Leaf looked at the sword.

Maybe if I just run out and stab that flower thing it has for a head, that’ll kill it. But to do that, I’d have to jump on its back.

Leaf looked again. The beastwort was the size of a small haystack. But most of its sensory petals were angled in front of it, and Leaf thought that if she jumped up to the handrail of the wheelchair ramp and took off from there, she could land on its back.

Suzy could do this, she thought, her mouth strangely dry. Arthur could do it. Maybe I can. I kicked Feverfew’s head pretty well, didn’t I? Albert would tell me I could do it –“Straight up the ratlines to the mast,” he always said. “Don’t look down…”

Leaf wiped her eyes, hefted her sword and took a deep breath.

“Go!” she shouted to encourage herself as she leaped out of the Door.

Or at least she tried to. The sword hit the brilliant white rectangle of the exit and bounced off, but the momentum of her jump carried the rest of Leaf on. Her arm twisted round horribly as she found herself falling down the wheelchair ramp.

Her right hand, and the sword, remained inside the Front Door, while the rest of her sprawled across the ramp.

Leaf groaned and tried to pull the sword through. But it wouldn’t come out. She was anchored to the Door.

She looked up. The yellow petals of the beastwort’s head were tilting towards her. Two tentacles, as thick as her arm, were rising in the air, as the creature swivelled round on its many, many legs.

Leaf concentrated all her willpower and pulled the sword halfway out through the glass door of the hospital.

“Come on!” she shouted, but she couldn’t get the sword to budge, the last four inches firmly stuck in the Door. So she pushed it back and tried to follow it inside, only to be stopped by a tentacle gripping her around the ankles and dragging her back.

“No!” screamed Leaf. The beastwort was going to tear her apart, with her arm stuck in the Door!

Desperately she looked around for some other weapon, her left hand scrabbling about, searching in panic for anything that she could use as the first tentacle lifted her higher and the second tentacle whipped in and fastened itself around her middle, almost capturing her free arm. Leaf knew that this was it – she was going to be killed by a plant. Then her fingers found something – a rope or cord – and she grabbed it and tried to haul herself back towards the Door with it, but instead she went towards the body of the beastwort. Amid her panic, a sharp thought blossomed in Leaf’s mind.

I’ve got the thing’s lead!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A rthur waited anxiously for Elephant’s return. The steady tick of the clock did nothing to help his nervousness, which increased as the time dragged on and his childhood friend did not come back. An hour passed, then two, and as the hour hand moved to the three, Arthur found his chains long enough for him to step a short distance away from the clock face. At six, he guessed they might be long enough for him to reach the edge of the terrace and look down. He tried not to think of what he might see, but he couldn’t help visualising many images of his Elephant, dead or captured.

In any case, that was three hours away. Three more hours of waiting.

I need to think of another plan, Arthur told himself. But try as he might, he couldn’t, and he found himself thinking again about Lord Sunday’s offer. That made him remember A Compleat Atlas of the House. It had been blocked before, but there was always a slim chance…

Arthur took it out from inside his coveralls. The book had fallen down to his waistband and it was quite difficult to get it out, his manacled wrists clashing as he did so. He sat on the edge of the clock and rested the Atlas on his knees. As before, it opened and slowly grew to its full size.

“Tell me how I can get these manacles off,” said Arthur. He thought for a second, and added, “Or undo the chains from the clock.”

A blob of ink appeared, giving Arthur a moment’s hope that the Atlas was going to write something. But it didn’t. The blob spread and several more blotches materialised, none of them looking anything like a letter. Arthur watched them for a few seconds in case they formed a pattern, or a sketch or something that would help him, but they remained mere ink stains, devoid of meaning.

He was about to ask another question when he caught a faint sound on the wind – a kind of whirring noise that he instantly recognised as one of Sunday’s dragonflies. Quickly Arthur shut the Atlas and as it shrank he stuffed it back down his front. Looking up, he saw a dragonfly commence its approach to once again end up hovering nearby. A rope ladder came clattering down and Lord Sunday descended.

