“How come we have so many different uniforms?” he asked.
Fred looked down at the segmented armor and kilt, the scarlet tunic and black trousers, the buff coat and reinforced leather trousers, the forest green jerkin and leggings, the long mail hauberk and coif, and the bewildering array of boots, pieces of joint-armor, bracers, and leather reinforcements.
“The Army’s made up of different units and they all wear different uniforms,” Fred explained. “So we got to learn the lot, case we get sent to the Legion, the Horde, or the Regiment…or one of the other ones. I forget what they’re all called. That armor there, the long narrow pieces that slide together and you do up with the laces, that’s Legionary wear. Scarlet’s for the Regiment, and the Horde wear the knee-length ironmongery. They’ve all got different weapons too. We’ll learn ‘em all, Ray.”
“I guess I’d better sort them out according to this plan,” said Arthur. He put
The Recruit’s Companion
down on the bed and unfolded the poster-sized diagram out of it that showed the correct placement of every one of the 226 items Arthur was now personally responsible for. “Though I don’t see anyone else putting their stuff away.”
“They’re ordinary-grade Denizens,” said Fred, whose bed and locker were patterns of military order. He said this as if it explained everything.
“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, since it didn’t really explain anything to him.
“They won’t do anything until they’re told to,” said Fred, with a puzzled glance at Arthur. “Are the ordinary Denizens different in the Lower House? All this lot are from the Middle. Paper-cutters, most of them, though Florimel over there, she was a Binder, Second Class. Have
to watch out for her. She thinks she ought to be Recruit Lance-Corporal because she’s got the highest precedence in the House of the lot of us. I guess she’ll find out that doesn’t matter here. All of us recruits are equal in the eyes of the Army: low as you can go. The only way from here is up. I reckon I might be able to make general by the time my hitch is up.”
Fred liked to talk. Arthur listened to him as he packed away his equipment, a process that was much more difficult than the illustration indicated. Though Fred had only been at Fort Transformation for a day longer than Arthur, he had already found out a lot about their training, the training staff—or training cadre, as they were supposed to be called—and everything else.
“The first week is all getting to know how to look right and some marching about and such-like,” Fred explained. “At least, that’s what’s on the schedule. Over there.”
He pointed at the door. It was so far away, and the light from the hurricane lights so dim, that Arthur couldn’t tell what he was pointing at.
“On the noticeboard, next to the door,” continued Fred. “Let’s go take a look. We’ve got five minutes till dinner’s over and we’ll need to be over there anyway.”
“How do you know?” asked Arthur. His watch had
disappeared when the recruit uniform had swarmed up his arm.
“Axeforth just went out the back door. He’ll march around to the front, come in, and shout at us to line up there like he did before. It’s called ‘falling in.’ Don’t ask me why. You need your hat on.”
Arthur picked up his pillbox hat and put it back on, grimacing at the feel of the chinstrap under his mouth rather than on his chin, which he felt was the proper place for something called a chinstrap. But everyone else wore theirs the same way, under the bottom lip, and the strap wasn’t long enough to do anything else.
“Ready?” Fred stood at attention next to Arthur. “We have to march everywhere, or we’ll get shouted at.”
“Who by?” asked Arthur. The other twenty Denizens in the platoon were all lying down on their beds, staring at the ceiling.
“Sergeants, corporals…noncommissioned officers they’re called,” said Fred. “NCOs. They appear mysteriously. Best not to risk it.”
Arthur shrugged and when Fred marched off, fell into step with him. After the first dozen paces, he felt like he was getting the hang of it and stopped worrying about his feet and concentrated on swinging his arms.
Stopping in the right way—or
halting,
as Sergeant Helve called it and had explained to him at length—was somewhat more difficult.
“I’ll give the command, shall I?” asked Fred as they approached the wall and the noticeboard. “Got to give it as the right foot comes down, we take one step with the left, hang on…no…oops. Halt!”
Fred had waited too long and both of them did funny little steps to avoid hitting the wall, which made them halt completely out of time. Arthur turned to laugh at Fred, only to freeze his smile into a grimace as Sergeant Helve loomed up out of the shadows.
