‘An opportune arrival!’ boomed the Will, its voice far too loud to come out of the small frog’s mouth. ‘Welcome to Mister Monday’s Antechamber.’
Arthur looked around. They were inside a silken tent, a round one with a central wooden pole. It couldn’t be more than fifteen feet in diameter.
‘This is Monday’s Antechamber?’
The frog followed Arthur’s gaze with one eye while the other eye looked at Suzy.
‘No. This is a tent, one of the thousands encamped in Monday’s Antechamber, so it is an excellent place of concealment. Now, I have procured several choices for disguising you and Suzy. Please look in that chest, quickly select some clothes and hair, and put them on. I believe the hair is self-adhesive.’
The Will indicated with his tongue a bronze-bound chest in the corner of the tent. Arthur and Suzy went over to it and pulled out at least a dozen different coats, shirts, hats, and wigs, including beard-wigs.
‘This self-adhesive hair will come off again, won’t it?’ asked Arthur several minutes later, as he began to gingerly lower a long-haired white wig onto his head. ‘What are we disguising ourselves for, anyway?’
‘Yes, yes, simply say, “Hair today, gone tomorrow” three times and it will fall off,’ remarked the Will. It seemed more impatient than usual. ‘You need to be disguised, as we have to get across a large part of the Antechamber. As your escape from the Coal Cellar has already been reported, there will be many watchers and searchers looking for all of us.’
‘Okay,’ replied Arthur. He shrugged on a tattered coat that appeared to be made out of three-inch-thick felt. But it was the best fit of the three that he’d swiftly tried on, and it had a thin pocket in the inner sleeve suitable for the Key, so he kept it. There was some sort of label hanging from the sleeve. Arthur grabbed it and was about to cut it off with the Key when the Will cried out. ‘Don’t! Leave the label on. It’s your waiting ticket.’
Arthur looked at the ticket. It was plain paper with the number 98,564 written in bright blue ink upon it. The ink flashed and changed colour as he twisted the label, moving between red and orange and then back to blue. Suzy looked at the ticket on her coat, which had a similar number.
‘Everyone in the Antechamber is waiting for an appointment with Mister Monday in his Dayroom,’ explained the Will. ‘To wait, you must have a ticket, or you will be thrown out. When your number is called, you can go in and discuss whatever business you have with Monday.’
‘Big number,’ said Arthur. ‘Is it just the last two digits that count? How many people does he see in a day?’
‘All the digits count. Mister Monday completes perhaps two appointments with Denizens of the House each year,’ said the Will. ‘I got those tickets yesterday, in another guise, of course.’
‘You mean there are almost a hundred thousand people . . . Denizens . . . waiting to see Mister Monday?’ asked Arthur.
‘Yes,’ said the Will. ‘Sloth! I’ve spoken of it before. That is why there are at least a hundred thousand things wrong with the operations of the Lower House! Nothing can be done without Monday’s approval, and Monday does not see the officials who seek approval.’
‘We can’t waste any time in a queue. I have to get a cure!’ exclaimed Arthur impatiently.
‘We won’t be in the queue at all. Now that you are disguised, we can venture forth out to the Antechamber proper,’ said the Will. ‘Some distance from here, an ally will meet us, one who claims to know a weirdway into Mister Monday’s Dayroom. We will take that weirdway, you will obtain the Greater Key, and all will be well.’
Suzy made a snorting noise.
‘Who is this ally?’ asked Arthur suspiciously.
‘Mmmm, not to put too fine a point on it, it is Monday’s Dusk,’ replied the Will. ‘After Suzy’s departure with my message, he found me. After some minor contretemps, I discovered he was a loyal servant of the Architect.’
‘Or a particularly clever enemy,’ said Arthur. ‘Have you thought about that?’
‘He sees the true way,’ said the Will. ‘Stand still and I will jump to your shoulder.’
Arthur hesitated, then stood still as the frog jumped to his shoulder and settled down by his neck.
‘You won’t try to get down my throat, will you?’
‘It will not be necessary for me to inhabit anyone, thank you,’ said the Will. ‘However, please fold up your collar so that I am concealed.’
Arthur complied. The frog felt strange against his skin. Cool but not clammy, like a cold glass straight out of the fridge.
