Sir Thursday(60)

But he got more nervous as the afternoon progressed. It was perhaps half an hour short of dusk when they finished, with the final touches being three oars from planks ripped out of the pub’s benches.

It was a fine-looking raft, but it didn’t look big enough for three Not-Horses, a Denizen, and two Piper’s children.

‘Get all the harness and gear off the mounts and onto the raft,’ said Jarrow. He too looked at the setting sun. ‘We’ll give them a quick brush and oiling before they go.’

‘Where will they go, sir?’ asked Fred. He had become very attached to his Not-Horse, who according to the name engraved on its steel toe-caps was called Skwidge.

‘They’ll find their way to friends,’ said Jarrow. He took the saddlebags off his mount and dropped them on the raft, which was now half in the water. ‘Hurry up! We have to be away from the tile border before the village moves!’

The sun was little more than a sliver, barely visible on the horizon, between the Star Fort and the Inner Bastion, when the last Not-Horse went on its way with a farewell whinny. Arthur and Fred hastily threw their brushes and cleaning clothes on the raft and started to push it completely into the lake.

‘Put your backs into it!’ urged Jarrow, once more looking at the setting sun. But the raft, despite being two-thirds in the water, with the barrels on the far end already floating, was stuck fast in the mud.

Arthur and Fred got down lower and really heaved, and this time Jarrow joined them. The raft slid a few inches but stopped again.

‘What’s that noise?’ gasped Arthur, in between shoves. He could hear a high-pitched whistling, like an ultrasonic dentist’s drill.

‘Tile moving!’ shouted Jarrow. ‘Into the water, quick!’

He grabbed Arthur and Fred and dragged them away from the raft and into the lake. Within a few steps it was up to the chests of the Piper’s children, but Jarrow kept dragging them on, even though Arthur and Fred had their heads back and were gasping for air, their feet scrabbling to touch the ground as their heavy Horde hauberks and gear threatened to drag them beneath the water.





Twenty-one





JUST AS ARTHUR and Fred thought they were going to drown, which was no improvement over death by dismemberment when the tile changed, the high-pitched whistle stopped. Jarrow stopped too and turned around, but he didn’t immediately head for the shore.

‘Help!’ gurgled Arthur.

‘Can’t reach the ground,’ gasped Fred.

Jarrow still didn’t do anything but stare back at the shore. Then he slowly dragged Arthur and Fred back out and dropped them next to the raft. After a frenzied minute of coughing and gasping, the two boys recovered enough to notice that the raft was intact – and the bucolic village was still there.

Jarrow stood near them, flicking through his Ephemeris, the pages held close so he could read them in the twilight.

‘The tile didn’t move,’ said Arthur.

‘No,’ said Jarrow. He shook his head. ‘But it should have. This is very serious. Only tectonic strategy has kept the New Nithlings from massing an overwhelming force against us for a decisive battle … We had best get to the Citadel at once!’

He threw himself against the raft with new fervour, weakly assisted by Arthur and Fred. This time, their makeshift vessel slid all the way into the lake and bobbed about almost as well as a proper boat. Or at least a proper boat that permanently suffered from a fifteen-degree list to starboard.

Though it was slightly less than a mile across the lake, Arthur and Fred were very tired before they had got halfway. Jarrow kept up a punishing paddling pace and would not let them rest.

‘Sir, if we could take a few minutes –’ Arthur began to ask.

‘Paddle!’ shouted Jarrow. ‘You are soldiers of the Architect. Paddle!’

Arthur paddled. His arms and shoulders hurt so much that he had to bite his lip to stop himself from whimpering, but he kept paddling. Fred kept paddling too, but Arthur didn’t really notice. His world had become small, containing only pain, the paddle, and the water he had to cleave and push.

The moon began its shaky ascent as they approached one of the outer bastions that thrust out into the lake, small waves lapping the stone wall that faced the earthen embankment. The moonlight caught their helmets and hauberks, and that caught the attention of the sentries.

‘Who goes there?’ came the cry across the water, accompanied by the flare of a quick-match as someone readied a musket or small cannon to fire.

‘Lieutenant Jarrow of the Horde and two troopers!’ shouted Jarrow. ‘Requesting permission to land at the water-dock.’

‘Cease paddling and await our word!’