The sergeant picked up two of the bags, one under each arm, without apparent difficulty. Arthur and Fred found it hard to even lift one off the ground, but once they got it balanced it wasn't as immovable as they'd feared.
"Stay in line and look orderly," said Helve. "We'll stay off the parade ground. Round the back to the Mess Hall."
Arthur was not all that surprised to discover that he'd never seen the Mess Hall, because it was not a building at Fort Transformation. It was like the washroom, reached by a weirdway in the outside wall of an armoury.
Lugging their mailbags, the platoon lumbered along the weirdway, eventually emerging in a room so large that Arthur couldn't see the walls, though there was a ceiling fifty or sixty feet up. Like the washroom, the Mess Hall was populated by ghostly images of thousands of other soldiers, most of them sitting on benches alongside trestle tables laden with food and drink.
Unlike the washroom, these tables were labelled, each one having a sign on it for a particular unit.
Fort Transformation Recruit Battalion was about fifty tables directly in from the weirdway entrance. As they marched through, Arthur noticed that a lot of the ghostly soldiers were visibly wounded. There were many bandages, crutches, eye patches, and very new scars. And most of the unit tables were considerably less than fully occupied.
It was not the picture painted by The Recruit's Companion, Arthur thought with a sinking heart. In the book everything was clean and spotless, and the illustrated soldiers positively radiated health, fitness, and contentment.
Fred and Arthur were very weary by the time they got to their own spot, and they almost didn't have the strength to haul their bag onto a table.
"Open them up," said Helve. "We don't have to go back immediately. We might as well get our mail before the rush."
The bags were opened, cascades of mail pouring out onto the tables. Then suddenly a letter left the cascade, flew through the air, and struck one of the recruits sharply on her helmet. She reached up and caught it, exclaiming in delight. "I got a letter!"
Ten seconds later, a brown-paper parcel ricocheted off Florimel's armour and into her hands. It was followed by an envelope for Fred, and soon everyone except Arthur had something. Even Sergeant Helve had received a small pink envelope decorated with flowers.
"I won't get anything," said Arthur. He didn't know why he knew that, but he did.
Even as he spoke, a large, buff-coloured envelope smacked him in the face. Arthur reeled back onto a bench and found himself sitting down with the envelope in his hands.
It was addressed to Arthur Penhaligon, which confirmed the name he had remembered.
Arthur opened it. The letter was written on the inside of the envelope, so he had to crack the seams and smooth it out, which was quite difficult. It was very heavy paper. The letter was handwritten in pale-silver ink.
Dear Arthur,
An agent of ours has your parents under its control. Unless you immediately relinquish the Keys to Us and give up all claims to being the Rightful Heir, we will have our agent cleanse their minds of all knowledge of you. Our agent will also do this to your brothers and sisters and your friends. It will be as if you were never born. Your home will continue to physically exist, but you will have no place in it. As we believe that you desire to return to a merely mortal existence, you should consider this as an opportunity. Simply sign on the dotted line below and everything will be taken care of.
Saturday, Most Superior Denizen of the Upper House
Arthur read the letter again, but he couldn't make sense of it. He was a Piper's child. Whatever parents or family he might have had were long dead, somewhere in the Secondary Realms. And as far as he knew, he had no desire to return to some kind of mortal existence.
"This is good," said Fred, tapping his own letter. "From my old mates back in Gilding Workshop Seventeen. Bringing back lots of memories. Who's your letter from, Ray?"
"I'm not sure," said Arthur. "I think it's a hoax. Only … I do feel as if it's triggered some memory just out of reach. Something about keys …"
"Right, that's enough loafing," ordered Sergeant Helve. "There's more cleaning to be done. And preparation for tomorrow's lessons."
Arthur stuffed his letter into his pouch and stood up. He was just in time as Helve suddenly snapped, "Stand fast!" swivelled on the spot, and saluted an officer who Arthur had seen coming but had dismissed as one of the ghostly figures of another unit.
"Thank you, Sergeant," said the officer. Close up, it was easy to see he was one of the lieutenants who had talked with Colonel Huwiti before the battle. His helmet plume was rather ragged now, and he'd been cut down the arm. Blue blood had dried in a line from shoulder to wrist, surrounded by scorch marks. On a mortal, it would have been an incapacitating injury. The lieutenant seemed little bothered by it, returning Helve's salute with only a slight stiffness.
"I'm taking your two Piper's children," said the lieutenant. "Orders came in just before the battle. From the very top. All Piper's children to report to GHQ immediately. Have they had their Not-Horse riding lessons yet?"
No, we haven't, thought Arthur with a sinking heart.
Seventeen
"NO!" LEAF CRIED out. "No message – but hey! Don't hang up! Put me through to Suzy Turquoise Blue, please."
"Please hold," said the Operator. A stab of pain hit Leaf behind the right eye as the Operator spoke, and her left hand wriggled without any conscious direction. It was horrible, as if the hand itself had become imbued with a life of its own. But Leaf knew what was happening. The mould was established inside her brain and now it was checking its control. The Skinless Boy might already be able to see through Leaf's eyes, hear through her ears, feel what she felt.
"Hello. Suzy here."
"Suzy! It's Leaf. I've got the pocket, but the mould … the Skinless Boy's mental mould is in my head! And I can't get back to the House!"
"Well done!" said Suzy. Her voice faded, and Leaf heard her say, "She has it, Sneezer. Set the dials!"
"I need help," said Leaf. "I know you're not supposed –"
Her left hand was flopping about like a stranded fish, but so far it was the only limb affected. The pain behind her eye was no worse … but it wasn't getting any better either.
"Who cares about that!" exclaimed Suzy, talking away from the receiver and then into it again. "I'm coming through. Hurry, Sneezer!"
The phone abruptly hung up, the dial tone returning. Leaf dropped it back in the box, then used her right hand to restrain her flailing left arm before she hurt herself. Her arm didn't fight against her, as Leaf had half-feared, but the strange sensation she'd first felt in that limb was starting to occur in her right leg as well.
"Come on, Suzy!" Leaf whispered. She had an idea of what to do to save herself, but first she had to get rid of the pocket. The mould was taking over so fast!
The door opened and Leaf choked on a gasp, because it wasn't Suzy. It was a teenage girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Arthur's sister. The youngest one. Michaeli.
"What are you doing here?" asked Michaeli. "Who are you?"
"Friend of Arthur's!" said Leaf, but her mouth wasn't working properly because her lips and tongue were suddenly partially numb so it came out as "Fiend up Arfloor".
"What?" asked the girl. She had a mobile phone in her hand, thumb poised over what was probably a speed-dial button for the police.
"Arthur!" burst out Leaf, speaking slower so she could be understood. "I'm a friend of Arthur's!"
"What are you doing here?" repeated Michaeli. She hadn't pressed the button. "And what's wrong with you?"
"Arthur sent me," said Leaf. "Got Greyspot."
Michaeli recoiled in horror, backing out the door so fast she ended up against the corridor wall on the other side.