Then he spoke in the clearest voice he could muster.
‘I, Arthur, Anointed Heir to the Kingdom, claim this Key and with it …’ Sir Thursday howled in rage, plucked the snake from his hand, and threw it across the room. Then he snatched a sword from the nerveless hands of a staff major and, still howling like a beast, ran at Arthur.
His path and his swordplay were blocked by the Marshals. It took all three of them to do it, their blades clashing and weaving as they fought to hold off the ravening monster that Sir Thursday had become.
Arthur spoke faster and faster, his gaze on the lightning-fast interplay of swords.
‘With it command of the Glorious Army of the Architect, and mastery of the Great Maze. I claim it by blood and bone and contest. Out of truth, in testament, and against all trouble!’
Something touched his leg and Arthur shrieked, rather spoiling the momentary silence that had fallen as he finished claiming the Key. He looked down and saw the snake spiralling up and around his leg.
The Marshals took advantage of Sir Thursday’s momentary distraction, backing him into a corner, but he was neither disarmed nor defeated. It was all the three Marshals could do to keep him there and protect themselves from his lightning lunges and cuts. He might no longer have the Fourth Key, but he was still extremely dangerous.
‘Point the Key at him and order him to stand to attention,’ hissed the Will. It had coiled most of its body around Arthur’s upper arm and stretched up from there so its diamond-shaped head was unnervingly close to his ear.
‘I don’t want to use the Key,’ whispered Arthur.
‘What!?’ hissed the Will. ‘I know you’re the Rightful Heir! I can tell!’
‘Yes, I am,’ Arthur whispered back. ‘But … look, we’ll talk about it later.’
‘So you have my Key,’ called out Sir Thursday. He lowered his sword, but the Marshals did not press home their attack. ‘However, it takes more than that to command my Army, particularly when the enemy is at the gates. I take it the enemy is still at the gates?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said a colonel uncertainly. ‘But we are confident that when the tiles start to move again, the enemy will lose heart –’ ‘The tiles will not move,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘Due to treachery, I failed. The spike was not destroyed.’
His words were met by gasps, suppressed moans, and even one or two outright cries of despair. Several officers looked away; only a very few looked to Arthur. Their behaviour indicated that the situation was very bad, and now that Arthur thought to listen, he could distantly hear the sound of battle, though there was no cannon fire.
Which was either good or bad, depending on whether it was due to lack of Nothing-powder or because whatever attack was in progress wasn’t that serious.
‘I am Lord Arthur, the Rightful Heir of the Architect,’ Arthur announced. ‘I am assuming command. Marshals Dawn, Noon, and Dusk, I want you to disarm and arrest the Denizen formerly known as Sir Thursday.’
‘I command the Army by order of Lord Sunday, conveyed in writing by Superior Saturday,’ countered Sir Thursday. ‘Perhaps I was hasty in demanding the Piper’s children be executed, but we are at war. Surely you all know that I am the only one who can lead us to victory over the New Nithlings. Arrest this Arthur, and in due course we can look into his claims and hold a proper court of enquiry.’
‘Use the Key!’ hissed the Will.
‘The Will of the Architect has chosen me,’ said Arthur desperately. He raised his arm to show the snake. ‘This is Part Four of Her Will.’
He could feel the mood of the Denizens in the room changing. They would so easily fall back into the familiar pattern of obedience to Sir Thursday.
‘What Will?’ asked Sir Thursday. He took a step forward, and the three Marshals stepped back, their weapons lowered. ‘That is merely a sorcerous snake, a thing of the Upper House. An embellishment to the Key. Colonel Repton, you are close there. Arrest Lieutenant Green, as he actually is. You see that he cannot use the Key, don’t you?’
‘Use the Key!’ hissed the Will again, desperation coming through in its soft serpent voice.
Twenty-six
‘ I AM THE Rightful Heir, you know,’ said Arthur, with weary resignation. He lifted the Fourth Key. It shrank as he raised it, transforming itself from a sword into a slender Marshal’s baton of ivory wreathed in tiny golden laurel leaves. The baton began to glow with a green light reminiscent of the Great Maze’s moon as Arthur held it up. He levelled it directly at Sir Thursday, keeping it in line with the Trustee’s now strangely yellow-tinged eyes.
