He had small, deep-set eyes and was not particularly handsome for such a superior Denizen. He wasn’t all that tall either, being only six foot six or so, and was perhaps half as wide across the shoulders as Sergeant Helve. All in all, he was not physically intimidating. But there was something about those dark eyes, the flat-lined mouth, and the lift of his chin that made Arthur immediately fear him.
“Stand them at ease,” this Denizen ordered the RSM.
“Stand at ease!” repeated the RSM at several times the other Denizen’s volume.
The Piper’s children stood at ease, none of them out of time. Even Suzy got it right.
“I am Sir Thursday,” said the Denizen. The faintest ripple went through the ranks as he said that, but no more.
Arthur stared at the air in front of him, not even daring to move an eyeball. But though his body was still, his mind
was racing, trying to work out what might happen and what he could do.
“I am going to explain to you a plan I have,” continued Sir Thursday. “Then I am going to ask for volunteers.”
He paced up and down as he spoke, then suddenly stopped and looked out the window on the far side of the room.
“Marshal Noon was to explain the plan, but he has suffered an indisposition. He may be joining us later. Sergeant-Major! The mapboard.”
The RSM marched across the room and picked up the black screen, carrying it back to a position in front of the Piper’s children. Then she marched around to stand near Suzy, so she could also watch the presentation.
Sir Thursday walked over to Arthur and took the bayonet from the bayonet frog on Arthur’s belt. Arthur didn’t move and didn’t look, even as he heard the foot-long blade slide free.
Surely he won’t stab me in front of everyone,
he thought desperately.
Dame Primus said he would obey his own regulations. He won’t stab me—
“I shall borrow this for a moment, Private,” said Sir Thursday. “To use as a pointer.”
He turned to the mapboard and flourished the bayonet.
A glowing yellow line appeared where he indicated, and another. Quickly, Sir Thursday sketched a square.
“This is the Great Maze,” he said. He added an X down in the lower right corner. “This is the Citadel.”
Then he drew a small circle right in the middle of the square.
“And this is the absolute center of the maze, a point called five hundred/five hundred. Who can tell me the only possible way to get a strike force from the Citadel to point five hundred/five hundred by midnight tonight, given that the tiles have stopped moving? It is three hundred miles away and there are perhaps two hundred and fifty thousand New Nithlings in the way.”
He turned to face them.
“Anyone? How about you, Private? Green, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” croaked Arthur. He wasn’t sure if he should play stupid or give an honest answer, because he had immediately thought of one way to get there. “I suppose…that the only way would be via the Improbable Stair.”
“And the natural conclusion one would draw from that?”
“That very few…uh…Denizens even know about the Improbable Stair, and fewer still can travel it,” said Arthur. He had a bad feeling about where this was going. “I don’t
know how many soldiers someone able to use the Improbable Stair could take with them.”
“Very good,” said Sir Thursday. “You are commissioned herewith as Second Lieutenant Green. In the Regiment, unless you have a preference for the Horde.”
“No, sir,” said Arthur.
What is he up to?
he wondered.
He’s setting me up for something.
“The obvious question is, why would a force need to be sent from the Citadel to point five hundred/five hundred?” Sir Thursday continued. He started to tap the mapboard with the bayonet. “The answer is simple. Because ultimately I must obey my political superiors in the House, this campaign year I was compelled to change my plans and allow a vast number of Nithlings into the Great Maze. Nithlings who, unbeknownst to me, are New Nithlings, practically Denizens. They are trained, disciplined, and well-equipped, and they are led by someone powerful and very clever, someone probably assisted by traitors within my very staff, someone who has uncovered one of the secrets of the Great Maze and with a lot of treacherous help has managed to put a great big spike of stabilized Nothing straight into the master position at point five hundred/five hundred!”
Sir Thursday drove the bayonet into the mapboard
with his last words, ripping and tearing at the wood with unbelievable ferocity. When he had reduced it to pieces, he impaled the remains with the bayonet, leaving the weapon quivering in a broken board.
He took a deep breath before turning back to face the parade.
