Drowned Wednesday

One




‘WHAT TIME IS IT?’ Arthur asked after the nurse had left, wheeling away the drip he didn’t need anymore. His adopted mother was standing in the way of the clock. Emily had told him she’d only pop in for a minute and wouldn’t sit down, but she’d already been there fifteen minutes. Arthur knew that meant she was worried about him, even though he was already off the oxygen and his broken leg, though sore, was quite bearable.

‘Four-thirty. Five minutes since you asked me last time,’ Emily replied. ‘Why are you so concerned about the time? And what’s wrong with your own watch?’

‘It’s going backwards,’ said Arthur, careful not to answer Emily’s other question. He couldn’t tell her the real reason he kept asking the time. She wouldn’t — or couldn’t — believe the real reasons.

She’d think he was mad if he told her about the House, that strange building that contained vast areas and was the epicentre of the Universe as well. Even if he could take her to the House, she wouldn’t be able to see it.

Arthur knew he would be going back to the House sooner rather than later. That morning he’d found an invitation under the pillow of his hospital bed, signed Lady Wednesday. Transportation has been arranged, it had read. Arthur couldn’t help feeling it was much more sinister than the simple word transportation suggested. Perhaps he was going to be taken, as a prisoner. Or transported like a mail package . . .

He’d been expecting something to happen all day. He couldn’t believe it was already half past four on Wednesday afternoon and there was still no sign of weird creatures or strange events. Lady Wednesday only had dominion over her namesake day in the Secondary Realms, so whatever she planned to do to him had to happen before midnight. Seven and a half hours away . . .

Every time a nurse or a visitor came through the door, Arthur jumped, expecting it to be some dangerous servant of Wednesday’s. As the hours ticked by, he’d become more and more nervous.

The suspense was worse than the pain in his broken leg. The bone was set and wrapped in one of the new ultra-tech casts, a leg sheath that looked like the armour of a space marine, extending from knee to ankle. It was super strong, super lightweight, and had what the doctor called ‘nanonic healing enhancers’ — whatever they were. Regardless of their name, they worked, and had already reduced the swelling. The cast was so advanced it would literally fall off his leg and turn into dust when its work was done.

His asthma was also under control, at least for the moment, though Arthur was annoyed that it had come back in the first place. He’d thought it had been almost completely cured as a side effect of wielding the First Key.

Then Dame Primus had used the Second Key to remove all the effects of the First Key upon him, reversing both his botched attempt to heal his broken leg and the Key’s beneficial effect on his asthma. But Arthur had to admit it was better to have a treatable broken leg and his familiar, manageable asthma than to have a magically twisted-up, inoperable leg and no asthma.

I’m lucky to have survived at all, Arthur thought. He shivered as he remembered the descent into Grim Tuesday’s Pit.

‘You’re trembling,’ said Emily. ‘Are you cold? Or is it the pain?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ said Arthur hastily. ‘My leg’s sore but it’s okay, really. How’s Dad?’

Emily looked at him carefully. Arthur could see her evaluating whether he was fit enough to be told the bad news. It was bound to be bad news. Arthur had defeated Grim Tuesday, but not before the Trustee’s minions had managed to interfere with the Penhaligon family finances . . . as well as causing minor economic upheaval for the world at large.

‘Bob has been sorting things out all afternoon,’ Emily said at last. ‘I expect there’ll be a lot more sorting to do. Right now it looks like we’ll keep the house, but we’ll have to rent it out and move somewhere smaller for a year or so. Bob will also have to go back on tour with the band. It’s just one of those things. At least we didn’t have all our money in those two banks that failed yesterday. A lot of people will be hurt by that.’

‘What about those signs about the shopping mall being built across the street?’

‘They were gone by the time I got home last night, though Bob said he saw them too,’ said Emily. ‘It’s quite strange. When I asked Mrs. Haskell in number ten about it, she said that some fast-talking real estate agent had got them to agree to sell their house. They signed a contract and everything. But fortunately there was a loophole and they’ve managed to get out of it. They didn’t really want to sell. So I guess there’ll be no shopping mall, even if the other neighbours who sold don’t change their minds. The Haskell place is right in the middle, and of course we won’t be selling either.’