‘Yes, sir!’ answered the Denizen who’d been about to give the order to present arms. ‘That is, the only ones not experiencing, sir. There’s probably twenty among the ’spe-riencers. Sir.’
‘Right …’ said Arthur. ‘We haven’t got much time. What are your names, with former rank and unit, please?’
‘Lance-Bombardier Jugguth Flat Gold of the Moderately Honourable Artillery Company,’ replied the right-hand Denizen. ‘I’ve only been out fifty years. This ’ere is Private Lukin Flat Gold of the Regiment and Trooper Serelle Flat Gold of the Horde.’
‘Okay, Bombardier Jugguth. There is a force of Nithlings – Fetchers and maybe worse – nearby, who will probably attack soon. I want you to take your … ah … section into the tower and keep a lookout in all four directions. If you see anything, send someone to report to me at once. I’ll be here with Elibazeth. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir,’ shouted Jugguth. ‘Only as there’s only three of us, how can we look in all four directions, sir?’
‘Swap sides,’ said Arthur, biting back a sharper retort. ‘Check the canal side every five minutes for a minute or two, then go back to whichever side you’re covering. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Jugguth, but Arthur wasn’t absolutely sure the Denizen had understood. While the Bombardier marched his section out the door, Arthur ran over to Elibazeth, who was inspecting a large sheet of gold foil that had been brought to her by another Denizen. She had moved closer to the pool of molten gold, and it was much hotter there, hot enough to make sweat start to run down the back of Arthur’s neck.
‘Elibazeth!’ Arthur interrupted a technical discussion about how much more hammering the foil needed. ‘How do you normally protect yourselves against Nithlings? I mean, the Lower House has Commissionaires and so on. What guards do you have here?’
‘When Friday’s Dawn is here, he is accompanied by a flight of Gilded Youths,’ said Elibazeth. She didn’t sound very concerned about the prospect of being attacked. ‘They patrol the Flat and the First Ascent of the Canal, and dispose of any Nithling incursions. After sunfall, I believe the Winged Servants of the Night do likewise. However, the Gilded Youths have departed with our Guildmaster – that is to say, Friday’s Dawn. I do not know if the Winged Servants will come with the night, or even if there will be a night. Day and night have been rather uncertain here since the weather has been broken. However, the mill itself is very securely built, the gate is much stronger than perhaps it appears, and we have other defences. It would be very difficult for any Nithlings to get in.’
Arthur wiped the sweat off his forehead and tried to gather his thoughts. It was good to hear that the defences were strong. And he had sentries now, so at least he wasn’t going to be surprised by a Nithling attack. What he needed to know now was … pretty much everything.
‘Right. Let’s start with the basics. Where exactly are we?’
Six
‘AN AMBULATORY SEEDPOD, ’ Milka told Leaf, gesturing to the smoking husk of the creature that had just been destroyed. ‘They get in from outside occasionally. If you’re unlucky enough to see one again …’
‘What do I do?’ asked Leaf.
‘Count yourself lucky that you mortals die easily,’ replied Milka grimly. ‘Denizens can live for months while the bloom grows in them.’
Leaf didn’t answer, but crossed to the other side of the corridor, to keep as far away as she could, even from the scorched fragments of the seedpod.
‘Come on,’ ordered Milka to Leaf. ‘Leave that, Feorin! You don’t have to wear it here.’
Feorin stopped struggling with his trench coat and simply scrunched it under his arm. His wings turned in towards his spine and folded themselves flat, the tips withdrawing up from his knees to just below his waist.
Leaf wasn’t sure how long it took to get to their destination. Every time Feorin hesitated or slowed, she felt an overpowering urge to jump back. The immediate fear of encountering another seedpod overlaid the more general anxiety of her situation; the shock of the sudden encounter had intensified her already nervous state. Leaf felt incredibly jumpy, even on the brink of breaking down. Only the knowledge that this would do no good at all helped her keep herself together.
‘Feorin … stop,’ said Milka after a small, exasperated sigh. She pointed to a left-hand door Feorin had just passed. It had the number 18 above it, the numeral made of small blue stone chips. ‘This is it.’