‘Everyone ready?’ Arthur asked, looking back at Suzy. He never would have recognised her or thought she was a child. She looked rather like a dwarf from a fantasy book. She’d kept her usual clothes, but changed her hat to a weird-looking pointy cloth cap with earflaps, and had stuck on a bristling moustache and sideburns that came down to the corners of her mouth.
‘Your wings are still on,’ said Arthur.
‘I dunno how to get ’em off,’ said Suzy. ‘I’ve tried everything.’
Except soap and water, thought Arthur. Then he felt bad for having mean thoughts. Besides, Suzy looked dirty but she didn’t smell at all. And, Arthur suddenly realised, he was pretty filthy himself, from the various Landings of the Improbable Stair.
‘Leave them,’ said the Will. ‘Up here, it is not uncommon to wear wings. Many petitioners fly from the lesser waiting rooms below up to the Antechamber. Let us go, Arthur. Turn to the right when you leave the tent.’
Arthur undid the ties on the tent door and rolled them back. It was light outside, the pseudo-sunlight cast by the bright elevator shafts. Arthur blinked, stepped out of the tent, and looked around.
He’d learned not to expect anything like a normal room, but he was still surprised and couldn’t help gawping and craning his head.
Monday’s Antechamber was an enormous veranda built two-thirds of the way up a mountain. Or actually, a volcano. Arthur could see the lip of the crater several hundred yards up the slope.
The veranda was two or three hundred yards wide, extending straight out from the side of the volcano. Something was supporting it underneath, columns or beams or perhaps unseen magic. It wasn’t clear what the veranda itself was made out of. It was so crowded with waiting petitioners, who had brought tents and carpets and rugs and straw mats and all manner of furnishings to make themselves more comfortable. Which was quite reasonable, since they might be waiting for centuries.
There was talking, laughter, and just plain noise everywhere, even above Arthur’s head, where large numbers of winged Denizens were swooping back and forth. They were an odd sight in their Victorian-era clothes, combined with sweeping wings. Though some of them flew very high, Arthur noted that none of them went near the mouth of the volcano.
All around, the place looked rather like a carnival. Unlike the Atrium, where everyone was at least pretending to be busy, the House Denizens here had an excuse to wait or amuse themselves however they wanted, provided they kept their waiting tickets. So just in Arthur’s immediate sight, there were people – Arthur felt he had to call them people, even if they weren’t – reading, playing board games or cards, practising fencing, juggling, writing, doing strange calisthenics, drinking tea, eating cakes and scones, staring at him . . .
Arthur stared back at the last fellow. There was something familiar about the way he stood, though he didn’t think he’d seen him before. He was well-dressed, in matching pale pink coat, waistcoat, and pantaloons, and had long, drooping mustachios.
Seeing Arthur meet his gaze, this pink-clad person ducked his head and scuttled back into the crowd. It was this scuttle that gave him away.
‘Pravuil!’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘I think that was Pravuil! From the Coal Cellar!’
‘A spy!’ growled the Will. ‘Quickly! Turn right and head for the crimson tent with the golden ball atop the central pole. You see it?’
Arthur nodded as he set off at a quick walk.
‘Pravuil said he was working for Dusk,’ muttered Arthur as he made his way through the crowd, Suzy following close behind.
‘He may be,’ growled the Will. ‘But we must be careful. Go into the crimson tent, turn to the left, and follow the passage around to the back door, go out. We will come out in a passage between stacked crates.’
The tent was dark inside and hung with many curtains or dividers. Arthur turned left and followed the side of the tent around. He saw a knife glittering in Suzy’s hand and wondered where she had got it.
‘I hope you won’t need that!’ he whispered over his shoulder as they walked around. It was a big tent, perhaps as big as a circus big top, though it hadn’t looked that large from the outside.
Suzy looked at the knife in her hand.
‘It’s for cutting through the tent side if we need to,’ she explained. ‘Quickest way out. No point using one on a Denizen. It’d hurt them, but no more than that.’
‘Quiet,’ said the Will. But it spoke much more loudly than anyone else, making Arthur wonder why it bothered with the warning. Or perhaps as a jade frog the Will couldn’t hear itself properly.
