‘I am the Rightful Heir, aren’t I?’ he said. ‘I want to know exactly what the situation is. Then I will decide what we are going to do.’
Dame Primus met his gaze for a full second, then slowly inclined her head.
‘Very well, Lord Arthur,’ she said. ‘As you command, so it shall be.’
‘Right, then,’ said Arthur. ‘First things first. What actually happened to the Lower House? Did Nothing break through in the Far Reaches?’
‘I will show you, through the eyes of someone who was there.’ Dame Primus gestured with the baton, and all the lamps in the room suddenly dimmed. ‘Mister Skerrikim, I trust you still have the survivor?’
A Denizen in a dark frockcoat, black cravat, and embroidered silver skullcap answered in the affirmative from the back of the room and made his way over to Dame Primus, lugging a large and rather battered leather suitcase fastened with three straps.
‘An elevator operator was just closing his doors when it happened,’ said Dame Primus to Arthur. ‘He managed to get most of the way out of the Far Reaches before the Nothing caught him. By holding on to the ceiling light of the elevator with his teeth, his head and a small remnant of the elevator actually arrived here. Fortunately Mister Skerrikim was just in time to prevent his total dissolution.’
Mr Skerrikim, who Arthur had never seen before, laid the suitcase down on the floor, undid the straps, and opened it up. The case was full of rose petals, and in the middle of the petals lay a disembodied head swathed from temple to chin in clean white bandages, like an old-fashioned treatment for a toothache. The head had its eyes shut.
Mr Skerrikim picked up the head by the ears and propped it against the open lid so it faced Arthur and Dame Primus. Then he took a small bottle of activated ink out of his pocket, dipped a quill pen into it, and wrote something in extraordinarily tiny letters on the forehead of the survivor.
‘Wake up, Marson!’ instructed Mr Skerrikim cheerfully.
Arthur started as the head’s eyes flicked open. Dr Scamandros, who was a step or two behind the boy, muttered something that did not sound very friendly.
‘What is it?’ Marson’s head asked grumpily. ‘It’s hard work growing a new body. Not to mention painful! I need all my rest.’
‘You shall have plenty of rest!’ declared Mr Skerrikim. ‘We’re just going to have another look at what happened down that pit, near the dam wall.’
‘Must you?’ asked Marson. The head’s mouth quivered and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. ‘I just can’t relive it again – the pain of the Nothing as it ate away my limbs—’
‘This is entirely unnecessary!’ protested Dr Scamandros as he pushed past several interested officers to stand next to Arthur. The tattoos on his face were of painted savages dancing around a bonfire, under the direction of a witchdoctor in a ludicrous feathered headdress. ‘This poor chap need not feel his immediate past merely for us to see it! I see also that you, sir, have used a quite discredited spell for the preservation of a head, and I must ask you to relinquish care of this individual to someone who knows what they are doing!’
‘Mister Skerrikim is quite adequately trained,’ said Dame Primus smoothly. She did not look at Dr Scamandros, but spoke to Arthur. ‘As Sir Thursday’s Chief Questioner, Skerrikim has conducted many showings from Denizens’ minds, and as you know, Arthur, Denizens do not really feel much pain. Marson will be well rewarded when his new body grows.’
‘I thought Doctor Scamandros was the only sorcerer not in Saturday’s service,’ said Arthur.
‘Mister Skerrikim is not exactly a sorcerer,’ Dame Primus clarified. ‘It is true he is a practitioner of House sorcery, but his field of specialisation is quite narrow.’
‘Jackal,’ hissed Scamandros quietly.
‘Blowhard,’ retorted Skerrikim, not so quietly.
Arthur hesitated. He wanted to see what Marson had experienced, but he didn’t want the dismembered Denizen to suffer.
‘Scamandros, can you show us what we need to see, without hurting him?’
‘Indeed I can, sir,’ said Scamandros, puffing out his chest.
‘Skerrikim is an expert,’ said Dame Primus. ‘Far better to let him—’
‘No,’ Arthur said quietly. ‘Scamandros will do it. That will be all, thank you, Mister Skerrikim.’
Skerrikim looked at Dame Primus. She did not move or give any signal that Arthur could see, but the skullcapped Denizen bowed and withdrew.
Scamandros knelt by the side of the suitcase and used a red velvet cloth to wipe off whatever Skerrikim had written on Marson’s head. Then he took out his own bottle of activated ink and a peacock-plumed pen and wrote something else.