‘There is my operations room,’ snarled Sir Thursday. ‘There is no siege. It is only an inconvenience.’
‘I want to come out in the operations room, then,’ said Arthur. ‘Take me there. Or I’ll throw us both off.’
‘My revenge … will be all the … sweeter for your insults,’ said Sir Thursday. Arthur could hear him grinding his teeth between words. ‘It is merely delayed.’
Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but he never had the chance, as unexpectedly, to him at least, they left the Stair and suddenly reentered the House. Immediately Sir Thursday struck back with his free hand, his bony fist smashing Arthur off his back and onto the floor. Dazed, the boy struggled to his feet. Before he could do any more than stand up, Sir Thursday was bellowing orders and there were plenty of Denizens rushing about to follow them.
‘Hold that traitor! All is revealed! The enemy is led by the Piper, and all Piper’s children must be executed before they can conduct any traitorous activity. Marshal Dawn, see to it immediately!’
Arthur felt his arms pulled back behind him. He struggled to lift his chin, finally managing it with the unintended help of someone who jerked his head back so they could get an arm around his neck.
He was in a large, domed room full of officers. The three standing with Sir Thursday were the tallest and most splendid, so they had to be Marshals Dawn, Noon, and Dusk. All three sported black eyes, and Noon had a bandage around his right hand as well, which suggested that they had been in recent fighting or that they did not always see things Sir Thursday’s way. Arthur thought the latter was more likely.
‘We’re not traitors!’ Arthur croaked as he was hauled backwards towards a door. ‘Sir Thursday killed two of his own soldiers! He’s not fit to command! I am an officer in the Glorious Army of the Architect too, and I demand to be –’
He got no further, as Sir Thursday crossed the room in a single leap and punched him in the stomach. It hurt worse than anything Arthur had ever felt, worse even than his broken leg. He couldn’t breathe and for several seconds thought he never would breathe, ever again. It was more frightening even than an asthma attack, because his chest felt actually broken, not just tight.
But after ten or twelve awful seconds, he did get a breath, as Sir Thursday’s attention was diverted by Marshal Dawn. Clad in the green of the Borderers, she stood out in a room dominated by scarlet headquarters uniforms, and also because unlike everyone else she strode towards Sir Thursday, rather than edging away from him.
‘The lieutenant is correct. He has leveled a serious charge and it must be heard.’
Sir Thursday’s eyes narrowed to slits and he glided like a snake across the floor towards the Marshal.
‘Must be heard? I have issued orders, have I not, Marshal Dawn? I want those Piper’s children killed.’
‘Regulations state –’
Sir Thursday slapped her in the face. She rocked back but did not try to defend herself, merely spitting out a tooth. Then she started again.
‘Regulations state that a court of enquiry –’
The next slap knocked her down and back onto her knees. But she stood up, and this time the other two Marshals marched forward to stand with her.
‘Sir, this is neither the time nor the correct –’ began Marshal Noon.
‘Orders!’ shrieked Sir Thursday. He turned and pointed at Arthur. ‘I am ordering my soldiers to kill all the Piper’s children, starting with this one! Is there no one here who knows their duty?’
‘Nobody move!’ snapped Marshal Dusk, his voice cold and penetrating. ‘That is not a legal order. We are soldiers, not gallows-hands.’
‘You are nothing!’ screamed Sir Thursday. ‘I demote you to nothing. I will carry out my orders myself.’
He twirled, lifted his sword so that it pointed straight at Arthur’s heart, and ran straight at the boy.
Arthur tried to throw himself forward to the ground, but he was held too fast. He could not avoid the thrust.
But the sword did not strike home. Sir Thursday had only taken a single step when the snake wound around the hilt suddenly uncoiled and reared back. It was made entirely of words, and one line that ran down its back suddenly shone silver. The letters grew to the full width of the reptile, spelling out a single phrase: Let the Will be done!
The snake’s fangs gleamed in the silver light, and it struck before Thursday could take another step, its top jaw snapping down on the back of his hand, biting deep. Sir Thursday’s hand jerked, lifting the sword so that the blade whistled well above Arthur’s head, sliced the ear off the Denizen holding him, and then embedded itself in the wooden panelling of the wall.