‘Atten-hut!’
Everyone in the room stood at attention, except for Arthur and Sir Thursday. The Trustee’s eyes grew even more yellow, and a vein stood out and began to throb upon his forehead as he tried to resist the power of the Key. Then, ever so slowly, his boots began to slide across the floor, coming together with a loud click of his heels. His hands went to his sides, and the sword he’d taken angled back to rest on his shoulder.
‘You are stripped of all rank and privileges,’ said Arthur. His voice echoed with power, sounding deeper, stronger, and much scarier than any boy’s should.
Sir Thursday’s epaulettes flew off and his buttons rained upon the floor. His sword snapped into three pieces and the hilt became rusty powder in his hand.
Arthur lowered the Fourth Key.
‘Marshal Dawn, take whoever you need with you and get Sir Thursday locked up somewhere safe. Make sure he can’t escape, but also make sure he is guarded from outsiders too. Somebody is killing all the former Trustees.’
‘Yes, sir!’ snapped Dawn. She took off her belt and used it to bind Sir Thursday’s hands. He did not resist, but he glowered at Arthur, his deep-set eyes staring at the boy with undisguised hatred. Dawn gestured at two colonels to help her, and together they led Sir Thursday from the room.
‘Good riddance,’ said the Will. ‘Now, Lord Arthur, the situation is quite grave. I believe that our first step should be to try Sir Thursday in a properly constituted court so that he can answer for his many crimes –’ ‘Marshal Noon,’ said Arthur, using two fingers to hold the snake’s mouth shut, ‘has anyone tried negotiating with these New Nithlings?’
Marshal Noon looked at the frustrated Will coiled on Arthur’s arm, then back at the boy. ‘No, sir. It has never been possible to negotiate with Nithlings.’
‘My brother is a soldier,’ said Arthur. ‘An officer. He told me once that every army always fights its current war as if it were the previous one, learning no lessons from what is actually happening.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Noon – but he looked puzzled.
‘What I mean is that we are being attacked not by the old kind of Nithling. These are New Nithlings. Everything is different about them. And they are led by the Piper. At least I guess it’s him. Sir Thursday thought so, and he’d have no reason to lie about that. Which makes me wonder what the Piper and his Nithlings actually want.’
‘To destroy us, sir,’ said Noon.
‘That’s what Nithlings usually want,’ said Arthur wearily. ‘But like I said, everything is different about these New Nithlings. Otherwise we wouldn’t even be in this situation. Which reminds me, what is the situation?’
‘It’s serious,’ Noon reported. ‘We should view the battlefield, but in essence, the New Nithlings around the Citadel continue to be reinforced. There was an assault half an hour ago, which nearly carried the outer southwest bastion. We are low on firewash, have very little Nothing-powder, and the garrison is not up to full strength. The New Nithlings are constantly reinforced, while we are not. We have a force of seventeen thousand, two hundred and eighty-six at last report in the Citadel, and about another sixty-two thousand troops at the White Keep, Fort Transformation, the Cannon Arsenal, and Irontoe Hold. But with the tiles stopped, there is no way we can be reinforced in time by marching, as it is too far. Besides, they will be beset themselves, since there are so many enemy in the Maze. The enemy force against us here
numbers at least seventy-five thousand, with tens of thousands more on the march. Without tectonic strategy, we cannot prevent their arrival.’
‘Lord Arthur,’ interrupted the snake, which Arthur had let go. ‘If the Citadel is in danger of falling, then we should leave, being sure to take our prisoner so he may answer to justice –’
‘Shut up!’ ordered Arthur. ‘What is it with you Parts of the Will? You can’t see the forest for the trees. Besides, even if I was going to leave – which I’m not – I’m sure there’s no way out except the Improbable Stair, which I am not going to take, because I do not want to use the Key! Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ mumbled the snake.
‘That reminds me.’ Arthur fumbled in his pouch and took out the crocodile ring, sliding it on his finger. But he didn’t dare look at it straightaway, and he welcomed an interruption from Marshal Dusk.
