Lady Friday (13 page)

When she was satisfied with both her fake cough and her scratched-up stone, Leaf took an armful of pale blue pillowcases and started around the circle to the nearest stairs. A plan had formed in her head ... or at least part of a plan. It had several defects, which she hoped to overcome on the fly, because she couldn’t think of anything else she could do.

The first step was to find the Denizen called Feorin, but without Milka in attendance. Feorin might be stupid enough to fall for Leaf’s intended trick, but she knew there was little chance Milka would go along with it.

Maybe I can find another stupid Denizen,
thought Leaf as she trudged up the stairs to circle ten and headed around toward the noon position, where the Denizens’ quarters were. As Harrison had predicted, she didn’t meet anyone. The corridor was deserted and looked just like all the other corridors she’d walked inside the crater rim. If it wasn’t for the numbers above the doors and the staircases, she would have sworn she was back where she originally came in.

I
suppose
I’ll have to knock on a
door.
Which could lead to trouble ....

Uncertain about whether this was a good idea, Leaf walked the top part of the circle, trying to see if there was any clue to be found as to who might be behind the doors. But the only one that was different was the one at the noon position, which was wider and had an ornate pattern around the doorknob. Leaf thought this was probably a good one to avoid and, at random, chose to knock on the door at six past twelve.

It was opened very quickly by a Denizen who was holding a large needle and dangling gold thread in one hand and a book in the other. He looked over Leaf’s head and then, seeing no one, down at her.

“What is it?”

“Uh, sorry to disturb you,” said Leaf. “I’ve been sent to give a message to Feorin.”

“Feorin? Are you sure?”

“Yes, definitely Feorin.”

“Try next door,” said the Denizen, pointing clockwise with the needle. “Ten past.”

“Thanks,” said Leaf, the door already shutting in her face. She took a deep breath and walked along to the door at ten past, hesitated for a moment, then sharply rapped on it.

The occupants were not so fast this time. Leaf could faintly hear a conversation, then footsteps. Finally the door opened to reveal Feorin, now wearing a leather apron over his sharp suit.

Leaf stepped back so she was out of the line of sight of anyone farther inside, then coughed her odd, barking cough. “Hi, Feorin,” she said. “I’ve got something for you.”

“For me?” asked Feorin. He stepped out into the corridor after her. At the same time, someone inside—almost certainly Milka—called out, “Who is it?”

“Tell her it’s a messenger,” whispered Leaf. She coughed again and held out the stone she’d scratched up. “And I’ll give you this ...
ah-woof ...
coughstone.”

“A messenger!” called out Feorin. He advanced on Leaf, reaching for the stone ... but she was too quick for him and retreated, coughing again.

“You have to help me find a telephone to the House first,” whispered Leaf. “Then you can have the cough-stone.”

“What’s the message?” Milka called out from inside. “Tell her nothing important,” hissed Leaf anxiously. “Nothing important,” called out Feorin. “It’s just that sleeper!”

Leaf groaned.

“Was that part of the cough?” asked Feorin.

“No,” said Leaf. As she expected, Milka came out the door. She was also wearing a leather apron and was holding a glue pot.

“What is it, then?” she asked.

“What?” asked Leaf dully. Her plan had fallen apart.

“The message,” said Milka impatiently. “So you are a Piper’s child after all? I always said we needed some here to run messages.”

“Uh, yes,” said Leaf, her brain suddenly re-engaging. “That’s what I’m here for. You two are supposed to take me to a telephone so I can call ... um ... a sorcerer in the House to order in some special items for you Denizens. This coughstone is a sample ... only I might have used it ah ... ah ...
ah-woof ...
up.”

“Good!” said Feorin. Milka didn’t answer, instead reaching over to take the stone.

Leaf held her breath as the Denizen examined it and popped it in her mouth. It lodged in her throat for a few seconds and her breath caught, a hideous whistle emerging from her mouth. Then it was gone, into her stomach.

“A whistle and a cough,” said Feorin admiringly. A second later he pouted, adding, “But it should have been mine. I could have taken you to the telephone as easily as Milka.”

