‘You probably know more than anyone about the Architect,’ said Arthur. ‘So I wanted to ask you what happened to her? And what is the Will exactly, and what is it... she... going to do? I mean, I’m supposed to be the Rightful Heir and all, and I thought that meant that I was going to end up in charge of everything, whether I wanted to or not. Only now I’m not so sure.’
‘I knew the Architect long ago,’ said the Old One slowly. He drank a series of smaller mouthfuls before speaking again. ‘Yet not so well as I thought, or I would not have suffered here so long. I do not know what happened to her, save that it must have been at least in part of her own choosing. As for the Will, it is an expression of her power, set up to achieve some end. If you are the Rightful Heir, I would suggest the question you need ask is this: what exactly are you to inherit, and from whom?’
Arthur frowned.
‘I don’t want to be the Heir. I just want to get my old life back and make sure everyone is safe,’ he said. ‘But I can’t get everything sorted out without using the Keys, and that’s turning me into a Denizen. Scamandros made me a ring that says I’m six... more than six parts in ten... - sorcerously contaminated, and it’s irreversible. So I will become a Denizen, right?’
‘Your body is assuming an immortal form – that is evident,’ said the Old One. ‘But not everything of immortal flesh is a Denizen. Remember, the Architect did not make the mortals of Earth. She made the stuff of life and sowed it across all creation. You mortals arose from the possibility she made and, though she always liked to think so, are consequently not of her direct design. There is more to you, and all mortals, than the simple flesh you inhabit.’
‘But can I become a normal boy again?’
‘I do not know.’ The Old One drained the last of the wine from the jug, then threw it far past the light of the clock. The sound of its shattering came faint and distant from the darkness, reassurance that there was still solid ground out there – at least for a little while longer. ‘In general, one cannot go back. But in going forward, you may achieve some of what you desired of the past. If you can survive, anything may happen.’ The Old One plucked another rose, careless of its thorns, and held it beneath his nose. ‘Perhaps you will even be given flowers. The clock ticks, Arthur. Your time is almost sped.’
‘I have so many questions,’ said Arthur. ‘Can you give me another ten-’
The Old One put down his rose and looked at the boy with his fierce blue eyes, a gaze that would make the most superior Denizen quail and tremble.
‘Never mind.’ Arthur gulped. ‘I just wanted to tell you that if I do end up in charge of everything, I’ll do my best to set you free. It isn’t right that the puppets should torture you.’
The Old One blinked and took up the rose again.
‘I honour you for that. But look – the puppets are no more. As the House has weakened, I have grown stronger. An hour ago, the clock shivered, and I felt Nothing draw close. The puppets felt it too, and as is their duty, came forth before their time, to prevent a rescue or an attempted escape. I fought with them, broke them, and cast them down.
‘I am still chained, but as the House falls, my strength will grow, and my prison will weaken. In time, I will be free, or so these flowers promise me. I have been stripping the petals to throw upon my enemies. The puppets do not like it, for they know the flowers are a harbinger of change. Go, I grant you the time to look upon them!’
Arthur stood up nervously and looked across the clock face, but he didn’t move. He didn’t really want to go anywhere near the trapdoors on either side of the central pivot of the clock.
‘Hurry,’ urged the Old One.
Arthur walked closer. The trapdoors were smashed in, splintered stubs of timber hanging from the thick iron hinges. Something rustled from inside, and Arthur looked down into a deep narrow chamber that was piled high with rose petals. The puppet woodchopper was there, still with its green cap on, the feather bent in half. But its limbs were broken, and all it could do was wriggle on the rose petals, gnash its teeth, and hiss.
Arthur shuddered and retreated to the rim, almost backing into the Old One.
‘I hope... I hope we will not be enemies,’ said Arthur.
The Old One inclined his head, but did not speak. Arthur jumped down from the clock face and hurried away, his mind churning with fears and facts and suppositions. He had hoped the Old One could help him make sense of his situation, make matters clearer.
But he had only made it worse.
FIVE
‘LORD ARTHUR, I am vastly relieved to see you,’ called out Scamandros as he saw Arthur hurrying back. ‘I trust the Old One answered your questions?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Arthur. ‘Not even close, really. Is the Nothing still advancing?’
In answer, Scamandros cast out a lure with his fishing rod. The lure, a lobsterlike crustacean four or five inches long, disappeared into darkness. Scamandros wound the line back in, counting marks on the woven thread as he did so. There was no lure on the end.
‘Six... seven... eight. The speed of encroachment has increased, Lord Arthur.’
‘Where was Dame Primus when you last were in touch? And Suzy?’
‘They were both in the Citadel,’ said Scamandros. ‘It has become the general headquarters of your forces throughout the House, Lord Arthur.’
‘Could be tricky to get there,’ said Arthur. ‘Using the Fifth Key, I mean, since they secured the Citadel against Lady Friday. I suppose we could take the Improbable Stair-’ Scamandros began to shake his head, and Arthur stopped himself. ‘Oh, yeah, you can’t go on the Stair. Oh, well... there was a mirror in Sir Thursday’s... in my quarters. I guess I can try that, and if it doesn’t work then we’ll have to think of somewhere else, in the Middle House or wherever, and try to take an elevator from there.’
He took out the Fifth Key and held it up for a moment in front of his face, then dropped it to his side.
‘Uh, if I can make a door, how do I take you with me?’
Dr Scamandros held up his hand and wiggled his fingers.
‘If you allow me to hold on to your coattails, I shall be carried through, Lord Arthur.’
‘Hold on, then,’ said Arthur. ‘We’ll give it a try.’
He looked into the mirror and tried to remember what his quarters in Thursday’s Citadel had looked like. He remembered the big four-poster bed with the carved battle scenes on the posts, and then there was the wardrobe, the chair he’d been shaved in, and, yes, there was a tall, bronze-framed mirror in the corner. If he thought of that mirror like a window, then looking through it he would be able to see the bed, and the door, and the painting on the wall...
Slowly, he began to see the room, though much of it was clouded and fuzzy. It took him a few seconds to work out that the bronze mirror was partially covered with a cloth. But he could see enough of the chamber, he was sure, for the Key to open a door there.
‘Fifth Key, take me... us... to my room in the Citadel of the Great Maze!’
It was not so easy to go through the door of white light this time, nor was the transfer so immediate. Arthur felt himself held back not just by his coattails but by a force that pushed against his entire body and tried to throw him back. He struggled against it, with mind and body, but it was like walking against a very powerful wind. Then all of a sudden it was gone. He fell into his room in the Citadel, and Dr Scamandros fell over his legs. Both of them tumbled across the floor, and Arthur hit his head against the carved battle scenes on the left-hand post of the huge bed.
‘Ow!’ he exclaimed. He felt his head, but there was no blood, and after a moment the sharp pain reduced to a dull ache.
‘I do beg your pardon, Lord Arthur,’ said Dr Scamandros as he got to his feet. ‘Most clumsy of me. That was fascinating – quite a different experience than a transfer plate. I am enormously grateful to you for saving me from the Deep Coal Cellar.’