Sixty floors below Arthur, a sorcerer stared at her mirror in amazement. She hesitated for a moment, then opened a small, secret drawer in the middle of her desk and depressed a dusty bronze button.
Around her, mirrors flashed. Denizens who had been paying scant attention leaned forward, snapping books shut and dropping pens. Above their heads, the pneumatic message tubes suddenly puffed and coughed, and red capsules began to fall upon the desks.
On the floors where the sorcerers danced, they all stopped in mid-beat. Umbrellas were snapped open, chairs dragged back as they sat down, and thousands of small mirrors were turned for better viewing.
Higher up the tower, as high as you could get for now, until the assault ram was raised, a telephone rang and was picked up by a milk-white, silky hand.
Arthur watched the threads of type weave themselves through the water, and he kept calling the Will inside his head. Slowly, the lines of type began to take on a shape, the shape of a large bird. It turned a dark colour, a shining black, and its beak, head and ruffled neck rose up out of the water.
‘Good, Lord Arthur,’ croaked the raven. One text-wrought wing fluttered above the surface, while the other was still unformed threads of type. ‘I am almost complete. A little more rain must fall and be gathered in.’
‘Arthur!’
Arthur looked back to Suzy. She was pointing with her wrench.
‘Artful Loungers! Lots of them!’
‘A few more minutes,’ said the raven. ‘Keep calling me, Lord Arthur!’
Arthur tried to jump up so he could see what Suzy saw, but even with his hardest kicking he could only just raise up seven inches or so. But that was enough. All around the offices beyond the reservoir, Artful Loungers were crawling out from under the lounges. They had been there all along, hidden and quiescent.
Now they were advancing on Suzy, with their curved blue-steel swords and Nothing-poison stilettos of crystal.
Suzy flicked her rain-mantle behind her back and raised her wrench.
‘Concentrate, Arthur! Call me!’ said Part Six.
Arthur dove forward and broke into his fastest freestyle stroke.
‘Arthur! I can’t escape without you!’
Arthur ignored the raven and swam faster, piercing the water like a dolphin. But even though he was swimming faster than he ever had, after a dozen strokes he was no closer to the side, and after a dozen more, he felt himself being pulled very strongly back. Rolling over, he was pushed sideways as well. As he swirled about, he felt a powerful tug at his ankles.
He was in a whirlpool. The water was running out of the tank, and he was going with it.
‘Suzy!’ yelled Arthur. The water had sunk so quickly and he was being twirled around so fast that he could only see Suzy’s head. ‘Use your wings. Fly aw—’
Water filled his mouth. Flailing wildly, Arthur barely managed to get himself above the surface again. The suction was incredible, the action of tons and tons of water drawn into a ten-thousand-foot-high drain. Desperately he looked back, but he couldn’t see Suzy, only the glitter of Artful Lounger swords, and through water-filled ears he heard the crash of metal and shouts and a single, cut-off scream.
Then he could only think of himself. He was drowning, his lungs filling with water as he was inexorably dragged below the surface. All his fears of a long, slow underwater death were coming true.
He scrabbled at his belt pouch, thrusting his fingers in to touch the Fifth Key through the bag, not trying to get it out, for if he did, he knew he would lose it for sure. He felt its power, weak though it was through the shielding metalcloth, and focussed his mind to use its sorcery, only to be flung around so violently that his arms were twisted behind him and he was up-ended, diving headfirst down the drain.
Water completely filled his lungs and the last, pathetic bubble of air left his mouth.
I refuse to die, thought Arthur. I am no longer human. I am the Rightful Heir of the Architect. I am going to breathe the water.
He opened his mouth and took a deep, refreshing intake of water. All his choking sensations vanished, and his mouth, twisted moments ago in a panicked, silent scream, smoothed into something that was not quite a smile. He took another breath of water and pirouetted so he was upright, rushing feetfirst rather than headfirst down what must be an enormous pipe.
Suzy was probably only taken prisoner, he told himself. I’ll survive this and rescue her. It will be all right . . .
The water rushing him down suddenly changed direction. Arthur hit something very, very hard. He screamed, but no sound came out, just a blast of water from his mouth. Then he was picked up again and slammed even harder, bumping and scraping as the water surged and corkscrewed, carrying him with it.
Still screaming, Arthur curled up into a ball to protect himself – and, like a ball, was swept on and on, down and along the huge stormwater pipe that switchbacked its way through and down ten thousand feet.