“I’m senior, so I get any bonuses,” said Milka. “Right. Let’s go.”

She stalked off down the corridor, closely followed by Leaf. Leaf figured that she only had a short space of time before Milka figured out she’d been tricked.

Milka went up to the noon door and knocked. When no answer came, she opened the door and ushered Leaf in.

“Noon’s office,” she said. “He must be up with Lady Friday. He’s got a phone on his desk.”

Leaf looked around the room. It was furnished much as a modern manager’s office in a hospital might be. There was no sign of a telephone.

“Where’s the phone?” asked Leaf.

“Oh, it will be in the desk drawer, I expect,” said Milka.

“Right,” said Leaf. She dumped the pillowcases by the door, quickly crossed the room, sat down, and opened the top drawer. Her hands shook as she saw a red box, exactly like the one that Arthur had kept in his room. She swiftly took it out, opened it, and picked up the old-fashioned two-piece telephone. The earpiece crackled as she held it to her ear.

“Yes?” said a distant voice.

“I want to make a call, please,” Leaf replied.

“Why else would you be talking into a telephone?” said the voice.

“Yes, I suppose,” said Leaf nervously. Milka and Feorin were waiting for her, and though they had stayed near the door, she knew they were listening. “I need to talk to Dr. Scamandros, please.”

She lowered her voice and swiftly added, “He’s probably in the Lower House. Or maybe the Great Maze.”

“The Lower House? They’re cut off, by order of Superior Saturday. Can’t connect you there, nor anywhere below the Middle House.”

“But it’s very important,” pleaded Leaf. “Please!”

“Who is this calling—” the voice started, but before it could continue, it was cut off and a new voice came in, much stronger.

“Get off, you imposter! Operator here.”

“Operator? Who was that, then? Uh, never mind.” Leaf’s precious time was evaporating. “Please, I need to speak to Dr. Scamandros urgently. He’s in ... ah—”

“Friend of Arthur’s, are you?” asked the operator.

“Yes!” said Leaf without thinking. “Or ... no ... depending on why you’re asking.”

“Putting you through. Might not last, though. Saturday’s minions are all through the lines.”

There was a loud click, a buzz that to Leaf’s dispirited ears sounded like disconnection, then a distant voice echoed in the earpiece.

“Hello! Hello?”

“Dr. Scamandros! It’s Leaf. I’m at Lady Friday’s mountain retreat out in the Secondary Realms. Maybe near the Magellanic Clouds or something. I need—”

“Leaf! Keep talking so I can make a note of your exact location. Where is my locating pencil?”

Scamandros kept muttering. Leaf looked at Milka and Feorin. Milka was tilting her head, listening more intently.

“I’m meant to arrange for the shipment of fixed coughs and ailments to the Denizens here,” said Leaf quickly. “Lady Friday’s here, of course, and about fifty other Denizens.”

“Keep talking! Does Friday have her Key?”

“I think so,” said Leaf. Milka was walking over to her now. “A mirror? Now about those coughs, they probably need two each—
^”

“This telephone connection is forbidden,” said the first voice that had come onto the line. “Action is being taken.”

The telephone shook in Leaf’s hands and began to emit wisps of steam. She dropped it on the desk but kept talking, putting her face as close to the fallen mouthpiece as she dared.

“Scamandros! It’s the gray mold planet, I think! There’s some connection from a laundry on Earth—”

The phone bubbled and hissed and melted into a blob of unsightly muck that smelled like burnt hair.

“Hmm,”
said Milka. “So it was all a trick.”

“Yes,” said Leaf defiantly.

“We’d better get out of here, then,” said Milka. She grabbed Leaf and turned to the door. “Feorin, pick up those pillowcases. Back to our room, quick!”

“Why?” asked Feorin. “It’s not our fault .... Noon won’t blame ... oh ...”

