Lord Sunday by Garth Nix

takes their home as well, so they’re displayed properly.”
    “Why couldn’t she see me?” asked Arthur.
    “Oh, sir, the human exhibits would be distressed if they saw us,” said Phineas. “They’re looped, to keep them safe.”
    “What do you mean, looped?” asked Arthur.
    Phineas scratched his head. “Looped. That’s when their time goes round and round, and they’re separate from everything. They just do the same things over and over again.”
    “What would happen if I went up and tapped her on the shoulder?” asked Arthur.
    “Oh, you couldn’t even touch her, sir,” said Phineas. He frowned then added, “Least, I couldn’t. You’re powerful, so maybe you’d bring her into our time, but that wouldn’t be good.”
    “I suppose not,” said Arthur thoughtfully. He was wondering if he could make Emily fall asleep and then synchronise her with House time and take her home…except the house would still be here.
    Perhaps if I just took Mum back to somewhere she knows well, Arthur thought. Even if our place has disappeared, it would be better to get her back to Earth —
    “Who are you, sir?” interrupted Phineas. “Are you…are you Lord Sunday?”
    “No,” said Arthur. He stood up to his full height, towering above the boy. “I am Lord Arthur, Rightful Heir to the Architect.”
    “Oh,” said Phineas. “Um, am I supposed to know what that means?”
    “You haven’t heard of me?” asked Arthur. “How I have defeated six of the seven treacherous Trustees of the Architect and taken their Keys of power?”
    “No…” said Phineas. “I don’t really get to talk to anyone but my boss, the Second Assistant Sub-Gardener for Bed Twenty-seven. His name is Karkwhal and he doesn’t talk, not really, so I never know what’s going on, even in the rest of the Gardens, let alone the House. It’s quite good to talk, I must say. So you’re Lord Arthur?”
    “Yes. Sworn enemy of Lord Sunday.”
    “Oh, right.” Phineas scratched his nose. “I wonder if I’m supposed to do something – I mean, tell someone you’re here or something.”
    “No,” said Arthur. “You don’t want to do that.”
    “Fine by me,” said Phineas. “Well, I s’pose I’d better go back to the shed and see what else needs doing. Can I have my flaming fork back?”
    “That depends,” said Arthur. “Do you know where Part Seven of the Will is?”
    “Don’t think so,” said Phineas. He scratched the side of his nose again and his forehead wrinkled in deep thought. “Nope. Is it rare and valuable?”
    “Yes.”
    “Hmmm…could be in the Arbour…or the Gazebo…or the Elysium. Most likely the Elysium, I should think…”
    “Where are these places?” asked Arthur. “Are they part of the Incomparable Gardens?”
    “Yes, indeed. Not that the likes of me have been there. But I know where they are, theoretically speaking.”
    “Why would the Will be in the Elysium?”
    “That’s Sunday’s favourite bit,” said Phineas. “Everyone knows that. He keeps all the rarest exhibits there. The perfect place. I’d love to work there, not that I expect they have a weed problem in the Elysium—”
    “Ah, the weeds,” said Arthur. “What are they exactly?”
    “Oh, Nithlings of one kind or another,” said Phineas. “When Lord Sunday brings in a new exhibit, sometimes a few weeds come in with them and, if you don’t get to them quickly, they spread. Why, there was this one ship thing Lord Sunday brought in that was covered in weeds. There were lots of us on that job, and a Sub-Gardener First Class in charge. But I didn’t get to do much; they made me hang back and watch for any getting away. Only none did get away. And no one talked to me.”
    “Why does Sunday collect people and living things for the Garden?” asked Arthur. He remembered that Grim Tuesday had liked to collect valuables, things that people had made, but not living creatures or plants.
    “Dunno,” said Phineas. “He just does. We have to