‘It is too late for your tricks,’ interrupted Lord Sunday. ‘He is too strong. Submit and let us finish this.’
‘Too proud to fight to the last, are you?’ snapped the Piper. ‘None of this would have happened if you had not been too haughty to raise your hand. But I, bested by a mortal? I think not!’
He shook his sleeve, and a pipe appeared in his hand. He had it at the mouth-hole of his mask, his fingers over the holes, when Arthur spoke.
‘No,’ he said, and touched the Seventh Key. ‘I would like to hear you play, Piper, but not dance to your tune. I think there has been enough fighting.’
The Piper’s hand clenched into a useless claw, and the pipe fell to the ground. Saturday bent to pick it up, and returned it to her Master. He took it slowly, then suddenly tried to put it to his mouth again.
‘No,’ said Arthur, even more firmly. The pipe blazed with a sudden fire that ran from end to end. The instrument became a stick of ashes, and then the ashes blew away.
The Piper’s shoulders sagged.
‘So,’ said the Piper. ‘I would have liked mortals less if I knew what they might become.’
He reached up and removed his mask. Arthur watched intently, ready for some trick or sneak attack. But he wasn’t prepared for what he saw. There was only the ghost of a face behind the mask, faint traces of light sketching out someone who once would have looked a little like Lord Sunday.
‘I see no reason to continue the struggle to hold myself together just to share your company for these last few minutes,’ said the Piper to Arthur. He turned to Sunday. ‘But tell me, brother – was it you who cast me into Nothing, some seven centuries ago?’
‘Not I,’ said Sunday. ‘Would I stoop to such a thing?’
The Piper looked at Saturday. She cringed before his gaze.
‘My Rats told me it was you. I should have believed them.’
Saturday cried out as the Piper suddenly lunged, a knife with a blade as dark as night appearing in his hand. He plunged it deep into Saturday’s chest, and twisted the hilt.
An instant too late, Arthur directed the power of the Key against him, throwing the Piper back a dozen feet. He landed on his feet, but did not move.
‘In this at least, I command my destiny,’ the Piper said.
‘Enjoy your triumph while it lasts, mortal.’
He dropped the mask he held in his left hand. As it hit the paving stones, his lightly sketched face suddenly winked out like a hologram turned off, and his yellow coat fell to the ground. There was no body inside. All that remained of the Piper was the golden mask.
‘I deserved better,’ croaked Saturday. ‘If I had been made Sunday—’
She fell facedown. The Nothing from the Piper’s blade continued to dissolve the greater part of her body, including her head. It would have spread farther, but Arthur stopped it, forcing the Nothing to become the blade of a knife once more.
‘Stop the fighting, please, Arthur,’ said the Will. ‘My other Parts need to join me as soon as is possible.’
Arthur nodded, and held the Seventh Key tighter as he straightened to his full height. He overtopped Lord Sunday now, he saw, which meant he was around ten feet tall. He also had wings, though he had no memory of putting them on, or indeed of ever procuring wings that shed such brilliant light.
‘Seventh Key,’ said Arthur. ‘Magnify my voice, and let the light of my wings be cast upon all within these Gardens.’
The Key felt warm under his hand. Arthur looked out at all the warring creatures, so tiny and small, and spoke.
‘I am Arthur, Rightful Heir of the Architect, Wielder of the Seven Keys! I command that all fighting must now stop. Let Dame Primus come to the Elysium, and I shall claim my Kingdom!’
His words echoed out all across the Incomparable Gardens and beyond, and with them came a blinding flash of light that emanated from the Seventh Key, a light that was caught up and echoed by all the other Keys, those borne by Dame Primus and by Arthur.
Wherever the light fell, weapons ceased to function, sword-arms tired, and all the fury and hatred were washed away.
Twenty-eight
LEAF REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS with a start. It took her a while to work out that she was still flying, carried along by Suzy, and that Dr Scamandros and Giac were flying next to them, with Fred a little farther along the line.
‘Did I hear Arthur?’ Leaf asked muzzily.
