‘Sir Thursday will face trial,’ he said, trying to refocus. ‘He murdered Fineold and Jazebeth. But right now we haven’t got time. Let’s get down to the outer bastions. Marshal Noon, if you would lead the way?’
As with his journey into the Citadel, Arthur was led along, through, and past a bewildering arrangement of tunnels, gates, walkways, and guardhouses. But it was different this time. He was constantly saluted, and his arm grew weary from raising his baton in reply. The Marshals spoke to the soldiers, encouraging them, talking to them by name, congratulating them for their exploits so far in the siege. But Arthur couldn’t do that. Every time he was about to say something morale-boosting, he found the words he was thinking of sounded insincere. So he remained silent, striding along amid the crowd of Marshals and other officers, but strangely alone, space always around him, no matter how confined they were.
He felt lonelier still as a small sally-port door was opened and a sergeant handed him the staff with the now unfurled white flag. It was huge, the size of a double-bed sheet, but Arthur found he could carry it like a pike, balanced on his shoulder.
‘Good luck, sir,’ said the sergeant as he helped Arthur and the flag through the doorway to the blasted earth beyond.
‘Good luck, sir,’ echoed Marshal Dusk and the dozen staff officers who seemed to do nothing but follow senior officers around.
Arthur stepped forward and raised the flag. The sally-port door shut behind him. He took another few steps and looked back up. The bastion’s battlements were forty feet above, soldiers peering down through the embrasures at him.
Arthur turned to look at the enemy lines and walked forward, out into the middle of the firewash-blasted dead ground between the bastion and the forward trenches of the enemy.
‘I hope this works,’ hissed the Will. ‘It is rather foolhardy of you, Lord Arthur. I suspect that the first three Parts of myself have not counselled you as well as they should have. I suppose they are out of balance, being only three parts of seven. With the addition of myself, we will be four, and the scales will be a little better adjusted.’
‘I want you to be quiet if we do get to have a meeting with the New Nithlings,’ said Arthur. ‘I don’t want any interruptions. And don’t attack anyone either. The last thing we need is a poisoned messenger.’
‘I can choose to be poisonous or not,’ said the Will. ‘As the case requires. I can even choose my poison.’
‘Well, don’t poisonously bite anyone unless I ask you to,’ said Arthur forcefully. He looked up at his flag and saw that it was fully spread. There had been no olive branch available, but the white flag should be an unmistakable request for a truce and negotiation, Arthur thought.
He’d been a bit concerned that the firewashed area was going to be a gruesome repository of dead Nithlings, but there were no bodies or even any bloodstains. Just a fine, grey ash that lay inch-thick on the dirt, puffing up under Arthur’s feet as he strode out towards the trenches.
When he judged he was halfway, Arthur found a patch of loose earth, probably from where a cannonball had struck early in the siege, and stuck the staff in the ground. Then he stood under the flag and waited.
He could see the front line of trenches very clearly, and the heads of the New Nithlings who were observing him just as closely. They did not use muskets or any other distance weapon as far as he knew, but even so his skin felt tense, as if there would suddenly be a shot, or an arrow would plunge down from the sky.
Nothing happened for a considerable time. The sun sank lower in the sky. Arthur even began to get bored, which surprised him. The New Nithlings continued to move about the trenches, carrying ladders and other gear, and pushing larger siege engines along farther back. But they did not move out of their trenches and come forward.
Arthur almost missed it when something began to happen. The pattern of Nithling movement changed and all handling of large equipment stopped. It also became much quieter.
A tall figure climbed out of the forward trench and walked towards Arthur. A Denizen-tall figure in a voluminous yellow greatcoat that hid his body, topped by that Napoleon hat and the steely mask. He had no obvious weapons, but the greatcoat could conceal almost anything, and of course, he probably had his pipe.
He walked up to within two yards of Arthur and stopped. Then he gave a sketchy half-salute. Arthur, without thinking, returned it with an instinctive, smartly snapped salute at full attention.
‘You are courteous,’ said the Piper. His voice was light and somewhat strange, and it made Arthur feel like he was in a dream, not really understanding what was happening, but also feeling an overwhelming urge to agree with the Piper. He shook his head to clear it and gripped the Fourth Key more tightly.