Sir Thursday drove the bayonet into the mapboard with his last words, ripping and tearing at the wood with unbelievable ferocity. When he had reduced it to pieces, he impaled the remains with the bayonet, leaving the weapon quivering in a broken board.

He took a deep breath before turning back to face the parade.

‘I find this annoying, as you can see. That spike has sorcerously frozen a tile at point five hundred/five hundred. This is the master position of the maze, and if it is unable to move, no tiles can move. Consequently, I will be leading a force via the Improbable Stair to point five hundred/ five hundred. As the vast majority of Denizens are simply rejected by the Stair, I must take Piper’s children, who the Stair always accepts, and I am looking for twelve volunteers. We will go via the Stair, destroy the spike, and return on the Stair. Sergeant-Major!’

The RSM marched back out the front, drew in a deep lungful of air, and bellowed, ‘All those wishing to volunteer for a special assault via the Improbable Stair take one pace forward!’

Twenty-two

ARTHUR WAS TOO recent a product of recruit school. Even as his mind tried to tell him to think about it, his legs reacted like a galvanised frog to the word of command. He took one pace forward. So did Fred and, after a slight hesitation, Suzy. Peering across from the corner of his eye, Arthur could see at least another ten had stepped forward too. But that meant half the Piper’s children hadn’t volunteered.

‘Dismiss the rest,’ ordered Sir Thursday. ‘Get them out of my sight! If any of them hold rank, strip it from them! And find some stars for Mister Green.’

As the RSM bellowed commands at the non-volunteers, the Trustee paced to the narrow slit window and looked out. Arthur couldn’t see what he saw, but since it was a westward-facing window and they were high up, it was likely to be a huge host of New Nithlings, preparing for another assault on the outer bastions.

Arthur was probably going to see a lot of New Nithlings soon. But he was less worried about that than he was about Sir Thursday. Anyone capable of the berserk rage he’d just displayed after merely talking about something that made him angry was dangerous to be around. Even if you weren’t the Rightful Heir, intent on removing him from his position and taking his Key.

No sign of the Key anyway, thought Arthur. Or the Will, for that matter. The Key is probably a weapon, I would think. The Will could be anywhere, maybe not even in this demesne of the House.

‘Mister Green’s stars, sir,’ said the RSM to Sir Thursday, interrupting Arthur’s train of thought. The sergeant-major handed Sir Thursday a small velvet box.

‘Four paces forward please, Second Lieutenant Green,’ said Sir Thursday. Arthur marched forward and halted. Sir Thursday came up close, opened the box, and took out two diamond-shaped badges of gold. He pressed them to the epaulettes on Arthur’s shoulders, which instantly turned black and grew gold buttons, the ‘stars’ stitching themselves in near his shoulders.

‘Congratulations,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘You will be my second-in-command for this assault on the spike. Now, stand to my left and two paces behind me. You can’t go back in the ranks now.’

Arthur marched around and stood at attention behind Sir Thursday. Suzy slowly dipped one eyelid in what might have been a wink. Fred stared at a point above Arthur’s head and the other Piper’s children looked directly at him without apparently seeing him.

Now that he was able to see them, Arthur noticed that several of them were corporals, and there were even two sergeants. They would not be happy to discover that he was really only a partially trained recruit with one battle under his belt and that after a mere six weeks of training.

‘My plan is straightforward,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘We will emerge as close to the spike as is possible. I will need several minutes to destroy it and must not be interrupted in that time. You will hold off any enemy that may interfere. When the spike is destroyed, we will return via the Improbable Stair to the Citadel. Given that we will have complete surprise, we have a very good chance of success. Any questions?’

One of the sergeants, a serious-looking boy with flaxen hair and what appeared to be a painted-on yellow mustache, snapped to attention and raised his hand.

‘May we equip ourselves with our choice of weapons, sir?’

‘The central armoury is at your disposal,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘Nothing-powder weapons included. Though I must ask that you do not overburden yourselves. I cannot carry a dozen soldiers and a cannon up the Improbable Stair.’

He smiled to show this was a jest, and there was a ripple of dutiful laughter. Arthur smiled too, a bit late, but the smile was wiped off his face as Suzy snapped to attention and raised her hand.

No, Suzy! thought Arthur. Don’t ask him anything that’ll make him mad!

