The Winged Servant of the Night repeated the signs. Fred shook his head. Then the Servant pointed at itself, put three fingers in the fixed open mouth of its sharp-snouted mask, and for the first time made a sound. A chewing sound.
‘Oh,’ said Fred. He gulped and continued, ‘ “Sometimes it eats one of us.” Look, I’m not sure you should go in, Arthur.’
‘Part Five of the Will is down there,’ said Arthur, checking the crystal again to make sure the arrow was pointing in the same direction. ‘I’m pretty … I’m fairly sure. I’ll be perfectly safe.’
‘What if it’s something else?’
‘The Key will protect me,’ said Arthur. He tapped the end of the marshal’s baton. It felt comforting to know it was still there.
‘It will make sure you don’t get completely killed,’ said Suzy. ‘But it won’t stop you from getting your leg chewed off. Slowly.’
‘Thanks for that reminder.’
‘I’d better go with you,’ Suzy insisted. ‘I’m interested in this Inner Darkness anyway. It wouldn’t be a bother—’
The Servant shook his head and pointed at Arthur, then waved his open palm in a dismissive gesture in front of Suzy and Fred, before adding several other emphatic finger signs.
‘ “As One Who Survived the Darkness said, only Arthur is allowed to enter the secret place of the Winged Servants of the Night,” ’ interpreted Fred. ‘ “If the Beast does not eat him, he will return safely.” ’
‘I’m sure it’s the Will.’ Arthur knew that by saying it aloud he actually made himself less confident, but he couldn’t help it. He only just managed not to say it several more times. ‘I’d better get going.’
‘Good luck, Arthur,’ said Suzy. ‘If the Beast does bite your leg off, or your arms, you know that I’ll—’
‘I know, I know,’ interrupted Arthur hastily, eager to forestall any more of Suzy’s helpful comments.
‘It’ll be the Will for sure,’ said Fred, though his voice cracked. He stood at attention and saluted. Arthur recognised it as the kind of ultra-snappy salute you give to someone who’s going on a mission from which it is likely there will be no return.
Arthur gave a more informal wave back and turned away, mainly to hide the fear that he was sure was showing on his face. He didn’t want Fred and Suzy to see that.
Under the manhole cover there was the open shaft, a vertical tunnel leading down into the heart of the mountain. The Inner Darkness of the Middle House.
‘Can I illuminate my wings?’ asked Arthur.
The Servant shook his head, an emphatic ‘no.’
‘Thought not,’ said Arthur.
The Servant paused for a moment, as if he too had to gather his courage, then he climbed into the manhole and disappeared. Arthur took a deep breath, checked the Key on his belt again, and followed the Denizen into the darkness.
Twenty-one
THE LADDER WENT a long, long way down, and after the first twenty feet there was no light at all. Even looking back up, Arthur couldn’t see anything. Suzy’s wings were too far from the manhole and the shaft was too narrow. He could hear the Servant below him, the metal claws on his boot tips loud on the rungs of the iron ladder.
Several hundred feet down – or so Arthur guessed – he heard the sound of those clawed boots change, and a second later his own boots found no more rungs below. There was a smooth floor for as far as he could reach while still holding on to the ladder. There was no way he was going to let go. There might be holes only feet away, or deep crevasses that ultimately might lead to Nothing.
Or the Beast itself, unseen. Waiting in the darkness.
Something touched Arthur’s arm, just above the elbow. He flinched and swallowed a shriek, even as he heard the click-clack of claws and knew it was the Servant. The strange Denizen gripped his arm and began to lead him away, Arthur reluctantly relinquishing his hold on the ladder. The ladder that was the only hope of leaving this black hole.
Slowly, they walked deeper into the Inner Darkness. It was a cavern, Arthur presumed, but that was only because it felt and sounded like stone underfoot, and because it was inside the mountain. It might simply be a room, one cavernous enough for the echo of their footsteps to sound as if it came from far away.
Ten paces … twenty paces … thirty … Arthur couldn’t tell whether they were walking in a straight line or weaving a bit, the Servant gently steering him around obstacles.
Forty paces … fifty … The Servant slowed down. Arthur heard something that wasn’t just the echo of their footsteps. A soft, deep hiss like the sound of a punctured tyre. A very big tyre with a very slow puncture.