It should have come easily from Arthur’s hand, as the boy had no strength to hold it. In fact he was only dimly aware of what was going on. But the Key would not move. It seemed to be glued to his palm. The Commissionaire tugged at it, then knelt to one knee and tugged again, pulling painfully at Arthur’s arm.
“No,” groaned the half-conscious Arthur. “Please, please don’t.”
“Rip his arm off,” ordered Noon. “Or cut it off. Whichever’s quicker.”
T
he Commissionaire stood back up and slowly unscrewed his right hand. He put this through his belt, then drew a much stranger hand from inside his coat. This one had no fingers, but a single broad blade like a cleaver. He screwed this hand into his wrist. As soon as it was secure, the cleaver began to jitter and move up and down so swiftly that it became a blur of steel.
The Commissionaire bent back down and lowered the knife towards Arthur’s wrist. The boy cried out, but before he could do anything, or the knife could touch him, the Key suddenly shot out of his hand like an arrow. It plunged into the Commissionaire’s breastbone, came out through his back, and spun once more into Arthur’s hand.
There was no blood. A vague look of puzzlement crossed the Commissionaire’s face. He stood up and stepped back, and the sound of grinding gears came from his torso. Then his blue coat ripped open from the inside and a spring uncoiled to hang limp and broken down his front. It was followed a moment later with a
pop-pop-pop
as a rain of small cogs tumbled out around the broken spring and fell to the ground.
The Commissionaire slowly bent his head to look at his chest, raised his one normal hand to touch it, then froze in place, with a small stream of silver fluid trickling down from the corners of his eyes and out of his mouth.
There was silence for a moment. Arthur stared at the broken Commissionaire, then at the Key in his hand, then up at his enemies. There was no chance of escape, at least not for the moment. He glanced across to Suzy Blue, but she was lying on her side, facing away, and he could not tell whether she was conscious or not.
Noon frowned and gestured to a Commissionaire Sergeant.
“Send four of your most trusted men and fetch that Key!”
The Sergeant saluted and turned to bellow orders at his metal minions. But before he could speak, Monday’s Dusk spoke. Unlike Noon, his tongue was black, not silver, and his voice was a hoarse whisper.
“It is as I guessed—he has now bonded fully with the Key,” he said. “So force will not avail us, unless our Master cares to risk the Greater Key against the Lesser?”
Noon looked sourly at Dusk, then over at Mister Monday, who appeared to have fallen asleep, balanced precariously on his shooting stick. He did not answer Dusk’s question, though a faint tic appeared above his right eye.
“No?” continued Dusk. “Why lose more Commissionaires, brother, to no avail? The Grim charges dear for their replacement, does he not?”
“What then? The boy will not hand it over willingly, or from fear. I have tried that.”
“Let him keep it, for now,” said Dusk. “He does not know how to use it. Let us put him somewhere safe and unpleasant. When he has suffered enough, he will give us the Key.”
“What place is safe from the interference of the Will?” asked Noon. “Nowhere I know.”
“There is one place the Will cannot go,” replied Dusk. “Or dare not. The Deep Coal Cellar. The Old One will not suffer the Will to come there.”
“The Old One?” Dawn shivered. Her voice was bright and loud, and her tongue was golden. “We should not meddle with him.”
“He is chained.” Dusk shrugged. “And he has never interfered with any of the workers in the Cellar.”
“But if he can gain the Key?” asked Dawn. “He might free himself—”
“Never,” said Dusk. “All the Seven Keys together could not free him from that chain.”
“There are often Nithlings in the coal cellars, even in the Deep,” said Noon. “If one of them should gain the Key—”
“How, when we cannot?” whispered Dusk. “I have studied the Keys and I tell you, now it has bonded, it can only be given, not taken. It will protect its wielder from serious harm, though not entirely from pain, and not at all from discomfort. I say put the boy into the darkness and the damp. He will soon see that his only way out is to give us—”
“Me,” interrupted Mister Monday, suddenly straightening up. “Give
me
the Key.”
Dawn, Noon, and Dusk smiled and bowed to Mister Monday before Dusk continued.
“As you say, sir. The boy will soon come to realize that he must give Mister Monday the Key.”
