In any case, that was three hours away. Three more hours of waiting.
I need to think of another plan, Arthur told himself. But try as he might, he couldn’t, and he found himself thinking again about Lord Sunday’s offer. That made him remember The Compleat Atlas of the House. It had been blocked before, but there was always a slim chance . . .
Arthur took it out from inside his coveralls. The book had fallen down to his waistband, and it was quite difficult to get it out, his manacled wrists clashing as he did so. He sat on the edge of the clock, and rested the Atlas on his knees. As before, it opened and slowly grew to its full size.
‘Tell me how I can get these manacles off,’ said Arthur. He thought for a second, and added, ‘Or undo the chains from the clock.’
A blob of ink appeared, giving Arthur a moment’s hope that the Atlas was going to write something. But it didn’t. The blob spread, and several more blotches materalised, none of them looking anything like a letter. Arthur watched them for a few seconds in case they formed a pattern, or a sketch or something that would help him, but they remained mere ink stains, devoid of meaning.
He was about to ask another question when he caught a faint sound on the wind – a kind of whirring noise that he instantly recognised as one of Sunday’s dragonflies. Quickly, Arthur shut the Atlas, and as it shrank, he stuffed it back down his front. Looking up, he saw a dragonfly commence its approach, to once again end up hovering nearby. A rope ladder came clattering down, and Lord Sunday descended.
The Trustee was alone this time. He looked around, satisfied himself that all was secure, then approached Arthur, making sure not to stand too close to the clock. Even from several paces away, and without Lord Sunday having to hold his Key, Arthur could feel the power of it pushing him down, making him feel like a servant or a beggar or maybe, since they were in the Incomparable Gardens, some small worm to be stepped on and forgotten.
‘Have you reconsidered?’ asked Lord Sunday.
‘I’m thinking about it,’ Arthur answered honestly. ‘Can I ask you some questions?’
‘You may have fifteen minutes,’ said Lord Sunday. He looked at the clock. ‘There are currently many matters that require my attention, and I do not wish to waste my time.’
‘Why didn’t you fulfill your duty as a Trustee?’ asked Arthur. ‘Why break up and hide the Will?’
‘So you do not know even that,’ said Lord Sunday. ‘I am surprised someone so ignorant has come so far.’
Arthur shrugged. ‘That’s not an answer.’
‘It is a matter of who will inherit the Architect’s powers and authority, and the nature of the transfer,’ said Lord Sunday. ‘The Will specified a mortal heir, which was not, and is not, acceptable.’
‘Why?’ asked Arthur. ‘I mean, if I’d just been given the Keys, I would have left you all alone, and the House would be all right and everything would be fine.’
‘And you think the Will itself would acquiesce to that?’ asked Lord Sunday. ‘I believe it has already slain most of my fellow Trustees.’
‘The Will?!’ asked Arthur. His chains clanked as he sat up straighter, shocked by Sunday’s accusation. ‘You think Dame Primus killed Mister Monday and Grim Tuesday?’
‘I am sure of it,’ said Sunday. ‘And you are behind the times. Sir Thursday and Lady Friday have also been slain. The Will is an instrument of the Architect, with a single aim. The Trustees, in its view, are traitors and must be punished.’
‘I thought . . . I thought it was probably Superior Saturday . . . or you,’ said Arthur. But he did not protest more violently, because what Lord Sunday was saying sounded like the truth, and Arthur knew in his heart that murder was something that the Will was perfectly capable of doing.
‘I have tried to simply tend my garden,’ said Lord Sunday. ‘That is all I have ever wanted. That is why I did not follow the Architect’s instructions, and why I allowed the Will to be broken.’
‘But you’re the Architect’s son!’
‘Yes,’ replied Lord Sunday, ‘but not as a mortal would understand it. It is true I am an offshoot of both the Architect and the Old One. In any case, a very, very long time ago we . . . disagreed, culminating in the Architect’s imprisonment of the Old One. The Piper sulked in some hidden fastness, and the Mariner embarked on his journeying. I remained in my garden. The Architect herself withdrew completely, and nothing was heard from her for a period of time you cannot even imagine. Then, completely unexpectedly, there came the Will.’
