Sir Thursday (27 page)

“Yes, sir,” mumbled the snake.

“That reminds me.” Arthur fumbled in his pouch and took out the crocodile ring, sliding it on his finger. But he didn’t dare look at it straightaway, and he welcomed an interruption from Marshal Dusk.

“Pardon me, sir,” said Dusk. His uniform was a dark gray with black epaulettes and black buttons. Like all Dusks, he had the reserve and inner quiet characteristic of a late evening. “There is a way out. An elevator from Sir
Thursday’s study goes up to the Middle House and down to the Lower House.”

“An elevator?” asked Arthur. “Do we have telephone connection with the rest of the House as well?”

“Yes, sir,” said Dusk. “Do you wish to place a call?”

Arthur tapped the Fourth Key on his thigh, wincing when it actually hurt. The ivory baton was a lot harder than it looked and the gold leaves were pointy.

His mind raced as he tried to work out what to do. Amid the big question of how to defend the Citadel, he had a constant nagging fear for the safety of Suzy and Fred and the other Piper’s children in the raiding party. They’d been frozen or turned into statues or something, which suggested the Piper didn’t want to kill them. He had brought them to the House in the first place, after all. But Arthur couldn’t be sure they’d be all right.

The biggest puzzle was the revelation that the Piper was the leader of the New Nithlings. As far as Arthur could remember, the Piper was one of the three children of the Old One and the Architect, born to a surrogate mortal mother. But he didn’t really know any more than that.

Why would the Piper be leading an army of almost-Denizens against the House? His older brother was Lord Sunday, wasn’t he?

“Okay,” he said finally. He paused as everyone in the
room looked at him respectfully, anticipation in their faces. “How big is Sir Thursday’s elevator? It’s not a stupid little one like at Fort Transformation, is it?”

“It is of variable dimension, I believe,” said Dusk. “Perhaps the size of this room at its largest extent.”

“How long would it take to get to and from the Lower House?” asked Arthur.

“It depends upon the elevator operators and the local authorities. Minutes, hours, days…I could not say.”

“Right,” said Arthur through clenched teeth. “I hope it turns out to be only minutes. I want to try to negotiate with the New Nithlings. One other thing my soldier brother once said was that it’s always best to negotiate from a position of strength. So I am going to call on the Lower House, the Far Reaches, and the Border Sea to use that elevator to send through as many Commissionaires, former Overseers, Midnight Visitors, sailors, and so forth as we can round up, with Monday’s, Tuesday’s, and Wednesday’s Dawns, Noons, and Dusks and as much Nothing-powder as we can get together.”

“Civilians,” said Noon in a disparaging tone. “Though the powder would be useful.”

“They’re all used to fighting Nithlings of one kind or another,” Arthur reminded him. “Besides, I bet most of them did their time in the Army and are in the Reserve.”

“Reservists are little better than civilians,” sniffed Noon. “Reintegrating them into our forces is never easy. Besides, I don’t believe even you have the authority to call up the Reserve. That is a function of the Upper House. Sir.”

“I think in the current circumstances we will take whatever reinforcements we can find and be extremely grateful,” said Dusk. He looked pointedly at Noon, who did not meet his gaze. “And Sir Arthur is not calling up the Reserve. Just bringing in…volunteers.”

“Who had better be welcome,” said Arthur. Sometimes the lack of common sense among Denizens drove him crazy. “Where’s the phone?”

A captain hurried across the floor holding a small wickerwork suitcase that looked rather like it might have a picnic set inside it. He flipped it open to reveal a telephone handset on a cradle. Arthur picked up the handset, and the captain started cranking a little handle on the side of the suitcase.

“Can I help you?” said a crackly voice that sounded very far away.

“Get me Dame Primus,” ordered Arthur.

“She’s not taking calls,” said the voice. “I had one for her not long ago.”

“This is Lord Arthur, Rightful Heir of the Architect. And it’s urgent, please.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, this is Lord Arthur—”

“No, not that bit, what did you say at the end?”

“Please,” repeated Arthur. “Look, it
really
is urgent.”

“Putting you through now, sir,” said the voice. In the background Arthur heard her add, “He said ‘please,’ and him higher than all them rude nobs.”

There was some louder crackling, then a voice Arthur recognized as Sneezer’s spoke.

“Monday’s Dayroom. May I help you?”