The Trustee was alone this time. He looked around, satisfied himself that all was secure, then approached Arthur, making sure not to stand too close to the clock. Even from several paces away, and without Lord Sunday having to hold his Key, Arthur could feel the power of it pushing him down, making him feel like a servant or a beggar, or maybe, since they were in the Incomparable Gardens, some small worm to be stepped on and forgotten.

“Have you reconsidered?” asked Lord Sunday.

“I’m thinking about it,” Arthur answered honestly. “Can I ask you some questions?”

“You may have fifteen minutes,” said Lord Sunday. He looked at the clock. “There are currently many matters that require my attention and I do not wish to waste my time.”

“Why didn’t you fulfil your duty as a Trustee?” asked Arthur. “Why break up and hide the Will?”

“So you do not know even that,” said Lord Sunday. “I am surprised someone so ignorant has come so far.”

Arthur shrugged. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is a matter of who will inherit the Architect’s powers and authority, and the nature of the transfer,” said Lord Sunday. “The Will specified a mortal heir, which was not, and is not, acceptable.”

“Why?” asked Arthur. “I mean, if I’d just been given the Keys, I would have left you all alone, and the House would be all right and everything would be fine.”

“And you think the Will itself would acquiesce to that?” asked Lord Sunday. “I believe it has already slain most of my fellow Trustees.”

“The Will?!” asked Arthur. His chains clanked as he sat up straighter, shocked by Sunday’s accusation. “You think Dame Primus killed Mister Monday and Grim Tuesday?”

“I am sure of it,” said Sunday. “And you are behind the times. Sir Thursday and Lady Friday have also been slain. The Will is an instrument of the Architect, with a single aim. The Trustees, in its view, are traitors and must be punished.”

“I thought…I thought it was probably Superior Saturday…or you,” said Arthur. But he did not protest more violently, because what Lord Sunday was saying sounded like the truth, and Arthur knew in his heart that murder was something that the Will was perfectly capable of doing.

“I have tried to simply tend my garden,” said Lord Sunday. “That is all I have ever wanted. That is why I did not follow the Architect’s instructions, and why I allowed the Will to be broken.”

“But you’re the Architect’s son!”

“Yes,” replied Lord Sunday, “but not as a mortal would understand it. It is true I am an offshoot of both the Architect and the Old One. In any case, a very, very long time ago we…disagreed, culminating in the Architect’s imprisonment of the Old One. The Piper sulked in some hidden fastness, and the Mariner embarked on his journeying. I remained in my garden. The Architect herself withdrew completely and nothing was heard from her for a period of time you cannot even imagine. Then, completely unexpectedly, there came the Will.”

“What happened to the Architect, then?” asked Arthur. “Is she dead?”

“No.” A grim smile briefly curled across Lord Sunday’s mouth, so swiftly Arthur wasn’t even sure he’d seen it. “Not yet.”

“So she’s missing or has done that thing when kings resign.”

“Abdicate,” said Lord Sunday. “Yes. She has abdicated, and that is why there is a Will.”

“A Will that chose me to be the Rightful Heir,” said Arthur.

“Any mortal would have served the Will’s purpose. Many would have done better, I suspect.”

“So why don’t you just give me your Key, and I’ll let you keep looking after the Incomparable Gardens. Though you’d have to help me stop the Nothing first.”

“And what of the Will?” asked Lord Sunday. “Would you take the Key and leave Part Seven of the Will captive in my care?”

“I…” Arthur stopped. He didn’t know what to say.

“And if you did, would Dame Primus stand by your decision?” added Lord Sunday.

“She’d do as she was told,” said Arthur weakly. His words didn’t sound true, even to himself.

“You see,” said Lord Sunday, “that is not a possible solution to our troubles. The only way out for you, Arthur, is to abdicate yourself. Give me the Keys you already hold. I will deal with the Will and the Nothing, and restore the House. You will be able to go back to your home and live a mortal life without the cares and woes that weigh so heavily upon you now.”

