‘And Michaeli’s course? Has the university still got no money?’
‘That’s a bit more complicated. It seems they had a lot of money with one of the failed banks, which has been lost. But it’s possible the government will step in and ensure no courses are cancelled. If Michaeli’s degree is discontinued, she’ll have to go somewhere else. She was accepted by three . . . no, four other places. She’ll be okay.’
‘But she’ll have to leave home.’
Arthur left another sentence unsaid.
And it’s my fault. I should have been quicker to deal with the Grotesques …
‘Well, I don’t think she’ll be too concerned about that. How we’ll pay for it is a different matter. But you don’t need to worry about all of this, Arthur. You always want to take too much on. It’s not your responsibility. Just concentrate on getting better. Your father and I will make sure everything will be —’ Emily was cut off by a sudden alert from the hospital pager she always wore. It jangled a few times, then a line of text ran around the rim. Emily frowned as she read the scrolling message.
‘I have to go, Arthur.’
‘It’s okay, Mum, you go,’ said Arthur. He was used to Emily having to deal with gigantic medical emergencies. She was one of the most important medical researchers in the country. The sudden attack and then abrupt cessation of the Sleepy Plague had given her a great deal of extra work.
Emily gave her son a hurried kiss on the cheek and a good luck rap of her knuckles on the foot of the bed. Then she was gone.
Arthur wondered if he’d ever be able to tell her that the Sleepy Plague had come from Mister Monday’s Fetchers, and had been cured by the Nightsweeper, a magical intervention he’d brought back from the House. Though he had brought back the cure, he still felt responsible for the plague in the first place.
He looked at his watch. It was still going backwards.
A knock on the door made him sit up again. He was as ready as he could be. He had the Atlas in his pyjamas pocket, and he’d twisted numerous strands of dental floss together so he could hang the Captain’s medallion around his neck. His dressing gown was on the chair next to the bed, along with his Immaterial Boots, which had disguised themselves as slippers. He could only tell what they really were because they felt slightly electric and tingly when he picked them up.
The knock was repeated. Arthur didn’t answer. He knew that Fetchers — the creatures who had pursued him on Monday — couldn’t cross a threshold without permission. So he wasn’t going to say a word — just in case.
He lay there silently, watching the door. It slowly opened a crack. Arthur reached across to the bedside table and picked up a paper packet of salt he’d kept from his lunch, ready to tear it open and throw it if a Fetcher peered around.
But it wasn’t a dog-faced, bowler-hatted creature. It was Leaf, his friend from school, who had helped save him from a Scoucher the day before, and who had been injured herself.
‘Arthur?’
‘Leaf! Come in!’
Leaf closed the door behind her. She was wearing her normal clothes: boots, jeans, and a T-shirt with an obscure band logo. But her right arm was bound from elbow to wrist in white bandages.
‘How’s your arm?’
‘Sore. But not too bad. The doctor couldn’t figure out what made the cuts. I told him I never saw what the guy hit me with.’
‘I guess he wouldn’t believe the true story,’ said Arthur, thinking about the shape-changing Scoucher and its long, razor-tendrilled arms.
‘What is the true story?’ asked Leaf. She sat down on the visitor’s chair and looked intently at Arthur, making him uncomfortable. ‘I mean, all I know is that last week you were involved in some weird stuff with dog-faced guys, and it got even weirder this week, when you suddenly appeared in my living room on Monday with a kind of history girl who had . . . wings. You ran up the bedroom stairs and vanished. Then yesterday, you came racing into my yard with a monster chasing after you, which could easily have killed me, only it got . . . destroyed . . . by one of my dad’s old silver medals. Then you had to run off again. Then today I hear you’re in the next ward with a broken leg. What’s going on?’
Arthur opened his mouth, then hesitated. It would be a great relief to tell Leaf everything. At least she could see the Denizens of the House, when no one else could. Perhaps, as she’d claimed, it was because her great-grandmother had possessed the second sight. But telling Leaf everything might also put her in danger.
‘Come on, Arthur! I need to know,’ urged Leaf. ‘What if one of those Scoucher things comes back to finish me off? Or something else. Like one of those dog-faces. I’ve got a couple of Dad’s medals for the Scouchers, but what do I do about the dog-faces?’