Milka was already out the door, Leaf under her arm. Feorin picked up the pillowcases and followed, forgetting to shut the door after him. Thirty seconds later, all three of them were in Milka and Feorin’s room, a much smaller, shabbier, and eccentric chamber dominated by two worktables covered in books, papers, and bookbinding tools. In one corner sat a five-foot-tall book press that had been partially taken apart, a spanner still lying on the floor next to it.

“Thanks,” Leaf said as Milka set her down on the floor. “But why—”

“Shut up!” instructed Milka. “You’ve got us in enough trouble already. Let me think.”

“Will Noon really blame us?” asked Feorin.

“Blame us!” shrieked Milka. “You’re already on probation! He’ll send us down to circle zero! Do you fancy fighting all the plants that get in down there?”

“What will we do?” asked Feorin anxiously.

“Hide,” said Milka. “If Noon doesn’t see us, he can’t ask us anything.”

“How long for?”

“Forever!”

“Forever?”

“For a few days anyway. Noon will forget once he gets a new phone. As for you—”

Milka advanced on Leaf angrily. The girl retreated before her, almost falling over the pile of pillowcases that Feorin had dropped on the floor.

“Can’t I come hide with you?” Leaf asked.

“No!” Milka raised her fist but then let it fall without striking Leaf. “Definitely not. Get out! And don’t tell anyone what you’ve done, or that we helped you!”

“Okay.” Leaf picked up the pillowcases and backed out, Feorin obligingly holding the door open. “Thanks!”

“‘Thanks’!” growled Milka. “You’re more trouble than Feorin!”

The door slammed behind Leaf, leaving her alone in the corridor. But she no longer felt alone. Dr. Scamandros knew her situation, even if he didn’t know her exact location. That meant Arthur would soon know, and her friend would organize a rescue as soon as possible.

All she had to do now was find Aunt Mango and then—taking a leaf, so to speak, from Milka’s book—hide with her until the rescuing forces arrived.

Leaf smiled and walked away—straight into a very tall, impeccably dressed Denizen with straw-blond hair and a very shiny monocle over one of his piercing blue eyes. Though he had not been wearing the monocle previously, Leaf instantly recognized him as being one of the two Denizens who had preceded Lady Friday’s march through the hospital.

“Ah,” said the Denizen, who could only be Friday’s Noon. “The unauthorized use of my telephone is explained. Miss Leaf, is it not?”

Leaf nodded.

“You are fortunate that milady has ordered you to be kept in reasonable working order, as being of potential further use,” drawled Noon. “That being the case, if you tell me who you called, I shall not punish you too heavily.”

“I ... I couldn’t get through,” said Leaf. “One of Saturday’s Denizens had replaced the operator.”

“Plausible,” said Noon. “A most competent lie, if it is not the truth. Now, how shall we keep you out of trouble until you are required,
hmmm?”

Leaf didn’t answer. She raised her chin a half-inch and tried to look Noon in the eye, but the reflection from the monocle was too bright and she had to lid her eyes half-shut.

“One of your mortal poets said it well,” said Noon. “He put milady on to the notion in the first place. ‘To sleep, perchance to dream.’ I think it is time you slept, Miss Leaf.”

Leaf responded by throwing the pillowcases at Friday’s Noon and running away. But she had gone no more than a dozen paces when she felt a fierce buffet of air and was knocked to the ground, Noon standing over her with his yellow wings at full extension across the corridor.

Leaf began to crawl away. Friday’s Noon did not try to stop her. He took a small silver cone from his pocket and raised it to his lips, to use as a megaphone.

“Sleep, Miss Leaf.” Noon’s voice had transformed itself into Lady Friday’s, stronger than it had ever sounded before. Leaf was tired, so tired from everything she had been through; she had done everything she could ....

Leaf stopped crawling and lay still. Friday’s Noon replaced the silver cone within his coat and spoke to unseen Denizens behind him.

“Take her to the bed turner. Tell him she is to be carefully tended. Milady may have need of her, in time to come.”

