Suzy continued to gain height as she watched them, circling to put the sun behind her. The Nithlings were busy with their game, but at any time they might remember their duty and look up and around. The sun would hide her to some extent.
The Commissionaire's truncheon would not be much use if it came to an aerial fight, Suzy thought. She couldn't see from her current distance, but the tridents were bound to be sorcerous in nature, either glowing red-hot or emitting electric effects or, if she was very unlucky, firing projectiles of Nothing.
I can't fight three armed Nithlings, Suzy thought.
She peered down at the House, trying to see if there were any more Nithlings or anything else near the Front Door. It was hard to see from so high up. She was now at least three thousand feet above the House, and there were deep shadows from the many bizarre overhangs, abutments, projections, crenulations, awnings, and afterthoughts.
Her only chance would be to dive straight down, checking her flight at the last possible instant right in front of the door. If she timed it right, did it fast enough, and didn't break her neck, she might be able to get into the door before the Nithlings could intercept her.
Suzy tucked the precious container with Arthur's torn pocket deeper into the fob pocket of her third-inside waistcoat and buttoned up the two waistcoats she wore over that and did her coat up all the way to her throat.
The Nithlings were still playing with the chattering flying machine. Suzy hovered for a moment, her chin almost resting on her chest as she made sure that she had a clear flight path straight down.
"Hey, ho, it's any fool's go," Suzy muttered to herself. She clasped her hands above her head in a classic diving posture, threw herself forward and down, and stopped flapping.
For an instant her outstretched wings held her in position, though her body was almost perpendicular to the ground. Then Suzy folded her wings all the way back and she fell like a meteorite from the heavens, straight down.
Eighteen
ARTHUR GOT A very accelerated Not-Horse riding lesson that night. He and Fred, after the enormous surprise of a handshake and some nice words from Sergeant Helve, were hustled from the Mess Hall by the lieutenant. They were marched to the Orderly Room, where Colonel Huwiti informed them that they had been given battlefield graduations from Fort Transformation and congratulated them on their assignment to GHQ as privates in the Regiment. He shook their hands too. In return they saluted and did the smartest about-turns they could manage. Then they were marched off to the Quartermaster's Store, where they signed over all the recruit equipment they'd left in the barracks, handed back the Legionary gear they were wearing, and were issued Horde field riding armour and equipment, which they quickly had to put on.
From the Q Store, they limped after the lieutenant in their knee-length Horde hauberks and stiff leather boots, trying not to groan under the weight of their winged helmets, saddles, stuffed saddlebags, and the curved swords the Horde called lightning tulwars.
The riding lesson was given in the Post Stables by a Horde NCO they had not met before, named Troop Sergeant Terzok. He was considerably less wide across the shoulders than most of the other sergeants but had the most amazing moustache, which Arthur was sure must be fake. Close up it looked like it might be made of wire, and it certainly stuck out at right angles from his nose in a way that hair surely couldn't manage.
They almost felt better when Troop Sergeant Terzok, rather than being strangely friendly, immediately shouted at them and proceeded to impart a long list of facts about Not-Horses and the riding of them, interrupting himself every minute or so to quiz the two of them on what he'd just said.
Arthur was tired but also buoyed up by having survived the battle, without really having to think about it yet. The prospect of going to GHQ was a relief, as well. So the first few hours of the Not-Horse lesson were bearable.
By the third hour, which was when they finally got to go into the Not-Horse stable, he was losing any feeling of relief. Then he made the fatal error of actually yawning, as Troop Sergeant Terzok was showing them the finer points of a Not-Horse that was standing quietly in its stall, its glittering ruby eyes quiescent.
"Am I boring you, Trooper Green?" shouted Terzok.
"Not exciting enough, hey? Want to get straight on a Not-Horse, do you?"
"No, Sergeant!" shouted Arthur. He was suddenly very wide awake indeed.
"No, Troop Sergeant!" yelled Terzok. He pushed his wire-brush moustache almost into Arthur's nose. "You are going to ride a Not-Horse like a Trooper in the Horde, not a private, and I am a Troop Sergeant, not some plodding ordinary sergeant. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Troop Sergeant!" shouted Arthur and Fred, who figured that it would be best for him to join in as well.
"If we had a few more Not-Horses here, I could have taken a troop after those Nithlings," Terzok continued. "None of 'em would have got away then. Right. I will repeat the basics for the fifth and final time. This here is Mowlder, the oldest Not-Horse on the post. Made up more than four thousand years ago and still going strong. He is a typical Not-Horse, with three toes on each leg, not the four-toed variant that is occasionally seen. Each of these toes has been fitted for combat purposes with a four-inch steel claw, as you can see. The Not-Horse's skin is a flexible metal but the creature itself is a Near Creation based on an original design of the Architect. It has living flesh under the metal skin, which serves as a very useful armour. Like us Denizens, the Not-Horse is extremely hardy and heals well. Not-Horses are also smart and must be treated properly at all times. Any questions so far?"
"No, Troop Sergeant!"
"Right, then. I will now demonstrate the correct means of approaching a Not-Horse to fit a bit and bridle. Watch closely."
Arthur watched closely as Terzok demonstrated how to get the harness on a Not-Horse. It looked straight forward, provided the Not-Horse cooperated, but was not quite so easy when Arthur got to do it himself. Getting up into the saddle and actually riding the Not-Horse also proved to be more difficult than he'd thought.
Six hours after the lesson began, in the cold, dark early time before the dawn, Terzok pronounced Arthur and Fred as capable as they were going to get in the time available. Which was not capable at all, but he hoped they would stay on long enough to learn from experience. Before they left, he whispered in the ears of the two Not-Horses chosen to carry them.
By this stage, Arthur in particular was so tired that he didn't care if he was tied across the saddle like a blanket. He just wanted to rest and not have to listen to – or watch – Troop Sergeant Terzok and his moustache ever again. He'd thought he was used to being exhausted and had got much better at staving off the swimming vision and loss of coordination. But now even the proximity of a sergeant couldn't stop him from swaying on his feet.
But he wasn't allowed to go to sleep. Another unknown lieutenant, this one unwounded and wearing Horde armour, arrived as the lesson concluded and announced that he would be leading them to GHQ.
"I'm Troop Lieutenant Jarrow," he said. "Seconded from the Horde to Fort Transformation. We'll be riding out in fifteen minutes, after I've checked your weapons, equipment, harness, and mounts. Which of you is Gold and which Green?"
"I'm Priv … Trooper Gold," said Fred.
Arthur mumbled something that sounded like it might be "Green". Jarrow frowned and stepped closer to him.
"I know there's a medical advice about you, Green," he said. "But the file's gone missing. Are you fit enough to travel?"