‘I doubt we’ve got an hour,’ said Arthur. ‘I was overconfident. Scamandros warned me that they could track any sorcery I did. I just didn’t think calling you would count.’

‘Saturday must have devoted a very large number of her Denizens to watch for any signs of sorcery,’ said the Will. ‘It is surprising, since she is also massing her forces to assault the Incomparable Gardens. If we are fortunate, that battle will have commenced and will serve as a distraction. In any case, we are a long way under the floor here, and her servants do not like to venture into this region.’

‘The Ratcatcher Automatons do, though,’ said Arthur. ‘Can you pull yourself together from anywhere in this pool?’

‘Why, yes,’ said the Will. ‘Why?’

‘You can do it from near solid ground, then. I have to get out of the water. I feel like I’ve been run over by a mammoth. Which way is the closest shore?’

‘Follow me,’ said the raven head, and it began to move away. It looked quite horrible, just the head of a bird and part of its neck, gliding across the water without obvious means of propulsion.

Arthur swam slowly and wearily behind it, thinking about Suzy and Leaf. He felt as if he’d abandoned both of them, but he hadn’t meant to. It was just how things had worked out.

Not that that’s an excuse, he thought gloomily. Maybe Suzy’s okay – they probably just took her prisoner. And maybe time has stayed stopped for Leaf. It seems so cowardly to wait for the Will and then take it back to the Citadel . . . but what else can I do?

The steam clouds ahead parted to show a long stone quay or platform that was only a few inches above the water level. Arthur dragged himself up onto it and collapsed. The Will watched from the water and began to flex the beginnings of its left wing.

Arthur hadn’t lain there very long when he heard something other than the steady hum and clank of the steam engines. A more surreptitious noise – like someone sweeping the floor, accompanied by a faint patter of feet and the suggestion of a whistle . . .

He sat up and looked along the quay. The whistle was very quiet, but he thought he knew what it was, and his guess was confirmed as Dartbristle emerged out of the steaming mists. The Rat was holding a small crossbow in one hand and dragging a net full of something behind.

‘Dartbristle!’ Arthur called out.

The Raised Rat jumped, dropped the net, and lifted his crossbow with both hands.

‘Lord Arthur! What are you doing here?’

‘I got washed down a drain. But I’m glad to see you. I need some directions. What are you doing?’

Dartbristle was aiming the crossbow at him, while also shaking his head. Arthur saw with horrid fascination that the crossbow bolt had a head made of Immaterial Glass, like a sealed bottle, and a tiny piece of Nothing writhed inside.

‘I’m sorry, Lord Arthur. I wish you weren’t here! I have the strictest orders—’

‘No!’ shouted Arthur.

Dartbristle pulled the trigger, and the Nothing-poisoned bolt sped straight for Arthur’s chest.

EIGHTEEN

ARTHUR DIDN’T HAVE time to think or duck. He didn’t need to. Without any active thought on his part, he leaned aside and caught the bolt as it passed, right in the middle of the shaft. The Nothing bottle on the end remained unbroken.

Arthur reversed the bolt to use it as a hand weapon and advanced upon Dartbristle, who was hastily cranking his crossbow to ready it for another bolt.

‘The strictest orders,’ panted the Rat. ‘Shoot anyone who might interfere. I don’t want to shoot you, but I must!’

Arthur stopped. Something – several somethings – were coming out of the steam clouds. Six Ratcatcher Automatons, their long feelers testing the way ahead as they advanced down the quay.

Dartbristle saw the expression on Arthur’s face and turned around, just as the closest Ratcatcher charged. The Rat threw his crossbow aside, picked up the net, and hurled it into the water. He tried to draw his long knife, but throwing the net had taken all the time he had. The Ratcatcher’s left claw caught him around the neck and snapped closed. Another automaton came up and wound its razor-edged feelers all around him and began to squeeze.

This was a mistake. Dartbristle was almost certainly already dead anyway, but the squeezing broke the Nothing bottles that were in their special wooden case on his back. Nothing exploded out, and the Ratcatchers’ feelers instantly dissolved. The automatons hummed and squealed in alarm as the Nothing ran like quicksilver over their claws and out along their bodies, dissolving everything it touched.

