She spoke in a conversational tone, not the barking-order voice Arthur and Fred were used to. Her candor was unexpected, but they didn’t want to push it, choosing to remain silent. Both were surprised when the corporal spoke again, just as the column wheeled to avoid the worst remnants of battle, in the middle of the parade ground.
‘There’s going to be a lot more fighting with that lot. This current campaign is not like any other. You all did well, but this was an easy battle. We outnumbered them and they were already tired.’
We have to fight again? Arthur thought. He felt a stab of fear rise up from his stomach, so strong that it almost made him throw up. He fought it down. Of course, we’re soldiers, but that was so horrible … How can we do it again … how can I do it again … ?
The recruits were not dismissed when the force was halted at the clear, rear part of the parade ground. Instead, each platoon was sent on particular duties. Most were to pick up the dead, salvage usable equipment, and clear up. Arthur and Fred stood at attention, waiting for their platoon to get its orders. After Corporal Urmink left, they also talked to each other quietly out of the sides of their mouths.
‘We were lucky to be ordered out of the front line,’ said Arthur.
‘We were,’ Fred agreed. ‘I wonder … I wonder if everyone else got through all right.’
They were silent for a while, thinking about that, as platoons turned and marched off around them. There were only sixty or seventy recruits left on the parade ground now, and none at all around Fred and Arthur, unless there were more behind where they couldn’t see.
Finally, they recognised the voice of Sergeant Helve, ordering Two Platoon to form up in front of their barracks.
‘What was that you shouted when the battle started?’ asked Fred as they marched towards their barracks.
‘My real name,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s … well … I think I’m supposed to keep it secret for some reason. It came back to me, just as the enemy attacked. Only I can’t remember anything more. Just the name.’
‘Is that everyone?’ asked Fred as they approached the barracks. There was a very short line in front of the door. Half of the platoon was missing. It took Arthur several seconds to work out that this meant they were probably dead or at the least wounded badly enough to require treatment.
‘That can’t be everyone,’ whispered Fred as they got closer. ‘Denizens are too hard to kill… ’
‘Green and Gold, fall in!’ ordered Helve, but he didn’t scream like he normally did.
Arthur and Fred quickly joined the end of the line. Rannifer wasn’t at the other end. Florimel was there instead, now the tallest.
‘You fought well,’ said Helve, again in an almost conversational tone. ‘As I expected you to. We’ve got the plum assignment now. Colonel Huwiti has ordered that as a reward, there will be a special mail call tonight. So you won’t have to wait another three months. And since you’ve fought today as soldiers, there’s going to be a rum ration as well – though not for you Piper’s children, I’m sorry to say. Don’t know why not, but it’s expressly ordered so.
‘We’ve been detailed to pick up the mail and take it to the Mess Hall. As there is still some danger of Nithling attack, we will stack shields here but keep savage-swords. That doesn’t mean you get out of cleaning them or your other weapons or yourselves. We’ll do a quick clean now and finish up properly later.’
The cleaning took fifteen minutes. Arthur was glad to remove at least some of the visible evidence of battle, though in his mind he could still picture Nithling blood on the blade of his savage-sword.
Helve did not leave them time to think after the immediate cleaning was done.
‘Platoon, by the left, quick march! Left wheel! Keep in step, Lanven!’
‘He didn’t mention what happened to the others,’ whispered Fred to Arthur. They were fairly safe talking, as they were right at the back, with Helve marching at the front.
Helve directed the platoon to a building Arthur hadn’t been to before. There were a lot of buildings at Fort Transformation he hadn’t been into. Like the Mess Hall. He hadn’t even known there was one. This building had the ubiquitous red-and-black sign on the door, which read POST POST OFFICE.
Like the barracks, the Post Post Office was larger inside than it was outside. It appeared to be completely empty, save for a long wooden counter that had a bell on it. Helve halted the platoon, then marched up and smacked the bell with his palm.
This had an immediate response. A Denizen in a dark-green uniform Arthur recognised as Commissary field dress leaped up from behind the counter.
‘We’re closed!’ he said with a sniff. Arthur was amazed that a mere Commissary corporal would dare to speak to Sergeant Helve in such a manner. Particularly as the sergeant’s cuirass was dented in several places and smeared with Nithling blood. ‘Come back in three months!’
Helve’s hand shot across the counter and gripped the Commissary corporal by the top button of his tunic, preventing him from sliding back down again.
‘The COs ordered a special mail call, Corporal. Don’t you read your orders?’
‘That’s different, then,’ said the corporal. ‘Mail for the entire recruit battalion?’
‘That’s right,’ said Helve. He let the corporal go with a twang that threatened to separate button from tunic. ‘The whole battalion.’
‘Coming up,’ said the corporal. He retrieved a piece of paper from under the counter, got out a quill pen and inkwell, and quickly wrote on it. He then marched out from behind the counter to the empty space beyond and threw the paper into the air.
An instant later, there was a deafening rumble. The corporal jumped back as a dozen six-foot-tall canvas mailbags thudded down out of nowhere.
‘That’s it,’ said the corporal. ‘Help yourself.’
With those words, he sank behind the counter again.
‘Grab those bags,’ said Helve. ‘One each. Green and Gold, you take one between you.’
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’.