‘Yep,’ said Suzy.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Leaf. ‘Why is everyone cheering?’
‘Dunno exactly,’ Suzy replied. ‘But Arthur’s got the Seventh Key. The fighting’s over. We’re going in to see him now. Hang on!’
She swooped down towards the Elysium, swerving between the ranks and ranks of hovering soldiers, Newniths, sorcerers, and insects. All save the insects were cheering. The idea of peace was equally attractive to all participants, though perhaps this was only because the power of the Seventh Key had taken away the madness of battle.
Suzy and Leaf saw Arthur first. He had become very tall, and even more impossibly good-looking. He was a head taller than Lord Sunday, who stood behind him, next to a stunted apple tree that was swaying on exposed roots, as if it stood on tiptoe. Arthur himself was leaning on a tall cage made of gilded bars and staring into the distance.
Dame Primus was a dozen yards ahead of Suzy. She landed next to the cage and folded her wings. Suzy landed behind her, but not too close, and let go of Leaf, who took a few shaky steps forward. Dr Scamandros and Giac at once went to either side, and took her arms to keep her steady.
‘Thanks,’ whispered Leaf. She whispered because she suddenly felt like she shouldn’t be there. It was like dropping in unannounced on the inauguration of the president or the coronation of the queen or something, made somehow worse and more terrifying because Arthur didn’t look like Arthur anymore. He was too dazzling, too bright, and obviously too far beyond human for Leaf to even think of him as the boy he had once been.
‘You have done well, Arthur,’ boomed Dame Primus. ‘You are in truth the Rightful Heir.’
‘I am,’ said Arthur. ‘I would have my Keys, so that I may turn back the Nothing and rebuild my Kingdom.’
Dame Primus inclined her head graciously. With that movement, the clock-hand sword that was the First Key flew to Arthur’s belt. The gauntlets of the Second Key disappeared from the Will’s hands and reappeared on Arthur’s. The trident and baton brooch split into the Third and Fourth Keys and grew somewhat, before flipping end over end to join the sword at Arthur’s belt. The Fifth Key, which Arthur already had, joined the Seventh Key on the chain around his neck, and the quill pen that was the Sixth Key slid into position above his left ear.
Arthur smiled and raised his hands, letting the power of all seven Keys infuse his being.
I can do anything now, he thought. Anything at all . . .
Dame Primus picked one of the tiny, wizened apples from the Part Seven tree and bit into it with her perfect teeth. The sound was sharp and incredibly loud, redolent with the snap of something breaking that isn’t meant to break.
Arthur felt that sound like a blow to the stomach. He dropped his hands and stared as the tree and Dame Primus stepped into each other. For a moment they were mighty Denizen and stunted tree, then both joined to become a column of swirling words. Words of fire, so hot and bright they could be seen through closed eyelids, seen even if you looked away. There were millions of words, but one phrase was repeated over and over again, clear not only to Arthur with his newfound mental powers but to everyone else as well.
I am the Will of the Architect, said the burning words. Let the Will be done.
Arthur read this phrase and, to his horror, found that he had spoken it aloud, unknowing, without conscious direction. His mighty voice, and the power of the Keys, had been conscripted to the Will’s purpose, the execution of long-delayed intent.
What that intent was became immediately apparent.
Beyond the hill of the Elysium, wit
h a roar like a thousand planes taking off, a great gout of Nothing burst from the ground, continuing upward to cut through the ceiling of the sky. A second later, through the great gash in the fabric of the House above, an answering torrent of Nothing came cascading back down.
Thousands of Denizens, insects, Newniths, and others were destroyed in this first assault from the Void. A few seconds later, before anyone could react, another fountain of Nothing burst up, and another. Nothing spread everywhere, annihilating the Gardens as quickly as someone might wipe a table clean.
‘Stop it, Arthur!’ cried Leaf. ‘Stop it!’
Arthur tried to turn to her, his face contorted with the useless effort. He tried to speak, but could not. He tried to use the Keys against the Nothing that was pouring in on all sides, but he couldn’t do that either. He had become a mere channel, a conduit for the Will.
