Superior Saturday (14 page)

‘Artful Lounger territory,’ whispered Suzy.

‘Yep,’ said Arthur. He looked around keenly. ‘But there aren’t any here.’

He started off towards the water tank. Though the rain obscured his view, he could see the clear glass wall of the tank through several floors, and the open top of it up ahead, with its rain-dappled surface of clean blue water. It looked like an enormous aquarium, and Arthur wondered if there were fish in it. Or other things ...

‘So do yer just stick your hand in, or what?’ asked Suzy as they reached the edge of the huge tank and looked across the expanse of water.

We’re ten thousand feet up a tower, and this water ‘tank’ is about five hundred feet deep,
thought Arthur,
with a surface area that’s about equal to sixteen Olympic pools. That’s some water storage!

He bent down and dipped his hand in the water. Immediately he felt Part Six of the Will speak directly into his mind.

Arthur! I need your help to gather myself. Come into the water! There is no time to lose!

‘It wants me to go into the water,’ Arthur told Suzy. He looked at the rain splashes and then back at the empty lounges behind them.

‘So it’s here?’ Suzy asked. She kept looking back too.

‘Yes,’ said Arthur. ‘I suppose I’d better go in. You keep watch.’

Suzy nodded and drew her wrench, slapping the heavy adjustable head against her open hand.

Five hundred feet deep,
thought Arthur.
That’s waaaay too deep ... but I have to get the Will.

Steeling himself, Arthur slid off the latticed iron floor and into the water. It was cold, but not as cold as he’d expected. It was definitely not as cold as it should have been that high up, but then neither was the air. Saturday might like the rain, but she clearly didn’t want the cold of an earthly high altitude.

Good!
the Will chimed in.
Swim to the middle and call me!

Arthur trod water for a few minutes. He’d done lifesaving classes, and had swum in his clothes before, but not with his boots on. He was about to kick them off, but decided not to. He wasn’t having any trouble staying afloat. Possibly because he wasn’t having any trouble breathing, and his strength and endurance were far greater than they’d ever been.

He struck out for the middle, using breaststroke rather than freestyle so he could see where he was going. It was slower, but safer. Halfway there, he rolled over on his back and did some backstroke so he could see Suzy. She waved, and he waved back.

Good work, Arthur! Now, call me with your mind.

Arthur trod water and watched the rain, visualising the tiny fragments of the Will that lay inside each raindrop.

Part Six of the Will of the Architect, attend upon me, Arthur the Rightful Heir,
he thought, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Join together and come to me!

Long threads of type began to glow and flow through the water, twining together like the tendrils of luminous sea plants. The rain shone with an inner light and began to drive towards Arthur rather than falling straight down through the latticework floors. Up above him, drips and drops that had been caught on the floors sprang into motion, rolling and spreading to the nearest gap to fall again.

Sixty floors below Arthur, a sorcerer stared at her mirror in amazement. She hesitated for a moment, then opened a small, secret drawer in the middle of her desk and depressed a dusty bronze button.

Around her, mirrors flashed. Denizens who had been paying scant attention leaned forward, snapping books shut and dropping pens. Above their heads, the pneumatic message tubes suddenly puffed and coughed, and red capsules began to fall upon the desks.

On the floors where the sorcerers danced, they all stopped in mid-beat. Umbrellas were snapped open, chairs dragged back as they sat down, and thousands of small mirrors were turned for better viewing.

Higher up the tower, as high as you could get for now, until the assault ram was raised, a telephone rang and was picked up by a milk-white, silky hand.

Arthur watched the threads of type weave themselves through the water, and he kept calling the Will inside his head. Slowly, the lines of type began to take on a shape, the shape of a large bird. It turned a dark colour, a shining black, and its beak, head and ruffled neck rose up out of the water.

‘Good, Lord Arthur,’ croaked the raven. One text-wrought wing fluttered above the surface, while the other was still unformed threads of type. ‘I am almost complete. A little more rain must fall and be gathered in.’

‘Arthur!’

Arthur looked back to Suzy. She was pointing with her wrench.

