The something in the snow turned out to be the bodies of two Denizens, who were lying almost on top of each other. Two shabby, short Denizens who had huge holes where their hearts used to be. Blue blood was frozen all over their long coats, which were made of paper and, though different in detail, were of the same design, both being a patchwork of paper records, neatly sewn together with yellow thread.
‘They’re Paper Pushers,’ said Fred. ‘They wear clothes made of printed papers, in case they fall in the canal. The textually charged water repels and moves text, you see—’
‘I know about that,’ interrupted Arthur. He looked around nervously, the cold and his weariness momentarily forgotten. ‘What I want to know is what could have done that to both of them? I mean they’re dead. I thought Denizens could survive all kinds of things that would kill mortals.’
Ugham walked around the corpses, then bent down to sniff around their wounds.
‘They were slain in the blink of an eye, sliced through as readily as I have parted the snow, and there is the stench of Nothing upon them. Betide these unfortunates were slain by a sorcerous weapon. Something akin to the sword you bear, Lord Arthur.’
‘What?!’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘A Key?’
‘Something most sorcerous,’ said Ugham. ‘No mere steel, nor even the weapons of your Army or mine own charged spear could spit two Denizens in a single thrust. Nor make a wound a full handspan wide.’
He held up his left hand and spread his seven fingers to illustrate the point, before adding, ‘Whoever did this would be a foe to face indeed.’
‘Saturday herself, maybe,’ said Arthur nervously. ‘I don’t think her Dusk could do that. He would have skewered me down in the Pit ages ago if he had that kind of weapon.’
‘Nah,’ said Suzy. ‘Saturday wouldn’t come here herself. This is Friday’s neck of the woods. They have that agreement, remember?’
‘Lady Friday has abdicated,’ replied Arthur. He was looking all around, peering out into the twilit snowscape. ‘Or so she said in her message. I guess all the usual restrictions on the other Trustees are off. Though I suppose …’
‘What?’ asked Suzy.
‘Maybe Friday killed these two,’ said Arthur. ‘Oh, I don’t know! I’m too cold and tired to think straight. Let’s find the wharf – but be careful.’
For once Suzy didn’t comment. She just nodded, as did Fred. Ugham’s answer was to stride off again, this time choosing not to activate his spear, instead just pushing through the snow and making a path with his body.
The wharf was soon in sight, a dark rectangular bulk lacking all detail in the twilight. It could be a low, long hill for all Arthur could tell, but as they drew closer, Arthur saw that while the wharf itself was a simple wooden pier that thrust out fifty or sixty feet into the canal, its construction was obscured by the sheer bulk of ribbon-tied papers, stone tablets, papyrus bundles, stacks of hides, and other written records that were piled all over it, in places up to thirty feet high. It all looked extremely shaky and likely to fall down. If anything did fall down, it would probably crush any poor unfortunates who happened to be underneath. Some of the stone tablets, in particular, were larger than Arthur himself.
The four travellers advanced warily on this huge, shabby dump of records, but there was no sudden attack, or any indication that anyone else was around. A quick circuit of the landward end of the wharf also showed that there were no buildings, not even a hut in which they might shelter.
There was, however, a small dark opening between two towering stacks of evil-smelling cured hides that had been written on in green phosphorescent ink by an untidy scribe whose lines went all over the place.
‘That looks like a passage,’ said Suzy. ‘I bet there’s a cozy little den inside all this stuff. Probably down the end. That’s where I’d set up.’
‘And as like as not, an ambuscade at the end of it,’ said Ugham. He handed his spear to Fred and drew his knuckle-duster knife. ‘Dark corners lead to dark deeds.’
Before Arthur could say or do anything, Ugham disappeared into the dark, narrow way, moving in a fighting crouch. The boy hesitated for a moment. But it was not from fear, just from the cold that was slowly spreading from his numb fingers and frozen toes, all the way up into his brain.
I’m slowing down, thought Arthur. I have to get warm or I’ll die …
Except he wouldn’t die, he knew. His will to survive was too strong. He’d use the Key, and he’d become a Denizen …
Arthur forced himself to concentrate on the immediate future rather than on what might lay ahead. He forced his cold muscles into action and followed Ugham into the dark passage, with Suzy and Fred close behind.