“Sneezer, it’s Arthur. Put Dame Primus on please, straightaway.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Lord Arthur?”

The snake on Arthur’s arm jumped as Dame Primus’s voice echoed through the room. Not for the first time, Arthur wondered why all the superior Denizens did that on the phone. It was probably just so they sounded important.

“Yes. I haven’t got much time, so listen carefully. I want every available Commissionaire Sergeant, Metal Commissionaire, Midnight Visitor, the former Overseers from the Far Reaches, the regular sailors, and all our superior Denizens to come through to the Citadel in the Great Maze with weapons and as much Nothing-powder as is
available, as quickly as possible. Oh, and Dr. Scamandros and anyone else who might be useful in a battle, including you. There’ll be an elevator in the Lower House. Any questions?”

“Yes, Lord Arthur, I have numerous questions,” said Dame Primus in a peevish tone. “What is going on? Are you planning to fight Sir Thursday? That would not be a sensible course. Even with all our forces, we would be no match for the Army—”

“I have the Key and Part Four is free,” interrupted Arthur. “Sir Thursday is under arrest—”

“And will be judged!” blurted out the snake.

“And we are about to be attacked by a vast army of New Nithlings led by the Piper. So hurry up, will you?”

“Indeed,” said Dame Primus, her tone quite changed. “It shall be as you say, Lord Arthur. I do not know how quickly we can come, but we will do our best.”

“That’s that, then,” said Arthur. “Let’s have a look at the battlefield, and while we do that, somebody can find a big white flag. And an olive branch. You could do that, Marshal Noon. Lead on, Marshal Dusk.”

As they walked to the door, Arthur lifted his hand and took a surreptitious look at his crocodile ring. He did not need to hold it close to see that the gold had washed past the fourth marker and was a third of the way towards the fifth.

H
igh on the battlements of the Star Fort, it was easier to see just how much trouble the Citadel and all those who sheltered behind its walls were in. There was a blackened, churned-up borderland that stretched for about three hundred yards beyond the western bastions. After that, there were numerous diagonal trenches dug in a complex pattern that ran for miles to the west and to the north and south. These trenches were heavily populated by New Nithlings and New Nithling siege equipment, including scaling ladders, bundles of fascines for filling trenches, battering rams, and many large mantlets that were like portable roofs they carried to protect themselves from arrows and musketry.

“So that’s what seventy-five thousand New Nithlings look like,” said Arthur. He tried to sound nonchalant, but there were so many of the enemy, and everything about their position looked so organized, from the trenches to the way that each unit was formed up within the earthworks, each with its own colorful banner above it, spread by the breeze and bravely lit by the afternoon sun.

“More like ninety thousand,” said Dusk, looking at a strip of parchment in his hand. “The Borderers report another column has just arrived. There—you can see its dust in the distance.”

Arthur looked where Marshal Dusk was pointing.

“How far away is that?”

“Four miles,” said Dusk. “Off the fixed tiles. They’d normally be moved far away at sunset.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, but everyone glanced at the downward-lurching sun, and there was an unspoken note of regret that the mission to destroy the spike had failed.

“They’re preparing for another assault,” said a colonel at Dusk’s side.

“That’s unusual,” said Dusk. “They’ve only just failed in their last attempt. Normally they wait a day or so, to really build up their numbers. I wonder why the hurry now?”

“They were close to taking the southwestern corner bastion,” answered the colonel. “Perhaps they think a quick assault will finish that task.”

“I had best go see to the defenses, sir,” said Dusk. “If I may suggest, sir, it would be wise to send Marshal Noon there too. He is a tremendous fighter and always greatly cheers the troops.”

“We’ll all go,” said Arthur. He licked his lips, which had become suddenly dry.

Just the wind,
Arthur thought.

“I’ll go out with the truce flag,” he said. “I don’t suppose the Piper will be there…though I guess he can probably use the Improbable Stair too…so maybe he will be…”

Arthur paused for a moment, thinking before he continued.

“I’ll ask for him. If he’s not there and they’re prepared to talk, it will win us some time. If he is, I’ll try to drag things out as long as I can, to give Dame Primus time to get the reinforcements here.”

I just pray she’s not as slow and bureaucratic as she normally is,
thought Arthur. He hoped this doubt did not show on his face.

