The door opened, and a bedraggled figure slowly limped out. It was recognisably Monday, but only just. The bibliophages’ Nothing poison had eaten away part of his face, and there were strange holes all over – and completely through – his body. His clothes were ripped and shredded, little more than rags that he clutched around himself.
‘Execution,’ said the Will with some satisfaction. ‘A tap on the shoulder will do, Arthur, and just say, ‘From Nothing, to Nothing.’ That will do the trick.’
Monday collapsed on his knees before Arthur and bowed his head. Arthur extended the Key and touched it to Monday’s shoulder. But he did not say the words the Will had told him. He remembered what Dusk had said about Mister Monday as they slowly fell into the Coal Cellar. Monday was not always as he is now.
‘Be healed,’ said Arthur quietly. ‘In body and in mind.’
Monday looked up in astonishment as the Will jumped up and down angrily, booming out something that Arthur ignored. He watched the holes in Monday shrink into pinpoints as the flesh regrew. Even Monday’s clothes restitched and rewove themselves. But they weren’t as fine as the ones he’d worn before, and neither was his face so handsome. But Arthur saw that his eyes were also kinder, and there were laughter lines around them. He stared up at Arthur and then bowed his head once more.
‘I beg forgiveness, Master,’ he said. ‘I do not know why I did what I have done. But I thank you for my new life.’
‘Charity is a very labour-intensive virtue,’ said the Will crossly. ‘And you never know where it will end. But I suppose it was well-enough done.’
‘Indeed,’ said someone. ‘I’m sure it will end badly for all concerned.’
Everyone swung around just in time to see the door slide shut on a very small, narrow elevator, no larger than a phone booth. A bell rattled, and the elevator shot up and vanished inside a beam of light that easily pierced the golden net above.
‘Pravuil!’ shouted Suzy. ‘I thought I finished the little creep off.’
‘Unfortunately not, it seems,’ said the Will. ‘He must be more than he seems. A spy for one of the Morrow Days, curse their treacherous hearts. But they cannot do anything here and now. They are bound by the compact with the former Master of the Lower House. They cannot interfere here, or on any Monday in the Secondary Realms. They are your preserves now, Arthur. In any case, we will deal with the Morrow Days in due course. First we must make a solid beginning here. Ah, here comes our ally, Dusk. And with him Noon and Dawn, come to beg for their miserable existences.’
Sure enough, the three principal servants of Mister Monday were coming around the side of the villa. Dusk came first, Noon hangdog at his heels. Both showed no physical signs of their battle. Behind them came a gaggle of Inspectors, Commissionaires, and other Denizens, all of them unarmed, save for the Midnight Visitors who marched around them, proudly holding their whips at the salute. Dawn hung close behind.
When the crowd was about twenty feet away and slowing down, fear and apprehension clear on many faces, Arthur raised the Key and they all stopped. He lowered it again and looked out on them.
‘I suggest that you reappoint Dusk in his position,’ said the Will. ‘As for Noon, I think that I had best take that on for the time being –’
Arthur shook his head. ‘I’m not staying on as the Master of the Lower House.’
A collective gasp went up from everyone except the former Monday, who remained kneeling, his head bent.
‘But you have to,’ expostulated the Will. ‘You can’t just give it up!’
‘You mean I’m not allowed or is it actually impossible?’ asked Arthur.
‘It’s impossible!’ said the Will. ‘You are the Heir! Selected by me, proven by challenge. And there is much to be done here!’
‘I told you before,’ said Arthur. ‘I want a cure for the plague in my world. That’s all I want! A cure and to go home.’
‘You cannot return to the Secondary Realms,’ said the Will sternly. ‘Or cure the plague. Remember the Original Law. No interference is allowed, even interference to correct interference.’
Arthur stared down at the green frog. Anger swelled up inside him, and he started to raise the Key. He would smash it down on the Will –
No. That’s not the way to do anything, he thought. I have to stay calm. The Will is a manipulator. I have to work around it.
‘You said I could,’ Arthur said coldly. ‘Explain.’
‘No, I merely implied that you could by saying that a great many things were possible if you became the Master. Besides, if you go back to your own time and place without the Key, I expect you’ll die.’
