Читать книгу Sir Thursday - Гарт Никс - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

“I’m afraid that won’t work, Lord Arthur,” said Dame Primus. She was still irritatingly annotating her Agenda and she didn’t even look up at Arthur. “The Keys are only sovereign in their own demesne, though they are of equal puissance in the Secondary Realms.”

“What does that mean?” asked Arthur.

“The Third Key only has its full powers in the Border Sea, the Second in the Far Reaches and the First in the Lower House,” explained Dr Scamandros. “They all work in the Secondary Realms, where they are of equivalent power. Except, I believe for the Seventh Key, which is paramount—“

“Time is short, Lord Arthur,” interrupted Dame Primus. She shut the Agenda with a businesslike clap. “If you are going to relinquish the Third Key to me, it must be done now.”

“But I don’t want to go into the Army,” said Arthur. The anger was leaving him now and he just felt sad and alone, his only ally still hiding under the table. “Especially not for a hundred years! There must be some way I can get out of it.”

“If you can find the Fourth Part of the Will and gain the Fourth Key, then you can take Sir Thursday’s place as commander and release yourself,” said Monday’s Noon.

“We will, of course, also continue to search for the Fourth Part of the Will ourselves,” said Dame Primus. “Once we find it, we may be able to help you.”

“I’ll come with you, Arthur,” said Suzy. She crawled out from under the table, sat down in Leaf’s chair and drank what was left of the other girl’s orange juice, before adding, “It can’t be that bad.”

“You shall do no such thing,” said Dame Primus. “You have a job to do here, as Monday’s Tierce.”

“No one ever volunteers for the Army,” said Monday’s Noon. “Everyone gets drafted. Besides the Denizens originally made to be soldiers, I mean. I’m not even sure it’s possible to volunteer.”

“I reckon if Arthur wants me to go along then it is my job,” said Suzy. “I kind of remember that I might have been in the Army before. I was probably drafted ages ago and did my time, only it’s got washed out from between my ears. Maybe it’ll come back. I can help Arthur find Part Four of the Will anyway.”

“Thanks, Suzy!” exclaimed Arthur. He felt enormously better. Having Suzy along would make all the difference. “I do want you to come. You always cheer me up, not to mention helping me. I suppose… if I’ve got to go, I’d better get on with it.”

He got up, taking the Third Key, and went over to Dame Primus. She slid out of her chair and bowed to him. When she straightened up, Arthur was struck by just how much taller she was, now that she contained three parts of the Will. She was well over seven feet tall, perhaps even eight feet tall now, and up close he could see tiny words crawling everywhere over her skin and clothes. There were hundreds and thousands of tiny old-fashioned type letters in constant movement, changing colour as they moved to become skin or clothes. Every now and then Arthur could just make out a word or a fraction of a phrase, things like, “The Will is the Word and the Word is—” Looking at her was a bit like examining a banknote, where you could only see all the tiny engraved detail that made up the images if you were up close.

“Do you recall the words, Lord Arthur, to appoint me Steward of the Third Key?”

“No,” said Arthur. “You start and I’ll say them after you.”

“Very well. ‘I, Arthur, Duke of the Border Sea, Lord of the Far Reaches, Master of the Lower House, Wielder of the First, Second and Third Keys to the Kingdom, do grant my faithful servant, the combined First, Second and Third Parts of the Great Will of the Architect, all my powers…’”

Arthur repeated the words mechanically, his mind elsewhere. He was afraid of what the Skinless Boy was going to do and whether Leaf was just going into danger without any hope of success. He was also afraid of what was going to happen to him. After all, he was only a boy. He shouldn’t be a recruit in any army, let alone one full of immortal Denizens who were much tougher and stronger than he was.

Dame Primus took the trident, and for the first time Arthur realised that the gloves she was wearing were in fact the gauntlets of the Second Key, transformed to be more ladylike. And the sword made of clock-hands that was the First Key was thrust through her belt, mostly concealed by the outer train of her long dress, which flowed around her like a cloak.

“Thank you, Arthur,” said Dame Primus. “I had best take the Atlas too.”

“I suppose it’s not much good to me without a Key,” said Arthur. He pulled the small green book out and slowly handed it over. He felt like he was losing everything that might help him.

“Excellent! I will begin to work on the Border Sea immediately,” announced Dame Primus. “We will also spare no effort in trying to find the Fourth Part of ourself and will keep you informed of our progress.”

“Mail call only happens twice a year at recruit school,” said Monday’s Noon. “And the recruits are not permitted to telegraph or telephone.”

“We will find some means,” said Dame Primus. “Now, we had best let the recruiting officer in. Good luck, Arthur.”

“I still don’t like this,” said Arthur. “I want you to find out any way I can be released from the army.”

“As you command, Lord Arthur,” said Dame Primus. She inclined her head but didn’t bow, and Arthur once more had the feeling that it would suit the Will to have him trapped in the House for ages, and with the Skinless Boy taking his place back home… he might have nowhere to go after he got out of the Army, except to become a Denizen.

“I’ll be back,” Arthur said fiercely. “As myself, not as a Denizen. If I have to find Part Four of the Will myself and get the Fourth Key from Sir Thursday, I’ll do it. And I expect everyone here to help Leaf however they can, particularly if… when… she gets back with the pocket.”

“Ah, Lord Arthur,” Dr Scamandros said nervously, with a sideways glance at Dame Primus. “Expect is such a… shall we say… inexact word—”

“Here is the recruiting officer!” interrupted Dame Primus. “Welcome to Monday’s Dayroom, Lieutenant.”

