“All hands on deck!” he said. “There’s some kind of battle going on above us, up under the sky!”
Chapter Fourteen

It was cold out on deck, colder than it had been before, but it was no longer snowing. The raft, traveling up the canal at a sharp angle, was already breaking through the low clouds, and the sky around them was clear and much lighter, though it did grow darker again overhead. Arthur could see a slice of the sun on the far horizon, where it had presumably stuck, its light falling in a tight band that did not extend to the top of the canal.

There were some other lights in the darkness above, twinkling faux stars on the underside of the intermediate roof. Somewhere unseen up there was the skylock through which the canal would pass.

As Arthur stared up, he saw half a dozen new stars move swiftly across the sky, till one of them suddenly exploded into many smaller, fiery fragments that rained down in a quickly fading shower. The other five swerved away and grew fainter, till they disappeared again.

“A skirmish of the air,” said Ugham. “I know not the combatants. One side is lit fair, the other stalks in dark­ness. Ah, the light-bearers come again!”

He pointed at a different quarter of the sky. This time more than a dozen stars were moving in an arrowhead formation towards the point where the explosion had been. The stars grew brighter as they crossed the sky, and Arthur realized that they were drawing closer to the raft, descend­ing as well as moving horizontally.

“Who are they?” Arthur asked Pirkin.

“Dunno,” answered the Paper Pusher. “I know who’s waiting in the dark, though.”

“So do I,” breathed Fred. Arthur glanced at his friend, who was staring entranced up at the sky.

“Who?”

“Winged Servants of the Night,” Fred and Pirkin said together. Pirkin had a strange catch to his voice, a melan­choly that Arthur had not heard there before.

As they spoke, two of the bright stars once more exploded into sparks, which slowly drifted down before fading away.

“That’ll be lit-up wing feathers falling,” said Suzy.

“Whatever was wearing them will have a long way to fall.”

Suzy’s comment made Arthur look back down and around. In the swath of light from the stuck sun, he could finally see the other side of the canal. It was at least half a mile away, but the width of the canal was not the most impressive thing about the waterway. It stretched ahead in a straight line for several miles before curving to the right, all the time climbing at a gentle ten degrees. At the curve, Arthur could see that the whole vast canal was supported on thousands of columns that disappeared down into the clouds. It looked like an impossible freeway flyover stretched up a thousand times and then flooded with water. Seeing it made him feel nervous and slightly giddy.

It was easier to look up, so Arthur did, just in time to see something come hurtling down towards them. It had been practically invisible until it fell into the sunlight, a black speck against the black sky. It fell like a stone towards the raft, and for a moment Arthur thought it was some kind of missile. But when it got to several hundred yards out he saw it was roughly human-shaped—and that it was going to miss the raft and possibly the canal as well, to plummet down to the Flat.

Then a black, crow-shaped wing spread out from its left shoulder, and, from its right, a crumpled, bent-up mess of wild feathers. Flapping madly with its single working wing, the creature corrected its course towards the raft and slowed a little, corkscrewing wildly as it fell.

It hit the raft at a speed that would have killed any mortal, bounced twice, and immediately started to get up. Arthur thought it had to be some kind of Nithling, and his hand was on the Key as he raced over to it, on the heels of

Ugham, Fred, and Suzy. Pirkin lagged behind, his head bent and his feet slow.

But it was not a Nithling. As Arthur got nearer, he saw that the creature’s strange beaked head was a helmet with a long, open snout through which a Denizen’s mouth could be vaguely seen. Similarly, what looked like a natural leath­ery hide was a full bodysuit of black armor, and the taloned, webbed hands were actually taloned, webbed gauntlets of the same black material.

It was impossible to tell if it was a male or female Denizen. It got to its knees as Arthur and the others approached, one wing crushed at its side, the other trailing behind. It tried to stand but couldn’t and fell back into a crouch.

“Is it ... this ... a Winged Servant of the Night?” Arthur whispered to Fred as they slowed to stand in a ring around the crippled flyer, no one sure what to do next.

