‘Lost and forgotten, you mean,’ said Suzy with a snort. ‘You wouldn’t believe how hopeless they are. Hang on – we’re slowing down. Almost there. Hold tight!’
Twelve
ARTHUR GRABBED THE handrail as the elevator slowed suddenly and went through a series of juddering halts that threatened to throw everyone against the ceiling and then the floor. It ran smoothly for a few seconds after that, long enough for him to relax, then it came to a sudden stop, this time successfully sending Arthur and Suzy against the walls and floor. The Will, courtesy of its sucker-toed frog shape, stayed stuck to the handrail.
Arthur picked himself up a little slower than Suzy, who was already sliding the elevator door open. He expected to see an office like the one they’d run through down in the Atrium, all dark wood, green baize, and gaslights. His mouth hung open at what he saw instead.
The elevator door opened out onto a shaded grove of very tall, very thick-trunked trees. They formed a circle around a roughly trimmed lawn, which had the remains of a campfire sitting in a burnt patch at its centre. A narrow but beautifully clear stream cut through one corner, burbling gently along. A wooden footbridge crossed the stream, with a paved path leading across to an open summerhouse that was like an old-fashioned bandstand. In the summerhouse were a desk, a lounge chair, and some bookcases.
‘Here we are,’ said Suzy. ‘The Office of the Efficiencer General.’
Arthur followed her out, with the Will jumping ahead. The elevator door rolled shut of its own accord behind him and an electric-sounding bell rattled, making him jump. When he looked back he saw the elevator door was in the trunk of one of the vast trees. With the door closed, he could barely see its outline in the bark or the call button that was concealed in a knotted whorl.
‘There’s sunshine here,’ Arthur said, pointing to the rays that came through the foliage. He peered between two trunks and saw a distant vista of grasslands beyond, with blue sky above. ‘And I can see a normal sky and everything. Where are we?’
‘We’re still in the House,’ said Suzy. ‘All that stuff is like a picture. You can’t go out past the trees. I’ve tried. You’ll just smack into something. It’s kind of an all-round window.’
Arthur kept staring. He could see shapes moving in the grass. Huge, reptilian animals. Prehistoric creatures that he had seen in books and museums. Except these ones weren’t grey like in all the pictures, but a pale yellow with faint blue stripes.
‘There are dinosaurs out there!’
‘They cannot get in,’ said the Will. ‘Suzy is correct.
There is a panoramic window around this office, which looks out into a particular place in the Secondary Realms. It is unusual that it looks out upon a distant past, as that is most difficult. The greater the distance back from House Time, the more unstable the window.’
‘Can one of these look into the future too?’ asked Arthur. ‘Can you change where it looks into?’
‘It depends what you mean by the future,’ said the Will. ‘There are many different relationships between House Time and time in the Secondary Realms. If you mean the future of your world, no. That is closely in step with House Time, so the future is not accessible. But we could look at any time before you came here, if we had the document that describes the window. You see, as it looks out on the Secondary Realms, it is part of them and will have a record somewhere in the House. Perhaps in that desk.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Arthur. ‘I just wanted to see . . . to check what was happening back home. But not if I can’t see after I left.’
It’s probably better not to see, Arthur thought despondently. All it would do was feed the fear and the tension inside him.
‘I’ll start a fire,’ said Suzy. ‘We’ll have tea.’
We haven’t got time for tea! Arthur thought. But he managed not to say it. He had to wait and listen to what the Will had to say in any case. They might as well drink tea while they were listening.
Suzy went over to the burnt patch and started assembling a small pyramid of black stones. Arthur followed her. It took him a second to realise that the stones were pieces of coal. He’d never seen any before. Not real coal, so shiny and black. All the pieces of coal were exactly the same shape and size, which he thought couldn’t be normal.
‘I don’t get this place at all,’ he said. ‘Why have gaslights and coal fires and the old-fashioned clothes and everything? If this is the epicentre of the universe, couldn’t it be all done by magic or whatever? And you could have better clothes.’