‘What happened to the Architect, then?’ asked Arthur. ‘Is she dead?’
‘No.’ A grim smile briefly curled across Lord Sunday’s mouth, so swiftly Arthur wasn’t even sure he’d seen it. ‘Not yet.’
‘So she’s missing or has done that thing when kings resign.’
‘Abdicate,’ said Lord Sunday. ‘Yes. She has abdicated, and that is why there is a Will.’
‘A Will that chose me to be the Rightful Heir,’ said Arthur.
‘Any mortal would have served the Will’s purpose. Many would have done better, I suspect.’
‘So why don’t you just give me your Key, and I’ll let you keep looking after the Incomparable Gardens. Though you’d have to help me stop the Nothing first.’
‘And what of the Will?’ asked Lord Sunday. ‘Would you take the Key, and leave Part Seven of the Will captive in my care?’
‘I . . .’ Arthur stopped. He didn’t know what to say.
‘And if you did, would Dame Primus stand by your decision?’ added Lord Sunday.
‘She’d do as she was told,’ said Arthur weakly. His words didn’t sound true, even to himself.
‘You see,’ said Lord Sunday, ‘that is not a possible solution to our troubles. The only way out for you, Arthur, is to abdicate yourself. Give me the Keys you already hold. I will deal with the Will and Nothing, and restore the House. You will be able to go back to your home and live a mortal life without the cares and woes that weigh so heavily upon you now.’
‘What about Superior Saturday and the Piper?’ Arthur could feel himself weakening, the temptation growing. Everything Lord Sunday said seemed to make perfect sense. ‘They’ll never leave me alone.’
‘I must confess I have underestimated Saturday’s ambition and strength,’ said Lord Sunday. ‘But she is no more than a nuisance, and even without your Keys, I will soon defeat her. The Piper is a somewhat more significant threat, but not one that is beyond my powers.’
‘So if I give up my Keys—’
‘And the Atlas.’
‘And the Atlas,’ Arthur continued, ‘you’ll let me go back to Earth with my mother . . . and Leaf . . . and you’ll turn back the Nothing . . . and you promise not to interfere with my world. But what about my friends here? What will happen to the Denizens who’ve followed me?’
‘Nothing,’ said Lord Sunday, but the way he said that word sounded more like dissolution by Nothing, rather than nothing bad. Arthur was about to ask him to answer in more detail when he caught a glimpse of a yellow elephant trunk waving at him from the edge of the terrace, behind a large, perfectly trimmed bush festooned with tall pink-and-violet flowers that were in turn surrounded by a shifting cloud of golden-winged butterflies.
‘I . . . I need to think about it some more,’ said Arthur. The relief he felt at seeing Elephant made him almost stammer out the words. He hoped Lord Sunday thought it was just the stress of his situation.
‘You have little time.’ Lord Sunday pointed at the trapdoor. ‘When the clock strikes twelve, your eyes will be taken. If they should grow back too quickly, I may reset the puppets to an older task, to take your liver. You should also be aware that with every hour, Nothing impinges farther upon all other parts of the House. You mentioned “friends” among the Denizens who follow you. Even as you waste time thinking, many of them will have met their final end. Think on that, as well as your own fate, Arthur.’
This time, Lord Sunday did not ascend the ladder to the hovering dragonfly. He cl
imbed the hill, disappearing over the edge of the next terrace above. Arthur watched him go, then looked up at the dragonfly. He couldn’t see Sunday’s Dawn or Noon, but there were Denizens aboard who were looking over the side, monitoring him.
Elephant must have seen them too, for he stayed back behind the pink-and-violet flowers. Arthur couldn’t tell if he’d found the medal, because all he’d seen was Elephant’s trunk.
An hour later, Lord Sunday came back down the hill. He stopped by the clock and looked at Arthur, who shook his head. Even that movement felt difficult, and a strong desire to agree with Lord Sunday washed over him, followed by a flash of fear.