“Yes,” said Fred. He pushed past and kneeled by the strange Denizen, his hands and fingers moving in a series of complicated signs.

The Servant seemed startled, then quickly signed back, too quickly for Fred.

“Slow down!” he said and made several emphatic fin­ger movements.

The Servant signed again, with greater deliberation and many more pauses.

“She ... her name is ... ah, something like ... Cool of the Evening Before Full Dark. She says they are fighting winged Denizens from the Upper House. I think they’re called something like Clever Resters?”

“Artful Loungers,” said Ugham. “Our lord has made us study all the foe we might face. They are not the most puissant of Saturday’s host.”

The Servant nodded.

“She can hear?” asked Arthur.

The Servant nodded again.

“Sorry,” Arthur continued. “I mean, you can hear, but you don’t speak, right?”

The Servant nodded again.

“I didn’t know that,” said Fred. “But then, I never did meet a real Servant before.”

“How come you know the signs, then?” Suzy asked. Fred coughed and looked away from the Servant and mumbled something.

“You what?” Suzy persisted.

“Thought I might grow up to be a Winged Servant.” Fred’s cheeks were red, and not just from the cold. “There was a book of signs I did a bit of gilding on ... part of a manual for Middle House management. I kept it and learned how to do them.”

“But Piper’s children don’t grow up,” said Arthur, puzzled.

“I know,” said Fred sadly. “It was just ... something to pretend. I didn’t want to be a gilding assistant forever. It’s lucky I can still remember most of the signs I learned. It was a long time ago and someone took the book back. I’ve been washed between the ears many times since then.”

Arthur scowled at the mention of the washing between the ears. He wanted to know more about that whole pro­cess, and why it was done. It was yet another small mystery of the House that needed sorting out, but had to be put on the backburner.

The Servant tapped Fred on the foot to make him pay attention, and her fingers spelled out a long message.

“She has to get back into the fight; she wants to know if we have extra wings,” said Fred. “Any wings will do.”

“We haven’t got any,” said Arthur. “Well, unless Pirkin has some ....”

“Wings is for those who don’t have a canal to ride,” said Pirkin. “The Association expressly forbids wings on the rafts. Why, if it wasn’t for the extenuating circum­stances, I’d have to ask Miss Cool of the Evening here to take her leave ....”

The Servant hissed and reached for a slim metal tube at her belt.

“However, given there is extenuations aplenty,” Pirkin said hurriedly, “welcome aboard. I don’t suppose one more nonmember will make any difference.”

The Servant nodded and tried to get up once more. Fred and Arthur quickly helped her, but she shrugged them off and managed to keep standing alone. She raised one foot that could not bear her weight, either because it or her leg was broken. She made more signs and Fred translated.

“Her companions will come for her soon, if they win,” he said. “Or the enemy. She suggests we stand away in case it is the latter. The Artful Loungers will leave us alone, as they have left the other rafts alone.”

“Other rafts?” asked Pirkin. “Where?”

The Servant pointed up and again signed out a long message.

“The skylock has been captured by the enemy,” passed on Fred. “It is being held open to allow the Artful Loungers to fly down from Burinberg, which was taken by Saturday’s troops earlier today in a massed elevator assault.

“Um, Friday’s Dawn has refused to accept Saturday’s authority and has ordered all loyal Middle House Denizens to resist. Friday’s Dawn and his Gilded Youths tried to hold Burinberg but have been forced to retreat to the Top

Shelf. No one knows where Friday’s Noon and Dusk are, or Lady Friday.

“Let’s see ... the High Guild in the Top Shelf has not declared for either side. The Winged Servants are basically attacking Saturday’s forces wherever they can till morning, since they only fly at night. Can you repeat that last bit?”

Fred watched the repeated signs carefully.

“Oh, the rafts ... lots of them were held up by the fighting at the skylock but now they’re passing through. The Loungers are too busy fighting the Servants and are ignoring the rafts. Did I get all that right, miss?”