‘Pardon me, sir,’ said Dusk. His uniform was a dark grey with black epaulettes and black buttons. Like all Dusks, he had the reserve and inner quiet characteristic of a late evening. ‘There is a way out. An elevator from Sir Thursday’s study goes up to the Middle House and down to the Lower House.’
‘An elevator?’ asked Arthur. ‘Do we have telephone connection with the rest of the House as well?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Dusk. ‘Do you wish to place a call?’
Arthur tapped the Fourth Key on his thigh, wincing when it actually hurt. The ivory baton was a lot harder than it looked and the gold leaves were pointy.
His mind raced as he tried to work out what to do. Amid the big question of how to defend the Citadel, he had a constant nagging fear for the safety of Suzy and Fred and the other Piper’s children in the raiding party. They’d been frozen or turned into statues or something, which suggested the Piper didn’t want to kill them. He had brought them to the House in the first place, after all. But Arthur couldn’t be sure they’d be all right.
The biggest puzzle was the revelation that the Piper was the leader of the New Nithlings. As far as Arthur could remember, the Piper was one of the three children of the Old One and the Architect, born to a surrogate mortal mother. But he didn’t really know any more than that.
Why would the Piper be leading an army of almost-Denizens against the House? His older brother was Lord Sunday, wasn’t he?
‘Okay,’ he said finally. He paused as everyone in the room looked at him respectfully, anticipation in their faces. ‘How big is Sir Thursday’s elevator? It’s not a stupid little one like at Fort Transformation, is it?’
‘It is of variable dimension, I believe,’ said Dusk. ‘Perhaps the size of this room at its largest extent.’
‘How long would it take to get to and from the Lower House?’ asked Arthur.
‘It depends upon the elevator operators and the local authorities. Minutes, hours, days … I could not say.’
‘Right,’ said Arthur through clenched teeth. ‘I hope it turns out to be only minutes. I want to try to negotiate with the New Nithlings. One other thing my soldier brother once said was that it’s always best to negotiate from a position of strength. So I am going to call on the Lower House, the Far Reaches, and the Border Sea to use that elevator to send through as many Commissionaires, former Overseers, Midnight Visitors, sailors, and so forth as we can round up, with Monday’s, Tuesday’s, and Wednesday’s Dawns, Noons, and Dusks and as much Nothing-powder as we can get together.’
‘Civilians,’ said Noon in a disparaging tone. ‘Though the powder would be useful.’
‘They’re all used to fighting Nithlings of one kind or another,’ Arthur reminded him. ‘Besides, I bet most of them did their time in the Army and are in the Reserve.’
‘Reservists are little better than civilians,’ sniffed Noon. ‘Reintegrating them into our forces is never easy. Besides, I don’t believe even you have the authority to call up the Reserve. That is a function of the Upper House. Sir.’
‘I think in the current circumstances we will take whatever reinforcements we can find and be extremely grateful,’ said Dusk. He looked pointedly at Noon, who did not meet his gaze. ‘And Sir Arthur is not calling up the Reserve. Just bringing in … volunteers.’
‘Who had better be welcome,’ said Arthur. Sometimes the lack of common sense among Denizens drove him crazy. ‘Where’s the phone?’
A captain hurried across the floor holding a small wickerwork suitcase that looked rather like it might have a picnic set inside it. He flipped it open to reveal a telephone handset on a cradle. Arthur picked up the handset, and the captain started cranking a little handle on the side of the suitcase.
‘Can I help you?’ said a crackly voice that sounded very far away.
‘Get me Dame Primus,’ ordered Arthur.
‘She’s not taking calls,’ said the voice. ‘I had one for her not long ago.’
‘This is Lord Arthur, Rightful Heir of the Architect. And it’s urgent, please.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I said, this is Lord Arthur –’
‘No, not that bit. What did you say at the end?’
‘Please,’ repeated Arthur. ‘Look, it really is urgent.’
‘Putting you through now, sir,’ said the voice. In the background Arthur heard her add, ‘He said “please”, and him higher than all them rude nobs.’
There was some louder crackling, then a voice Arthur recognised as Sneezer’s spoke.
‘Monday’s Dayroom. May I help you?’