“Delays! Difficulties!” complained Mister Monday. “But I see sense in your plan, Dusk. Take care of it. I am going back to take a nap.”
“What about me, sir?” Suzy suddenly piped up. “I didn’t mean to do it, sir. It was that Will that made me.”
Mister Monday ignored her. He slowly stood up, left the shooting stick where it was, and ambled towards the open elevator. The Commissionaires and Sergeants saluted as he passed, and Dawn, Noon, and Dusk bowed once more. The elevator door closed, then almost immediately opened again. There was no sign of Monday inside.
“Honest, sir! It wasn’t my fault,” Suzy continued, to Noon. She knelt down and bowed her head so low it touched the grass, her fingers scrabbling into the dirt in her distress. “Don’t send me to the Coal Cellar. Let me go back to work!”
“Where is the Will?” asked Noon. He strode over to Suzy and lifted her up by the hair till she stood on tiptoe, grimacing at the pain.
“It left when the dinosaur came,” Suzy cried. “It knew a weirdway out, a small one, too small for us to use.”
“What shape has it assumed?” asked Noon. “Where was this weirdway?”
“The Will…the Will looked like an orange cat, but with long ears,” sobbed Suzy. “It went up that tree and then…it was gone. I didn’t want to do what it said, but it made me—”
Noon dropped her in disgust.
“Do you want this?” he asked Dawn and Dusk, indicating Suzy, who was once again prostrate. This time she had managed to get dirt all over her face, mixing it into mud with her tears.
Dawn shook her head. Dusk did not answer immediately. Then a slight smile flitted across his face, so slight Arthur wondered if he had imagined it.
“You are one of that irresponsible Piper’s children, are you not?” asked Dusk. “Once a mortal?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” sobbed Suzy. “I’m an Ink-Filler now, Sixth Class.”
“An honorable occupation,” replied Dusk. “You may return to your duties, Suzy Turquoise Blue. But first wash your face and hands. This stream looks convenient for that.”
Suzy stared up at him suspiciously as she heard her name, then bowed once more and stood up shakily. Only Dusk and Arthur watched her as she went over to the stream and bent down to wash. Arthur had been surprised by her wailing and begging, but now that she had gone to the exact point in the stream where the Will had dived in, he thought differently. She had her back to everyone, using it to block the view of what she was doing with her hands in the water. Which, Arthur hoped, was retrieving the Will. Not that he expected the Will to do anything, not with Monday’s three powerful servants at the ready.
“Destroy this office,” Noon instructed a Sergeant. He took out a notebook, scribbled something in it with a pen that appeared out of the air, tore out the page, and gave it to the Sergeant. “Use this to close the picture window.”
“My Midnight Visitors and I will take Arthur to the Deep Coal Cellar,” announced Dusk. He gestured to his funereal followers, and they stepped forward.
“No, they will not,” countered Noon. “This is my duty. I still hold our Master’s plenipotentiary powers.”
“Given for the Secondary Realms, I believe,” said Dusk mildly.
“That detail was omitted,” replied Noon with a bright smile. He turned to Arthur and said, “Get up, boy. If you come along in a docile manner, I will not be forced to hurt you. Remember that much pain can still be visited upon you, provided we do not try to take the Key.”
Dusk looked at Dawn, who shrugged.
“Noon has the right,” she said. “I will accompany him.”
“As you say. Sister, brother,” said Dusk. He clicked his fingers and pointed up. The Midnight Visitors bowed slightly and wrapped their capes around themselves. Then they all slowly rose into the air, standing at attention as they levitated towards the ceiling. At the height of the treetops, they disappeared.
Arthur watched them go, then looked back. Dusk had disappeared and Noon and Dawn were staring back at Arthur.
“Well, boy?”
Arthur sneaked a glance at Suzy. She had stepped back from the stream but would not look at him. He couldn’t tell whether she had picked up the Will and was struck by sudden doubt. What if she did only want to wash her hands, both of dirt and any responsibility to him? Or what if she did want to help, but the Will had already gone?
“I guess I don’t have a choice,” Arthur replied slowly. He got up and lifted his chin to show that he was not afraid. “I’ll go with you.”