The Servant nodded, but her head was craned back, her masked head scanning the sky above, her hand once more on the tube at her belt. It looked to Arthur like a miniature version of the firewash projectors used by the Army of the Architect ... which would be a very nasty weapon indeed. He was determined to keep a careful eye on it.

“Why did you land here?” Arthur asked now. “Why did you think you would be safe? We’re obviously not Paper Pushers.”

Cool of the Evening shook her head and quickly signed a reply, without taking her gaze away from the sky. “You smell all right,” said Fred. “Saturday’s Denizens smell of ... I don’t know that sign ... stone-smoke? Coal, maybe.”

“The noses of the Servants are keen,” said Ugham. Cool of the Evening made another rapid sign. “Flyers coming down,” said Fred.

“As are their eyes,” said Ugham. “I do not spy any movement.”

“Could be Loungers with their wings darked,” said Fred. “What do we do, Arthur? We can’t just leave her—”

“Of course not!” Arthur drew the Key, the Servant hissing in surprise and shielding her eyes as the baton transformed into a silver rapier, the metal brighter than could be explained by the mere reflection of light. “Prepare to receive boarders!”
Chapter Fifteen

When she was satisfied with both her fake cough and her scratched-up stone, Leaf took an armful of pale blue pillowcases and started around the circle to the near­est stairs. A plan had formed in her head ... or at least part of a plan. It had several defects, which she hoped to overcome on the fly, because she couldn’t think of anything else she could do.

The first step was to find the Denizen called Feorin, but without Milka in attendance. Feorin might be stupid enough to fall for Leaf’s intended trick, but she knew there was little chance Milka would go along with it.

Maybe I can find another stupid Denizen, thought Leaf as she trudged up the stairs to circle ten and headed around toward the noon position, where the Denizens’ quarters were. As Harrison had predicted, she didn’t meet anyone. The corridor was deserted and looked just like all the other corridors she’d walked inside the crater rim. If it wasn’t for the numbers above the doors and the staircases, she would have sworn she was back where she originally came in.

I suppose I’ll have to knock on a door. Which could lead to trouble ....

Uncertain about whether this was a good idea, Leaf walked the top part of the circle, trying to see if there was any clue to be found as to who might be behind the doors. But the only one that was different was the one at the noon position, which was wider and had an ornate pattern around the doorknob. Leaf thought this was probably a good one to avoid and, at random, chose to knock on the door at six past twelve.

It was opened very quickly by a Denizen who was hold­ing a large needle and dangling gold thread in one hand and a book in the other. He looked over Leaf’s head and then, seeing no one, down at her.

“What is it?”

“Uh, sorry to disturb you,” said Leaf. “I’ve been sent to give a message to Feorin.”

“Feorin? Are you sure?”

“Yes, definitely Feorin.”

“Try next door,” said the Denizen, pointing clockwise with the needle. “Ten past.”

“Thanks,” said Leaf, the door already shutting in her face. She took a deep breath and walked along to the door at ten past, hesitated for a moment, then sharply rapped on it.

The occupants were not so fast this time. Leaf could faintly hear a conversation, then footsteps. Finally the door opened to reveal Feorin, now wearing a leather apron over his sharp suit.

Leaf stepped back so she was out of the line of sight of anyone farther inside, then coughed her odd, barking cough. “Hi, Feorin,” she said. “I’ve got something for you.”

“For me?” asked Feorin. He stepped out into the cor­ridor after her. At the same time, someone inside—almost certainly Milka—called out, “Who is it?”

“Tell her it’s a messenger,” whispered Leaf. She coughed again and held out the stone she’d scratched up. “And I’ll give you this ... ah-woof ... coughstone.”

“A messenger!” called out Feorin. He advanced on Leaf, reaching for the stone ... but she was too quick for him and retreated, coughing again.

“You have to help me find a telephone to the House first,” whispered Leaf. “Then you can have the cough-stone.”