‘What do we do, Ray?’ asked Florimel. She and the rest of the section were just finishing their preparations. Though no formal recruit corporal had ever been appointed, and both Sergeant Helve and Corporal Axeforth said none ever would be because none of the recruits was good enough, the rest of the section all looked to Ray to explain orders or to tell them what to do. If Ray was unavailable for some reason, they looked to Fred as his deputy.

Ray wondered if it was something to do with his past. He had a vague inkling that he had been someone in authority, which, though unusual for a Piper’s child in the House, was not unheard of.

‘We’re under attack,’ explained Ray. ‘So we’ll fall in here and march out and just follow orders and everything will be fine. Everyone got everything? Theodoric! Where’s your savage-sword? Grab it and catch up with us. Everyone else, fall in! By the left, quick march! Left … left … left, right, left!’

They were just marching out of the barracks when a panting Corporal Axeforth met them. He wasn’t in full Legionary rig-out, having just swapped his hat for a helmet and thrown a cuirass over his scarlet tunic, and he had a clockwork poleaxe instead of a savage-sword. But he was calm enough as he quickly fell in step next to the line of recruits.

‘Good work, Recruit Green. We’re assembling on the parade ground. Recruit Rannifer, march towards that gap to the left of Two Platoon. We’ll be forming up on them.’

Rannifer was the tallest of the Denizens, by a hair over Florimel, so he was always the right marker, the one who the others formed up on and who consequently was first in line when the rest marched in twos as they were doing now. This was not a very good thing, as Rannifer was more easily confused than most of the other Denizens.

This time, Axeforth marched very close to Rannifer, to make sure there was no error. The corporal also marched faster than normal, Ray noticed, though it was not double time. Making sure they got in place quickly, he guessed, while not appearing to be panicked or hurried.

The other recruit platoons were all marching onto the parade ground as well. Some were already formed up, with their sergeants bellowing and shouting. There were even officers present, conferring together nearby. Ray automatically assessed the plumes on their helmets, for all were in Legionary uniform. Four lieutenants, a major, and even a colonel. Ray was impressed. He’d seen the lieutenants but never anyone of higher rank.

‘I’ve just remembered something,’ whispered Fred as they halted in the centre of the front line. ‘About Piper’s children.’

‘What?’ Ray whispered back. The enemy were only five hundred yards distant now, advancing at a steady march. They had a whole lot of big, bass drums for keeping the time, their low pounding rhythm punctuated every ten steps or so by all the enemy making a sound that was more like an animal snarl than a shout.

There were also a lot more of them than he’d first thought. Many hundreds at least. Not that Ray was counting. It was just the impression he got, that there were an awful lot of them, approaching very quickly.

‘We aren’t so good with getting hurt as Denizens,’ said Fred. ‘I mean, if our heads get cut off, that’s it. And our arms and legs probably won’t grow back either.’

‘Silence in the ranks!’ shouted Sergeant Helve. He walked slowly along the front line, not even looking at the onrushing enemy. ‘This will be just like a drill! The enemy are Nithlings. They are inferior! We are the Army of the Architect! The Architect! Let me hear you say it! The Architect!’

‘The Architect!’ boomed out six hundred Denizen mouths. It sounded incredibly loud and solid and confident, and Ray started to feel a bit better, despite what Fred had just said.

‘We will not give ground!’ shouted Sergeant Helve. ‘The Architect!’

‘The Architect!’ boomed out the massed recruits. Ray noticed that Sergeant Helve was timing it so they shouted at the same time the enemy made their creepy snarling noise, the shout almost completely drowning out that and the enemy’s drums.

‘Colonel Huwiti is going to tell you the plan!’ shouted Sergeant Helve. ‘Just remember to stand by your comrades! Remember your drill!’

Colonel Huwiti strolled out in front of what was now four ranks of recruits spread in lines right across the parade ground. He casually saluted Sergeant Helve, who returned the salute with absolute precision. Neither Denizen seemed to even notice that there was a solid dark mass of humanoid Nithlings in dark lacquered armour with short, spark-tipped spears tramping straight towards them, and now only three hundred yards away.

