Sir Thursday(75)

‘Yes, sir,’ mumbled the snake.

‘That reminds me.’ Arthur fumbled in his pouch and took out the crocodile ring, sliding it on his finger. But he didn’t dare look at it straightaway, and he welcomed an interruption from Marshal Dusk.

‘Pardon me, sir,’ said Dusk. His uniform was a dark grey with black epaulettes and black buttons. Like all Dusks, he had the reserve and inner quiet characteristic of a late evening. ‘There is a way out. An elevator from Sir Thursday’s study goes up to the Middle House and down to the Lower House.’

‘An elevator?’ asked Arthur. ‘Do we have telephone connection with the rest of the House as well?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Dusk. ‘Do you wish to place a call?’

Arthur tapped the Fourth Key on his thigh, wincing when it actually hurt. The ivory baton was a lot harder than it looked and the gold leaves were pointy.

His mind raced as he tried to work out what to do. Amid the big question of how to defend the Citadel, he had a constant nagging fear for the safety of Suzy and Fred and the other Piper’s children in the raiding party. They’d been frozen or turned into statues or something, which suggested the Piper didn’t want to kill them. He had brought them to the House in the first place, after all. But Arthur couldn’t be sure they’d be all right.

The biggest puzzle was the revelation that the Piper was the leader of the New Nithlings. As far as Arthur could remember, the Piper was one of the three children of the Old One and the Architect, born to a surrogate mortal mother. But he didn’t really know any more than that.

Why would the Piper be leading an army of almost-Denizens against the House? His older brother was Lord Sunday, wasn’t he?

‘Okay,’ he said finally. He paused as everyone in the room looked at him respectfully, anticipation in their faces. ‘How big is Sir Thursday’s elevator? It’s not a stupid little one like at Fort Transformation, is it?’

‘It is of variable dimension, I believe,’ said Dusk. ‘Perhaps the size of this room at its largest extent.’

‘How long would it take to get to and from the Lower House?’ asked Arthur.

‘It depends upon the elevator operators and the local authorities. Minutes, hours, days … I could not say.’

‘Right,’ said Arthur through clenched teeth. ‘I hope it turns out to be only minutes. I want to try to negotiate with the New Nithlings. One other thing my soldier brother once said was that it’s always best to negotiate from a position of strength. So I am going to call on the Lower House, the Far Reaches, and the Border Sea to use that elevator to send through as many Commissionaires, former Overseers, Midnight Visitors, sailors, and so forth as we can round up, with Monday’s, Tuesday’s, and Wednesday’s Dawns, Noons, and Dusks and as much Nothing-powder as we can get together.’

‘Civilians,’ said Noon in a disparaging tone. ‘Though the powder would be useful.’

‘They’re all used to fighting Nithlings of one kind or another,’ Arthur reminded him. ‘Besides, I bet most of them did their time in the Army and are in the Reserve.’

‘Reservists are little better than civilians,’ sniffed Noon. ‘Reintegrating them into our forces is never easy. Besides, I don’t believe even you have the authority to call up the Reserve. That is a function of the Upper House. Sir.’

‘I think in the current circumstances we will take whatever reinforcements we can find and be extremely grateful,’ said Dusk. He looked pointedly at Noon, who did not meet his gaze. ‘And Sir Arthur is not calling up the Reserve. Just bringing in … volunteers.’

‘Who had better be welcome,’ said Arthur. Sometimes the lack of common sense among Denizens drove him crazy. ‘Where’s the phone?’

A captain hurried across the floor holding a small wickerwork suitcase that looked rather like it might have a picnic set inside it. He flipped it open to reveal a telephone handset on a cradle. Arthur picked up the handset, and the captain started cranking a little handle on the side of the suitcase.

‘Can I help you?’ said a crackly voice that sounded very far away.

‘Get me Dame Primus,’ ordered Arthur.

‘She’s not taking calls,’ said the voice. ‘I had one for her not long ago.’

‘This is Lord Arthur, Rightful Heir of the Architect. And it’s urgent, please.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I said, this is Lord Arthur –’

‘No, not that bit. What did you say at the end?’

‘Please,’ repeated Arthur. ‘Look, it really is urgent.’