‘It’s fashion,’ said Suzy. ‘It changes every now and then, dunno why. When it does, everything’s different, but there’s always the records and rotten jobs and things you want and can’t get, like decent clothes. I don’t really remember the last fashion. It was more than a hundred years ago. Too much washing between my ears. I do vaguely remember having to wear a pointy hat.’
‘Robes and cow dung campfires and donkey carts up endless mountains instead of elevators,’ said the Will. ‘That was the fashion before I was locked away. I think the Architect liked to take on ideas from the Secondary Realms, at least cosmetically. Doubtless the current fashion is the work of the Trustees.’
‘Whatever the fashion, it’s impossible to get clothes from the official supplies, so you have to get ’em from the smugglers,’ complained Suzy. ‘But you’ve got to have House gold, and that’s almost impossible to come by, or something to barter. Course the big nobs always have a supply of coats and shirts and tea and buttered scones and such-like. Mind you, every now and then they mislays a bag of coal or a tea caddy.’
Suzy winked and went to the summerhouse and retrieved a battered, blackened teapot that she filled with water from the stream and hung over the coal fire on a tripod made from three bent pokers and some wire.
‘So, froggy, tell us what Arthur is supposed to do,’ said Suzy. She sat down cross-legged on the lawn and stared at the pop-eyed amphibian. Arthur lay down on his stomach and rested his chin on his hands.
‘Arthur. You have the Minute Hand, which is half of the Key that governs the Lower House,’ said the Will. ‘It is not as powerful as the Hour Hand that Mister Monday retains, but it is faster to use, and can be used more often. You are aware that it can lock and open doors, but it has many other powers that I will explain in due course. Now, as the First Part of the Will, I have chosen you as the Rightful Heir to the House. The Minute Hand is only the very beginning of your inheritance. Your immediate goal is to get the Hour Hand and complete the Key. With it, you will easily be able to defeat Mister Monday and claim the Mastery of the Lower House. The Morrow Days will protest, of course, but under the agreement they themselves forged with Monday, they will not be able to interfere.
‘As soon as Monday is defeated and you have become Master, then we will need to put in train significant changes to the Lower House, in order to have a solid base from which to free the remaining parts of the Will. There is clearly tremendous slackness and stupidity here now and, worst of all, I believe, even interference with the Secondary Realms. You will need to select a cabinet, your own Dawn, Noon, and Dusk, of course –’ ‘Hold it!’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘I don’t want to be the Master or whatever. I have to get a cure for the plague and take it back home! I just want to know how to do that.’
‘I was discussing grand strategy,’ sniffed the Will. ‘Not tactics. However, I shall endeavor to answer your questions.’
It folded its webbed hands together and leaned forward.
‘Imprimis, you must defeat Mister Monday in order to have any chance of doing anything, including getting a cure for this plague of yours. Secundus, you will sneak into Mister Monday’s aptly named Dayroom and retrieve the Hour Hand, which is your own lawful property. In fact, once you get in there and call it, using the spell I shall teach you, it will simply fly to your hand, unless Monday is holding it at the time, which is unlikely.
‘So there’s no way to get a cure for the plague without defeating Monday?’ a
sked Arthur.
‘Once you are Master, all manner of things will be possible,’ said the Will. ‘You will have full access to the Atlas, for example, a repository of considerable knowledge. I expect there would be a cure for this plague in there.’
‘I haven’t got the Atlas! The Fetchers took it. Wherever they went.’
‘The Fetchers were banished back to the Nothing from whence they came,’ said the Will. ‘The Atlas, however, will be back where it came from, which is the ivory-faced bookshelf behind the tree fern in Monday’s Dayroom.’
‘So there is no other way I can get a cure for the plague and get home?’
‘No,’ said the Will firmly.
‘Okay, if I have to do this, I have to do it,’ said Arthur.
‘How do I sneak into Monday’s Dayroom?’
‘That is a detail that I have not yet grappled with,’ said the Will. ‘Suffice to say there are a number of possibilities, including the use of the Improbable Stair, though that is a last –’
He stopped in midsentence, tilted his small green head, and said, ‘What was that?’
