Lord Sunday (10 page)

“Dunno,” said Suzy with a shrug. “I didn’t see
’im after he went down the plughole. Don’t
you
know?”

“No.” Dame Primus’s mouth tightened and her lips became menacingly thin. “We do not. He and his Keys are sorely needed, both to stem the tide of Nothing that has risen alarmingly and to continue the campaign against the faithless Trustees and the aberration that is the Piper. I trust that you are not covering up for some mortal indiscretion of Arthur’s, Suzy? Are you sure he has not gone back to his world?”

“I dunno.” Suzy gulped. “Like I said, I ’aven’t seen Arthur since he went down the gurgler and I got tied up.”

Dame Primus’s gaze bored into Suzy. The girl tried to meet the Will’s eyes, but had to look away.

“Very well,” said Dame Primus softly. “Now tell me about what you know of Saturday’s assault upon the Incomparable Gardens.”

“I don’t know much,” said Suzy. She coughed and added, “I never got to the top. Course I’ll tell you what I know, only my throat’s gone dry.”

“Tea,” ordered Dame Primus. Her long, elegant fingers snapped with a crack that was as loud as a
small cannon, and several Denizens rushed forward bearing a samovar, an enamelled tea caddy, a silver teapot and fine porcelain cups.

Suzy eyed the samovar suspiciously. Dame Primus didn’t normally respond well to hints.

She wants something,
thought Suzy.
And that can’t be good
.

L
eaf let her incredibly weary sword arm fall, the Lieutenant Keeper’s blade dangling from her limp fingers. She had been fighting almost nonstop for what felt like hours, though she had no means of measuring time, so perhaps it was only feverish, adrenaline-fuelled minutes. Her Nithling opponents lay dead, slowly drifting away from her, propelled by their final actions, or by the cuts and thrusts of the sword that had danced in her hand as if it had a life of its own.

Perhaps it does have a life of its own
, thought Leaf
with distaste. After dispatching the first wave of Nithlings – a dozen slow-moving things that looked more like human-size turnips than anything else, though they had mouths with needle-sharp fangs – she had tried to drop the sword and run to the exit she knew led to her Earth. But try as she might, she could not lose the sword. If she let go, the goldbraided strap tightened on her wrist so she could not slip it off, and if she slipped the strap off first, her fingers became glued to the hilt.

Before she had been able to experiment further, another Nithling had attacked. It was alone, but far more trouble than the previous lot. It was rather like a bear with the horns of a bull, and it was fast and clever. It had scratched Leaf and would have taken her head off if she had jumped back any slower. Years of gymnastics when she was younger had finally paid off.

Leaf inspected the scratch. The blue swallow-tailed coat looked like it was made of wool, but was evidently made of much tougher stuff. The Nithling’s horn had not even torn the cloth as it had scraped across, but the very tip had drawn blood from her unprotected throat. Leaf looked at the blood. It was hard to tell, since the only light came from the blue
radiance of the sword, but she was relieved to see it still looked red and human.

From what had happened to Arthur, Leaf was well aware of the contamination caused by House sorcery and its transformative effects.

Which means I have to ditch this sword soon,
she thought.
And get back home.

There were lots more Nithlings inside the Front Door. Leaf could sense everything in the Door in a general kind of way, including intruders, entrances and exits, and if she concentrated on any particular aspect, she could work out more. Right now, there was only one group of Nithlings headed in her direction. Leaf decided not to wait for their arrival, but to check out the entrance she’d come in by, the one she knew led to Earth. There was something different about that one – it made a different sensation in her head when she thought about it, but she didn’t know what that meant.

Apart from essentially fighting on its own, the Lieutenant Keeper’s sword was also useful in other ways, Leaf found. When she lifted it and thought of heading towards the exit to Earth, it immediately oriented towards that point and began to pull Leaf
along. It did so gently at first, but gradually accelerated until the girl had to hold on with both hands.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to keep you,” said Leaf. She was thinking about how she might rid herself of the weapon and the unwanted post of being Lieutenant Keeper. If she could work out how to let go of the sword, she could just leave it behind. Or it might be as easy as finding someone to give the weapon to, just as she had received it from the previous wielder. Of course, she might need to be dying before she could give it up, which was a depressing thought.

Leaf supposed she also ought to think very carefully about who ended up as Lieutenant Keeper. Not that the job was as important as it once was, considering that large parts of the House weren’t there any more. Leaf felt the dead ends like a toothache and immediately turned her mind away from thinking about them. There was nothing she could do about that anyway, and with any luck she’d soon be home and could hope everything would go back to normal.

As if that’s going to happen,
thought Leaf, but she repressed that thought too and returned to working
out methods of losing the sword and the office that went with it. Getting Arthur’s help, or the assistance of Dr Scamandros, would be the best bet. If she went to one of the exits into the Great Maze…

Leaf’s train of thought derailed as she focused on the portals to the Great Maze and discovered that there no longer were any, though she was sure she’d felt some only minutes before.

“It’s getting worse,” Leaf said aloud. She was torn by indecision, unsure whether she should try to help in some way or just get out. If she could.

The just-getting-out part of her mind won for the moment, though she rationalised it as merely an attempt. She would try to ditch the sword and go home. If that didn’t work she’d go and find Arthur and Dr Scamandros and the others…somewhere…the Middle House perhaps, since she could still feel exits there.

Soon after, she reached the exit to her world. It appeared as a normal-size doorway of pure white light that was always vertical whichever way Leaf approached it, rotating as she rotated, even corkscrewing around to match her movement, which she did just to see what it would do.

When she stopped up close to the shining portal, Leaf found she could see through it, out to the world beyond. She also sensed that the exit had a sort of frayed or fraying feel about it, as if it would soon collapse. The Reaper must have made it, she surmised, so it was only temporary.