There were nine Artful Loungers who swooped with darkened wings upon the raft, each bearing a curved sword of blue steel in his or her right hand and a long crystal stiletto in the left. The stilettos could only be used once, as they contained a core of Nothing that would kill even a Denizen. Dangerous weapons, they lasted only a few hours from their manufacture, for the Nothing would soon eat its way out of its sorcerous confinement in the crystal.

The leading Lounger never even made it to the deck, Ugham’s powerfully thrown spear arresting his flight with a vengeance. But the other eight landed in formation and advanced upon Cool of the Morning, Arthur, Suzy, Fred, and Ugham. Of Pirkin and the other Paper Pushers there was no sign, though all had been on deck only moments before, with Pirkin close to Arthur.

“Leave at once!” commanded Arthur, raising the Key. But he did not call upon its power, and the Artful Loungers did not respond. They smiled their vacant smiles and kept coming, their glossy patent leather shoes and checked trousers all in step, their pastel-blue peasant smocks all unbuttoned in exactly the same careful, careless way, their berets all at the same angle.

“Ready,” muttered Ugham. As he spoke, the Loungers rushed forward and everything became a mad blur of movement, of trying to hit Loungers while not being hit, particularly by the Nothing-core stilettos. Arthur almost felt as if his body was reacting without his conscious direction, so swiftly did everything happen, muscles acting purely from training, reflex, and fear.

Then it was over, as quickly as it had begun. Arthur stood amid four dead Loungers, surprise still on their faces that they had been so easily slain by mere sword-wounds, not knowing they had been hit by the Fourth Key. The other four were backing away, and they kept on retreating until they were far enough away to turn and fling themselves up into the night.

Arthur looked down at himself and saw he was not harmed, not even marked by a scratch. He quickly turned to check the others. They were several feet behind him and he realized that he must have charged forward as the Loungers attacked.

“Anyone hurt?” he asked as he walked back to them. Though there was no spoken agreement, everyone then moved back several paces farther still, to put more space between themselves and the dead Artful Loungers. Arthur kept his back to them. He did not want to see his handiwork. “Those knives looked bad.”

“Poison blades,” said Ugham. “But I have taken no scathe. You bore the brunt of it, Lord Arthur.”

“I never even got close to one,” said Fred.

“Me neither,” said Suzy with a shudder. “And that’s the way I like it.”

“Cool of the Evening?” asked Arthur. The Winged Servant of the Night was still standing on one leg. “No new wounds?”

She signed a message to Fred.

“She says not,” he translated. “Uh, she wants to know who you are, Arthur. I guess smelling right isn’t everything.”

“I am Arthur, the Rightful Heir to the Architect.”

“Master of the Lower House, Lord of the Far Reaches,” added Suzy.

“Duke of the Border Sea and Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Architect,” added Fred.

Arthur grimaced. It still felt weird to hear all that. Cool of the Evening bowed her head slightly, but did not sign a message.

“And that is Suzy Turquoise Blue, Monday’s Tierce,”

said Arthur. “And Lieutenant Fred Initial Numbers Gold and Banneret Ugham of the Piper’s Newniths. We are in temporary alliance with Banneret Ugham.”

Fred made a squeaking sound and put his hand up.

“Arthur? Do you mean it? Me, Lieutenant Gold?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “I’d make you a General, but I figure you might find it easier to start off being an officer a bit lower down.”

“You can make me a General if you like, Arthur,” said Suzy. “I mean, Monday’s Tierce is all very well, but when it comes to rotten jobs being dished out, I reckon a General gets to have less of them—”

“I’ll think about it,” said Arthur. “I’m not sure you’d be a very responsible General, Suzy. Anyway, the most important thing is that we’re all friends. At least I hope—”

Cool of the Morning looked up and made a rapid sign.

“What? More Loungers?” asked Arthur. He raised his rapier, eyes scanning the sky.

“Nope,” said Fred. “More Winged Servants of the Night. Uh, I hope they know we’re on their side.”

Arthur hastily lowered his rapier. Ugham, who had been retrieving his spear, grounded that weapon. Suzy tucked her knife back into her belt. The Paper Pushers were still not in evidence, and for the first time Arthur wondered where they could have gone.