‘This will be very simple,’ said the colonel in a quiet but carrying voice. ‘First rank, if you would be so good as to lock your shields, set your power-spears, and draw swords. Second rank, ready your power-spears to throw. On the command “throw”, you will throw and retire to the rear. As the second rank retires, third rank will march forward, and on the command ‘throw,’ and then retire as fourth rank marches forward and throws on command. As each rank reaches the rear, it will turn to face front again and draw swords. Listen for your sergeants’ and corporals’ commands and all will be well.’

‘Yes, sir!’ bellowed Helve, the kind of ‘yes, sir’ that drew everybody else to empty their lungs yelling, ‘Yes, sir!’ as well.

‘I feel a bit small,’ muttered Fred as he locked his shield with Ray’s and the Denizen to his right, and set the butt of his power-spear in the ground.

‘So do I,’ said Ray. They were both at least a foot shorter than the Denizens to either side of them, and even when they held their shields high, the line suddenly dipped when it came to them.

They could hear the beat of the enemy’s footsteps vibrating up through the ground now, and their snarls and even the crackle of their weapons, all too like the sound of lightning-charged tulwars, the favoured weapon of the Horde.

‘You two Piper’s children, retire at once to the fourth rank!’ snapped someone in front of them.

Ray automatically obeyed the voice of command, unlocking his shield and turning on the spot to march back, Fred at his side. Behind him the line shuffled together and in front of him, Denizens stood aside.

They were just about to go through the third rank when the enemy all screamed at once, and the pounding of their feet got much louder and faster, with the drums suddenly booming twice as fast and horns blaring as well. At the same time, Helve and some other sergeants were shouting, ‘Second rank! Throw!’ though even their legendary voices were almost lost in the din.

Ray knew the enemy had charged, and two seconds later, he almost felt the shock wave of sound and movement as the Nithlings’ front rank crashed into the locked shields of his comrades and the air was filled with screams and cries and curses, the hiss of superheated spears and the ratcheting screech of savage-swords meeting Nithling armour.

‘Third rank, throw! Fourth rank, advance!’

Ray had only just reached the fourth rank. He swivelled around as the whole line advanced, and he and Fred wedged themselves in, raising their power-spears as they did so.

As he saw as well as heard the indescribable pandemonium, with the Nithling and the Denizen front ranks intermixed in violent battle, Ray Green was totally in the present. There was no part of his mind trying to remember anything of his past, but as his body obeyed without thought, the power-spear soaring out of his hand and into the rear ranks of the enemy, he had a sudden flash of memory. He was throwing something – a white ball – and someone else was shouting at him, ‘Way to go, Arthur Penhaligon!’

The name resonated in Ray’s mind so powerfully that for an instant he wasn’t even aware of the incredible tumult of the battle.

‘I’m not Ray Green!’ he shouted. ‘I’m Arthur Penhaligon!’

Fifteen

SYLVIE LOOKED OUT the window. Leaf watched her, her heart sinking as the old lady did not react as she expected. She just stood there, fiddling with the left arm of the spectacles.

‘Very interesting,’ she said at last.

‘Did you see it?’ asked Leaf. ‘The House? Above and around the hospital?’

‘Yes, I did, dear,’ said Sylvie in a very matter-of-fact way. ‘Is it real, or some sort of 3-D projection from these glasses?’

‘It’s real,’ said Leaf grimly. ‘Very real. The glasses are not some sort of technology. A sorcerer made them.’

Sylvie took them off and looked at the wire frames and the cracked lenses. Then she put them on again and stared out the window once more.

‘I haven’t got much time,’ said Leaf. ‘That disease, the one they think is a bioagent, it’s actually caused by a … a creature from that House, a Nithling. You can only get the … virus … if that one Nithling touches you. I’ve got it and when it kicks in, the Nithling will see what I see, know what I know, and will be able to control my mind.’

‘Even from this distance?’ asked Sylvie. She was still staring out the window.

