Lord Sunday (17 page)

S
uzy lifted Leaf off Daisy’s back just as the sling finally tore apart, holding the slighter girl under the arms. The beastwort flung its tentacles up and Borderers grabbed hold of them, but with the barbed insects still being fired against them, and confusion everywhere, there were not enough Denizens to keep the creature airborne.

“Try for that lake!” shouted Leaf wildly. She pointed down at a large body of water, still some distance away. “Drop her in the lake! Hold on, Daisy!”

The beastwort let out a long, high-pitched cry and fell away, with too few Borderers holding on. Leaf took a breath to shout for more of them to chase and grab hold, but could not get the breath she needed, instead getting a stabbing pain in her chest. She coughed it out, but could not speak. The Gardens below went blurry, and for a moment she didn’t know where she was or what she was doing.

“Daisy?” she whispered.

“I reckon she’ll hit the lake,” said Suzy. She was flying upward as fast as she could, trying to get out of range of the spiked insects. The living missiles were being propelled upward out of strange bulbous flowers full of a pink gas, but the flowers could not send them higher than three thousand feet. “Very tough critter, that Daisy. Like as not, she’ll pick ’erself up.”

Leaf nodded and pressed her hands into her eyes, to try to refocus them and get her head together. “Where did you come from?” she asked.

“Saw your sling coming undone,” said Suzy. “So I doubled back.”

“Are we winning?” Leaf asked. She couldn’t
concentrate, couldn’t look out. It was easier just to hang in Suzy’s arms and ask the question.

“Dunno,” said Suzy. “But we’re making ground. Or air. Only a few miles from the Elysium now. But the Piper’s ahead of us.”

“Keep lots of soldiers in between us then,” said Leaf. She was having trouble staying conscious and the world kept slipping away, darkness alternating with flashes of confused light and sound.

“Do my best,” muttered Suzy. She was looking for her Raiders, but couldn’t see them. There was fighting everywhere and it was difficult to work out where to go. The Elysium did lie ahead, the hill one of the few landmarks Suzy could easily spot. But the battle was especially heavy around it…though Suzy frowned as she realised that there were no longer any insects or dragonflies defending the place. Instead the air above the hill was packed with Newniths and sorcerers, who were desperately holding back multiple assaults by different units of the Glorious Army of the Architect.

“The Piper must be there already,” Suzy said to herself. “And it looks like something’s happened to Sunday. ’Oo would have thought? I hope you’re there too, Arthur!”

She tapped her ears, to check the plugs were in, and swooped down behind a cohort of Legionaries who were about to descend against the defenders of the Elysium hill.

Arthur had just decided how to make the fighting stop when the Piper and Saturday landed by the stream, their respective bodyguards flying back up to join the rearguard that was slowly being pressed back and down by the forces of Dame Primus.

Both of Arthur’s enemies wore black-lacquered leather wings, which looked odd against the Piper’s yellow greatcoat and fashionable with Superior Saturday’s new armour of reddish plates. But Saturday was no longer as tall as she had been, nor as astonishingly beautiful, and she remained a step behind her new Master, with her head bent.

The Piper lifted his gold-masked face to Arthur and spoke, his voice as mellifluous and charming as it had been before Part Four of the Will spat poison in his mouth, before the battle for the Citadel, which felt to Arthur so long ago.

“So you have claimed the Seventh Key, Arthur. What now?”

“That is my business,” said Arthur shortly. “I give you permission to remove yourself and your army, and Saturday as well.”

“To where?” asked the Piper. He spoke as if to an old friend. “The House has been eaten up by Nothing, Arthur. Only the Gardens remain, and perhaps not even that, at least not for very long. Not unless you let me take matters in hand.”

“
I
will force the Nothing back,” said Arthur. “You have your worldlet. Return there.”

“It too is gone,” said the Piper mournfully. “Lost, all will be lost. Unless you give me your Keys. They are too great a burden for a mortal. Better I take them, and put everything to—”

“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 face down. The Nothing from the Piper’s blade continued to dissolve the greater part of her body, including her head. It would have spread further, 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.

L
eaf 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 further 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 any more. 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, with 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 vigorous 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.