‘Sir, this spike. It’s made of Nothing? A lot of Nothing?’

‘Yes,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘I believe I already said that.’

Don’t say anything more! Since Arthur was behind Sir Thursday, he made a quick zipping motion with his hand over his mouth, only to turn it into an odd little nose-scratch as he saw the RSM’s eyes flicker in his direction.

Wisely, and for possibly the first time since Arthur had met her, Suzy held her tongue.

‘Any other questions?’ asked Sir Thursday. There was barely repressed menace in his voice. He did not want any more questions. He wanted instant, unthinking obedience.

Arthur shivered. He would not want to be the bearer of bad news to Sir Thursday. Or any news for that matter, since it would be impossible to know how the Trustee would react.

There were no more questions.

‘Sergeant-Major McLameth, carry on!’ snapped Sir Thursday. ‘Second Lieutenant Green, follow me!’

Arthur looked at Suzy. She rolled her eyes up several times but he had no idea what this meant. Fred, on the other hand, gave him a smile when the RSM wasn’t looking, the smile of someone who is pleased by the success of a friend.

I hope Fred doesn’t get killed, thought Arthur as he marched after Sir Thursday. He doesn’t really know what he’s getting into, with his dreams of being a general. That one battle, we were shielded from the worst and it was still awful –

‘Marshal Noon’s study,’ said Sir Thursday, opening the door to a smaller room.

Noon’s study was a surprisingly small room, only thirty feet long by fifty feet wide. To Arthur it looked more like an armoury than someone’s study, as every wall was bedecked with weapons. Interspersed with the weapons were paintings and etchings of martial scenes, battles and skirmishes with Nithlings. All of them featured the same red-haired, debonair Denizen who Arthur understood must be Thursday’s Noon.

There was a large mahogany desk supported on three pedestals in the middle of the room. The desktop was bare, save for a gold-and-ivory-inlaid marshal’s baton right in the middle.

‘There are some matters we need to speak of, Second Lieutenant Green,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘Or perhaps I should say, Second Lieutenant Penhaligon?’

‘That is my real name, sir,’ said Arthur. He stood at attention, but his eyes flickered to the walls. If Sir Thursday attacked him, he would spring that way, grab that savage-sword off its pegs there … ‘I did not plan to draft you,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘Indeed, I did not know about it until the recruiting officer made his report through his chain of command. He should have come straight to me, of course. He is Private Crosshaw now.’

After the furniture-demolishing episode I can see why he didn’t go straight to you. I bet no one ever does if they can avoid it.

‘As soon as you were drafted and became one of my soldiers, I was limited in what actions I might take against you,’ Sir Thursday continued. He began to pace around the room, but he kept looking back at Arthur. ‘But then it occurred to me that you were similarly limited in what you might do to release the Will and claim the Fourth Key. You see, Arthur, we find ourselves in a curious position.

‘I am a soldier. Even though I command the Glorious Army of the House, I am not the ultimate Commander-in-Chief. The Architect was, and when she disappeared I was convinced that Lord Sunday had the proper authority to assume this role, with Superior Saturday as his deputy. Saturday passed on Sunday’s orders for me to take a portion of the Will and hide it and to assume custodianship of the Key. As always, I followed those orders. Until I hear otherwise from Lord Sunday or his deputy, those remain my orders.’

He paused and took a clockwork axe from the wall. Arthur tensed, ready to grab a weapon to defend himself, but Sir Thursday didn’t move to attack. He started to bend the haft of the axe backwards and forwards, even though it was made of gravity-condensed steel. The axe’s clockwork mechanism shrieked in protest as the cogs and gears within the haft were bent, and the flywheel at the end of the haft burned itself to a stop, smoke wafting around Sir Thursday’s arms.

‘I have followed those orders for the last ten thousand years,’ said Sir Thursday, speaking through gritted teeth. ‘Even though the Will constantly seeks to escape and is always complaining and scheming and I can never … never rest!’

The ax broke apart and springs ricocheted around the room. Arthur ducked reflexively but immediately stood at attention again.

‘I can never rest, for if I rest, the Will may escape,’ continued Sir Thursday. ‘It makes me a little irritable. But I have my orders. So you see, Lieutenant, I am not going to release the Will and I am not going to give you the Key until I am directly ordered to do so. Which, though I do not have a lot of communication with the Upper House, seems extremely unlikely.’