The others were also fixed in place. The tendons on the back of Suzy’s hand were taut, her sword drawn a mere half inch from its sheath. Dr Scamandros’s fingers had only touched his pocket. Both Giac and Fred had just managed to shut their eyes.
Nothing spread to the edge of the lawn, and high waves of it crested together above Arthur’s head. But the waves did not come crashing down. The Nothing stopped, as if an invisible dome covered the small paved area of the Elysium.
It had only taken a few seconds, but the Incomparable Gardens were destroyed, and with them, nearly all the Denizens, Newniths, and other inhabitants of the House.
Only Arthur, Suzy, Leaf, Dr Scamandros, Giac, Fred, Lord Sunday, and the Will survived.
A word inside the column of burning letters flashed, and Arthur and his friends found their mouths at least unfrozen, though they still could not move.
‘I regret to say . . .’ began Dr Scamandros, whose face was for once completely clear of tattoos. But whatever he regretted was not heard, for he suddenly stopped talking, in order to gasp as someone stepped out of the Nothing that surrounded them.
It was a man, unbowed and vigourous despite his obvious age. He wore only a plain white robe, a little like a toga.
‘The Old One,’ said Arthur. ‘Free from the clock!’
‘Freed by your hand, Arthur,’ said the Old One. ‘For which I give you thanks.’
‘But . . . what is happening?’ asked Arthur. ‘Why is the Will . . . we have to stop the Nothing! Won’t everything be destroyed if this last part of the Garden goes? The whole Universe? Everything!?’
‘Yes,’ said the Old One.
He walked over to the column of words that was the Will and stepped into it.
As he did so, Nothing crashed in.
The Elysium was annihilated in that final wave of Nothing, and with its destruction, so too the Secondary Realms were destroyed: every galaxy, star, and planet, including Earth, and all its people, life, and wonders.
The Architect’s Creation was no more.
The Universe had returned to the Nothing from which it had been made.
Twenty-nine
ARTHUR WAS ALONE in total darkness. In shock, he was unable to comprehend what had happened, so it took him some time to work out that he was still alive. Or something. He was still aware of himself, at least. And he still had the Keys.
‘Light,’ he whispered, and there was light. A pale radiance surrounded him, though all else remained in darkness.
I am surrounded by Nothing, thought Arthur. Yet it has not destroyed me.
No, came an unexpected answer.
It was the voice of the Will, inside his head again.
You are too strong for Nothing to destroy you, save by your own desire.
Arthur turned around. There, surrounded by a light similar to his own, was Dame Primus. Or not Dame Primus. She . . . or he . . . flickered between two forms that were sometimes rather like Dame Primus and sometimes rather like the Old One.
‘You are the Architect,’ said Arthur.
We are the Architect, at least for a little time longer. Soon we will return to the Nothing from which we came, so long ago.
‘Why . . . why did you destroy the House? Why destroy everything?’ burst out Arthur.
More than fifteen billion years ago, as mortals count time, I made the stars and waited while planets were born. I watched as life began. But it was slow, so slow, even for such as I . . . I thought to intervene, and chose to separate part of my nature, to create a related entity who would oversee this work. So it was I made the Old One from myself. More time passed, and the work went well, most particularly with the advent of you mortals, something I did not anticipate . . . as I did not anticipate that the Old One would grow apart from me, and disagree. We fought, and my anger grew, till at last I chained him, and made him suffer. Yet it was also I who suffered.
‘But what has this got to do with why . . . why you destroyed everything?’ whispered Arthur. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. He could still see Leaf’s face, and hear her calling out.
Billions of years, mused the Architect. Billions of years . . . You cannot yet comprehend how tired I became, despite all efforts to amuse and distract myself. The House was one such entertainment, inspired by mortals. Our children were another, and they did distract me, for a time. But time is a weighty burden, and all distractions fade. I grew to wonder what might lie beyond time, what might be found beyond my own existence.
Ten thousand years ago, my anger with the Old One finally cooled, and I found that this rage alone had sustained me for that time. I was weary, so weary, and I wished to go beyond.