‘Sneezer, it’s Arthur. Put Dame Primus on please, straightaway.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘Lord Arthur?’
The snake on Arthur’s arm jumped as Dame Primus’s voice echoed through the room. Not for the first time, Arthur wondered why all the superior Denizens did that on the phone. It was probably just so they sounded important.
‘Yes. I haven’t got much time, so listen carefully. I want every available Commissionaire Sergeant, Metal Commissionaire, Midnight Visitor, the former Overseers from the Far Reaches, the regular sailors, and all our superior Denizens to come through to the Citadel in the Great Maze with weapons and as much Nothing-powder as is available, as quickly as possible. Oh, and Dr Scamandros and anyone else who might be useful in a battle, including you. There’ll be an elevator in the Lower House. Any questions?’
‘Yes, Lord Arthur, I have numerous questions,’ said Dame Primus in a peevish tone. ‘What is going on? Are you planning to fight Sir Thursday? That would not be a sensible course. Even with all our forces, we would be no match for the Army –’
‘I have the Key and Part Four is free,’ interrupted Arthur. ‘Sir Thursday is under arrest –’
‘And will be judged!’ blurted out the snake.
‘And we are about to be attacked by a vast army of New Nithlings led by the Piper. So hurry up, will you?’
‘Indeed,’ said Dame Primus, her tone quite changed. ‘It shall be as you say, Lord Arthur. I do not know how quickly we can come, but we will do our best.’
‘That’s that, then,’ said Arthur. ‘Let’s have a look at the battlefield, and while we do that, somebody can find a big white flag. And an olive branch. You could do that, Marshal Noon. Lead on, Marshal Dusk.’
As they walked to the door, Arthur lifted his hand and took a surreptitious look at his crocodile ring. He did not need to hold it close to see that the gold had washed past the fourth marker and was a third of the way towards the fifth.
Twenty-seven
HIGH ON THE battlements of the Star Fort, it was easier to see just how much trouble the Citadel and all those who sheltered behind its walls were in. There was a blackened, churned-up borderland that stretched for about three hundred yards beyond the western bastions. After that, there were numerous diagonal trenches dug in a complex pattern that ran for miles to the west and to the north and south. These trenches were heavily populated by New Nithlings and New Nithling siege equipment, including scaling ladders, bundles of fascines for filling trenches, battering rams, and many larg
e mantlets that were like portable roofs they carried to protect themselves from arrows and musketry.
‘So that’s what seventy-five thousand New Nithlings look like,’ said Arthur. He tried to sound nonchalant, but there were so many of the enemy, and everything about their position looked so organised, from the trenches to the way that each unit was formed up within the earthworks, each with its own colourful banner above it, spread by the breeze and bravely lit by the afternoon sun.
‘More like ninety thousand,’ said Dusk, looking at a strip of parchment in his hand. ‘The Borderers report another column has just arrived. There – you can see its dust in the distance.’
Arthur looked where Marshal Dusk was pointing.
‘How far away is that?’
‘Four miles,’ said Dusk. ‘Off the fixed tiles. They’d normally be moved far away at sunset.’
Arthur didn’t say anything, but everyone glanced at the downward-lurching sun, and there was an unspoken note of regret that the mission to destroy the spike had failed.
‘They’re preparing for another assault,’ said a colonel at Dusk’s side.
‘That’s unusual,’ said Dusk. ‘They’ve only just failed in their last attempt. Normally they wait a day or so, to really build up their numbers. I wonder why the hurry now?’
‘They were close to taking the southwestern corner bastion,’ answered the colonel. ‘Perhaps they think a quick assault will finish that task.’
‘I had best go see to the defences, sir,’ said Dusk. ‘If I may suggest, sir, it would be wise to send Marshal Noon there too. He is a tremendous fighter and always greatly cheers the troops.’
‘We’ll all go,’ said Arthur. He licked his lips, which had become suddenly dry.
Just the wind, Arthur thought.
‘I’ll go out with the truce flag,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose the Piper will be there … though I guess he can probably use the Improbable Stair too … so maybe he will be …’
Arthur paused for a moment, thinking before he continued.