He’s using the Seventh Key’s power on me, thought Arthur. Making me want to agree with him, to believe what he tells me. But it might be true. Maybe I shouldn’t be trying to free the Will after all. Maybe it’s all been a mistake. Maybe I should just give the Keys up—
A clanking noise interrupted his thoughts. Arthur found his hand was inside his coverall, and he was about to remove the Atlas. Angrily, he pushed it back down and took his hand out.
‘Everything I have told you is true, Arthur,’ said Lord Sunday, lifting his hand from the Seventh Key. ‘I will return before the clock strikes, to hear your answer. Do not disappoint me.’
Arthur did not reply. His mind was awhirl, unable to decide on a clear path forward, unable to weigh everything Lord Sunday had told him against what he already knew, or thought he knew.
He heard the sound of the dragonfly depart, and followed its swift passage till it was only a dark speck. As he lost sight of it, Elephant hurried out from the flower bush and strode towards him. Arthur blinked, for Elephant was larger than he had been before, and had grown imposing tusks. One of the tusks was stained with something green.
But more important, Elephant held an object in his trunk, a metal disc that glittered in the sunlight till it fell into the shadow of Arthur’s palm.
It was the Mariner’s medal. Arthur held it tight as he drew Elephant under his arm and hugged him, whispering thanks for yet another lifesaving mission performed so well.
Then he raised the medal and looked deeply into it, remembering what Sunscorch had said upon the Border Sea: If he spoke into the medal, the Mariner would hear.
‘Captain!’ said Arthur. ‘I need your aid. I am imprisoned by Lord Sunday upon a hill in the Incomparable Gardens, chained as the Old One is chained. I need you and your harpoon to break my bonds. Please come as quickly as you can!’
Fifteen
PUT ME DOWN!’ ordered Leaf, pulling on the beastwort’s lead with all her strength. Either the creature didn’t hear the quaver in her voice, or it didn’t care as long as Leaf held the lead. The beastwort obeyed, and its tentacles gently lowered the girl to the ground.
‘Let me go,’ said Leaf, and the tentacles withdrew.
‘Good girl,’ said Leaf. She lay on the ground, shut her eyes, and felt her heart going at what seemed like a million beats a minute. She also clutched the lead with her left hand, as if the thin strap was the most precious thing in the world. Which at that moment it was, as far as Leaf was concerned. She tried not to think about the sword hilt that her right hand was stuck to, or the fact that the sword was stuck fast in the Front Door.
‘Leaf!’
Leaf rolled over. Major Penhaligon was calling out to her from behind the armoured personnel carrier.
‘Yeah, it’s me,’ she answered weakly.
‘Are you okay? I’ve got a flame-throwing tank en route, but it’s still an hour away and we couldn’t—’
‘No, I . . . I think I’m all right.’ Leaf slowly stood up and tried to work out a position where she didn’t feel so stupid with a sword stuck in one hand and a lead she couldn’t let go of in the other. ‘Only I’m kind of going to have to go back through into . . . the . . . um . . . other dimension.’
‘What?’ asked Major Penhaligon. Presumably they’d seen her go through the hospital door with the Reaper, not the House’s Front Door, because most mortals couldn’t see it. Though just going through the solid hospital door must have looked strange enough . . .
‘It’s kind of hard to explain,’ said Leaf. ‘Weird stuff, you know? I mean really weird—’
The sword suddenly interrupted her, dragging Leaf back till hilt and hand were inside the Front Door again. She felt the weapon buck and move around. It was fighting someone . . . or something . . . on the other side!
‘I have to go!’ said Leaf. ‘I’ll take . . . Daisy . . . with me. Get help to the sleepers inside!’
‘Where are you going? What happened to your suit?’ shouted Major Penhaligon. ‘Wait!’
His voice was cut off as Leaf went back through the Front Door. She had braced herself to be ready to fight, and expected the disorientation, but even so, she was surprised to find herself fighting a Nithling that was directly above her head and ‘standing’ perpendicular to her.
This Nithling was humanoid, looked like a badly smudged photocopy of an uglified Denizen, and was wielding an oversize meat cleaver.