The officer in question stood at attention just inside the door and snapped a salute. To Arthur he looked like someone out of a history book. He wore a scarlet tunic with white lapels and white facings laden with many gold buttons. His legs were covered by black trousers with a broad gold stripe down each leg, his feet by black boots with spurs and he was made at least a foot taller by a towering black fur hat with blue and white plumes. He also had a hand-sized crescent of bronze hanging around his neck, which was engraved with curlicues and numbers.

He looked round the room and saw Dame Primus, clearly the tallest and most important Denizen in the room.

“I do beg your pardon, ma’am,” said the Lieutenant. “Crosshaw is my name, recruiting officer. I have a draft requisition for one Arthur Penhaligon, only I think there must be a mistake, as it gives this Arthur a precedence within the House of… well… six. I thought perhaps there might be a large number of zeros missing… Perhaps if there is someone among Mister Monday’s staff called Arthur Penhaligon, I might test the draft document?”

“There is no mistake,” said Dame Primus. She indicated Arthur with a lofty wave of her hand. “The person in question is Lord Arthur Penhaligon, Master of the Lower House, Lord of the Far Reaches, Duke of the Border Sea, sixth in precedence within the House. I am Dame Primus, Parts One, Two and Three of the Will of the Architect.”

Crosshaw gulped loudly, opened his mouth, shut it again, then looked at the papers in his hand. He seemed to find strength there, for he looked straight at Arthur and marched over, coming to a heel-stamping stop right in front of him.

“I do beg your, pardon, ah… Lord Arthur. Having been at a remote outpost in the Great Maze up until yesterday when I assumed my new duties, I did not know that there had been changes, um, among the Trustees. The thing is… I don’t quite know how to put it… As far as I know, if your name’s on the draft form then you’ve been drafted. I have to give it to you.”

The lieutenant held out a large square of parchment, which had a lot of small type with Arthur’s name written clearly in a space in the middle.

“What happens if I don’t take it?” Arthur asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Crosshaw. “If you do take it, I escort you via elevator to the Great Maze, to the Recruit Camp. If you don’t take it, I think the powers within the draft form take you to the Recruit Camp anyway, by more… unpleasant means.”

“If I might glance at the document?” asked Dr Scamandros, who had moved to stand at Arthur’s shoulder. He set his crystal-lensed glasses on his forehead, not on his eyes, and peered at the document. “Ah, yes, here we are. Most interesting. If you do not go willingly, Arthur, then you will be transformed into a shape, generally a small package of brown paper tied up with string, able to pass through the House’s postal system… which given the problems still current in the Lower House would not be an… ah… efficient means of travel.”

“OK, I’ll take it,” said Arthur. He reached out and took the paper then cried out in horror as it wrapped itself around his hand and started to shrug itself up his arm like a horrid slug consuming his flesh – though it didn’t hurt.

“Don’t be alarmed!” cried Crosshaw. “It’s just turning into a recruit uniform!”

Arthur looked away and tried to relax. The paper continued to move over him, rustling and billowing. When he looked down, his clothes had been transformed into a simple blue tunic with black buttons, blue breeches and short black boots. A white canvas belt with a brass buckle carried a white ammunition pouch and an empty bayonet loop (known as a frog) on his hip.

But the draft notice wasn’t entirely finished. Arthur flinched as he felt it come out from under his tunic and swarm up the back of his neck. It climbed on to his head and transformed itself into a blue pillbox hat, with a tight and uncomfortable chin strap that buckled on under Arthur’s lip instead of under his chin.

“Very good, recruit,” said Crosshaw. He was no longer nervous, and Arthur felt immediately smaller and more insignificant. “Follow me.”

The lieutenant saluted Dame Primus then spun on his heel and took a step towards the door.

“Hang on!” said Suzy. “I’m coming too!”

Crosshaw turned in surprise. “I beg your pardon!”

“I’m volunteering,” said Suzy. “I want to go along with Arthur.”

“We don’t take volunteers,” said Crosshaw. “Never know who we might get.”

“But I think I might have served before – I’m probably in some kind of Reserve.”

“We’re not calling up reservists either,” Crosshaw sniffed. “Particularly Piper’s children who’ve had everything they ever knew washed out from between their ears.”

“I’ve got a piece of paper somewhere,” said Suzy as she rummaged through her pockets.

“I can’t help you, miss,” Crosshaw dismissed her with finality. “Come along, Recruit Penhaligon. Hold yourself a bit straighter. What’s that on your leg?”

“Crab-armour,” said Arthur. Unlike the rest of his clothes, the crab-armour had remained, his new blue breeches forming under it. “For a broken leg.”

“As prescribed by me,” said Dr Scamandros. “Dr Scamandros, at your service. Major Scamandros, Army Sorcerer, retired. I did my draft service about three thousand years ago, before going on to advanced study in the Upper House.”

“Very good, sir,” said Crosshaw with another snappy salute. “If it’s a prescribed medical necessity, it can remain.”

“Lord Arthur is a mortal,” added Scamandros. He got out a small notepad and hastily scrawled something on it with a peacock-feather quill that dripped silver ink. “He needs the crab-armour and the ring on his finger for medical reasons. He should be given special consideration.”

Crosshaw took the proffered note, folded it and tucked it under his cuff.

“I’m still coming along,” said Suzy.

“No room for you in our elevator,” snapped Crosshaw. “I suppose there’s nothing to stop you petitioning Sir Thursday to re-enlist, if you actually are a reservist. Not something I’d do. But there’s nothing to stop you. Come along, Recruit Penhaligon. By the left, quick march!”

Crosshaw led off with his left foot, boot-heels crashing on the marble floor as he marched towards the door. Arthur followed, doing his best to imitate the lieutenant’s marching style and keep in step.

He felt suddenly incredibly alone, abandoned by everyone and extremely uncertain about what the future held.