“I find this annoying, as you can see. That spike has sorcerously frozen a tile at point five hundred/five hundred. This is the master position of the maze, and if it is unable to move, no tiles can move. Consequently, I will be leading a force via the Improbable Stair to point five hundred/five hundred. As the vast majority of Denizens are simply rejected by the Stair, I must take Piper’s children, who the Stair always accepts, and I am looking for twelve volunteers. We will go via the Stair, destroy the spike, and return on the Stair. Sergeant-Major!”
The RSM marched back out the front, drew in a deep lungful of air, and bellowed, “All those wishing to volunteer for a special assault via the Improbable Stair take one pace forward!”
A
rthur was too recent a product of recruit school. Even as his mind tried to tell him to think about it, his legs reacted like a galvanized frog to the word of command. He took one pace forward. So did Fred and, after a slight hesitation, Suzy. Peering across from the corner of his eye, Arthur could see at least another ten had stepped forward too. But that meant half the Piper’s children hadn’t volunteered.
“Dismiss the rest,” ordered Sir Thursday. “Get them out of my sight! If any of them hold rank, strip it from them! And find some stars for Mister Green.”
As the RSM bellowed commands at the non-volunteers, the Trustee paced to the narrow slit window and looked out. Arthur couldn’t see what he saw, but since it was a westward-facing window and they were high up, it was likely to be a huge host of New Nithlings, preparing for another assault on the outer bastions.
Arthur was probably going to see a lot of New Nithlings soon. But he was less worried about that than he was about Sir Thursday. Anyone capable of the berserk
rage he’d just displayed after merely talking about something that made him angry was dangerous to be around. Even if you weren’t the Rightful Heir, intent on removing him from his position and taking his Key.
No sign of the Key anyway,
thought Arthur.
Or the Will, for that matter. The Key is probably a weapon, I would think. The Will could be anywhere, maybe not even in this demesne of the House.
“Mister Green’s stars, sir,” said the RSM to Sir Thursday, interrupting Arthur’s train of thought. The sergeant-major handed Sir Thursday a small velvet box.
“Four paces forward please, Second Lieutenant Green,” said Sir Thursday. Arthur marched forward and halted. Sir Thursday came up close, opened the box, and took out two diamond-shaped badges of gold. He pressed them to the epaulettes on Arthur’s shoulders, which instantly turned black and grew gold buttons, the “stars” stitching themselves in near his shoulders.
“Congratulations,” said Sir Thursday. “You will be my second-in-command for this assault on the spike. Now, stand to my left and two paces behind me. You can’t go back in the ranks now.”
Arthur marched around and stood at attention behind Sir Thursday. Suzy slowly dipped one eyelid in what might have been a wink. Fred stared at a point above Arthur’s
head and the other Piper’s children looked directly at him without apparently seeing him.
Now that he was able to see them, Arthur noticed that several of them were corporals, and there were even two sergeants. They would not be happy to discover that he was really only a partially trained recruit with one battle under his belt and that after a mere six weeks of training.
“My plan is straightforward,” said Sir Thursday. “We will emerge as close to the spike as is possible. I will need several minutes to destroy it and must not be interrupted in that time. You will hold off any enemy that may interfere. When the spike is destroyed, we will return via the Improbable Stair to the Citadel. Given that we will have complete surprise, we have a very good chance of success. Any questions?”
One of the sergeants, a serious-looking boy with flaxen hair and what appeared to be a painted-on yellow mustache, snapped to attention and raised his hand.
“May we equip ourselves with our choice of weapons, sir?”
“The central armory is at your disposal,” said Sir Thursday. “Nothing-powder weapons included. Though I must ask that you do not overburden yourselves. I cannot carry a dozen soldiers and a cannon up the Improbable Stair.”
He smiled to show this was a jest, and there was a ripple of dutiful laughter. Arthur smiled too, a bit late, but the smile was wiped off his face as Suzy snapped to attention and raised her hand.
No, Suzy!
thought Arthur.
Don’t ask him anything that’ll make him mad!
“Sir, this spike. It’s made of Nothing? A lot of Nothing?”
“Yes,” said Sir Thursday. “I believe I already said that.”
Don’t say anything more!