Arthur surreptitiously looked again at Suzy as he spoke. She was still crouched above the stream, but was half-looking back at him. Arthur gave her a very slow, sly wink. Suzy tapped her throat and coughed. She clearly had the Will, and Arthur took some small comfort from that. Only a small comfort, but at least there was a chance of help somewhere along the line.
Noon gestured again, and the Sergeants bellowed orders. A dozen metal Commissionaires marched up around Arthur, boxing him in. They were so close together, and so tall, he could barely see out between them.
“Commissionaires escorting the prisoner, by the left, slooooow march!” shouted a Sergeant. The Commissionaires stepped off, and Arthur had to start marching too, to avoid being crushed or trodden on. Somehow he doubted the Key would protect him from a bruised foot or rib.
Arthur expected at least some of the entourage to peel off before they got to the elevator. In fact he couldn’t understand how so many of them had come out of the elevator in the first place. But as they continued to march in, he realized that it was not the elevator he and Suzy had used, though it was in exactly the same place. This elevator was many times larger. It was the size of the school assembly hall and was much fancier too, with highly polished wood paneling on the walls and a parquetry floor.
There was a brass-railed rotunda in the center of the elevator. Noon and Dawn strode over and climbed up into it, while everyone else arrayed themselves in front of the rotunda, as if they were on a parade ground. Arthur had one last glimpse of Suzy talking to the Sergeant who was going to destroy the office. Then the doors slid shut and a bell sounded.
Now Arthur felt truly a prisoner. Alone among enemies.
Noon touched the air in front of him, and a speaking tube appeared. He pulled it to his mouth and said, “Lower Ground twenty-twelve. Express.”
Someone or something said something back. Noon frowned.
“Well, reroute it! I said
express.
”
The lift suddenly lurched and fell, hurling Arthur into one of the Commissionaires, who remained rocksteady at attention. Noon and Dawn were thrown against the railings of the rotunda. Noon scowled and pulled the speaking tube towards him. Then he reached in with one long, slim finger and tugged at something. There was a stifled scream from the tube, then Noon slowly pulled out a nose he had twisted in his white-gloved fingers, followed by a mouth and chin, then a whole head complete with a battered hat—all of which was impossible for Arthur to believe, since the tube was no wider than a can of soup.
A few seconds later, Noon had dragged an entire man out of the tube, dropping him on the floor next to the rotunda. The extracted fellow was short and fat. His coat was too long, its badly mended back brushing the floor.
Noon glowered down at him.
“Elevator Operator Seventh Grade?”
“No, Your Honor,” said the little man. Arthur could see he was trying to be brave. “Elevator Operator Fourth Grade.”
“Not anymore,” replied Noon. His notebook appeared in his hand and he wrote in it quickly. Then he tore out the sheet and let it fall.
“Oh, please, Your Lordliness,” said the man miserably. “I’ve been in grade four a hundred years—”
The paper hit the little man’s shoulder and exploded into blue sparks that surrounded his head like a corona. The sparks ate away the man’s squashy hat, leaving him bald, then descended to destroy his coat, his shirt, his breeches, and his coat. Arthur shut one eye, not really wanting to see what might come next, particularly if the man’s skin started dissolving or something. But it didn’t. Instead the sparks formed into a simple toga-like robe of off-white that settled on the man in place of his former clothes.
“You didn’t need to do that as well,” said the elevator operator with considerable dignity. “They were hard-won, those fittings.”
Noon held the speaking tube over the man’s head.
“Count yourself lucky,” he said. “Do not cross me again—and get back to work.”
The elevator man sighed, rubbed one knuckle to his forehead in a perfunctory gesture of respect, and raised his hand. It went easily into the speaking tube, then somehow all the rest of him was sucked up as well, as if the tube were a vacuum cleaner and the man was collapsible.
When he was gone, Noon spoke into the tube again.
“As we discussed. Express and smooth. Lower Ground twenty-twelve. The Upper Coal Cellar Entry.”
Arthur suppressed a shudder. That sounded like a long way away from anywhere he knew. With that thought came a wave of negativity. Everything was too difficult, too hard. He might as well give up.
How can I save everyone from the plague?
the depressed section of his mind said.
I can’t even save myself from imprisonment.
Stop it!
Arthur told this part of himself.
Suzy and the Will are free. I’ve still got the Key. There will be the chance to do something. There has to be…