‘Artful Loungers! Lots of them!’

‘A few more minutes,’ said the raven. ‘Keep calling me, Lord Arthur!’

Arthur tried to jump up so he could see what Suzy saw, but even with his hardest kicking he could only just raise up seven inches or so. But that was enough. All around the offices beyond the reservoir, Artful Loungers were crawling out from
under
the lounges. They had been there all along, hidden and quiescent.

Now they were advancing on Suzy, with their curved blue-steel swords and Nothing-poison stilettos of crystal.

Suzy flicked her rain-mantle behind her back and raised her wrench.

‘Concentrate, Arthur! Call me!’ said Part Six.

Arthur dove forward and broke into his fastest freestyle stroke.

‘Arthur! I can’t escape without you!’

Arthur ignored the raven and swam faster, piercing the water like a dolphin. But even though he was swimming faster than he ever had, after a dozen strokes he was no closer to the side, and after a dozen more, he felt him self being pulled very strongly back. Rolling over, he was pushed sideways as well. As he swirled about, he felt a powerful tug at his ankles.

He was in a whirlpool. The water was running out of the tank, and he was going with it.

‘Suzy!’ yelled Arthur. The water had sunk so quickly and he was being twirled around so fast that he could only see Suzy’s head. ‘Use your wings. Fly aw—’

Water filled his mouth. Flailing wildly, Arthur barely managed to get himself above the surface again. The suction was incredible, the action of tons and tons of water drawn into a ten-thousand-foot-high drain. Desperately he looked back, but he couldn’t see Suzy, only the glitter of Artful Lounger swords, and through water-filled ears he heard the crash of metal and shouts and a single, cut-off scream.

Then he could only think of himself. He was drowning, his lungs filling with water as he was inexorably dragged below the surface. All his fears of a long, slow underwater death were coming true.

He scrabbled at his belt pouch, thrusting his fingers in to touch the Fifth Key through the bag, not trying to get it out, for if he did, he knew he would lose it for sure. He felt its power, weak though it was through the shielding metalcloth, and focussed his mind to use its sorcery, only to be flung around so violently that his arms were twisted behind him and he was up-ended, diving headfirst down the drain.

Water completely filled his lungs and the last, pathetic bubble of air left his mouth.

I refuse to die,
thought Arthur.
I am no longer human. I am the Rightful Heir of the Architect. I am going to breathe the water.

He opened his mouth and took a deep, refreshing intake of water. All his choking sensations vanished, and his mouth, twisted moments ago in a panicked, silent scream, smoothed into something that was not quite a smile. He took another breath of water and pirouetted so he was upright, rushing feetfirst rather than headfirst down what must be an enormous pipe.

Suzy was probably only taken prisoner,
he told himself.
I’ll survive this and rescue her. It will be all right ...

The water rushing him down suddenly changed direction. Arthur hit something very, very hard. He screamed, but no sound came out, just a blast of water from his mouth. Then he was picked up again and slammed even harder, bumping and scraping as the water surged and corkscrewed, carrying him with it.

Still screaming, Arthur curled up into a ball to protect himself—and, like a ball, was swept on and on, down and along the huge stormwater pipe that switchbacked its way through and down ten thousand feet.

It took half an hour for the water to reach the bottom. In that time, Arthur was smashed a hundred times against the sides of the pipe. He hurt terribly, all over, but the awful passage that would have killed any mortal at its beginning did not kill him.

At the bottom, the huge pipe spat out a waterfall that cascaded into a vast, under-floor lake, carved out of the bulwark rock under the Upper House. Arthur fell through the waterfall, sank to the bottom, and just lay there until the pains that wracked him diminished from the level of blinding stabs to a steady, debilitating ache.

It still hurt to move, but Arthur forced himself to swim up to the surface. Breaking out of the water, he was afraid he might not be able to breathe air, but he could, and it felt no different from when he was breathing the water.

Arthur wearily trod water and looked around. He could see the huge pipe and the waterfall that still cascaded from it, but little else. There was fog, or steam, obscur ing everything. As the water drained from his ears, he became aware of sound, the dull, repetitive thud of mighty engines.

