Besides the central map table, which was also much longer and broader than it had been, there were now rows and rows of narrow, student-style desks for the civilians, who were all busy talking on old-fashioned phones or scribbling down messages. Every few seconds one would push his or her chair back and race across the room with a message slip, going either to Marshals Dawn, Noon or Dusk, or to Dame Primus, who loomed over the map table, looking intently at various details while many Denizens babbled out messages around her, often at the same time.
Dame Primus was even taller than ever, perhaps eight and a half feet from toe to crown. She was wearing an armoured hauberk of golden scales that clattered as she moved. The whole outfit looked decidedly uncomfortable, and dangerous for others, as it was ornamented with spiked pauldrons made to look like gripping claws. Even though the points of the claws gripped her shoulders, they also had spurs and flanges poking out in all directions.
The gauntlets that comprised the Second Key were folded through Dame Primus’s broad leather belt, next to the buckle. The clock-hand sword of the First Key hung scabbarded at her left hip. The small trident that was the Third Key sat in its holster on her right hip, and she held the marshal’s baton that was the Fourth Key, occasionally gesturing with it.
The cacophony of shouted messages, ringing telephones, scraping chairs and clattering, hobnailed or leather-soled Denizens suddenly ceased as Arthur’s presence was announced. Then the noise redoubled as everyone in the room leaped from their chairs or pushed themselves off a wall, turned to the door, and came to attention.
‘Carry on!’ called Arthur immediately. There was just a moment’s more silence, and then the room erupted into motion once more. The telephone earpieces rattled on their candlestick bodies as the old bells inside clattered more than rang, the messengers ran across the room, and the officers resumed talking all at once.
But the messengers did not get to deliver their hastily scrawled message forms to Dame Primus. She held up one hand and waved them back, striding across the room to greet Arthur with Marshals Dawn, Noon and Dusk close behind her.
‘Lord Arthur, a most timely arrival. I trust you have learnt not to accept gifts from strange visitors?’
It took Arthur a moment to work out that Dame Primus was referring to the package he’d taken from Friday’s servant Emelena, which had contained a Transfer Plate that had immediately activated, taking him to the Middle House. He had forgotten that he hadn’t seen Dame Primus since then, or not all of her, at least. He’d found Part Five, who he quite liked and had hoped would round out the character of the Will, adding some much-needed common sense. Part Five had been assimilated, judging by what he had first assumed was a half-cloak on the back of Dame Primus but now saw were in fact delicate semitransparent grey wings that were very similar to those that had been on the bat-beast that had lurked in the Inner Darkness of the Middle House.
‘I’ll know better next time,’ he said. ‘What I need to know now is what’s happening. Is the Lower House really destroyed?’
‘Apart from the Deep Coal Cellar, the Lower House is entirely lost,’ Dame Primus confirmed. ‘As are the Far Reaches, and Nothing continues to surge against our defences. Only the Keys can strengthen the fabric of the House, and we are threatened on too many fronts for me to deal with everything by myself. If you take the Fifth Key to the Middle House and reinforce the bulwark there, I will go to the Border Mountains here and build them up—’
‘Hold on,’ interrupted Arthur. ‘How did this happen in the first place? And where is the Piper’s Army? Are we still fighting Newniths here?’
‘Really, Lord Arthur, there is no time to waste,’ said Dame Primus. ‘The Piper’s Army has withdrawn and is no longer of immediate importance. Shoring up the foundations of the House is, and only you and I can do anything about that—’
‘What about Superior Saturday?’ asked Arthur. ‘What is she up to? Why does she want the House to fall, and what are we going to do about her? I’m not going anywhere until you, or someone, tells me everything I want to know!’
Dame Primus loomed over him. Though he had grown taller, she was far taller still, and her eyes were narrowed and her mouth was tight with displeasure. Arthur felt a strong urge to step back, even to kneel in awe of her terrible beauty and power. Instead he forced himself to take a step forward and look at her straight in her strange eyes, their pink irises surrounding pupils of intense darkness. She was every inch the embodiment of the Architect’s Will, and Arthur knew that if he gave in to her now, he would never have the chance to make his own decisions ever again.