Sir Thursday(20)

‘Oh, yeah, I forgot,’ Leaf said, interrupting the two nurses. ‘What day is it?’

‘Thursday,’ said Jamale. ‘Maybe you should get some more sleep.’

‘Not after seeing my family with the Sleepy Plague,’ said Leaf. ‘Sleep isn’t so attractive now. But I have to go. Thanks!’

‘No problem,’ said Jamale. ‘Take care now.’

‘I’ll try.’ Leaf waved and headed back through the crowds, thinking furiously. What would the Skinless Boy be doing? Did it have some objective other than to simply replace Arthur? The quarantine would make it harder for it to infect people with the mind-reading mould, but it was still a Nithling. There was nothing and no one on Earth who could stop it from doing whatever it wanted.

No one except her. She had to find Arthur’s pocket fast, somehow break out of the quarantine around the hospital, and find the House.

She changed direction and headed to the cafeteria. According to the Atlas, the Skinless Boy had made a lair in a linen storeroom. Presumably there would be some way of getting towels and tablecloths and so on from the linen storeroom to the cafeteria and back again. Maybe a laundry chute or something. All Leaf had to do was find it and trace it backwards.

Leaf was weaving her way through the crowd, and nearly at the cafeteria entrance, when she caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

Arthur’s face.

The Skinless Boy was just ahead of her, hobbling along with the help of a single crutch. As it passed through the crowd, it accepted hands to help it, and often almost slipped, grabbing the nearest shoulder or elbow to steady itself.

It smiled and whispered ‘thank you’ with each touch and helping hand.





Seven





LIEUTENANT CROSSHAW DIDN’T talk to Arthur in the elevator, at least not after issuing instructions on how Arthur was to stand at attention. They were in a very narrow, military-issue elevator not much larger than a phone box. There was a red line painted on the floor about two feet back from the doors. Arthur had to stand at attention with the toes of his new boots on the line.

Arthur had been only mildly surprised to find the elevator was behind one of the doors in the corridor outside the big meeting room. He knew there were elevators all over the place, belonging to different demesnes of the House or designated for particular uses or passengers. He imagined it was a bit like all the tunnels and conduits for water, power, and transport under a modern city, crisscrossing all over one another, clustering close together in parts and very spread out in others. Somewhere there must be a map or a guide to all the House’s elevator networks. The Atlas would have such a thing, of course …

Arthur’s musings on elevators were interrupted as he and Crosshaw arrived at their destination. Unlike the other elevators Arthur had been in, this one had neither operator nor bell. It had a horn, which blew a single sharp note as the doors sprang open.

Beyond the doors was a windswept plain of very short, very brown grass. The wind was hot, and Arthur saw a sun, or at least the kind of artificial sun that parts of the House had, high in the sky. Perhaps half a mile away, across the plain, he could see a very planned, orderly-looking town of twenty to thirty houses and other larger buildings. Beyond the town, looking to what was notionally west, he was rather surprised to see a tropical jungle. To the north there was an area of sharp granite hills, stark and yellow, and to the east there was a high ridge, covered in a forest of cold-climate firs and pines, complete with scatterings of snow.

‘Ten paces forward, quick march!’ shouted Lieutenant Crosshaw.

Surprised by the command, Arthur stepped forward and was immediately unsure of how many steps he’d taken. Was it one or two? Anxiety rose as he counted out the remaining steps. What would happen if he got it wrong?

‘That’s ten paces! Can’t you count, Recruit?’ bellowed a new and highly unpleasant voice behind him. Even though he’d only counted nine, Arthur stopped and started to turn around.

‘Face front!’ screamed the voice, from what felt like two inches behind Arthur’s left ear. ‘Don’t move!’

‘Ah, Sergeant Helve, if I may have a word,’ interrupted Crosshaw tentatively, as Arthur felt an intake of breath behind his neck, indicating another vocal explosion was about to take place.

‘Yes, sir!’ bellowed the voice, which Arthur presumed belonged to Sergeant Helve. He didn’t dare look around or move, though he badly needed to scratch his nose, as the heat had already sent a bead of perspiration sliding down towards his left nostril.

Lieutenant Crosshaw and Sergeant Helve spoke quietly behind Arthur for about thirty seconds. He couldn’t hear what Crosshaw said, but even Helve’s whisper was louder than a normal voice, so he caught the sergeant’s half of the conversation.