“
I
’m still not sure I approve,” said the Will. “Sneezer, is Seven Dials still located within the Dayroom, or has it moved?”
“I believe it is still there, milady,” said Sneezer. The butler had undergone a rapid transformation and was much cleaner and better groomed. His fingerless, falling-apart gloves had become spotless, complete, and white. His teeth were no longer curved and yellow and his nose was no longer crisscrossed with broken blood vessels.
“There are two main ways to enter the Secondary Realms from the Lower House,” explained the Will to Arthur. “Seven Dials is certainly the easiest, if you know how to set the dials. The Door, of course, is the other.”
“I don’t want to go through that dark void again,” said Arthur, thinking back to Monday’s Postern.
“Oh, you wouldn’t have to do that,” said the Will, her voice once again disconcerting Arthur by shifting between melodic female tones and gravelly frog-in-the-throat. “You would go out the Front Door all the way. Though as that is almost certainly watched more carefully by the Morrow Days, it would be wiser to avoid their interest for as long as possible. So, I think Seven Dials will be best. Come along.”
Arthur nodded and yawned. He turned back to say good-bye, mainly to Suzy, and was surprised to see everyone kneeling on the grass.
“Good-bye!” Arthur called out. He hesitated, then bowed. They all bent their heads while remaining on one knee. Arthur’s heart sank. He didn’t want to say good-bye like this. Then he saw Suzy raise her head. She winked and smiled and rolled her eyes at the company she was in.
“Good-bye, Monday’s Tierce,” said Arthur quietly.
“See you,” said Suzy. “Watch out for them Morrow Days.”
“Good-bye, everyone!”
“Good-bye, sir!” chorused Dawn, Noon, and Dusk, and all the assembled Denizens behind them.
Arthur waved again, then turned and followed the Will back through the door into Monday’s Dayroom. All the steaming mud had disappeared. Now it looked like the interior of an old house, or maybe a museum.
“This way, please,” said Sneezer, taking them up a stairway and down a very long corridor. Arthur and the Will followed the butler into a library, a very comfortable-looking one, about as big as the one at Arthur’s school, but with old wooden shelves and several comfortable-looking armchairs.
“I have taken the liberty of placing your clothes behind that shelf, milord,” said Sneezer as he rapidly applied a cloth and a brush to Arthur, magically removing the mud.
“Oh, yeah, thanks,” said Arthur. He looked down at his strange clothing and a faint smile crossed his face. He didn’t want to go back in a nightshirt without underpants.
It only took Arthur a minute to get dressed. Though his school clothes were pressed and cleaned, the labels and the waistband from his underpants were still missing. That would be a tough one to explain to his mom, he thought.
He took special care to take the Nightsweeper from his coat and put it in his shirt pocket, wedging it tightly so it could not fall out. The little horse whinnied quietly, but seemed quite comfortable.
When Arthur emerged, Sneezer was waiting.
“I believe this is yours, milord,” said Sneezer, and he plucked a volume from a small ivory-fronted shelf next to one of the chairs. He gave the book to Arthur, then went to pull on a bell rope in the corner. A bell boomed in the distance as he tugged the rope. A few seconds later, it was answered by a deep rumbling. The floor shivered under Arthur’s feet, and one entire wall of bookshelves rolled back to reveal a strange seven-sided room. In the center of the room seven grandfather clocks were set facing one another, their pendulums making a collective swimmy sort of
thrum
that was like listening to your own heartbeat with your fingers in your ears.
Distracted for a moment, Arthur didn’t look at the book. When he did, he realized it was the
Compleat Atlas of the House.
“But this isn’t mine,” he protested to the Will. “You should have this. I can’t even open it without the Key.”
“It is yours,” boomed the Will. “You have borne the Key long enough that some pages will open to your hand. You will also need this.”
She reached into her sleeve again and pulled out not a handkerchief, but a red lacquered container about the same size as a shoe box. Arthur took it and tucked it under his arm.
“What is it?”
“A telephone,” said the Will. “You may have need to speak to me, should the Morrow Days prove less kind than we might hope. Or if I need your counsel.”
“I don’t want it,” said Arthur stubbornly. “You said I could have five or six years!”
“The telephone will not be used save in the most dire emergency,” replied the Will. “It is insurance against perfidious fate, nothing more.”
“Oh, all right!” said Arthur. He tucked the box under his arm and paced angrily next to the Will. “Now, can I finally go home?”