‘But I can change my record, can’t I?’ said Arthur grimly. ‘And since no one else seems to follow the Original Law around here, why should I?’
‘Even if you happen to be correct about your record and so on,’ protested the Will, ‘you can’t give up the Key, and, as Master, you must uphold the Original Law.’
Arthur looked at Suzy.
‘I dunno,’ said Suzy, pointing to the undertaker-like Dusk. ‘Ask Dusk.’
Arthur looked at Dusk, who took off his top hat and bowed, extending one leg.
‘It is true I have some small knowledge, but it pales to insignificance next to the Will’s. Monday had some right to the Key as a Trustee, up until it was claimed by a Rightful Heir. It is possible that now no one else can wield it.’
‘I don’t believe I’ve been through all this for nothing!’ Arthur shouted. ‘I want a cure for the plague and I want it now.’
‘The Original Law –’ the Will began, but shut up when Arthur turned on it, the Key poised to strike.
‘The plague is due to contamination from Fetchers, is it not?’ asked Dusk. When Arthur nodded, he continued, ‘Then it is a simple matter. With your permission, I shall conjure a Nightsweeper from Nothing. Taken back to the Realm you once inhabited, it will collect any remnants of contamination in a single night, and return to Nothing with them. That will remove the effect upon both people and place.’
‘Well. That’s a start,’ said Arthur.
Dusk bowed again, took out a black-bound book and a quill, dipped the quill in an ink bottle a Midnight Visitor proffered, and wrote quickly. Then he tore off the page, walked over to where the ditch had been, rolled the page into a funnel, and plunged it into the dirt.
Nothing happened for a few seconds, then there was a faint whinny from the paper funnel. That was followed by a tiny black horse’s head, two hooves and legs, and then a complete horse no more than three inches high. It gave another whinny, stamped its foot, and then stood completely still. Dusk picked it up and handed it to Arthur, who took it gingerly and slipped it into the pocket of his coat.
‘It must be set on a window ledge shortly before midnight, with the window open,’ instructed Dusk. ‘It will then ride forth, setting all to rights by morning.’
Arthur nodded and let out a sigh of relief. This was what he wanted. Now all he had to do was figure out how to get back with it. He sensed that the Will wasn’t telling him the whole truth. There had to be a way.
A noise at the door distracted him. It opened to reveal Sneezer, several icicles hanging off his nose. He carried the silver tray, which had a tall, thin bottle upon it and a piece of paper. Sneezer proceeded calmly towards Arthur and offered the tray.
‘A drink, milord? A beverage from your native Realm, I believe. Orange juice. Perhaps you are familiar with it? And a document I believe you were looking for?’
Twenty-seven
ARTHUR STARED AND started to slide the sword through his belt. Only then did he realise he didn’t have one. He was standing in front of all these people covered in mud and wearing only a coat and what might be a nightshirt. But he didn’t care. He stuck the Key point-first in the grass instead. It quivered there as he picked up the glass of juice and the paper.
As he touched the paper, a name appeared on it in golden type.
Arthur Penhaligon.
??
?My record,’ said Arthur. ‘Can I change it so I don’t die? What does it say now?’
‘I do not know, milord,’ replied Sneezer. ‘I cannot read it, now you are Master.’
‘Can I read it?’
Sneezer didn’t answer. Neither did the Will. Arthur looked at Dusk, who shrugged. Arthur shook his head. Why was nothing simple? He drank the juice, gave the glass to Sneezer, and examined the paper. But aside from the name on the outside, it seemed to be blank.
‘Well, I don’t care what it has on there, or if I can change it,’ Arthur said finally. ‘I’m going to go back anyway. I have to use the Nightsweeper. Even if I die.’
‘You won’t,’ said the former Monday. He didn’t stand up and kept his head bowed. ‘No one in the House can read or change their own record, Arthur. But once you survived your own death, the record will have changed to reflect that. You have borne the Lesser Key for some time too, so it will have strengthened your body. You will not die if you go back. At least not from your lung sickness.’