Back under the floor,
he thought.
In the middle of a lot of water. Must be the Central Rain Reservoir ...

‘Part Six?’ Arthur croaked. ‘Will. Are you here too?’

A raven head emerged from the water, but it was not glossy and black, and there were blank lines where parts of it were missing. It opened its beak and croaked, ‘Most of me is here, Lord Arthur, but some fragments are yet to arrive. In fact, I believe the few paragraphs that make up my tail are still falling as rain and will not arrive here for an hour or more.’

‘I doubt we’ve got an hour,’ said Arthur. ‘I was overconfident. Scamandros warned me that they could track any sorcery I did. I just didn’t think calling you would count.’

‘Saturday must have devoted a very large number of her Denizens to watch for any signs of sorcery,’ said the Will. ‘It is surprising, since she is also massing her forces to assault the Incomparable Gardens. If we are fortunate, that battle will have commenced and will serve as a distraction. In any case, we are a long way under the floor here, and her servants do not like to venture into this region.’

‘The Ratcatcher Automatons do, though,’ said Arthur. ‘Can you pull yourself together from anywhere in this pool?’

‘Why, yes,’ said the Will. ‘Why?’

‘You can do it from near solid ground, then. I have to get out of the water. I feel like I’ve been run over by a mammoth. Which way is the closest shore?’

‘Follow me,’ said the raven head, and it began to move away. It looked quite horrible, just the head of a bird and part of its neck, gliding across the water without obvious means of propulsion.

Arthur swam slowly and wearily behind it, thinking about Suzy and Leaf. He felt as if he’d abandoned both of them, but he hadn’t meant to. It was just how things had worked out.

Not that that’s an excuse,
he thought gloomily.
Maybe Suzy’s okay—they probably just took her prisoner. And maybe time has stayed stopped for Leaf. It seems so cowardly to wait for the Will and then take it back to the Citadel ... but what else can I do?

The steam clouds ahead parted to show a long stone quay or platform that was only a few inches above the water level. Arthur dragged himself up onto it and collapsed. The Will watched from the water and began to flex the beginnings of its left wing.

Arthur hadn’t lain there very long when he heard something other than the steady hum and clank of the steam engines. A more surreptitious noise—like someone sweeping the floor, accompanied by a faint patter of feet and the suggestion of a whistle ...

He sat up and looked along the quay. The whistle was very quiet, but he thought he knew what it was, and his guess was confirmed as Dartbristle emerged out of the steaming mists. The Rat was holding a small crossbow in one hand and dragging a net full of something behind.

‘Dartbristle!’ Arthur called out.

The Raised Rat jumped, dropped the net, and lifted his crossbow with both hands.

‘Lord Arthur! What are you doing here?’

‘I got washed down a drain. But I’m glad to see you. I need some directions. What are you doing?’

Dartbristle was aiming the crossbow at him, while also shaking his head. Arthur saw with horrid fascination that the crossbow bolt had a head made of Immaterial Glass, like a sealed bottle, and a tiny piece of Nothing writhed inside.

‘I’m sorry, Lord Arthur. I wish you weren’t here! I have the strictest orders—’

‘No!’ shouted Arthur.

Dartbristle pulled the trigger, and the Nothing-poisoned bolt sped straight for Arthur’s chest.

Arthur didn’t have time to think or duck. He didn’t need to. Without any active thought on his part, he leaned aside and caught the bolt as it passed, right in the middle of the shaft. The Nothing bottle on the end remained unbroken.

Arthur reversed the bolt to use it as a hand weapon and advanced upon Dartbristle, who was hastily cranking his crossbow to ready it for another bolt.

‘The strictest orders,’ panted the Rat. ‘Shoot anyone who might interfere. I don’t want to shoot you, but I must!’

Arthur stopped. Something—several somethings—were coming out of the steam clouds. Six Ratcatcher Automatons, their long feelers testing the way ahead as they advanced down the quay.