Since Arthur was behind Sir Thursday, he made a quick zipping motion with his hand over his mouth, only to turn it into an odd little nosescratch as he saw the RSM’s eyes flicker in his direction.
Wisely, and for possibly the first time since Arthur had met her, Suzy held her tongue.
“Any other questions?” asked Sir Thursday. There was barely repressed menace in his voice. He did not want any more questions. He wanted instant, unthinking obedience.
Arthur shivered. He would not want to be the bearer of bad news to Sir Thursday. Or any news for that matter, since it would be impossible to know how the Trustee would react.
There were no more questions.
“Sergeant-Major McLameth, carry on!” snapped Sir Thursday. “Second Lieutenant Green, follow me!”
Arthur looked at Suzy. She rolled her eyes up several times but he had no idea what this meant. Fred, on the other hand, gave him a smile when the RSM wasn’t looking, the smile of someone who is pleased by the success of a friend.
I hope Fred doesn’t get killed,
thought Arthur as he marched after Sir Thursday.
He doesn’t really know what he’s getting into, with his dreams of being a general. That one battle, we were shielded from the worst and it was still awful—
“Marshal Noon’s study,” said Sir Thursday, opening the door to a smaller room.
Noon’s study was a surprisingly small room, only thirty feet long by fifty feet wide. To Arthur it looked more like an armory than someone’s study, as every wall was bedecked with weapons. Interspersed with the weapons were paintings and etchings of martial scenes, battles and skirmishes with Nithlings. All of them featured the same red-haired, debonair Denizen who Arthur understood must be Thursday’s Noon.
There was a large mahogany desk supported on three pedestals in the middle of the room. The desktop was bare, save for a gold and ivory-inlaid marshal’s baton right in the middle.
“There are some matters we need to speak of, Second
Lieutenant Green,” said Sir Thursday. “Or perhaps I should say, Second Lieutenant Penhaligon?”
“That is my real name, sir,” said Arthur. He stood at attention, but his eyes flickered to the walls. If Sir Thursday attacked him, he would spring that way, grab that savage-sword off its pegs there…
“I did not plan to draft you,” said Sir Thursday. “Indeed, I did not know about it until the recruiting officer made his report through his chain of command. He should have come straight to me, of course. He is Private Crosshaw now.”
After the furniture-demolishing episode I can see why he didn’t go straight to you. I bet no one ever does if they can avoid it.
“As soon as you were drafted and became one of my soldiers, I was limited in what actions I might take against you,” Sir Thursday continued. He began to pace around the room, but he kept looking back at Arthur. “But then it occurred to me that you were similarly limited in what you might do to release the Will and claim the Fourth Key. You see, Arthur, we find ourselves in a curious position.
“I am a soldier. Even though I command the Glorious Army of the House, I am not the ultimate commander-in-chief. The Architect was, and when she disappeared I was convinced that Lord Sunday had the proper authority to
assume this role, with Superior Saturday as his deputy. Saturday passed on Sunday’s orders for me to take a portion of the Will and hide it and to assume custodianship of the Key. As always, I followed those orders. Until I hear otherwise from Lord Sunday or his deputy, those remain my orders.”
He paused and took a clockwork ax from the wall. Arthur tensed, ready to grab a weapon to defend himself, but Sir Thursday didn’t move to attack. He started to bend the haft of the ax backwards and forwards, even though it was made of gravity-condensed steel. The ax’s clockwork mechanism shrieked in protest as the cogs and gears within the haft were bent, and the flywheel at the end of the haft burned itself to a stop, smoke wafting around Sir Thursday’s arms.
“I have followed those orders for the last ten thousand years,” said Sir Thursday, speaking through gritted teeth. “Even though the Will constantly seeks to escape and is always complaining and scheming and I can never…never rest!”
The ax broke apart and springs richocheted around the room. Arthur ducked reflexively but immediately stood at attention again.
“I can never rest, for if I rest, the Will may escape,” continued Sir Thursday. “It makes me a little irritable. But
I have my orders. So you see, Lieutenant, I am not going to release the Will and I am not going to give you the Key until I am directly ordered to do so. Which, though I do not have a lot of communication with the Upper House, seems extremely unlikely.”