Sir Thursday brushed his hands to remove the last bits of powdered metal and stalked over to Arthur, leaning close.

‘You may have plans, Arthur, to try to free the Will yourself. But you are not Arthur Penhaligon here, Master of the Lower House, the Far Reaches, and the Border Sea. You are a commissioned officer in my Army and I am ordering you to do nothing to free the Will. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Arthur.

‘Disobeying orders on active service is considered mutiny,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘For which the penalty is death. Do you understand that?’

‘Yes, sir!’

‘Then the matter is concluded, at least for the remainder of your service.’ Sir Thursday’s mouth curved up on one side, in what he probably imagined was a grin. ‘Much can happen in ninety-nine years, Mister … Green.’

‘Yes, sir!’ said Arthur, thinking, More like the next twenty-four hours. You’re going to get me killed on this suicide mission.

‘You had best join the assault unit and prepare yourself,’ said Sir Thursday. ‘We shall enter the Improbable Stair in eighteen minutes. Dismiss!’

Arthur saluted and did an about-turn. But as he spun around on his heel, he heard a distant voice speaking directly into his mind. It was very faint but clear, and he recognised the tone. All the Parts of the Will had a kind of monomaniacal directness, even in mental speech.

Arthur, I am here, bound to the Key. I can free myself if Sir Thursday’s attention and power are sufficiently diverted.

Arthur gave no sign he had been contacted. He continued marching, his mind juggling many plans, fears, and notions, constantly dropping, picking up, and throwing them about.

To hear what was said and to speak to his mind, the Will must have been in the room with Sir Thursday. It said it was bound to the Key, so that must have been there as well. But Sir Thursday carried no visible weapons. He wore a private’s uniform but without a cartridge bag or bayonet frog to put anything in.

But there was that badge, Arthur thought. That weirdly oversized badge on his cap. A sword with a snake wound around the hilt …

Twenty-three

ARTHUR FOUND A sergeant waiting for him. It felt strange to be saluted by him instead of being shouted at, but it was a pleasant kind of strange. Arthur thought he would quickly get used to being an officer. The sergeant led him down a winding stair to a vast, echoing armoury that occupied a cavern hewn from the rock under the Star Fort. There were racks and racks of weapons and armour, in eight rows that each stretched for at least a hundred yards. The eleven Piper’s children were clattering about, collecting their equipment. They were watched with resigned suspicion by three grizzled Denizen Armourer Sergeants. One of the sergeants, catching sight of Arthur and his new badges of rank, shouted, ‘Stand fast!’

The Piper’s children stood at attention, but not very fast or very smartly. One of them was even on the brink of slouching. Arthur ignored this.

‘As you were,’ he called. ‘Carry on. Corporal Blue!’

Suzy appeared from behind a rack of bell-barrelled musketoons. She had a savage-sword buckled onto a wide, non-regulation leather belt. On the cross-belts above, she carried four small Nothing-powder pistols in holsters.

Arthur gestured at her to go back behind another rack, then joined her there, where they were shielded from the others by a line of eight-foot-high arrow shields known as pavises.

‘Arthur, I’ve got the pocket!’ whispered Suzy. She tapped her tunic.

‘The pocket? My shirt pocket?’ asked Arthur, taken aback. He’d been about to tell her about Sir Thursday. ‘You mean the one used to grow the Skinless Boy?’

‘Well, I ain’t talking about just any pocket,’ said Suzy. ‘Do you want it now? I reckon you can stick it in that spike thing, if it’s made of Nothing.’

‘Yes,’ Arthur said quickly. He held out his hand. ‘But how did you get it? Did Leaf … is my family all right?’

‘Dunno.’ Suzy rummaged around inside her tunic and pulled out a clear plastic box with the scrap of material in it. ‘Leaf got the pocket, but she couldn’t get back to the House. She telephoned from your home, and I nipped through the Seven Dials, but by the time I got there that brain fungus had taken her over. I didn’t have time to stick around, so I flew into the Front Door. Only I got stopped by Superior Saturday’s Noon, who would have had my guts for garters if the Lieutenant Keeper, bless his white hair, hadn’t lobbed in –’