Deep in the marsh, with the sun dipped below the horizon, they could only see one of the changed tiles around them. Looking to the east, where there had been nothing to see, there was now an imposing mountain, a dark silhouette against the starry sky.
"We ride to the Citadel in the morning," said Jarrow. He'd used the last of the sun to consult his almanac, choosing not to show a light after dark. "I'd like to ride now, and if we had different tiles we might have done it. But there's a mountain pass to go through now, and a forest, and the Eastern Water Defence."
"The what water defence?" asked Arthur.
"It's part of the Citadel and doesn't move. A dry lake that can be flooded by opening sluice gates from the subterranean springs below the Citadel hill. It should still be dry, but …" Jarrow's voice trailed off. The three of them sat in the starlit darkness, listening to the sounds of the swamp. Their Not-Horses stood quietly nearby, also occasionally talking to one another in their soft, dry language that perhaps only the oldest of Troop Sergeants might understand.
"Should be dry, sir, but perhaps won't be?" asked Fred after a while, greatly daring.
"Yes, it may have been filled," said Jarrow. "While tectonic strategy has proved masterful as always, there are so many New Nithlings around that some were bound to end up near the Citadel, and the different groups have been joining up on the plain below the hill … a nuisance really. Not a siege, not by any means."
"What exactly is the Citadel, sir?" asked Arthur.
"It's a mighty fortress, Green. Four concentric rings of bastions, ravelins, and demi-lunes, all sited to support one another with cannon and musket, and the approach ramps covered by firewash projectors. Then, within the third ring, there is the Inner Citadel, a Star Fort built upon a hill of hard stone. The Inner Citadel has earthen ramparts seventy feet thick abutting walls forty feet high, and it is armed with sixteen royal cannon, thirty-two demi-cannon, and seventy-two small cannons the Artillerists call sakers. Though there has been a terrible shortage of powder for them, ever since Grim Tuesday was deposed by this new Lord Arthur –"
Jarrow stopped talking as Arthur suddenly whimpered in pain and clapped his hands to his head. He felt as if a missile had struck the centre of his brain, exploding into a vast array of memories. Images, sounds, smells, and thoughts reverberated everywhere within his skull, so many that he momentarily felt disoriented and sick. Every significant memory from the day he lost his yellow elephant to the approach of the three Bathroom Attendants was overlaid all at once in a crazy mishmash of instant recollection.
The pain disappeared almost at once, and the memories slowly retreated deeper into his head, sorting themselves out as they went, though not in perfect order.
However, he did know who he was and what had happened, and that he was in great danger from Sir Thursday.
"Are you all right, Trooper?" asked Jarrow.
"Yes, sir," whispered Arthur.
"Memory pain," said Fred. "I punched myself in the mouth once because of it. Got a fat lip. Did you remember anything useful, Ray?"
"Maybe," said Arthur guardedly. He was in a tough position. He wanted to tell Fred everything, but that would only put his friend at risk as well. "I've got a few more things to think through anyway."
"You two rest," said Jarrow. He stood up, loosened his tulwar in its scabbard, and began to pace quietly around their small island. "I'll keep watch."
"Don't you need some rest too, sir?" asked Fred.
"I have much to think about," said Jarrow. "And I do not need to rest yet. Piper's children need more sleep than drafted Denizens, and those Denizens need more sleep than regular soldiers like myself, who were made for the profession of arms by the Architect. But even I need to sleep more than our red-eyed comrades here, who sleep only in their stables and then no more than once a seven-day. I will rouse you before the dawn, or if there is the suggestion of trouble."
There was no alarm in the night, though Arthur woke several times, disturbed either by some night noise or by a twinge of discomfort, born from sleeping on the ground with only a saddle for a pillow and a rough, felted blanket for bedcovers.
Arthur was woken properly by Jarrow before any sun was visible but as the higher stars began to fade. Without the need for breakfast, and being forgiven shaving as they were in the field, the trio quickly saddled the Not-Horses and went on their way, the two boys working hard to bear in silence the aches and pains that had come from the previous day's ride and their night on the ground.
Arthur did not spare too much attention to these pains, or to the swamp he was travelling through. His mind was fully occupied thinking about what he was going to do, and what Sir Thursday might do to him. The Trustee had to know who Arthur was, because either Lieutenant Crosshaw or Sergeant Helve would surely have reported his presence. Or possibly Sir Thursday might have known all the time and had Arthur drafted on purpose, rather than by bureaucratic accident.
But why would Sir Thursday summon all the Piper's children in the Army to the Citadel if he only wanted to get Arthur? There had to be more to it, Arthur believed. There was also the question of what he was going to do if the opportunity presented itself for him to try to find the Will or get hold of the Fourth Key. Should he take it and put himself at risk of retribution? Or should he be a good soldier and follow orders and not give Sir Thursday any excuse to put aside Army Regulations and do something horrible to him? If he just tried to be a good soldier, he might end up having to serve his hundred years, and he'd never get home –
Home. The Skinless Boy. Leaf. The –
"The letter!" Arthur suddenly said aloud, slapping his head again. He'd just remembered the letter from Superior Saturday, the one threatening his family. As Ray, without his proper memory, he'd dismissed it as a hoax. But now that he remembered everything, it brought home everything he had feared would happen with the Skinless Boy.
"We must be quiet from here," ordered Jarrow, wheeling his horse to address Arthur and Fred directly. "The pass ahead should be clear, but we cannot count on it. Close up on me and ready your swords. We will charge through if the way is blocked."
Arthur rode close enough to almost touch knees with the lieutenant, while Fred did the same on the other side. If they had to charge, they would do so as a tight mass of Not-Horses, a wedge that should punch through any New Nithling ranks that stood against them.
As they advanced, Arthur looked around properly for the first time in at least ten minutes. They were leaving the swamp, heading west, and the tile ahead was dominated by two rocky hills, with a shallow gorge between them that was perhaps half as high. The rough road they were on led into the gorge.
"Can't we go around?" he asked. He couldn't see anything too formidable to the north or south.
"There are mud pools to the north today," said Jarrow, tapping his Ephemeris. "And thistle-scrub south. Very slow for the Not-Horses. This way is somewhat steep, but the road is wide and good. Beyond the pass, there is grassland and a bucolic village. After that is the easternmost fixed tile, which is the Eastern Water Defence. If we are not way-laid, and the water defences are dry, we should be at the Citadel by late afternoon."
They were not waylaid, but well before they saw it, they knew the Eastern Water Defence was not dry. It had been flooded, and some of its water was spilling over into the adjacent tile, running down the main street of the bucolic village, a lovely but uninhabited collection of narrow lanes and charming houses that surrounded a large village green bordered by several pubs, a blacksmith's forge, four or five small shops, and an archery range.