‘Come on! We have to wash and shave.’
‘But I don’t shave … ’
‘Neither does anyone else, really. Hair doesn’t grow much in the House. But we have to try. Regulations.’
Arthur stumbled after Fred. In a dim, more-asleep-than-awake way, he was surprised that they were walking, rather than marching, and heading for a door he hadn’t seen before, on the east side of the barracks.
The door shone slightly with a faint greenish light. When Arthur stepped through it into a narrow, dark corridor, he almost lost his balance, the floor wobbling under his feet like jelly. He threw out a hand to steady himself on the corridor wall, and that gave way under his fingers.
‘This is a weirdway!’ he protested.
‘Yes,’ Fred agreed. ‘It leads to the washroom.’
A few steps later, though as far as he could tell he’d passed no other door, Arthur came out into a truly vast washroom that had no roof. The night sky above was brilliant, with strange constellations of stars that looked too close, and a rather unsteady crescent moon that cast a pale-green light. Arthur stopped where he was, momentarily stunned by the unexpected night sky and the sight of endless lines of Denizen soldiers stretching out as far as he could see in the moonlight, standing in front of equally endless lines of mirrors and washbasins, each one lit by a naked gas flame above the mirror.
The Denizens were mostly stripped to their undervests, but even these varied with their units. The uniforms’ trousers, kilts, or leggings included every kind Arthur had in his cupboard, plus a few more he hadn’t seen before.
‘We share the washroom with the whole Army,’ said Fred. ‘Come on, let’s find our spot. You need to get some cold water on your face, I think.’
He set out on a diagonal path, walking right through a couple of Legionary Denizens and their washbasins and mirrors, as if none of them were there, and they were all just ghostly images. The Legionaries ignored Fred, but Arthur saw them talk to one another, though he heard no sound.
‘Hold on!’ Arthur yelled. ‘Where are we? How come you just walked through them?’
‘Oh, they’re not real to us, or us to them,’ said Fred. ‘Corporal Axeforth explained yesterday morning. We just have to find our washbasins. They won’t be far away.’
He kept walking. Reluctantly, Arthur followed, flinching as he stepped through the Legionaries. Fred was still ahead, passing through a couple of buff-coated Artillery Denizens. On the other side, there was a row of vacant washbasins, and to either side of them, some other Recruit Denizens. They turned to look as Arthur and Fred arrived, and Arthur heard the gurgle of the water in their basins and the chink of razors laid down on the porcelain.
‘But how does this work?’ asked Arthur. ‘Are they all here or not?’
‘The corp wasn’t all that informational,’ Fred said as he opened his leather case and removed a cutthroat razor, brush, soap, and lathering bowl. ‘Something about weird-ways leading to lots of different washrooms that coexist in the same place within the House but offset in time. Saves on hot water or some such.’
Fred started to whip up a lather in his bowl. Arthur shook his head, then splashed his face with the water from the basin, which was warm and filled up again immediately, though there were no visible taps or spout.
Fred applied the lather to his face and began to shave, at the same time whispering to himself. Arthur wondered if it was some kind of prayer that Fred might not cut his own throat. He’d just gotten his own razor out and it was incredibly sharp and dangerous. Then he saw that Fred was using the blunt back instead of the blade.
‘What’re you whispering?’ Arthur enquired.
‘My name,’ said Fred as he carefully scraped some lathered soap off his chin. ‘And my favourite colour.’
‘Oh,’ said Arthur. ‘I forgot … ’
He stared at the mirror, looking at his familiar – though not very satisfying – face. He couldn’t believe he might not know himself soon.
‘You’d better shave, or you’ll get put on defaulters,’ Fred warned. ‘That means get punished.’
‘Even though my skin is perfectly smooth?’ Arthur ran his hand over his chin. ‘I won’t have to shave for years.’
‘They’ll know you haven’t shaved,’ said Fred despondently. ‘Just because we’re going to get washed between the ears doesn’t mean they’ll let us off shaving, or anything else.’
‘Okay,’ said Arthur. ‘Okay!’
He put some soap in his lathering bowl and started to whisk it with the brush, as he’d seen Fred do. Then, following the other boy’s lead, he slapped the frothy soap on his face and shaved with the back of the razor. It was completely pointless, just putting on soap and scraping it off. Arthur thought about what he was going to do as he scraped, flicked, and rinsed.