Dartbristle saw the expression on Arthur’s face and turned around, just as the closest Ratcatcher charged. The Rat threw his crossbow aside, picked up the net, and hurled it into the water. He tried to draw his long knife, but throwing the net had taken all the time he had. The Ratcatcher’s left claw caught him around the neck and snapped closed. Another automaton came up and wound its razor-edged feelers all around him and began to squeeze.

This was a mistake. Dartbristle was almost certainly already dead anyway, but the squeezing broke the Noth ing bottles that were in their special wooden case on his back. Nothing exploded out, and the Ratcatchers’ feelers instantly dissolved. The automatons hummed and squealed in alarm as the Nothing ran like quicksilver over their claws and out along their bodies, dissolving everything it touched.

In a few seconds, no trace remained of either Dartbristle or the two Ratcatcher Automatons. The Nothing coalesced back into a puddle of darkness and began to sink into the bulwark bedrock, cutting a deep shaft through the reinforced House material.

Arthur eyed the remaining four automatons and readied himself for their attack. But they didn’t charge. They waved their feelers around and their red central eye things glowed, and then the four of them turned around and disappeared back into the warm fog.

‘Recognised you weren’t a Rat,’ said the Will. It had two wings now, and was hopping along the surface of the pool, albeit without having any claws or a tail. ‘Which is lucky. I believe they have a bit of a problem with recognising their legitimate prey.’

‘Poor Dartbristle,’ said Arthur. ‘He didn’t want to shoot me, or at least not me in particular. What did he throw into the pool?’

‘I shall take a look,’ said the Will. It scuttled across the surface and grabbed the floating net in its beak to drag it back to Arthur, who sat back down on the edge of the pool and let his feet dangle in the water. His boots had come off after all, in his rapid descent, and his coveralls were ripped to shreds below the knees and elbows. His belt was still on, fortunately, and Arthur tapped the pouch to confirm that the bag with the Key, the Mariner’s medal and Elephant was still there.

‘These are things of sorcery,’ said the Will as it dropped the net near Arthur. ‘I do not know what they are for.’

Arthur picked up the net. There were three large round glass floats inside. One red, one blue and one green. They looked like the same kind of glass that Simultaneous Bottles were made from.

‘He threw these into the water, even though it meant he didn’t have time to draw his weapon,’ said Arthur. ‘It was that important.’

‘Then we should put them back in the water,’ said the Will. ‘To respect his dying wish.’

‘What?’ asked Arthur. This wasn’t the kind of behaviour he was used to from any part of the Will.

‘We should put them back in,’ the Will repeated. ‘As a matter of respect. Ah, the text for one of my tail feathers has just dropped in. Back in a moment.’

It left Arthur holding the net and scudded off toward the waterfall that issued from the downpipe.

Arthur lifted the red float and looked at it. It didn’t seem particularly sorcerous.

Arthur held the floats for a minute, thinking about something his mother had once said when she was explaining something to his sister Michaeli and didn’t know he was listening. There is never one absolutely right thing to do. All you can do is honour what you believe, accept the consequences of your own actions, and make the best out of whatever happens.

‘I bet I’m going to regret this,’ he said aloud, and dropped the floats back into the water. They bobbed around his feet and then slowly began to drift out, so slowly that he couldn’t be sure if they were actually propelling themselves or if there was some kind of current.

Arthur watched the floats bob away and tried to plan what he was going to do next. But he still hurt all over—apart from the physical pain, he felt a great load of guilt.

I should’ve got Suzy to swim out with me. I wasn’t thinking. I was too confident. No—I’ve got to stop obsessing. It’s done now. I just have to rescue her. I’ll have to challenge Saturday for the Key anyway. But she has too many sorcerers. So I should go back and get the Army. And Dame Primus, or Dame Quarto and Thingo or whoever. At least the other Keys. But if I do that, it might take too long ...

The Will came planing back on one claw a few

minutes later, while Arthur wrestled with his conscience, his fears and his half-formed plans. ‘Almost there!’ cawed the Will. ‘Only part of a claw and a tail feather to go!’