That thought went away as twenty or more Winged Servants of the Night descended, only becoming visible as they entered the band of sunlight, which the raft had almost left. It had been moving swiftly up the canal the whole time, and Arthur had grown used to both the tilted “deck” beneath his feet and the faint sunshine. But soon they would be in darkness once more, though the raft would continue its upward passage for many more hours.

“Tell them we’re friends, please,” said Arthur to Cool of the Evening. She nodded and raised her arms to send a more visible, semaphore-style message with her arms.

“What did she say?” whispered Suzy to Fred.

He shook his head and whispered back, “Haven’t a clue. I know they have big signs and little signs. Big signs are with arms only, and I never learned them.”

Most of the Winged Servants circled above the raft, moving with it, but three came down to land. Cool of the Evening hopped to meet them, and there was a very fast conversation in sign language that went on for several minutes.

“Too quick for me,” said Fred. “I can only get a few words. She’s telling them who you are, Arthur.”

“That could be trouble.” Arthur kept looking up at the Servants overhead, watching in case they suddenly dove. “If they’re fighting because they’re loyal to Friday, then they’ll have to attack. Keep ready. Where are those Paper Pushers? Pirkin was right next to me ....”

“I’m here,” said a muffled voice several yards away. It sounded like it was coming from the region of Arthur’s feet.

Arthur looked down. He couldn’t see anything but the usual bundles of papyrus records for a moment, then he caught sight of Pirkin peering out through a narrow gap.

“How ... how did you get in there?” asked Arthur. The gap between the bundles was only as wide as his hand.

“You can push the bundles apart,” said Pirkin. “If you know how. Then there are lots of gaps and airspaces through the structure. ‘Course, only members of the Association are allowed to manipulate the structure of—”

“Right!” said Arthur. He was relieved to find that Pirkin hadn’t somehow been killed or fallen off the raft.

“And I’m staying here!” said Pirkin. “Till we need to change currents anyway. Which should be in about—”

“Here they come,” said Fred.

Arthur swiftly looked back up, but the Servants above were still circling. The three who had been with Cool of the Evening were advancing, their hands held wide and open, to show they held no weapons—at least none more dangerous than the claws on their gloves. Cool of the Evening herself sat down where she was.

“Hello,” said Arthur as the Servants stopped a few paces away and made short bows. “Um, Fred here can do some of your signs ....”

All three of the newly arrived Servants immediately signed to Fred.

“Uh, this is ... let’s see ... Turned Wingfeather Flys Surprisingly Well, Ferocious Slayer of the Pre-Dawn, and One Who Survived the Darkness. Ah, One Who Survived the Darkness is the highest-ranking in House precedence; she reports directly to Friday’s Dusk.”

One Who Survived the Darkness was the middle Servant and was fractionally taller than the other two. The claws of her gloves were also a pallid white, Arthur noticed, like carved moonstones, unlike the others, who had claws of some dark, metallic substance.

“She says thanks for helping Cool of the Evening,” said Fred.

“No problem,” said Arthur. “Any enemy of Superior Saturday’s is a friend of ours.”

“The Winged Servants of the Night carry out our duty,’” translated Fred. “‘To patrol the night of the Middle House and slaughter Nithlings and ... urn, I think ... unauthorized travelers, to rend them with our claws and burn them with the fire of our weapons.”

“Tell them we’re authorized, Arthur,” said Suzy.

One Who Survived the Darkness turned her masked face to Suzy and made a series of rapid signs.

“Uh-oh,” said Fred. “You are not authorized. Oh, it’s all right. She says, ‘Usually we would either kill you or take you to Dusk for judgment. But Dusk has gone, and Lady Friday too. Dawn, who claims to speak for them, is not our master. You are Lord Arthur, and master of much of the House, so a distinguished visitor. Better, you have fought for us. We will not harm you or your minions—’”

“Hang on,” muttered Suzy. “Who are you calling—”

“Suzy!” warned Arthur. “Let Fred finish.”

“‘We owe you a debt, and will help you if we can.”