“What about Superior Saturday and the Piper?” Arthur could feel himself weakening, the temptation growing. Everything Lord Sunday said seemed to make perfect sense. “They’ll never leave me alone.”

“I must confess I have underestimated Saturday’s ambition and strength,” said Lord Sunday. “But she is no more than a nuisance, and even without your Keys, I will soon defeat her. The Piper is a somewhat more significant threat, but not one that is beyond my powers.”

“So if I give up my Keys—”

“And the Atlas.”

“And the Atlas,” Arthur continued, “you’ll let me go back to Earth with my mother…and Leaf…and you’ll turn back the Nothing…and you promise not to interfere with my world. But what about my friends here? What will happen to the Denizens who’ve followed me?”

“Nothing,” said Lord Sunday, but the way he said that word sounded more like dissolution by Nothing, rather than nothing bad. Arthur was about to ask him to answer in more detail when he caught a glimpse of a yellow elephant trunk waving at him from the edge of the terrace, behind a large, perfectly trimmed bush festooned with tall pink and violet flowers that were in turn surrounded by a shifting cloud of golden-winged butterflies.

“I…I need to think about it some more,” said Arthur. The relief he felt at seeing Elephant made him almost stammer out the words. He hoped Lord Sunday thought it was just the stress of his situation.

“You have little time.” Lord Sunday pointed at the trapdoor. “When the clock strikes twelve, your eyes will be taken. If they should grow back too quickly, I may reset the puppets to an older task, to take your liver. You should also be aware that with every hour, Nothing impinges further upon all other parts of the House. You mentioned ‘friends’ among the Denizens who follow you. Even as you waste time thinking, many of them will have met their final end. Think on that, as well as your own fate, Arthur.”

This time, Lord Sunday did not ascend the ladder to the hovering dragonfly. He climbed the hill, disappearing over the edge of the next terrace above. Arthur watched him go, then looked up at the dragonfly. He couldn’t see Sunday’s Dawn or Noon, but there were Denizens aboard who were looking over the side, monitoring him.

Elephant must have seen them too, for he stayed back behind the pink and violet flowers. Arthur couldn’t tell if he’d found the medal, because all he’d seen was Elephant’s trunk.

An hour later, Lord Sunday came back down the hill. He stopped by the clock and looked at Arthur, who shook his head. Even that movement felt difficult, and a strong desire to agree with Lord Sunday washed over him, followed by a flash of fear.

He’s using the Seventh Key’s power on me, thought Arthur. Making me want to agree with him, to believe what he tells me. But it might be true. Maybe I shouldn’t be trying to free the Will after all. Maybe it’s all been a mistake. Maybe I should just give the Keys up…

A clanking noise interrupted his thoughts. Arthur found his hand was inside his coverall, and he was about to remove the Atlas. Angrily, he pushed it back down and took his hand out.

“Everything I have told you is true, Arthur,” said Lord Sunday, lifting his hand from the Seventh Key. “I will return before the clock strikes, to hear your answer. Do not disappoint me.”

Arthur did not reply. His mind was awhirl, unable to decide on a clear path forward, unable to weigh everything Lord Sunday had told him against what he already knew, or thought he knew.

He heard the sound of the dragonfly depart and followed its swift passage till it was only a dark speck. As he lost sight of it, Elephant hurried out from the flower bush and strode towards him. Arthur blinked, for Elephant was larger than he had been before, and had grown imposing tusks. One of the tusks was stained with something green.

But more important, Elephant held an object in his trunk, a metal disc that glittered in the sunlight till it fell into the shadow of Arthur’s palm.

It was the Mariner’s medal. Arthur held it tight as he drew Elephant under his arm and hugged him, whispering thanks for yet another lifesaving mission performed so well.

Then he raised the medal and looked deeply into it, remembering what Sunscorch had said upon the Border Sea: if he spoke into the medal, the Mariner would hear.

“Captain!” said Arthur. “I need your aid. I am imprisoned by Lord Sunday upon a hill in the Incomparable Gardens, chained as the Old One is chained. I need you and your harpoon to break my bonds. Please come as quickly as you can!”