their thick brass buckles. The first band sprang off with a clang and made Jenna jump; the second fell off onto Milo's foot.

"Oof," Milo gasped. Gritting his teeth he took hold of the lid and slowly heaved it open until it came to rest, pulling against two retaining straps.

"Look inside," he said proudly. "All this is yours."

Jenna stood on tiptoe and peered in. "Oh," she said.

"You should not be disappointed," said Milo. "This is a greater treasure than you can possibly imagine."

Jenna doubted that was possible - she could imagine an awful lot of treasure if she put her mind to it. Bemused, she looked into the chest - what was Milo making such a fuss about? All she could see was bare worm-eaten wood - not even lined with silver, as many treasure chests were - containing ranks of tiny battered and scratched lead tubes resting in neatly stacked wooden trays. Each tube was sealed with wax and had a small squiggle inscribed into it. They were arranged in neat squares in batches of twelve and each set had the same squiggle. It was remarkably orderly but hardly the mass of jewels and coins that Jenna had been expecting.

"You're not impressed?" asked Milo, sounding a little disappointed. Jenna tried to think of something positive to say. "Well, there are a lot of them. And, er, I'm sure it was really difficult to find so many."

"You have no idea quite how difficult," said Milo, gazing into the chest, enthralled.

"But it will be worth it, you wait and see." He turned to Jenna, his eyes shining. "Now your future as Queen is secure. Oh, if only I had found it in time for your dear mother...."

Jenna looked at the chest, wondering if she was missing something.

"So is there something special underneath these, er, tube thingies?" she asked. Milo looked a little irritated. "Are these not special enough?"

"But what are they? What is so amazing about them?" asked Jenna.

"I hope you never need to find out," said Milo, closing the lid reverentially. A feeling of annoyance welled up inside Jenna. She wished Milo wouldn't be so mysterious. It seemed to her that he never said anything in a straightforward way. He offered glimpses but always held something back - kept her wondering, wanting to know a little bit more. Talking to him felt like trying to catch shadows. Milo busied himself securing the straps around the chest. "When we return to the Castle, I shall take this straight to the Palace and place it in the Throne Room."

"The Throne Room? But I don't want - "

"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.

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