In a few seconds, no trace remained of either Dartbristle or the two Ratcatcher Automatons. The Nothing coalesced back into a puddle of darkness and began to sink into the bulwark bedrock, cutting a deep shaft through the reinforced House material.

Arthur eyed the remaining four automatons and readied himself for their attack. But they didn’t charge. They waved their feelers around and their red central eye things glowed, and then the four of them turned around and disappeared back into the warm fog.

‘Recognised you weren’t a Rat,’ said the Will. It had two wings now, and was hopping along the surface of the pool, albeit without having any claws or a tail. ‘Which is lucky. I believe they have a bit of a problem with recognising their legitimate prey.’

‘Poor Dartbristle,’ said Arthur. ‘He didn’t want to shoot me, or at least not me in particular. What did he throw into the pool?’

‘I shall take a look,’ said the Will. It scuttled across the surface and grabbed the floating net in its beak to drag it back to Arthur, who sat back down on the edge of the pool and let his feet dangle in the water. His boots had come off after all, in his rapid descent, and his coveralls were ripped to shreds below the knees and elbows. His belt was still on, fortunately, and Arthur tapped the pouch to confirm that the bag with the Key, the Mariner’s medal and Elephant was still there.

‘These are things of sorcery,’ said the Will as it dropped the net near Arthur. ‘I do not know what they are for.’

Arthur picked up the net. There were three large round glass floats inside. One red, one blue and one green. They looked like the same kind of glass that Simultaneous Bottles were made from.

‘He threw these into the water, even though it meant he didn’t have time to draw his weapon,’ said Arthur. ‘It was that important.’

‘Then we should put them back in the water,’ said the Will. ‘To respect his dying wish.’

‘What?’ asked Arthur. This wasn’t the kind of behaviour he was used to from any part of the Will.

‘We should put them back in,’ the Will repeated. ‘As a matter of respect. Ah, the text for one of my tail feathers has just dropped in. Back in a moment.’

It left Arthur holding the net and scudded off toward the waterfall that issued from the downpipe.

Arthur lifted the red float and looked at it. It didn’t seem particularly sorcerous.

Arthur held the floats for a minute, thinking about something his mother had once said when she was explaining something to his sister Michaeli and didn’t know he was listening. There is never one absolutely right thing to do. All you can do is honour what you believe, accept the consequences of your own actions, and make the best out of whatever happens.

‘I bet I’m going to regret this,’ he said aloud, and dropped the floats back into the water. They bobbed around his feet and then slowly began to drift out, so slowly that he couldn’t be sure if they were actually propelling themselves or if there was some kind of current.

Arthur watched the floats bob away and tried to plan what he was going to do next. But he still hurt all over – apart from the physical pain, he felt a great load of guilt.

I should’ve got Suzy to swim out with me. I wasn’t thinking. I was too confident. No – I’ve got to stop obsessing. It’s done now. I just have to rescue her. I’ll have to challenge Saturday for the Key anyway. But she has too many sorcerers. So I should go back and get the Army. And Dame Primus, or Dame Quarto and Thingo or whoever. At least the other Keys. But if I do that, it might take too long . . .

The Will came planing back on one claw a few minutes later, while Arthur wrestled with his conscience, his fears and his half-formed plans.

‘Almost there!’ cawed the Will. ‘Only part of a claw and a tail feather to go!’

‘Good,’ said Arthur. ‘As soon as you’re ready, I guess we’d better go back to the Citadel—’

He stopped talking and cocked his head.

‘What is it?’ asked the Will. It was preening its wing feathers with its beak.

‘The steam engines,’ said Arthur. ‘They sound closer.’

He stood up and turned around.

‘Closer and coming from a different direction.’

The Will stopped preening and looked out across the water with its beady black eyes.

‘Steamship,’ said Arthur. ‘Or steamships. That’s what I can hear.’

‘I can see them!’ said the Will. ‘Look! Eight of them.’