Arthur had heard it too. A distant roaring. He looked questioningly at Suzy.
‘I dunno,’ she said. ‘I’ve never heard anything here but the stream and the elevator bell.’
The roaring came again, much louder and closer. In the gap through the trees, Arthur saw a yellow-and-blue-striped monster that, apart from its colour, was very reminiscent of every Tyrannosaurus Rex picture he’d ever seen. The creature had to weigh several tons, was forty feet from head to tail, and had teeth as long as his arm. It was coming directly at the office, roaring as it loped forward.
‘Uh, are you absolutely sure that can’t get in?’ asked Arthur. ‘How come we can hear it now?’
‘Monday,’ said the Will hurriedly. ‘He’s used the Hour Key and Seven Dials to connect that reality and this room. So it can get in, and so can Monday! We must flee to fight another day! Do not freely give up the Key, Arthur!’
The little frog immediately jumped in the stream. Suzy almost jumped too, but hesitated, then ran to the elevator and pressed the button. Arthur followed her, drawing the Key from under his shirt.
A few seconds after he’d crossed the footbridge, the huge yellow dinosaur crashed through the trees, sending splinters flying. Its beady eyes focused on the smoke from the fire and it plunged forward, roaring and biting. Red-hot coals scattered under its feet and it roared again, this time with pain, and went into a frenzy, biting and smashing at the smoke and the summerhouse with its bony head.
Arthur and Suzy crouched by the elevator door, close to the tree trunk. Suzy started to reach up to press the call button again, but Arthur held her back.
‘Don’t move,’ he whispered. ‘It thought the smoke was alive, so it must have rotten eyes and can’t smell. If we stay still it might go away.’
They watched in silent horror as the dinosaur demolished the summerhouse completely, leaving only the foundations. Everything else was smashed and bitten into pieces. Furious at not finding anything edible, and burnt by the fire, the dinosaur gave out its loudest roar yet, then crashed its way through the trees and disappeared.
‘I ain’t never coming back here,’ whispered Suzy. ‘Reckon it’s all right to move?’
‘No,’ said Arthur grimly. He had just spotted other movement where the dinosaur had first crashed through. A line of men had emerged from the trees. They reminded him a bit of the Fetchers, though these were tall and skinny and somewhat more human-looking, though their eyes were red and sunken, and their faces thin and pallid. They wore black too, all black, with tailcoats, and had long black ribbons around their top hats. They all carried long-handled whips, held tightly in their black-gloved hands.
‘Midnight Visitors,’ whispered Suzy fearfully. ‘With nightmare-whips and night-gloves.’
‘Is there any other way out besides the elevator?’ asked Arthur urgently.
‘No,’ said Suzy. ‘There might be a weirdway, but I don’t –’ She stopped as the elevator bell rang and they shared a smile of relief. Both she and Arthur sprang up and gripped the door, sliding it open so quickly it banged against the tree. With the bang came a blinding flash of light. Arthur and Suzy staggered back and fell over on the lawn.
‘So here you are,’ yawned Mister Monday. He stepped out of the elevator car, the Hour Key glinting in one hand and a shooting stick in the other. He yawned again, took a few more slow steps over to the lawn, plunged the shooting stick into the grass, unfolded its narrow seat, and sat down.
Behind him came Noon, smiling his perfect smile. At his shoulder was a beautiful woman dressed all in pink and rose who looked like Noon’s sister and so must be Monday’s Dawn. Two paces farther back was another impossibly handsome man, his face the twin of Noon’s. He wore a coat of black dusted with silver, and so must be Monday’s Dusk.
Mister Monday was clearly taking no chances. He had gathered all his most powerful supporters. As if the three of them weren’t enough, they were followed by a rush of Commissionaire Sergeants, a mass of lumbering Commissionaires, and a swirl of other less identifiable people.
‘Hurry up!’ snapped Monday. ‘I’m exhausted. Someone get the Minute Key and bring it here.’
Dawn, Noon, and Dusk looked at one another.
‘I’m waiting!’
