No, Suzy! thought Arthur. Don’t ask him anything that’ll make him mad!
‘Sir, this spike. It’s made of Nothing? A lot of Nothing?’
‘Yes,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘I believe I already said that.’
Don’t say anything more! Since Arthur was behind Sir Thursday, he made a quick zipping motion with his hand over his mouth, only to turn it into an odd little nose-scratch as he saw the RSM’s eyes flicker in his direction.
Wisely, and for possibly the first time since Arthur had met her, Suzy held her tongue.
‘Any other questions?’ asked Sir Thursday. There was barely repressed menace in his voice. He did not want any more questions. He wanted instant, unthinking obedience.
Arthur shivered. He would not want to be the bearer of bad news to Sir Thursday. Or any news for that matter, since it would be impossible to know how the Trustee would react.
There were no more questions.
‘Sergeant-Major McLameth, carry on!’ snapped Sir Thursday. ‘Second Lieutenant Green, follow me!’
Arthur looked at Suzy. She rolled her eyes up several times but he had no idea what this meant. Fred, on the other hand, gave him a smile when the RSM wasn’t looking, the smile of someone who is pleased by the success of a friend.
I hope Fred doesn’t get killed, thought Arthur as he marched after Sir Thursday. He doesn’t really know what he’s getting into, with his dreams of being a general. That one battle, we were shielded from the worst and it was still awful –
‘Marshal Noon’s study,’ said Sir Thursday, opening the door to a smaller room.
Noon’s study was a surprisingly small room, only thirty feet long by fifty feet wide. To Arthur it looked more like an armoury than someone’s study, as every wall was bedecked with weapons. Interspersed with the weapons were paintings and etchings of martial scenes, battles and skirmishes with Nithlings. All of them featured the same red-haired, debonair Denizen who Arthur understood must be Thursday’s Noon.
There was a large mahogany desk supported on three pedestals in the middle of the room. The desktop was bare, save for a gold-and-ivory-inlaid marshal’s baton right in the middle.
‘There are some matters we need to speak of, Second Lieutenant Green,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘Or perhaps I should say, Second Lieutenant Penhaligon?’
‘That is my real name, sir,’ said Arthur. He stood at attention, but his eyes flickered to the walls. If Sir Thursday attacked him, he would spring that way, grab that savage-sword off its pegs there … ‘I did not plan to draft you,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘Indeed, I did not know about it until the recruiting officer made his report through his chain of command. He should have come straight to me, of course. He is Private Crosshaw now.’
After the furniture-demolishing episode I can see why he didn’t go straight to you. I bet no one ever does if they can avoid it.
‘As soon as you were drafted and became one of my soldiers, I was limited in what actions I might take against you,’ Sir Thursday continued. He began to pace around the room, but he kept looking back at Arthur. ‘But then it occurred to me that you were similarly limited in what you might do to release the Will and claim the Fourth Key. You see, Arthur, we find ourselves in a curious position.
‘I am a soldier. Even though I command the Glorious Army of the House, I am not the ultimate Commander-in-Chief. The Architect was, and when she disappeared I was convinced that Lord Sunday had the proper authority to assume this role, with Superior Saturday as his deputy. Saturday passed on Sunday’s orders for me to take a portion of the Will and hide it and to assume custodianship of the Key. As always, I followed those orders. Until I hear otherwise from Lord Sunday or his deputy, those remain my orders.’
He paused and took a clockwork axe from the wall. Arthur tensed, ready to grab a weapon to defend himself, but Sir Thursday didn’t move to attack. He started to bend the haft of the axe backwards and forwards, even though it was made of gravity-condensed steel. The axe’s clockwork mechanism shrieked in protest as the cogs and gears within the haft were bent, and the flywheel at the end of the haft burned itself to a stop, smoke wafting around Sir Thursday’s arms.
‘I have followed those orders for the last ten thousand years,’ said Sir Thursday, speaking through gritted teeth. ‘Even though the Will constantly seeks to escape and is always complaining and scheming and I can never … never rest!’
The ax broke apart and springs ricocheted around the room. Arthur ducked reflexively but immediately stood at attention again.
‘I can never rest, for if I rest, the Will may escape,’ continued Sir Thursday. ‘It makes me a little irritable. But I have my orders. So you see, Lieutenant, I am not going to release the Will and I am not going to give you the Key until I am directly ordered to do so. Which, though I do not have a lot of communication with the Upper House, seems extremely unlikely.’