Deep inside the New Architect, the part of him that was Arthur cried out, a cry of such savage pain and loss that it halted the New Architect’s thoughts of a raw young Universe begun from the beginning.

“No,” said the New Architect to himself, to the Arthur that he had been. “No…you are quite right.”

As he understood everything now, the New Architect knew what the Architect had meant when she had said, “That is your choice.”

He gestured, and a stone formed beside him. A small boulder of pleasantly weathered granite. It was exactly like the one that had stood near the spring in the Elysium.

The New Architect sat on the stone, reached into his coat and drew out A Compleat Atlas of the House and Immediate Environs. He did not open it, but simply knew its contents as soon as he held it in his hand. It contained a complete snapshot of the former Universe, taken a moment before the destruction of the Elysium of the Incomparable Gardens, when the Will had frozen everyone. All the records of the Secondary Realms slavishly made by thousands upon thousands of Denizens were just a small and largely irrelevant part of the true record.

The Old Universe in all its fine detail lay in the palm of his hand.

The New Architect sighed as he thought about the work ahead. He had planned to tweak things here or there, particularly on Earth, but now he knew he could not for that would endlessly complicate his task. If he was to remake the Universe, he would have to do so exactly as it was recorded in the Atlas. That meant the Secondary Realms would be no different, and all that would remain of the House would be the Elysium.

But there was one difference he would make. He had dismissed the notion when thinking of a new Universe, but on reflection he had come to decide it would be a good idea. At least it would give him some personal satisfaction, a little counterweight to the sadness that lingered inside him, a legacy of his mortal past.

The New Architect rested his chin on his hand, his elbow on his knee, and began to think.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Arthur blinked and choked back a surge of nausea. The sun was too bright and his legs felt weak…so weak that they began to crumple underneath him. He quickly sat down on the grass and noticed that not only were his legs not holding him up, they were back to being normal boy-size, and he was wearing jeans. He had a T-shirt on too, a vintage Ratz band T-shirt, and his chest and arms were certainly back to normal as well, and when he ran his hands through his hair, it felt…human.

But a moment ago he had been the New Architect and was recreating the cosmos. Now he was – Arthur looked around – now he was back in the Elysium. An Elysium surrounded by Nothing.

“Arthur,” said a somewhat familiar voice behind him.

Arthur turned round and had to shield his face with his hand. There was a twelve-foot-tall shining winged figure there, a figure almost too bright to look at. But Arthur could make out the shining one’s features – which were a stylised and improved version of his own.

“Are…are you me?” asked Arthur.

“After a fashion,” said the New Architect.

“But…what am I, then?” asked Arthur. Apart from the actual creation of the new Universe, he could still remember everything he’d done, and what he’d become, from that first moment when he’d met Mister Monday and Sneezer.

“You are yourself,” said the New Architect. “As the Old One was a part of the Architect, so you are part of the greater being that we became.”

“But I’m back to being a boy again,” said Arthur, wonderingly. “The real me.”

“Yes,” said the New Architect quietly. “I knew that was what I wanted.”

“Am I mortal?” asked Arthur.

“Yes,” lied the New Architect, for his own good. “But you will not get sick, ever again.”

“I can go back to Earth,” whispered Arthur. He blinked again and casually wiped a tear from his eye, as if it were the New Architect’s brilliance that was making his eyes water. “Uh, I mean…you did remake Earth?”

“Exactly as it was, unfortunately,” said the New Architect. “Arthur…I was not able to remake everything as I…or you…would wish. The Atlas recorded the House only minutes before the end…”

“Yes…” said Arthur. “But Leaf and Suzy, and Fred and Dr Scamandros, they were here, they’ll be—”

“Leaf is here,” said the New Architect. He gestured, and Leaf was there, asleep on the grass nearby. “I have not yet decided about the Denizens and the Piper’s children. But all those lost in the greater part of the Gardens, I cannot—”

“Oh,” said Arthur.

Bed 27. Pot 5. A house from Earth, with a woman in it…

Tears streamed down his face now and he made no pretence that it was from the fierceness of the light. “Mother.”

“Yes,” said the New Architect. He hesitated, then said, “I could make her again, solely from our memory, but she would not be exactly right—”

“No!” shuddered Arthur. He took in a deep breath and choked back the tears. “No.”

“I will return you and Leaf to a friendly house, a safe distance from the bombed hospital,” said the New Architect. “It belongs to an old woman called Sylvie. Leaf knows her. She will look after you until Bob comes home.”

Arthur nodded. The notion that someone would be looking after him felt so utterly strange and at the same time so comforting that he almost burst into tears again.

“Bob will need your help too,” said the New Architect. “And our brothers and sisters. It will be difficult.”

“Yes,” whispered Arthur.

“If you want to talk to me,” said the New Architect, “there will be a red lacquer box in your room. A small one. I don’t care for that old phone stuff.”

“Thanks,” said Arthur. He wiped his eyes and nose and took a deep breath. “I guess I’d better get going, then. Um, how…”

The New Architect pointed. Arthur was sure there had been nothing there, or more precisely that there had been Nothing there, but now Seven Dials stood waiting, the grandfather clocks arranged in a circle on the grass.

As he walked over to the clocks, Leaf woke. She sat up and touched her shoulder, seeming surprised by something she felt – or didn’t feel – there. Then she saw Arthur.

“Arthur! Is that really you?”

She ran over and hugged him, before stepping back awkwardly.

“It is me,” said Arthur.

“But how?” asked Leaf. “What happened? One minute the Nothing was coming in, and then I just woke up here, and…Where is everyone else?”

Arthur looked at the New Architect, who was standing in clear view. He inclined his head slightly and pointed at the clocks, which began to strike.

“I’ll explain when we get back,” said Arthur. He took Leaf’s hand and hurried to the centre of the circle of clocks. “Seven Dials will take us to a friend of yours. Someone called Sylvie.”

“All right!” said Leaf. “Isn’t it amazing, Arthur? You won!”

“Yes,” said Arthur quietly. “I guess we did.”

EPILOGUE

“Iain’t calling you sir all the time or nothing like that,” said Suzy.

“No,” said the New Architect. His radiance had considerably dimmed. He had also adopted a shorter, more human size, and looked quite like how Arthur would look when he was about twenty-one. He was dressed comfortably in twenty-first-century clothes and had cool sunglasses on.

“And I reckon it’s time I grew up,” continued Suzy. “I mean, I’m at least a couple of thousand years old!”

The New Architect handed over a mirror. Suzy took it suspiciously then looked into it.

“Blimey!” she crowed. “That ain’t half bad.”

“Indeed,” said the New Architect.

“Orright,” said Suzy. “I’ll take the job. What’ll we do first?”

“I think we will rebuild the House,” said the New Architect. “Then populate it with Denizens. They can keep watch upon the Secondary Realms, particularly Earth, of course. Though we must ensure there is an absolute minimum of interference, given our pernicious influence upon the environment there. I shall look into that though.”

“Watching, but no interference,” agreed Suzy. “I bags being Lady Sunday. ’Ere, when are you bringing back the Doc, Fred and Giac?”

“Soon,” said the New Architect. “They can help design the new Denizens.”

“Time for a cup of tea, I reckon, Art,” said Suzy.

The New Architect, known to his friends as Art, smiled and nodded.

“And a biscuit, I think,” he said. “Or three.”