Japeth also seemed relieved. He bowed and doffed an imaginary hat. His courtly manners were rather at odds with the extremely ragged velvet pants he wore under his leather apron. His shirt was no longer white, but yellow, and the cuffs were done up with string rather than buttons. Like most Denizens, he was handsome, but his face looked a little squashed, as did his body. As if he'd been pushed down and broadened, an imperfect clay model that had once come from a handsome mold.
"I would be honored to assist," he said. "That is to say, aid, support, succor, abet, reinforce, or give a leg up."
"Thank you," said Arthur. "Um, do you always talk like that?"
"You refer to my constant, even habitual use of a multiplicity of words and terms?"
"Yes."
"Only when I'm nervous," replied Japeth. "I am? I used to be a Thesaurus Minimus Grade Two. It is an occupational hazard, danger, or threat that we sometimes become prolix, verbose, long-winded, longiloquent? I fight against it, I assure you. Shall we move on before someone comes looking for us?"
"I suppose we should," agreed Arthur, after a moment's hesitation. He needed more time to think, and they couldn't stay where they were.
"After you," said Japeth, bowing and once again waving his imaginary hat.
"No, after you," replied Arthur, bowing a little himself. He didn't want the Denizen walking close behind him, not with all the ballast stone about. He sounded sincere, but Arthur didn't want to risk being hit on the head and handed over unconscious to the Overseers.
Japeth inclined his head and strode off down the tracks, his clogs echoing hollowly on the stone sleepers. Arthur followed, still thinking furiously and occasionally tripping over his own clogs. If only he could get a message out to the Lower House. Every idea he came up with had a flaw. He got all excited for a second when he remembered that Monday's Noon had been able to summon a telephone apparently out of nowhere in the House and the Secondary Realms. But even if Arthur could do that, the Lower House's telephone service had either been cut off or required cash payment up front, and he had no money.
But perhaps I could get some, he thought. Then I could call the Will, or Suzy, or Monday's Noon?
"What currency do they use in the Pit?" asked Arthur as they continued down the tracks without running into anyone or anything.
"I believe the Far Reaches used to have a very nicely minted gold noble, silver real, and copper bice," replied Japeth. "However, Grim Tuesday has gathered all actual coinage to himself, and everyone else must make do with ledger entries. Like our indentures."
He pulled out a rectangular piece of card that he wore on a string around his neck.
"Do you mind if I have a look?" asked Arthur.
"I can't take it off, remove, or displace it from my person," said Japeth. "But please do take a glance, preliminary examination, indagation, or, indeed, look."
The paper looked like a label, with neat writing in a sickly green ink. It had one column headed EARNINGS and one headed OWING. The earnings column had a single line with On Or Ob. The owing column had 4n 6r 18b. As Arthur watched, the OWING column rippled and changed to 4n 7r 1b.
"You see why no one ever earns their way free of their indenture. We are not paid until we reach the bottom of the Pit and, even then, only if we find usable amounts of Nothing. But we are charged for every breath of this foul air, and ridiculous amounts for our meager equipment."
"So there is no money, I mean coins or notes, at all in the Pit?"
"So I have been told, informed, clued in," said Japeth. He started to walk along the railway again. "Shouldn't we be getting on, moving along, advancing, progressing?"
Arthur nodded. Japeth was clearly getting more and more nervous, and it was infectious. Arthur hurried after the Denizen, the sound of their clogs clattering faster and faster till they were almost running.
It was just as well they hurried. A hundred yards farther down the track, an Overseer suddenly loomed up out of the smog. He was marching with purpose along the railway, his steam-gun ready. When he saw them, he grunted and waved them past, then followed. Clearly he had started to investigate the delay in new arrivals.
The smog cleared a little in front of Arthur. He saw several groups of Denizens marching away without Overseers. Another group was standing nearby, watched by an Overseer who had his visor up and was polishing his teeth with a cloth and an open tin of white paste. He was shorter than a head by the Denizens he watched, but much broader across the shoulders. His face was really squashed down and two of the teeth in his lower jaw protruded out like small tusks.
"Here you go," shouted the Overseer behind Arthur. "Couple of laggards."
The Overseer rubbed his teeth one last time, slipped the tin under his apron, gave a surprisingly gentle sigh, and clanged down his visor. Immediately a change came over him. He hunched forward, growled, and drew his steam-gun. His backpack steam engine went from a purr to a harsh rattle, pumped out a heavy cloud of black smoke, and vented steam to either side behind his elbows.
"Hurry up!" he shouted. "Get in line."
Arthur and Japeth ran to the group of Denizens, who were milling about, trying to get into a line. But no one wanted to be closest to the Overseer, so whoever ended up there ducked around the back and joined the end of the line. This went on for a minute or so, till the Overseer blasted a jet of steam into the air.
"Stop!" he yelled. "You, stand there! You, stand there! Right, now stand in line." When everyone was in line, the Overseer marched up to Arthur and Japeth and roared, "Why were you late?"
"I fell on my head," said Arthur. It seemed to be an all-purpose excuse. "Where are we?"
"You are on His Mightiness Grim Tuesday's Pit Railway Service Road!" shouted the Overseer. "You are very lucky!"
"Why?" asked Japeth. "How come? On account of what -"
"Shut up! I ask the questions!"
Japeth shut up. The Overseer growled, then repeated, "I ask the questions! And my first question is?"
His voice trailed off as he struggled to get a grimy piece of paper out from the inner pocket of his leather coat. Having gotten the paper out, he had trouble unfolding it. When it was finally unfolded, he held it up to his visor.
The question, when it finally came, was not what Arthur expected.
"You all been branded?" asked the Overseer.
Arthur nodded with the others and kept his head down, hoping to hide the fear that he was sure showed in his face.
"Any swift healers?" asked the Overseer, obviously reading from the paper.
Everyone shook their heads. The Overseer looked across at them, then back at the paper.
"Orright, let's see your soles, then," instructed the Overseer.
Our souls? thought Arthur in surprise. How can we show our souls?
He was particularly surprised when everyone stepped out of their right clog, took off their right sock, and started hopping about, each presenting their right foot towards the Overseer.
"Come on, then, no time to waste in the Grim's service," barked the Overseer. "Don't hop about, you idiots! Lie on your backs and hold your soles out."
Arthur, still mystified, sat down with everyone else in a line along the cold stone floor. But as he slipped off his right clog, he looked at Japeth's bare foot and saw what the Overseer was looking for.
The brand was on the sole of the right foot! A brand that ran from the heel to the ball and said in glowing green type: indentured to Grim Tuesday.
Arthur froze for an instant, then pretended his clog was stuck, as he feverishly tried to think about what he could do. The Overseer had a steam-gun, there was the other Overseer somewhere back up along the railway, and certainly many more on the platform above it.