“I do beg your pardon, milord,” said Sneezer. He had gone inside the room and was moving the hands of the clocks around. “This is rather complicated, but it will only take a moment.”
Arthur stopped pacing. Once again he checked his pocket to make sure the tiny black horse was still there.
“Ready!” pronounced Sneezer. “Quickly, quickly, get in before the clocks strike!”
“Good-bye, Master,” said the Will. “You have shown great fortitude and proved, as I fully expected, to be a most excellent choice.”
She gave Arthur what was clearly meant to be a small push towards the clocks, but actually sent him flying across the room and almost into them. Sneezer caught him, spun him around, and set him in the middle, caught between the clocks. Then the butler leaped out of the circle.
The clocks began to strike. The room wavered around Arthur, as if a heat haze had sprung up. Arthur dimly saw the Will waving her handkerchief and Sneezer saluting. The clocks continued to strike, and a familiar white glow spread all around.
Just like the Improbable Stair
, thought Arthur.
He stood for a while, wondering what was going to happen next and where…and when he was going to come out.
I guess I should have told Sneezer exactly what I wanted. Not that it matters. As long as I can get the Nightsweeper going
…
The white light pulsed and began to close in around Arthur on three sides. But on the fourth side, it stretched out, making a kind of narrow corridor. Arthur hesitated, but as the light continued to press in, started along it.
He seemed to walk for a long time and was starting to get worried. He even briefly contemplated opening the red lacquer box and calling the Will. What if something had gone wrong with the Seven Dials? What if Sneezer was a traitor like Pravuil, in the employ of the Morrow Days?
Arthur fought back his fears once again and kept walking. Eventually the white light began to fade and he could make something out. A different sort of light. Yellow, not white. He could hear things too, distant sounds coming into the silence. A helicopter, far off, and distant sirens. And he was having a little trouble breathing. Not a lot, just a little, a minor catch to his breath.
The white light disappeared completely. Sunshine hit, and the sound of the city under quarantine. Arthur screwed up his eyes and shielded his face with his hand. He was standing on a suburban street. Outside a house with a newly painted garage door.
Arthur dropped his hand and looked. The House had disappeared, and once again he could see the normal buildings that had been there before. In the distance, a plume of black smoke rose to the sky, with helicopters buzzing around it. Sirens wailed in symphony all around.
He saw a car approaching fast down the road and crouched down behind a small shrub, which offered very little camouflage. But the car was coming too quickly to find a better hiding place. Even if it was the police, Arthur hoped they would simply take him to East Area Hospital, and he would still be able to send the Nightsweeper out from there.
Then he recognized the car. It was his brother Eric’s old blue clunker, heading fast for home.
Arthur stood up and waved. For a second it looked like Eric hadn’t seen him, then the car screeched to a halt, blowing smoke from its rear tires. Eric didn’t normally drive like that, but then this was no normal time.
“Arthur! What are you doing here?” shouted Eric, sticking his handsome blond head out the window. “Get in!”
“Going home,” said Arthur as he ran across and climbed in. “What are you doing here?”
“I was at a one-on-one master class at the city gym,” said Eric as he put his foot down again. “Then we heard there was a fire at the school. I headed over there right away but got turned back and told to get home within thirty minutes. They’re going to shoot all unauthorized vehicles and pedestrians after two o’clock! It’s total quarantine!”
“Is Mom okay?” asked Arthur. “The others? What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” said Eric, shaking his head. He was in shock, Arthur saw. He hadn’t even asked how Arthur got out of school. “Time? Uh, one thirty-five. We’ll make it easily.”
Arthur settled back in his seat and tightened the seat belt as Eric zoomed the car around the second-to-last corner before home. He checked the Nightsweeper in his pocket. He couldn’t use it for at least ten hours.
A lot could happen in that time. People could die, and the Nightsweeper would not bring them back. Arthur hadn’t thought of that in his desire to get home. He’d thought it was all over. But defeating Monday wasn’t the end. There was still more to do.
Arthur’s breath caught and he instinctively reached for his inhaler. But it wasn’t there. Panic rose, then was forced back as Arthur realized he didn’t really need it. He wasn’t breathing as free and easy as he had in the House, but his lungs weren’t totally tightening up either. There was a catch to his breath and his lungs felt strangely lopsided, as if more air was getting in his left lung. But he was okay.