“What misbegotten disgrace of a movement do you call that?” screamed the sergeant. A brass-tipped wooden pace-stick appeared in his hand and whistled through the air to point back towards the beds. “Double-back to your bunks like soldiers, not like some prissy paper-pushing puppets!”
Fred spun around and was off like a shot, still marching, but at a much faster rate. Arthur followed him more slowly, till he was suddenly accelerated by Sergeant Helve’s voice bellowing so close and so loud that it felt like it was inside his ear.
“Double! When I say double, I mean at the double. Twice as fast as normal marching, Recruit Green!”
Arthur doubled, Sergeant Helve running backwards from him at a rate that Arthur supposed must be triple or quadruple time or some other measure only possible to sergeants.
“Back straight, chin just so, swing those arms! Not that high!”
When Arthur was halfway back, Helve spun forwards and out of the pool of light from the hurricane lamp overhead. Before Arthur could take more than two steps, the sergeant appeared next to the closest bed, striking his pace-stick on the boot soles of the resting Denizen and yelling something that sounded like a single word:
“Standfastforinspectionyoudopydozydisgracefullumpof leftoverNothing!”
The Denizen stood extremely fast, spare equipment cascading off the bed. His movement was like the first in a line of dominoes, as every Denizen along leaped from his or her bed.
“Fall in on this line in order of height!” commanded Sergeant Helve. He gestured with his pace-stick and a glowing white line appeared on the floor. “You will not be seen on the parade ground of Fort Transformation until I am sure you will not disgrace me! You will parade inside here instead! Every evening after dinner and every morning at one hour before sunrise, dressed and equipped as per
the training schedule that you will find posted by the south door. Atten-hut!”
Arthur barely managed to reach the end of the line in time to brace at attention. Since Fred was slightly taller, he fell in on Arthur’s right. Both boys stared at a spot in space ahead of them as Helve marched along, pausing to pull Denizens out and rearrange them. When he got to Arthur, Helve looked down his nose at him, then marched out to the front, did an about-turn that seemed to Arthur as if it relied on him being suspended by invisible wires from the ceiling, and shouted, “Stand at ease!”
Only half the Denizens moved, the other half remaining at attention. Of those that moved, most moved the wrong leg or waved their arms or otherwise did things that attracted the displeasure of Sergeant Helve, who proceeded to tell them what they had done wrong and just how displeased this made him.
Two hours later, after hundreds of commands of “Attenhut” and “Stand at ease,” Arthur fell over from sheer exhaustion. Though his crab-armored leg had stood up well, his entire body could not cope with the constant activity.
Helve marched over and looked down at him. When Fred bent to help Arthur up, the sergeant ordered him to stand fast.
“You are a weak reed, Recruit Green!” Helve shouted.
“Weak reeds make for badly woven baskets! This platoon will not be a badly woven basket!”
What?
thought Arthur. Grimly, he struggled to his feet and tried to straighten up. Helve stared at him, his jaw thrust out aggressively. Then the sergeant spun about and resumed his place in front of the platoon.
“Reveille is one hour before dawn,” he announced. “You will parade in Number Two Recruit Field Uniform at that time, unless detailed for a special parade, in which case you will wear Number One Recruit Dress Uniform. Platoon! Dismiss!”
Arthur turned to the left, stamped his foot, and marched off, as did Fred and eight of the platoon. The others turned right or completely around and crashed into their neighbors and fell over.
“You all right?” asked Fred. “I wouldn’t have thought a bit of foot-thumping would knock you out. Not like we’re proper mortals anymore.”
“That’s the problem,” said Arthur, very wearily. “I…I got kind of…a bit affected by sorcery. So I am more mortal now than most of the Piper’s children.”
“Cripes!” exclaimed Fred with extreme interest. “How did that happen?”
“I’m not allowed to talk about it.”
“I knew there’s been something going on in the Lower
House,” said Fred. “What with the mail being cut off and all. But we never heard what happened. Has Mister Monday been doing something he shouldn’t?”
“Mister Monday?” asked Arthur. “Then you haven’t heard—”
“Heard what?” Fred seemed eager for news. “I haven’t heard anything, that’s for sure. No mail for two years, and no newspaper neither. All the fault of the Lower House, least that’s what my boss said.”