‘Good,’ said Arthur. ‘As soon as you’re ready, I guess

we’d better go back to the Citadel—’ He stopped talking and cocked his head. ‘What is it?’ asked the Will. It was preening its wing feathers with its beak. ‘The steam engines,’ said Arthur. ‘They sound closer.’ He stood up and turned around. ‘Closer and coming from a different direction.’ The Will stopped preening and looked out across the water with its beady black eyes. ‘Steamship,’ said Arthur. ‘Or steamships. That’s what

I can hear.’

‘I can see them!’ said the Will. ‘Look! Eight of them.’ Arthur stared out across the lake. There was too much steam and smoke, but even if he couldn’t see anything, he could hear the rhythmic beat of the engines and the sound of the ship’s wake. Finally one sharp bow thrust its way through the fog, and he saw the front of a Raised Rat steamship, with rank after rank of Newniths mustered on the foredeck.

‘The Piper!’ said Arthur. ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’

‘So much sorcery!’ said the Will. ‘Saturday is bound to respond at any moment!’

‘I think she already has,’ said Arthur. He pointed up at the clouds of smoke above them. A huge ring of fire was beginning to form above the ships, a ring the size of an athletic track, easily five hundred yards in diameter. Flames began to fall from it, small flames at first, like fiery rain, but they began to get bigger and, from the way they changed colour from yellow-red to blue and white, much hotter.

The ships responded by increasing their speed. They were heading straight for the quay where Arthur was standing, their funnels belching smoke as their engines were stoked for maximum power.

‘They’re going to run aground right here!’ said Arthur. ‘Are you complete?’

‘Not quite,’ said the Will calmly. ‘Just one short paragraph to go, but an essential one, to make a flight feather ...’

‘Hurry up,’ Arthur urged. As the ships came closer, the ring of fire was moving too, and the storm of incendiary rain was increasing in ferocity.

But it wasn’t setting the ships alight, Arthur saw, or even hitting the Newnith soldiers on the decks. The rain was sliding off an invisible barrier that stretched from the masts of the ships down to the side rails, a sorcerous barrier that was, for the moment, proving impervious to Saturday’s attack.

We don’t have that barrier,
Arthur realised.
That fire is getting way too close ...

He could feel the heat of the flaming rain now, fierce on his face. The drops were so hot that he could see them keep going for several feet underwater, unquenched, their fire lasting for much longer than it should.

‘Are you ready?’ Arthur snapped again. ‘We have to run!’

‘Almost, almost, almost there,’ crooned the raven.

Fiery raindrops were hissing into the water ten feet away. The ships, steaming at full speed, were three hundred yards away. A group of soldiers pointed at Arthur and suddenly there were arrows in the air, which flew true but didn’t make it through the firestorm.

‘Done,’ said the raven. It flew up and perched on Arthur’s shoulder. ‘I am complete. I am Part Six of the Will of the—’

Arthur didn’t wait to hear any more. He turned and ran along the quay as fast as he could go, flames spattering on the stone behind him. Steam klaxons sounded too, and the war cries of the Newniths, which he knew all too well from the battles in the Great Maze.

Through all that noise, through the hammering of engines, the scream of klaxons, the hiss and roar of the firestorm and the shouts, there was still that other sound. A clear and separate sound, beautiful and terrible to hear.

The sound of the Piper, playing a tune upon his pipes.

‘Ah,’ said the raven. ‘The Architect’s troublesome third son.’

‘Troublesome!’ Arthur snorted. ‘He’s a lot worse than that.’

The quay ended at a solid rock face, with no obvious exits. Arthur stared at it for a second, then started to hunt for protuberances or bits of stone that looked out of place. He quickly found one, pressed it, and rushed in as the rock-slab door groaned open.

The cavern beyond was an equipment room, the walls covered with racks of many different metalworking tools, which at a different time would have interested Arthur. With the Piper’s Army landing behind him, he barely spared them a glance.

‘How do I lock the door?’ he asked the Will, after he made sure there was another exit.