‘So I can go back,’ repeated Arthur. ‘I am going to go back.’
He looked down at the Will. It was sulking near his feet.
‘I want you to help me, Will. Forget about the Original Law. How can I get back home?’
‘You must not go back,’ said the Will. It puffed itself up to twice its usual size in an effort to impress him with the gravity of its words. ‘You wield the First Key. You are Master of the Lower House. There are still six imprisoned sections of the Will that must be freed, and six Keys that must be claimed –’
‘I’m a boy!’ interrupted Arthur. ‘I want to go home and grow up normally. Grow up to be a man, not a Lord of the Universe or whatever. I don’t want to change into an immortal, like the Old One said I would if I keep the Key. Can’t I – I don’t know, make someone else look after everything till I’m old enough?’
The Will muttered something inaudible.
‘Can’t I make someone else look after the Lower House till I’m old enough?’ Arthur repeated firmly.
‘Yes, yes, you are within your rights to request a delay in your full assumption of power,’ said the Will grumpily. ‘I suppose we can allow you five or six years in your own backwater. After ten millennia, it is little enough, and there is a certain amount of preliminary work that will not require your presence. But who knows what the Morrow Days will do if you hand over your powers and return to the Secondary Realms, even temporarily? I do not know the exact terms of their compact, but I think you could be in danger from Grim Tuesday at least, since his powers and authority border your own.’
‘I don’t care!’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘I have to risk it. Maybe the Morrow Days will leave me alone once they know I’ve passed on my powers. And you can always get another mortal heir if you need one.’
‘Who shall be your Steward?’ asked the Will. ‘You do realise this is how the present trouble arose with the Trustees? It is very hard to find a trustworthy bearer of power.’
‘You will be, of course,’ said Arthur. ‘But you’ll have to choose a more imposing presence than a frog.’
‘But I’m a facilitator, not an executive,’ protested the Will. ‘A mere functionary.’
‘You were going to be my Noon, weren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ replied the Will. It hopped about in agitation. ‘This is not at all as I planned!’
‘Well, tough luck,’ said Arthur. ‘Are you going to be the Steward or not?’
The Will did not answer. Everyone stared as it hopped madly backwards and forwards across the lawn for at least a minute. Finally it stopped and knelt near Arthur’s feet ‘I will be your Steward of the Lower House,’ croaked the Will.
A single sharp black letter oozed out of the frog’s skin, followed by another, and another, until a whole sentence spilled out across the grass. More words followed, and more sentences, like a ribbon unspoolling. The words began to spin and tumble and rise up in the air. More and more letters joined them, buzzing backwards and forwards with the sound of a harp strumming. Soft trumpets joined in as the letters moved into set positions and spread out to join in new and constantly changing combinations.
Then the letters all stopped in midair, containing and outlining the shape of a tall manlike figure. The trumpets blared and white light flashed, blinding everyone for a second.
Arthur blinked twice. With the flash of light, the words of the Will had become a woman. A tall winged woman in a plain blue dress that totally paled to insignificance under her arched and shining silver wings. She was not young, nor old, and was imposing rather than beautiful, with serious dark eyebrows and a rather large nose under her tightly pulled-back platinum hair. Her forehead was wrinkled in either exasperation or thought. She bent down, picked up the jade frog, and put it in the small lace-trimmed reticule she carried in her left hand.
‘I’ll make that into a brooch. It has served me well.’
The Will’s voice was clear and musical to start with, but disconcertingly lapsed into the deep rasp it . . . she . . . had used as a frog.
The Will curtsied to Arthur. He bowed back, suddenly much more nervous. It had been easier to deal with the Will as a frog.
‘I will be your Steward,’ repeated the Will. ‘But who shall be your . . . our . . . Dawn, Noon, and Dusk?’
‘Dusk,’ said Arthur slowly. ‘Do you want to keep your job?’
‘No, my lord,’ said Dusk. He smiled and bowed. ‘I would step out of the shadows and stand in the sun to serve you and your Steward, my lord, as either Dawn or Noon. Many of my Midnight Visitors would also like a change of employment, if you see fit to allow them. They grow weary of wearing black.’