As the Will had said, there was a narrow laneway past the back door of the tent, between two huge and precarious-looking stacks of wooden crates. Each one was about the size of an old-fashioned tea chest and there were thousands of them, piled up very dangerously in rows twenty to thirty feet high. Upon closer examination, Arthur saw that they were tea chests and had stenciled inscriptions like BEST CEYLON and HIGH GROWN DIMBOLA. Many of them had inscriptions that he couldn’t read at first, until he touched the Key in his sleeve. Then the letters blurred from their odd symbols into English letters. They spelled things like TERZIKON MARILOR BLACKWATER and OGGDRIGGLY NO. 3, which Arthur was fairly sure had never been written on tea chests from his own world. At least not tea chests filled with tea.
‘Loot from the Secondary Realms,’ said the Will disapprovingly. ‘More evidence of Mister Monday’s interference!’
At the end of the passage through the stacked tea chests, there was the side of the volcano. Blank grey stone, solidified lava. Arthur reached it, touched its cool, smooth surface, and said, ‘What now?’
‘Now you hand over the Key or I will visit whatever torments I can upon you, and many more upon your friends,’ declared a familiar voice from above, as a shadow of wide-swept wings fell upon Arthur’s face.
Twenty-two
AS ARTHURWHIPPED the Key out of the pocket in his sleeve, Suzy closed in on him, and they put their backs against the stony side of the volcano.
Monday’s Noon spread his wings wider and dropped to the ground. As he landed, crates were pushed aside farther back, starting a landslide all the way along the makeshift passage. Dozens of metal Commissionaires and Commissionaire Sergeants bulled their way through the piled-up mess of crates and broken bits of plywood, to form a wedge behind Noon.
Noon raised his hand and a flaming sword appeared in his fist. It crackled and spat, and the flames lengthened. He smiled his bright smile and held out his left hand. ‘The Key,’ he said. ‘Or I shall burn the Ink-Filler.’
‘It is a trap! What do we do now?’ whispered Arthur, ducking his chin down to talk to the Will.
‘All three of you need to step forward a little,’ replied a voice that was not the Will’s. Arthur looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see that a doorway had formed in the lava wall. A dark, shadowed doorway. He could just make out the face of Dusk within it.
Arthur and Suzy stepped forward a pace.
‘And be more trusting,’ added Dusk as he stepped out of the doorway, followed by several of his Midnight Visitors. ‘Go through the doorway, Arthur. You too, Miss Blue.’
Noon’s smile had slipped as Dusk appeared and moved in front of Arthur. Now it became a frown as Dusk drew a sword of his own out of the air. Dusk’s sword had a blade of darkest night, sprinkled with stars.
‘What is this, Dusk?’ Noon stormed. ‘I am to have the Key!’
‘No, brother,’ answered Dusk gently. ‘We will let them go on their way.’
‘Traitor!’ hissed Noon. ‘Step aside!’
‘No,’ replied Dusk. ‘I am loyal to the Architect and Her Will.’
Noon screamed and threw his flaming sword straight at Suzy. Arthur saw it and tried to raise the Key to intercept it, but he was too slow. The Key was only halfway up and the sword’s point was a few inches from Suzy’s throat when Dusk’s dark blade batted it away. The sword ricocheted off the volcano and returned to Noon’s hand, setting several tea chests alight from its flaming passage.
‘Charge!’ roared Noon, and he ran forward, once again cutting at Suzy. Dusk parried this attack, and he and Noon exchanged a series of blows almost too fast to follow. A thin line of Midnight Visitors rushed to meet the charge of the Commissionaires. Whips flashed with sonic booms as batons and swords crackled with lightning. Tea chests exploded into matchsticks and burst into flame. Smoke began to spread.
‘We have to help them,’ shouted Arthur, brandishing the Key. Noon and Dusk were evenly matched, but there were far fewer Midnight Visitors than Commissionaires.
‘No,’ boomed the Will. ‘We must go through the weirdway. There’s no time!’
Arthur hesitated. At that moment, Dusk ducked under a cut and gripped his brother’s arm. Before Noon could break free, he was spun into a somersault and hurled up into the air.
‘Go!’ shouted Dusk as his black wings burst out of his back and he launched himself up into the sky. ‘We will hold Noon as long as we can!’