‘No,’ said Elibazeth. ‘We are warmed by our gold. If there is nothing else you wish to learn … or take … Lord Arthur, I must insist on returning to work.’
‘What about wings?’ Arthur didn’t want to try flying through snow and cloud, but the weather might improve. A good pair of wings might get him quickly up to the Scriptorium. ‘Have you got any?’
‘We have no wings at all,’ said Elibazeth firmly.
She got up from behind the desk and walked out. Arthur followed her, his mind still occupied with trying to work out what to do. Since flying was apparently out, the canal seemed the best option for getting higher up the mountain, but he would freeze without better clothes. There was also the likelihood of attack by the Nithlings and other enemies. It would be best to keep moving, to avoid a direct confrontation.
‘Hey, Elibazeth!’ he called out as they entered the gold-pouring chamber and the noise and heat assailed him once more. ‘Where can I find some Paper Pushers? And have you got any spare leather aprons?’
Elibazeth turned back with a frown. ‘The Paper Pushers maintain a wharf a half parsang west of the mill,’ she said, pointing in a direction that Arthur quickly revised from what he had been calling south. ‘Aprons are for approved guild members only—’
‘I need two,’ interrupted Arthur. He figured he could wear one in front and one behind, kind of like a cloak. The aprons were thick leather – they’d insulate him and keep the snow off. They might provide enough protection to save him from hypothermia without having to resort to the powers of the Key.
‘I suppose in your case we must make an exception,’ said Elibazeth. She clapped her hands, a surprisingly sharp sound that cut through the bass rumble of the hammers. A Denizen returning from unloading ingots ran over, listened to her instruction, then ran off to fetch several thick leather aprons for Arthur.
‘Now, I really must get on,’ said Elibazeth. She bowed her head and stalked over to the pool of gold, going far closer to the molten metal than Arthur would be able to without sorcerous protection.
Arthur took his aprons and walked quickly back to the door. He was almost there when it opened and Jugguth rushed in. He saw Arthur, slid to a halt, and saluted.
‘They’re coming, sir! From the south!’
‘How many? How far away?’ Arthur slid the apron over his head and did up the ties, then put the other one on backwards and tied it at the front. Because they were made for Denizens, they came down almost to his ankles – it looked a bit like he was wearing a leather dress, but Arthur didn’t care.
‘Three, sir!’
‘Three!? Only three Fetchers?’
‘No, no, not Fetchers, sir. I don’t know what they are. Two are your size, and one is about twice as big and much wider. They have on uniforms, sir.’
‘What colour uniforms?’ Arthur asked quickly.
‘Pale yellow coats, a fair bit of white in the pigment,’ said Jugguth. ‘With big black fuzzy hats. One has a long spear.’
‘New Nithling uniforms,’ said Arthur. ‘One of the Piper’s near-Denizens with two Piper’s children … I wonder … Anyway, how far away are they?’
‘They’ll be outside by now,’ said Jugguth. ‘I watched them for a long time to make sure I knew what I was looking at. You can take a look through the mail slot if you like.’
Arthur sighed.
So much for a quick getaway before any enemies arrive, he thought.
‘I’ll take a look,’ he said. ‘You go back up and watch out for anyone else, and this time, come and tell me as soon as you see something.’
‘Yes, sir!’ shouted Jugguth. He saluted and spun around so fast that he lost his balance and almost cannoned into Arthur, who had to step back. The Denizen spun around twice more before stopping himself and running back through the doorway. Arthur waited for him to go through and shut the door, then moved the handle to gain entry to the portico and went through himself.
Someone was knocking on the outer door. A polite rat-a-tat-tat, not the smashing blows of a weapon.
‘Hello, anyone home?’ asked someone outside. The voice echoed through the mail slot.
Arthur frowned and cocked his head to one side. The speaker sounded familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it, with the echo. He walked forward, careful to stay out of line with the mail slot, which he noted was open. He didn’t want to be stuck by a spear through that gap.
But he could be seen, and there was a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the door.
‘Arthur?’ asked the voice. ‘Arthur!?’