The exit was still located in the same space as the front door of Friday’s hospital. Leaf was momentarily puzzled when she looked outside, because everything looked almost exactly the same as when she’d left. The personnel carrier was there, smoke still trickling from the barrel of its machine gun. The front of it was bashed up and dented, the rear door was lying about twenty feet away, and she could see a masked and suited figure peeking cautiously around the right-hand track.

The caution was because the Reaper’s creature – the beastwort – was also still there. Leaf hadthought it would disappear with its master, but he’d just abandoned it. The huge tentacled thing was gently swaying on its many legs right in front of the doors.

Though Leaf had been gone for what seemed like hours, it appeared only a very few minutes had
passed on Earth. She looked at the beastwort, its curious daisy-like head of questing tendrils and its very long and immensely strong tentacles. There was little chance of sprinting past it and, even with the Lieutenant Keeper’s sword, she didn’t fancy her chances fighting it.

In any case, Leaf knew she shouldn’t take the sword out of the Door, and definitely not to Earth. It would create plagues and trouble, as all powers of the House did when brought to the Secondary Realms.

“OK, you have to go,” Leaf said to the weapon. She unhooked the loop and tried to pry her fingers off the hilt with her left hand. But once again, she simply could not open her grip.

Leaf grimaced and put the loop back over her wrist. Then she let go, the sword dangling from the golden cord. Leaf let it hang for a moment, then swiftly pulled her hand back, to try to get it free of the loop in one motion.

It didn’t work.

Leaf tried to throw the sword overhand and slip her hand away as the blade arced overhead, but all that did was nearly slice her own kneecap off.
She bit her knuckles in the hope that pain might help her move her fingers. That didn’t work either.

Next she held the hilt with her left hand and slipped her right hand out of the loop, and was momentarily triumphant – till she couldn’t let go with her left hand, and ended up having to transfer the sword back to her right hand again, out of nervousness that she might be attacked, for she sensed Nithlings getting closer.

Finally she gave in.

“All right! I’ll just have to get help!” she said.

There was an exit to the Middle House not too far away, but before Leaf headed towards it, she took another wistful look at her own world. Nothing had changed. She could see movement and it was not in super slow motion, but evidently when she wasn’t looking, time moved much more slowly out on Earth.

The soldier at the back of the carrier moved out a few paces while Leaf watched. She couldn’t tell who it was, but thought from the size it was Major Penhaligon. He moved very carefully and kept his focus on the beastwort. It was observing him too, for several of its petal-like sensory organs aligned themselves in his direction.

The soldier took another step, and a tentacle suddenly lashed out and knocked him down. He rolled away and another soldier dragged him back into the carrier as the tentacle struck the ground where he’d been a moment before.

It’s got them penned in,
Leaf realised.
But it’s not going over to get them. It’s guarding the Door, I suppose – but that means no one can get in to help Aunt Mango and the sleepers. I have to do something.

Leaf looked at the sword.

Maybe if I just run out and stab that flower thing it has for a head, that’ll kill it. But to do that, I’d have to jump on its back.

Leaf looked again. The beastwort was the size of a small haystack. But most of its sensory petals were angled in front of it, and Leaf thought that if she jumped up to the handrail of the wheelchair ramp and took off from there, she could land on its back.

Suzy could do this,
she thought, her mouth strangely dry.
Arthur could do it. Maybe I can. I kicked Feverfew’s head pretty well, didn’t I? Albert would tell me I could do it –“Straight up the ratlines to the mast,” he always said. “Don’t look down…”

Leaf wiped her eyes, hefted her sword and took a deep breath.

“Go!” she shouted to encourage herself as she leaped out of the Door.

Or at least she tried to. The sword hit the brilliant white rectangle of the exit and bounced off, but the momentum of her jump carried the rest of Leaf on. Her arm twisted round horribly as she found herself falling down the wheelchair ramp.

Her right hand, and the sword, remained inside the Front Door, while the rest of her sprawled across the ramp.

Leaf groaned and tried to pull the sword through. But it wouldn’t come out. She was anchored to the Door.

She looked up. The yellow petals of the beastwort’s head were tilting towards her. Two tentacles, as thick as her arm, were rising in the air, as the creature swivelled round on its many, many legs.

Leaf concentrated all her willpower and pulled the sword halfway out through the glass door of the hospital.

“Come on!” she shouted, but she couldn’t get the sword to budge, the last four inches firmly stuck in
the Door. So she pushed it back and tried to follow it inside, only to be stopped by a tentacle gripping her around the ankles and dragging her back.

“No!” screamed Leaf. The beastwort was going to tear her apart, with her arm stuck in the Door!

Desperately she looked around for some other weapon, her left hand scrabbling about, searching in panic for anything that she could use as the first tentacle lifted her higher and the second tentacle whipped in and fastened itself around her middle, almost capturing her free arm. Leaf knew that this was it – she was going to be killed by a plant. Then her fingers found something – a rope or cord – and she grabbed it and tried to haul herself back towards the Door with it, but instead she went towards the body of the beastwort. Amid her panic, a sharp thought blossomed in Leaf’s mind.

I’ve got the thing’s lead!

A
rthur waited anxiously for Elephant’s return. The steady tick of the clock did nothing to help his nervousness, which increased as the time dragged on and his childhood friend did not come back. An hour passed, then two, and as the hour hand moved to the three, Arthur found his chains long enough for him to step a short distance away from the clock face. At six, he guessed they might be long enough for him to reach the edge of the terrace and look down. He tried not to think of what he might see, but he couldn’t help
visualising many images of his Elephant, dead or captured.

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
A 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 materialised, 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 fulfil 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 the 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 further 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 climbed 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!”