Arthur directed a quelling glare at Suzy, who was about to open her mouth again, and then bowed to One Who Survived the Darkness. That gave him a moment to think.

“Thank you,” he said slowly. “I think you can help us ... help me ... if you are able to carry myself and my companions up to the Top Shelf. I need to find a sorcerer there, and quickly.”

One Who Survived the Darkness tilted her masked head to the side quizzically, then signed to Fred.

“She says they can fly us up there. But the High Guild are not to be trusted. Also, Friday’s Dawn and his Gilded

Youths are encamped outside Binding Junction and she doesn’t know what they plan or where their allegiance lies.”

“We’ll just have to chance it,” said Arthur. “It’s going to take too long to get there by raft.”

“Four of them can carry one of us,” translated Fred after a flurry of signs. “How many are to go?”

“The three of us,” said Arthur, glancing at Ugham. “I’m sorry, Ugham, but there’s a chance the Piper will be ahead of us—”

“My task is to escort Miss Suzy and Lieutenant Fred,” rumbled Ugham. “To do so, I must stand at their side.”

“But if we meet the Piper and he orders you to attack us—” said Arthur.

“What can even a warrior such as I do against the mighty Arthur and his sword?” asked Ugham. “I think you have little to fear, Lord Arthur.”

“Let him come,” said Suzy. “He’s just a turnip farmer underneath.”

“It does not become you to make jest of my ambition, Miss Suzy,” said Ugham.

Arthur looked at Fred questioningly.

“I reckon he’s more help than hindrance,” said Fred. “And now that Suzy and I don’t have to obey, the odds are better.”

“You’d still answer to the Piper’s pipe,” said Arthur. He bit his lower lip, unconsciously flicking it under his front teeth several times. “Oh, all right. Ugham can come too. Four of us, then.”

One Who Survived the Darkness nodded and made arm signals to the Servants above, who immediately began to descend. The first two landed next to Cool of the Evening, and one of them took out a pair of wings that might have suited a doll, being no more than six inches long. But as the Servant shook them, they grew, and a few seconds later both Servants were helping Cool of the Evening detach her old wings and put on new ones.

“Hey,” said Suzy. “If they’ve got wings, they can just give us some. Beats being carried.”

One Who Survived the Darkness made an emphatic sign. “Ah, that’s ‘No’!” said Fred. “Guess they haven’t got enough.”

“Or they don’t want us flying around,” said Arthur. “Never mind. As long as we get up to the Top Shelf faster than on this raft.”

“It was good enough for you before!” protested a voice from below. The Servants jumped at the sound of it, wings flapping and hands going to weapons.

“First it’s ‘Give us a ride even if it’s against the rules,’” Pirkin continued. “Now, it’s ‘Your raft’s too slow.’ There’ll be a minute of protest issued by the next meeting of the Association, I can tell you!”

“We’re very grateful, Pirkin,” said Arthur. “For the clothes, the hot water, the ride on the raft. Everything. I shall personally see to it that you and your crew are commended if ... when ... I take over the Middle House.”

“Those clothes are property of the Assoc—” Pirkin started to say. “Commended? What, with a certificate and all?”

“A big framed certificate,” Arthur promised. “With all my seals on it, for all the demesnes from the Lower House on up.”

“Well, that’s handsome,” said Pirkin. “And if the Noble and Exalted Association of Waterway Motivators can ever be of help to you, you know where to find us. On the canal!”

Pirkin’s skinny arm reached up out of the gap in the reeds. Arthur shook the Denizen’s hand, then it was withdrawn and a moment later the gap closed. Pirkin, however pleased he was with a potential commendation, was not going to risk coming out.

“We need to go, Arthur,” said Fred. “The Servants hold the skylock above but there is the risk of a counterattack. And they need to be back in their eyrie before dawn.”

“Where is that?” asked Arthur.

All three Servants hissed and made the “no” sign, then One Who Survived the Darkness made a few more. The three launched themselves into the air and other Servants joined them to flutter a dozen feet above the heads of Arthur and his friends.