‘Um … I don’t know,’ said Leaf. ‘I can’t take that risk. I have to get over to Arthur’s … my friend’s house. He’s got a phone that can call Denizens … the people in the House. I was thinking that if you called the police – no, no, that’s too risky. If you called an ambulance, then I could hijack it and get them to drive me.’

‘You are an adventurer!’ exclaimed Sylvie. She tore herself away from the window and handed the glasses back to her. ‘But I suppose that could work. Only, what will happen afterwards?’

‘I was planning to worry about afterwards when there is an afterwards,’ replied Leaf. ‘And I’m not an adventurer. At least not by choice. I’ve done that once and learned my lesson. No more adventures without knowing what I’m getting into.’

‘They wouldn’t be adventures, then,’ said Sylvie. ‘You know, I was never adventurous. Perhaps it is not too late. I have a medi-alert here. Shall I activate it now? It’s a subscription service, not public health, so we can be assured an ambulance will come quickly.’

‘Activate it!’ Leaf agreed. She started downstairs. ‘Can I borrow a knife from your kitchen? And some salt?’

‘If you so wish.’ Sylvie opened her bedside drawer and took out a small electronic device, flipped open the Lucite cover, and pressed the red button within. It started to beep and a synthesised voice said, ‘Stay calm. Help is on the way. Stay calm. Help is on the way.’ Then the device started to play a Vivaldi piece for lute and bassoon.

Sylvie threw it back in the drawer and followed Leaf downstairs, finding her in the kitchen eating spoonfuls of salt, washed down with orange juice.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

Leaf coughed – a cough that was nearly a vomit. Then she wiped her mouth with a tissue and said, ‘I’m not sure, really, but salt might put off the Nithling’s control. They don’t like salt … or silver.’

‘I have a silver bangle,’ said Sylvie. ‘I’ll fetch it.’

‘Thanks,’ said Leaf through the corner of her mouth. She felt extremely nauseous, more than she would have thought possible just from half-a-dozen spoonfuls of salt. Perhaps the mould didn’t like salt either. Just in case, she quickly gargled with some more dissolved in water, and then snorted salty water up her nose, as if she were irrigating her sinuses. Perhaps it would help.

By the time Sylvie returned with not just the silver bangle but a necklace of tiny silver acorns as well, they could hear a siren approaching and then the sound of the ambulance pulling up outside.

‘I’ve got my allergy injector,’ said Sylvie, showing Leaf an auto-injector she had hidden under her shawl, the brand name on the cartridge blacked out with pen. ‘I’ll tell them it’s got something nasty in it that they’ll get if they don’t do what I say. But not till we’re in the ambulance. First I’ll sit here and we’ll tell them I blacked out. You can be my granddaughter.’

‘Thanks,’ said Leaf, with surprise. She hadn’t expected Sylvie to get so involved. ‘Uh, I don’t want to actually hurt them …’

‘I know, I know,’ said Sylvie. She sat back in a kitchen chair and started making noises like a small, sick cat. They were so realistic that Leaf was worried for a second, till she saw Sylvie wink.

Leaf opened the door. There were two paramedics, both in full quarantine gear, only their eyes visible behind their face masks.

‘It’s my grandma!’ said Leaf. ‘In the kitchen!’

The paramedics hustled past her, the second one noticing her bandaged head as he went past.

‘What happened?’ asked the first paramedic.

‘She blacked out,’ said Leaf. ‘It’s her heart, I think.’

‘Oh, oh, oh, oh,’ mumbled Sylvie.

‘We’d better take her in,’ said the first paramedic as he ripped the plastic covering off a diagnostic unit and attached it to Sylvie’s wrist. The second paramedic nodded and went back out. ‘Yeah, pulse very elevated, blood pressure okay. Could be some kind of heart episode. You’ll be all right, ma’am. My name’s Ron and I’ll be taking care of you. Just relax and we’ll have you in the ambulance very soon.’

Sylvie’s pathetic mewing quieted as the paramedic patted the back of her hand. Her other hand lay hidden under her shawl, holding the auto-injector.

‘Can I come too?’ asked Leaf.

‘You understand that with the quarantine, if we take you to a hospital you may end up having to stay there? And we’ll have to spray you first.’