“They may simply try to kill you,” said Marshal Dusk. “The Key will protect you to some extent, but we do not know the extent of their Nothing-based sorcery or powers. And the Piper…I know little about him, but he was always rumored to be a most powerful and unusual sorcerer himself.”

“When did you last hear about him?” asked Arthur.

“We do not pay much attention to what goes on elsewhere in the House or the Secondary Realms,” Dusk explained. “But of course new recruits bring rumors, and letters come from their civilian homes. Now that I think on
it, I suppose I have not heard anything of the Piper’s exploits for several hundred years at least.”

“And now the Piper’s back, apparently from Nothing, with an army of New Nithlings.”

“With your permission, I will personally choose and lead your bodyguard,” said Dusk.

Arthur shook his head and pointed down.

“I’ll go alone. To the middle of the firewash-burned zone there, between those two bastions. You can cover me from there. If too many of them come for me, I’ll back off. But I hope when they see the white flag, they’ll send just one messenger. They are very military…I think they’ll do the right thing.”

“They are good soldiers,” Dusk said slowly, as if it were hard for him to say this aloud. “Perhaps they will send a herald. But in case they do not…we have a troop of the Horde here, sir. So, again with your permission, I will have them stand ready near the southwest sally port. In the event a rescue is required.”

“Sure,” Arthur said. “But no one is to do anything unless I give a clear signal or I’m being literally dragged away or attacked. I don’t want everything to go off the rails because someone shoots the herald or something.”

He hesitated, then spoke again.

“You’d better assign soldiers to watch the Piper’s
children too. The Piper might be able to make them do things. I don’t want any of them hurt or locked up or anything. They should be allowed to carry out their duties. Just have them watched, and if they do act strangely, they can be restrained. But not hurt, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” said Dusk. “Here is Marshal Noon, with the truce flag.”

Noon stomped grumpily out onto the battlements, a staff with a furled white flag in his hand.

“Thank you, Marshal.” Arthur felt a bit guilty for sending the marshal to get a white flag. It was because the Denizen had annoyed him, and he felt ill that he had behaved in such a way. His mother and father would be horrified at his misuse of power. If he wasn’t careful, Arthur thought, he’d not only turn into a Denizen, he’d turn into one like Sir Thursday. “I should have sent a junior officer. I apologize.”

“Yes, sir,” said Noon stiffly. “Do you have further orders, sir?”

“I want you to take personal charge of the defense of the outer bastions,” said Arthur. “I am going to try to get us time by talking, but it may not work, and the New Nithlings are apparently preparing to attack again.”

Noon looked out over the crenellated wall and back again.

“Within the hour, I would say,” he said. “At sundown.”

“I suppose I should change into something more impressive,” said Arthur. He looked down at his dusty cuirass and the torn and bedraggled uniform underneath it.

“You hold the Key, and Part Four of the Will of the Architect rides upon your arm,” said the Will. “You need no adornment to proclaim your authority. Now, Lord Arthur, I think that you might find ten minutes to hold a court and try Sir Thursday—”

“Please stop going on about a trial or whatever for Thursday!” exclaimed Arthur. “I’ve got enough to worry about!”

“In my experience, if justice needs to be done, it should be done swiftly and visibly,” protested the Will.

Arthur wasn’t listening. One of the officers around him had idly picked up a lead bullet or a small stone and was throwing it over the wall. Something about its arc made him suddenly wonder if he’d thrown the Skinless Boy’s pocket far enough to land in the Nothing. If it had fallen short, as now seemed all too likely, he would have to try and get that back from the Piper in order to destroy it.

“Sir Thursday will face trial,” he said, trying to refocus. “He murdered Fineold and Jazebeth. But right now we haven’t got time. Let’s get down to the outer bastions. Marshal Noon, if you would lead the way?”

As with his journey into the Citadel, Arthur was led
along, through, and past a bewildering arrangement of tunnels, gates, walkways, and guardhouses. But it was different this time. He was constantly saluted, and his arm grew weary from raising his baton in reply. The marshals spoke to the soldiers, encouraging them, talking to them by name, congratulating them for their exploits so far in the siege. But Arthur couldn’t do that. Every time he was about to say something morale-boosting, he found the words he was thinking of sounded insincere. So he remained silent, striding along amid the crowd of marshals and other officers, but strangely alone, space always around him, no matter how confined they were.