I decided to give myself to Nothing . . . but I could not. I was held back, because I was not whole. The Old One anchored me in this Universe, for in my rage I had made his bonds eternal, to last as long as my Creation.
I could not release the Old One and so free myself, without destroying everything I had made, the House and all the Universe beyond. So I began that process of destruction with the fracture of myself, and the making of the Will. It should have been quickly executed, but the Trustees had grown disobedient, and they would not perform the actions that would lead to their own demise.
Yet they could not entirely resist the powers of my Will. In time it twisted their natures . . . and so unwittingly they came to work to my desired end.
‘But why me?’ asked Arthur. ‘Why choose me? Couldn’t you just have got a Denizen to do your dirty work?’
No. It had to be a mortal, someone who can create. Denizens were made directly by me, and can only copy. I made the basic stuff from which you mortals evolved, Arthur, with some tinkering here and there, but I did not make you directly . . . and you mortals surpass even Us with your ideas.
‘Why do I need to be creative?’ asked Arthur bitterly. ‘I’ve done what you needed, haven’t I? I guess we can both just dissolve into Nothing now!’
Surely you know, said the Architect. You are the New Architect.
‘What!?’ exclaimed Arthur, though it was not really a surprise.
As the old Universe is destroyed, a new one is made. You will make it.
‘What if I don’t want to?’ asked Arthur quietly. He felt very much a boy again, alone and lost. ‘I liked the old Universe!’
That is your choice, said the Architect. Farewell.
The Architect shut her eyes and lay back, as if settling down to sleep. Nothing spread across her like a blanket. She smiled and pulled it up over her head, and then there was only Arthur’s light, the only light anywhere in existence.
Arthur looked at his hands.
‘How do I make a . . . a Universe?’ he shouted.
The Keys answered him. Not in words. He felt their power coursing within him, and something changed in his head.
The boy who had been Arthur, and had become something more, finally completed his transformation.
He was no longer Arthur. He was the New Architect, and now he knew how to use his power, how to shape the stuff of Nothing, how to direct it on a cosmic scale.
He just had to decide what he wanted to make. Th
e easiest thing would be to create a raw, new Universe of simple matter, mostly hydrogen, and set some basic reactions going. In a few billion years there would be suns and planets and perhaps, billions of years after that, the beginnings of organic life.
The New Architect was tempted by this. He could make that Universe, but accelerate things. He wouldn’t make the mistake of the Architect in separating a part of himself to speed things up. He would do it himself. It would be like tending a garden, with steady work in most of it, with special parts that got concentrated attention. It would be fascinating to see what grew, and he could direct it in particular ways . . .
Deep inside the New Architect, the part of him that was Arthur cried out, a cry of such savage pain and loss that it halted the New Architect’s thoughts of a raw young Universe begun from the beginning.
‘No,’ said the New Architect to himself, to the Arthur that he had been. ‘No . . . you are quite right.’
As he understood everything now, the New Architect knew what the Architect had meant when she had said, ‘That is your choice.’
He gestured, and a stone formed beside him. A small boulder of pleasantly weathered granite. It was exactly like the one that had stood near the spring in the Elysium.
The New Architect sat on the stone, reached into his coat, and drew out The Compleat Atlas of the House and Immediate Environs. He did not open it, but simply knew its contents as soon as he held it in his hand. It contained a complete snapshot of the former Universe, taken a moment before the destruction of the Elysium of the Incomparable Gardens, when the Will had frozen everyone. All the records of the Secondary Realms slavishly made by thousands upon thousands of Denizens were just a small and largely irrelevant part of the true record.
The Old Universe in all its fine detail lay in the palm of his hand.
The New Architect sighed as he thought about the work ahead. He had planned to tweak things here or there, particularly on Earth, but now he knew he could not, for that would endlessly complicate his task. If he was to remake the Universe, he would have to do so exactly as it was recorded in the Atlas. That meant the Secondary Realms would be no different, and all that would remain of the House would be the Elysium.