The Lieutenant Keeper’s sword blocked a vicious chop, but was borne back, and Leaf felt the shock all the way from her wrist to her shoulder. The sword tried to come up again, but Leaf knew she was letting it down, that her muscles and reflexes simply weren’t good enough, even with the sorcerous blade doing most of the work.
So she did a backflip and hauled hard on the beastwort’s lead as the Nithling’s chopper whisked past her heels. Leaf stumbled as she landed, because of the yielding nature of the Front Door’s atmosphere, and spun down again. The Nithling gave out a grunting laugh and launched towards her, raising its chopper. Leaf lifted her sword to parry, even though she knew it wouldn’t work. At the same time she cried out, ‘Daisy! Help!’
A tentacle lashed around the Nithling’s wrist as the chopper fell, and arrested its descent six inches away from Leaf’s chest. Another tentacle wrapped around the Nithling’s neck and pulled its head off. But this had little effect, and Leaf shuddered as she saw that what she had thought were buttons on the thing’s ragged coat were in fact eyes, and the coat its own hairy hide. The head was just camouflage, to make it look more like a Denizen.
Daisy was not discouraged by the Nithling’s persistence. Leaf looked away as the tentacles, strong as a demolition machine, ripped the Nithling apart and threw the pieces far away. Somewhere in the recess of her mind she knew this was a tactical move, because in the right circumstances such pieces could grow into small vicious Nithlings, combine with other new-formed Nithlings, or be transformed rather than destroyed if they met with patches of raw Nothing.
When it was quiet, Leaf let the sword pull her up.
‘Well done, Daisy,’ she said. Overcoming her repugnance, she patted the thing’s dimpled hide, which felt like the rough skin of a pineapple.
Daisy let out a noise that could possibly be considered a purr, though it sounded more like a drain being progressively unblocked.
Leaf wrapped her left hand around the lead a couple more times, just to make sure she’d keep control of the thing. Then she shut her eyes and concentrated on what was going on inside the Front Door. As before, she could sense that there were groups of Nithlings and a few single monsters roaming around, apparently aimlessly. Leaf wondered if they were either unable to see the exits or prevented from going through them. Possibly they were so newly formed from Nothing that they needed time for their brains to grow and become operational.
There were also large areas of Nothing within the Front Door. As Leaf focused her new sense upon them, she noted that the Nothing was slowly expanding, spreading in several different directions and moving on several different planes. It took her another moment to work out that this was because the Nothing was coming in through fifty or sixty different portals and that the interior of the Front Door was a hemisphere, or dome, several miles wide and high, intersected on all sides by portals into the House and out to the Secondary Realms.
Some of the portals p
rovided their own unique sensations when Leaf concentrated on them. The ones for the Upper House gave her an unpleasant tingling sensation on the end of her tongue, which she supposed meant they were guarded or closed against any traffic. She was now familiar with the toothache from the dead-end ones that went into Nothing, but there were also some into the Middle House that, when she thought about them, made her smell baking bread, but it stopped as soon as she concentrated on a portal to somewhere else.
Someone’s trying to get me to come to the Middle House portals, thought Leaf. It has to be either Arthur, Dr Scamandros, or an enemy.
Leaf looked over at the beastwort.
If it is an enemy, they’re going to get a very unpleasant surprise.
‘We’re going to the Middle House, Daisy,’ said Leaf. She jiggled the lead a couple of times, then launched herself in the direction of the closest Middle House portal, using the sword for propulsion. She’d been a bit worried that she’d have to somehow drag the beastwort after her, which would probably stretch her arms several inches longer, but its many feet adopted a swimming motion and it came along beside Leaf, so the lead was slack.
‘You’re a good girl,’ Leaf said absently. She was thinking ahead and wondering if she could leave the Front Door when it opened into the House. She’d only met the previous Lieutenant Keeper once before, but she clearly remembered him walking out onto Doorstop Hill in the Lower House.
Or did she? Now that she thought about it, Leaf couldn’t recall how far he’d come out, and where his sword had been. She had a sneaking and somewhat fearful half memory that the Lieutenant Keeper’s sword had been in a scabbard, and the end of the scabbard had remained inside the Door.