‘The Will –’ said Noon cautiously. Like his siblings, his eyes continued to scan the office. All three of them kept their right hands open, as if they were about to draw weapons, though no weapons were in sight.
‘The Will cannot face all of us,’ yawned Monday. ‘I expect it has already fled. Now get on with it!’
There was another slight pause. No one seemed keen to step forward. Finally Noon gestured and spoke.
‘Commissionaire!’ ordered Noon, pointing to where Arthur lay on his back on the grass, partially stunned by the blast, only his fluttering eyelids and moving chest indicating that he was still alive. ‘Take that metal object from the boy.’
The Commissionaire saluted and strode forward, his legs stiff at the knees, the metal joints grinding as he moved. He stopped a pace short of Arthur, stamped his feet, and came to attention. Then he bent down from the waist and reached for the Key.
It should have come easily from Arthur’s hand, as the boy had no strength to hold it. In fact he was only dimly aware of what was going on. But the Key would not move. It seemed to be glued to his palm. The Commissionaire tugged at it, then knelt to one knee and tugged again, pulling painfully at Arthur’s arm.
‘No,’ groaned the half-conscious Arthur. ‘Please, please don’t.’
‘Rip his arm off,’ ordered Noon. ‘Or cut it off. Whichever’s quicker.’
Thirteen
THE COMMISSIONAIRE STOOD back up and slowly unscrewed his right hand. He put this through his belt, then drew a much stranger hand from inside his coat. This one had no fingers, but a single broad blade like a cleaver. He screwed this hand into his wrist. As soon as it was secure, the cleaver began to jitter and move up and down so swiftly that it became a blur of steel.
The Commissionaire bent back down and lowered the knife towards Arthur’s wrist. The boy cried out, but before he could do anything, or the knife could touch him, the Key suddenly shot out of his hand like an arrow. It plunged into the Commissionaire’s breastbone, came out through his back, and spun once more into Arthur’s hand.
There was no blood. A vague look of puzzlement crossed the Commissionaire’s face. He stood up and stepped back, and the sound of grinding gears came from his torso. Then his blue coat ripped open from the inside and a spring uncoiled to hang limp and broken down his front. It was followed a moment later with a pop-pop-pop as a rain of small cogs tumbled out around the broken spring and fell to the ground.
The Commissionaire slowly bent his head to look at his chest, raised his one normal hand to touch it, then froze in place, with a small stream of silver fluid trickling down from the corners of his eyes and out of his
mouth.
There was silence for a moment. Arthur stared at the broken Commissionaire, then at the Key in his hand, then up at his enemies. There was no chance of escape, at least not for the moment. He glanced across to Suzy Blue, but she was lying on her side, facing away, and he could not tell whether she was conscious or not.
Noon frowned and gestured to a Commissionaire Sergeant.
‘Send four of your most trusted men and fetch that Key!’
The Sergeant saluted and turned to bellow orders at his metal minions. But before he could speak, Monday’s Dusk spoke. Unlike Noon, his tongue was black, not silver, and his voice was a hoarse whisper.
‘It is as I guessed – he has now bonded fully with the Key,’ he said. ‘So force will not avail us, unless our Master cares to risk the Greater Key against the Lesser?’
Noon looked sourly at Dusk, then over at Mister Monday, who appeared to have fallen asleep, balanced precariously on his shooting stick. He did not answer Dusk’s question, though a faint tic appeared above his right eye.
‘No?’ continued Dusk. ‘Why lose more Commissionaires, brother, to no avail? The Grim charges dear for their replacement, does he not?’
‘What then? The boy will not hand it over willingly, or from fear. I have tried that.’
‘Let him keep it, for now,’ said Dusk. ‘He does not know how to use it. Let us put him somewhere safe and unpleasant. When he has suffered enough, he will give us the Key.’
‘What place is safe from the interference of the Will?’ asked Noon. ‘Nowhere I know.’
‘There is one place the Will cannot go,’ replied Dusk. ‘Or dare not. The Deep Coal Cellar. The Old One will not suffer the Will to come there.’