‘You shall be Noon, then,’ said Arthur. He looked at the Will and added nervously, ‘And if it’s all right with you, Will, then the old Noon shall be the new Dusk.’
‘Hummph!’ exclaimed the imposing lady. Her tongue was still green, Arthur noticed. The pale green of fine jade. ‘On probation! I shall be keeping a careful eye on everyone! What about Dawn?’
‘I guess she can keep her job too, for now,’ said Arthur slowly. Dawn smiled gratefully at him and swept a very low curtsy that sent small sunbeams sparkling across the lawn.
‘But there is one other appointment I’d like to make. Can Noon have an assistant?’
‘Of course,’ replied the Old Dusk, now the New Noon.
Arthur turned to Suzy.
‘I know you can’t go back,’ he said haltingly. ‘I’m sorry . . . I’m very sorry I can’t change that. But you don’t need to be an Ink-Filler anymore. Would you like to be Noon’s Assistant? Then you can help the other children the Piper brought here and keep an eye on things for me in general. A mortal eye.’
Suzy looked at the ground and shuffled one foot back and forth.
‘That’d make me Monday’s Morning Tea or something stupid, wouldn’t it?’ she said gruffly. ‘I s’pose I could give it a go.’
‘The post is Tierce, the hour halfway between Dawn and Noon,’ intoned the Will. ‘Monday’s Morning Tea indeed!’
‘Monday’s Tierce,’ repeated Suzy softly. She sniffed and wiped her sleeve across her nose and face before looking up at Arthur.
‘I hope your family . . . I hope they all . . . you know . . . they’re all right.’
She rushed forward and gave him an embarrassed hug. Before Arthur could hug her back, she let him go and retreated to stand by Dawn and Noon and Dusk.
‘Do I have to do anything else?’ Arthur asked the Will quietly. ‘Can I go back now?’
‘You must grant me use of the Key,’ said the Will. ‘It is quite simple. You need to hand it to me hilt-first and repeat a few words.’
Arthur drew the Key out of the grass. It felt good in his hand. Right. As if it belonged there. He could feel power from it surging into him, lending him strength. It would be so easy to keep it. To be Master in truth and not concern himself with the petty matters of the Secondary Realms . . .
Arthur shuddered and quickly r
eversed the Key, holding it by the blade towards the Will, who took it.
‘Now repeat, “I, Arthur, Master of the Lower House and Wielder of the First and Least of the Seven Keys of the Kingdom . . .”’
Arthur repeated the words dully. He felt exhausted. Worn out by his battle with Monday, by everything.
‘“I grant my faithful servant, the First Part of the Great Will of the Architect, all my powers, possessions, and appurtenances, to exercise on my behalf as Steward, until such time as I shall require them rendered unto me once more.”’
Arthur gabbled out the words as quickly as he could, fighting the desire to stop and snatch back the Key. Then he finally let go, and would have fallen over if the Will had not swept him up under one powerful arm.
‘Home,’ whispered Arthur. ‘I want to go home.’
Twenty-eight
I ’M STILL NOT SURE I approve,’ said the Will. ‘Sneezer, is Seven Dials still located within the Dayroom, or has it moved?’
‘I believe it is still there, milady,’ said Sneezer. The butler had undergone a rapid transformation and was much cleaner and better groomed. His fingerless, falling-apart gloves had become spotless, complete, and white. His teeth were no longer curved and yellow and his nose was no longer crisscrossed with broken blood vessels.
‘There are two main ways to enter the Secondary Realms from the Lower House,’ explained the Will to Arthur. ‘Seven Dials is certainly the easiest, if you know how to set the dials. The Door, of course, is the other.’
‘I don’t want to go through that dark void again,’ said Arthur, thinking back to Monday’s Postern.
‘Oh, you wouldn’t have to do that,’ said the Will, her voice once again disconcerting Arthur by shifting between melodic female tones and gravelly frog-in-the-throat. ‘You would go out the Front Door all the way. Though as that is almost certainly watched more carefully by the Morrow Days, it would be wiser to avoid their interest for as long as possible. So, I think Seven Dials will be best. Come along.’