Arthur stared out across the lake. There was too much steam and smoke, but even if he couldn’t see anything, he could hear the rhythmic beat of the engines and the sound of the ship’s wake. Finally one sharp bow thrust its way through the fog, and he saw the front of a Raised Rat steamship, with rank after rank of Newniths mustered on the foredeck.

‘The Piper!’ said Arthur. ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’

‘So much sorcery!’ said the Will. ‘Saturday is bound to respond at any moment!’

‘I think she already has,’ said Arthur. He pointed up at the clouds of smoke above them. A huge ring of fire was beginning to form above the ships, a ring the size of an athletic track, easily five hundred yards in diameter. Flames began to fall from it, small flames at first, like fiery rain, but they began to get bigger and, from the way they changed colour from yellow-red to blue and white, much hotter.

The ships responded by increasing their speed. They were heading straight for the quay where Arthur was standing, their funnels belching smoke as their engines were stoked for maximum power.

‘They’re going to run aground right here!’ said Arthur. ‘Are you complete?’

‘Not quite,’ said the Will calmly. ‘Just one short paragraph to go, but an essential one, to make a flight feather . . .’

‘Hurry up,’ Arthur urged. As the ships came closer, the ring of fire was moving too, and the storm of incendiary rain was increasing in ferocity.

But it wasn’t setting the ships alight, Arthur saw, or even hitting the Newnith soldiers on the decks. The rain was sliding off an invisible barrier that stretched from the masts of the ships down to the side rails, a sorcerous barrier that was, for the moment, proving impervious to Saturday’s attack.

We don’t have that barrier, Arthur realised. That fire is getting way too close . . .

He could feel the heat of the flaming rain now, fierce on his face. The drops were so hot that he could see them keep going for several feet underwater, unquenched, their fire lasting for much longer than it should.

‘Are you ready?’ Arthur snapped again. ‘We have to run!’

‘Almost, almost, almost there,’ crooned the raven.

Fiery raindrops were hissing into the water ten feet away. The ships, steaming at full speed, were three hundred yards away. A group of soldiers pointed at Arthur and suddenly there were arrows in the air, which flew true but didn’t make it through the firestorm.

‘Done,’ said the raven. It flew up and perched on Arthur’s shoulder. ‘I am complete. I am Part Six of the Will of the—’

Arthur didn’t wait to hear any more. He turned and ran along the quay as fast as he could go, flames spattering on the stone behind him. Steam klaxons sounded too, and the war cries of the Newniths, which he knew all too well from the battles in the Great Maze.

Through all that noise, through the hammering of engines, the scream of klaxons, the hiss and roar of the firestorm and the shouts, there was still that other sound. A clear and separate sound, beautiful and terrible to hear.

The sound of the Piper, playing a tune upon his pipes.

‘Ah,’ said the raven. ‘The Architect’s troublesome third son.’

‘Troublesome!’ Arthur snorted. ‘He’s a lot worse than that.’

The quay ended at a solid rock face, with no obvious exits. Arthur stared at it for a second, then started to hunt for protuberances or bits of stone that looked out of place. He quickly found one, pressed it, and rushed in as the rock-slab door groaned open.

The cavern beyond was an equipment room, the walls covered with racks of many different metalworking tools, which at a different time would have interested Arthur. With the Piper’s Army landing behind him, he barely spared them a glance.

‘How do I lock the door?’ he asked the Will, after he made sure there was another exit.

‘I have no idea,’ the Will replied.

‘You’ve been here for the last ten thousand years! Haven’t you learned anything?’

‘My viewpoint has been rather limited,’ the raven explained. ‘Not to mention extremely fragmented.’

Arthur grabbed several long iron bars and propped them up against the door, kicking them down so they were wedged in place.

‘That might last a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Come on!’

‘Where are we going?’ asked the Will.

‘Out of here, for a start.’ Arthur opened the far door and looked up a circular stairway made of red wrought iron that was decorated with gilded rosettes in its railings and on the steps. ‘The Piper will take a while to land all his troops, but they’ll send out scouting parties for sure, and I guess Saturday will send forces down. We have to stay out of the way of both.’