Eric didn’t so much park the car as stop it near the front door. They both jumped out and rushed upstairs. Bob and Michaeli met them at the door, themselves rushing down to see who it was. After quick hugs, they all retreated into Bob’s studio. Wherever they’d lived, that was always the place of family conferences and important events.
“Emily’s all right,” was the first thing Bob said. “But this is a bad one. A real outbreak. They don’t know what it is, where it came from, or even what it can do.”
“Mom’ll work it out,” said Michaeli. Eric nodded in agreement.
Bob noticed that Arthur didn’t. He reached out and clapped his youngest son on the shoulder. “She’ll be okay,” he said. “We’ll all be okay.”
“Yeah,” said Arthur. He touched his pocket again. Why, oh why hadn’t he asked for something that would stop the plague right away? Anything could happen in the next ten hours. He could get the plague himself and fall asleep.
T
he next ten hours were the longest of Arthur’s life.
He sat within the studio for a while, listening to Bob play the same tune over and over again on the piano. He watched the news on television with Michaeli for a much shorter time, but couldn’t bear to hear of the many new cases or the attempts to break quarantine. And on the hour, every hour, some of the patients were dying. So far, it was all very old people, but that was no comfort to Arthur. He felt responsible for their deaths.
Finally he retreated to his room and lay on his bed. The red lacquer box was on his desk, and the Atlas with it. Arthur didn’t even feel like looking at that. Instead he just held the Nightsweeper on the palm of his hand. It mostly stood still, but every now and then would take a few steps, or lower its head and nibble at his palm.
Eventually, without meaning to, or wanting to, Arthur fell asleep. One moment he was awake, the next he was suddenly aware that he was asleep.
Asleep! Every alarm in his brain went off as he struggled to wake up.
What if I’ve missed midnight? What if I have to wait a whole day till tomorrow night? More people will die! Mom might die!
Arthur woke thrashing and crying out. It was pitch black, save for the glow of his digital clock. He stared at it, sleep clogging his senses.
11:56! There was still time!
Then he had another panic. He was under a quilt. Bob must have found him asleep and thrown the quilt over him. The Nightsweeper was gone from his hand!
Arthur hurled himself out of bed and turned on every light. Then he ripped the quilt from the bed. The Nightsweeper had to be there somewhere.
What if Bob took it downstairs? Or if Michaeli had been the one who
—
Then Arthur saw it, standing easily on top of the lacquer box. The Nightsweeper was prancing now, eager to be at its work.
Arthur let out the longest sigh he had ever made, reached over, and picked it up. It reared in his hand and gave an excited neigh.
Arthur took it to the window. It became even more restive as he raised the sash.
“Go on,” said Arthur softly, opening his palm.
The black horse leaped into the night. Arthur saw it grow as it flew up to the sky. Grow and grow and grow, till its hooves alone were larger than the house. It neighed, and its neigh was like thunder, rattling the windows, shaking the house. It circled high in the air, then dove back down, great gusts of cold wind jetting from its flared nostrils.
The wind blew Arthur back onto the bed. It was cold, but a delicious cold, beautifully brisk. He felt it wake him up completely, sending a jolt through his entire body. It was the breath of pure, excited life, of raw energy, of the simple joy of running as hard as you can.
Arthur rushed back to the window in time to see the Nightsweeper gallop high over the town beyond, its fresh, invigorating breath blowing the leaves from trees, shaking signs and sweeping up anything loose upon the streets. Car alarms came on everywhere it passed, and lights flicked on in waves beneath it.
The Nightsweeper was waking everything…and everyone…up.
Downstairs, Arthur heard the phone ringing. He ran out to see Michaeli and Eric already in the corridor. Together they tumbled down the stairs, down to the main living room. Bob was there, fully dressed and weary. He slowly put the phone down and smiled at his children.
“That was Emily. They’ve identified the genetic structure,” he said, relief evident in every word and gesture. “There will be a vaccine within days. But it seems the virus is less fatal than everyone first thought. Lots of patients are waking up.”
Arthur smiled then, relief washing through him. Finally it was over.
Then he heard another telephone ring. No one else reacted and for a second Arthur thought he was imagining it. But the sound got even louder, though Bob, Michaeli, and Eric still paid it no attention. It was an old-fashioned chattering bell, not an electronic beep. Arthur had only heard something like it in the House…
It had to be the phone in the red lacquer box.
Arthur looked at the clock on the wall. It ticked, and the minute hand moved a fraction.
It was one minute past twelve.
On Tuesday morning.