‘I have no idea,’ the Will replied.

‘You’ve been here for the last ten thousand years! Haven’t you learned anything?’

‘My viewpoint has been rather limited,’ the raven explained. ‘Not to mention extremely fragmented.’

Arthur grabbed several long iron bars and propped them up against the door, kicking them down so they were wedged in place.

‘That might last a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Come on!’

‘Where are we going?’ asked the Will.

‘Out of here, for a start.’ Arthur opened the far door and looked up a circular stairway made of red wrought iron that was decorated with gilded rosettes in its railings and on the steps. ‘The Piper will take a while to land all his troops, but they’ll send out scouting parties for sure, and I guess Saturday will send forces down. We have to stay out of the way of both.’

‘Saturday may well be occupied high above,’ said the Will. ‘Her tower has reached the underside of the Incomparable Gardens, and the Drasil trees are no longer growing taller.’

Arthur started running up the steps, taking three at a time. The raven flew behind him, occasionally alighting on his head.

‘Why does she want to get into the Incomparable Gardens?’ Arthur asked as he climbed.

‘Because the Incomparable Gardens are the first place the Architect made, and so shall be the last to fall,’ cawed the raven. ‘But also because Saturday believes that she should have always ruled there. She envies Sunday and would supplant him.’

‘Even if it means destroying the House?’ asked Arthur. The stairway was winding up between walkways like the one where he and Suzy had arrived out of the Simultaneous Nebuchadnezzar.

It would be really easy to enter the Improbable Stair right now,
he thought.
Going up these steps makes it really easy to visualise ...

‘She believes the Incomparable Gardens would survive even if the rest of the House crumbles into Nothing,’ said the raven. ‘She may even be correct. Making the lower parts of the House fall was the only way she could stop the Drasils from growing.’

‘So she’ll get in? Can’t Lord Sunday stop her?’

‘I know nothing of Sunday’s current capabilities,’ said the Will. ‘Nor his intentions. We must find and free Part Seven to help us with that. But first, of course, you must claim the Sixth Key from Saturday, the self-proclaimed Superior Sorcerer.’

‘I know,’ said Arthur. ‘But how am I supposed to do that?’

‘Where there’s a Will there’s a—’

‘Shut up!’ protested Arthur. ‘I’m sick of hearing that.’

‘Oh?’ asked the Will. ‘Heard it before? I do apologise.’

‘How about something a bit more concrete?’ asked Arthur. ‘Like a plan, or some intelligent advice for a change?’

‘Hmm,’ said the raven. ‘I take it my lesser Parts have not endeared themselves to you?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Arthur. ‘Some bits are better than others. How long is this stair going to go up?’

‘I do have a plan, actually,’ said the Will, after another fifty steps.

‘Okay, what is it?’ Arthur wasn’t even slightly out of breath, despite running up so many steps. He still found that incredible.

‘Your friend, the Piper’s child, you want to attempt a rescue?’

‘Yes,’ said Arthur.

If Suzy’s still alive ...

He stopped and the raven almost crashed into his face before managing to land on his shoulder. ‘Are you sure you’re part of the Will?’ Arthur had to ask. ‘The rest of you doesn’t usually care much about ... anyone, really.’

‘It’s all part of my plan,’ the Will assured him. ‘You see, when I was suspended in the rain, I did get to visit many nooks and crannies that were rarely visited by anyone else. Including the hanging cages where they put prisoners.’

‘Hanging cages?’ Arthur didn’t like the sound of that.

‘Yes,’ said the raven eagerly. ‘Now, on the south and west sides of the tower, there’s all the big lifting apparatus and so on. On the north side it’s completely sheer and undisturbed, I don’t know why. But on the east side, there are lots of small extensions, platforms, balconies, crane-jigs and suchlike. Toward the top, around 61620, the Internal Auditors have a buttress that sticks out about fifty feet, and from that buttress they hang cages for prisoners. That’s probably where your friend is now. Unless the Artful Loungers killed her straight off. They are vicious creatures, and those Nothing-poison daggers of theirs—’