Arthur didn’t reply. Fred was a good guy and he thought they would be friends. But Arthur couldn’t afford for his real identity to get out and he didn’t want to tell Fred too much too soon.
“Heard what?” Fred repeated.
“I can’t talk about it,” Arthur replied. “Sorry. If…if I get permission, I’ll tell you.”
“Permission from who?”
“Look, I really can’t talk about it. I just want to get to sleep. We’ve got to get up…I don’t know…
soon
.”
Arthur clutched at Fred’s shoulder as the ground shifted under his feet. He was so tired it took him several seconds to process that it wasn’t the ground moving. He was swaying where he stood, so exhausted he couldn’t even stand still.
“We’d better check the schedule first,” said Fred patiently. “I don’t like the sound of ‘special parades.’”
“You go,” Arthur groaned. “I don’t think I can march that far.”
“Yes, you can,” said Fred. He removed Arthur’s hand and pushed on his shoulders to turn him around. “Do you good. Bit of a stretch.”
Arthur groaned and tried to turn back towards the beds, but Fred nudged him onward.
“Oh, all right,” said Arthur. He shook his head to try and clear it. “Let’s go, then. By the left, quiiiiiick march!”
This time, with Arthur carefully giving the command, they managed to halt properly. After a nervous look around for a jack-in-the-box sergeant, they studied the schedule papers on the noticeboard.
Fred was the first to notice that their names had appeared, all on their own, under a single heading on a separate piece of paper.
“Oh, no,” he said, tapping his finger on the paper. “That is really bad luck.”
Arthur read the notice. In his weary state it took him several seconds to even focus on the words and they didn’t mean anything to him.
“‘Recruits R. Green and F. Gold Report to Bathroom
Attendants in Administration Building Blue at 0600.’ What’s bad about that?”
Fred looked at him, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Bathroom Attendants, Ray. From the Upper House.”
Arthur still looked puzzled.
“Cleaning between the ears, Ray! They’re here to clean between
our
ears! Tomorrow morning!”
L
eaf hesitated in the corridor, uncertain whether to go back to the fire stairs or explore more of the Lower Ground Three floor. She had no time to think, but through the cracked lenses of her glasses the fire stairs looked ominously red-tinged, so Leaf decided to check out what was on her current level.
Clutching the box with the precious pocket in it, she hobbled off down the corridor, pushing through the swinging doors that led deeper into the hospital.
The nurse might or might not come after her, but if she didn’t, Leaf knew other mind-slaves of the Skinless Boy would. She had to find somewhere to hide and rest and work out what to do next. But that was easier said than done. Particularly since every door she tried along the corridor was locked.
Leaf forced herself to move faster, though it hurt, as her options grew more and more limited. The corridor was turning out to be like the fire stairs: If she couldn’t open any of the doors, she’d be cornered at the end.
She had a moment of relief when she saw a utility door
open in the wall, with orange safety cones around it and a sign that said
CAUTION WET FLOOR
. But when she looked inside it was just a tiny room, not much bigger than a cupboard, with a big red vertical pipe marked
FB WET RISER
, whatever that was.
Finally, with the end of the corridor in sight, Leaf found a door that opened. She slid through it, then shut and locked it before even looking around. It was a laundry room, a big open area dominated by four huge washing machines on one side and four equally large driers on the other. They were all off, though there was laundry in wheelie baskets in front of them.
There was also a desk with a phone on it. As soon as Leaf saw it, she had an idea. She couldn’t think of what to do next, but she could phone a friend. Or, in this case, her brother, Ed. He was almost never without his cell phone, and since he’d been recovering from the Sleepy Plague he’d been sitting up there in quarantine messaging his friends.
Leaf picked up the phone and dialed. She could hear her brother’s phone ringing, but he didn’t pick up right away.
“Come on!” Leaf urged. She couldn’t believe she was going to get diverted to voice mail.
“Hello?”
“Ed, it’s me, Leaf.”
“Leaf? Where are you? Mom and Dad are going crazy in here!”
“I’m in the hospital downstairs. Look, this is going to sound weird, but I’ve been somewhere else…I mean like a whole other planet…with Arthur Penhaligon. It’s complicated, but there’s an enemy of his here and it’s trying to get me and I’ve got to get out—”