Mountains here and build them up—’
‘Hold on,’ interrupted Arthur. ‘How did this happen in the first place? And where is the Piper’s Army? Are we still fighting Newniths here?’
‘Really, Lord Arthur, there is no time to waste,’ said Dame Primus. ‘The Piper’s Army has withdrawn and is no longer of immediate importance. Shoring up the foundations of the House is, and only you and I can do anything about that—’
‘What about Superior Saturday?’ asked Arthur. ‘What is she up to? Why does she want the House to fall, and what are we going to do about her? I’m not going anywhere until you, or someone, tells me everything I want to know!’
Dame Primus loomed over him. Though he had grown taller, she was far taller still, and her eyes were narrowed and her mouth was tight with displeasure. Arthur felt a strong urge to step back, even to kneel in awe of her terrible beauty and power. Instead he forced himself to take a step forward and look at her straight in her strange eyes, their pink irises surrounding pupils of intense darkness. She was every inch the embodiment of the Architect’s Will, and Arthur knew that if he gave in to her now, he would never have the chance to make his own decisions ever again.
‘I am the Rightful Heir, aren’t I?’ he said. ‘I want to know exactly what the situation is. Then I will decide what we are going to do.’
Dame Primus met his gaze for a full second, then slowly inclined her head.
‘Very well, Lord Arthur,’ she said. ‘As you command, so it shall be.’
‘Right, then,’ said Arthur. ‘First things first. What actually happened to the Lower House? Did Nothing break through in the Far Reaches?’
‘I will show you, through the eyes of someone who was there.’ Dame Primus gestured with the baton, and all the lamps in the room suddenly dimmed. ‘Mister Skerrikim, I trust you still have the survivor?’
A Denizen in a dark frockcoat, black cravat, and embroidered silver skullcap answered in the affirmative from the back of the room and made his way over to Dame Primus, lugging a large and rather battered leather suitcase fastened with three straps.
‘An elevator operator was just closing his doors when it happened,’ said Dame Primus to Arthur. ‘He managed to get most of the way out of the Far Reaches before the Nothing caught him. By holding on to the ceiling light of the elevator with his teeth, his head and a small remnant of the elevator actually arrived here. Fortunately Mister Skerrikim was just in time to prevent his total dissolution.’
Mr Skerrikim, who Arthur had never seen before, laid the suitcase down on the floor, undid the straps, and opened it up. The case was full of rose petals, and in the middle of the petals lay a disembodied head swathed from temple to chin in clean white bandages, like an old-fashioned treatment for a toothache. The head had its eyes shut.
Mr Skerrikim picked up the head by the ears and propped it against the open lid so it faced Arthur and Dame Primus. Then he took a small bottle of activated ink out of his pocket, dipped a quill pen into it, and wrote something in extraordinarily tiny letters on the forehead of the survivor.
‘Wake up, Marson!’ instructed Mr Skerrikim cheerfully.
Arthur started as the head’s eyes flicked open. Dr Scamandros, who was a step or two behind the boy, muttered something that did not sound very friendly.
‘What is it?’ Marson’s head asked grumpily. ‘It’s hard work growing a new body. Not to mention painful! I need all my rest.’
‘You shall have plenty of rest!’ declared Mr Skerrikim. ‘We’re just going to have another look at what happened down that pit, near the dam wall.’
‘Must you?’ asked Marson. The head’s mouth quivered and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. ‘I just can’t relive it again—the pain of the Nothing as it ate away my limbs—’
‘This is entirely unnecessary!’ protested Dr Scamandros as he pushed past
‘Hold on,’ interrupted Arthur. ‘How did this happen in the first place? And where is the Piper’s Army? Are we still fighting Newniths here?’
‘Really, Lord Arthur, there is no time to waste,’ said Dame Primus. ‘The Piper’s Army has withdrawn and is no longer of immediate importance. Shoring up the foundations of the House is, and only you and I can do anything about that—’
‘What about Superior Saturday?’ asked Arthur. ‘What is she up to? Why does she want the House to fall, and what are we going to do about her? I’m not going anywhere until you, or someone, tells me everything I want to know!’
Dame Primus loomed over him. Though he had grown taller, she was far taller still, and her eyes were narrowed and her mouth was tight with displeasure. Arthur felt a strong urge to step back, even to kneel in awe of her terrible beauty and power. Instead he forced himself to take a step forward and look at her straight in her strange eyes, their pink irises surrounding pupils of intense darkness. She was every inch the embodiment of the Architect’s Will, and Arthur knew that if he gave in to her now, he would never have the chance to make his own decisions ever again.
‘I am the Rightful Heir, aren’t I?’ he said. ‘I want to know exactly what the situation is. Then I will decide what we are going to do.’
Dame Primus met his gaze for a full second, then slowly inclined her head.
‘Very well, Lord Arthur,’ she said. ‘As you command, so it shall be.’
‘Right, then,’ said Arthur. ‘First things first. What actually happened to the Lower House? Did Nothing break through in the Far Reaches?’
‘I will show you, through the eyes of someone who was there.’ Dame Primus gestured with the baton, and all the lamps in the room suddenly dimmed. ‘Mister Skerrikim, I trust you still have the survivor?’
A Denizen in a dark frockcoat, black cravat, and embroidered silver skullcap answered in the affirmative from the back of the room and made his way over to Dame Primus, lugging a large and rather battered leather suitcase fastened with three straps.
‘An elevator operator was just closing his doors when it happened,’ said Dame Primus to Arthur. ‘He managed to get most of the way out of the Far Reaches before the Nothing caught him. By holding on to the ceiling light of the elevator with his teeth, his head and a small remnant of the elevator actually arrived here. Fortunately Mister Skerrikim was just in time to prevent his total dissolution.’
Mr Skerrikim, who Arthur had never seen before, laid the suitcase down on the floor, undid the straps, and opened it up. The case was full of rose petals, and in the middle of the petals lay a disembodied head swathed from temple to chin in clean white bandages, like an old-fashioned treatment for a toothache. The head had its eyes shut.
Mr Skerrikim picked up the head by the ears and propped it against the open lid so it faced Arthur and Dame Primus. Then he took a small bottle of activated ink out of his pocket, dipped a quill pen into it, and wrote something in extraordinarily tiny letters on the forehead of the survivor.
‘Wake up, Marson!’ instructed Mr Skerrikim cheerfully.
Arthur started as the head’s eyes flicked open. Dr Scamandros, who was a step or two behind the boy, muttered something that did not sound very friendly.
‘What is it?’ Marson’s head asked grumpily. ‘It’s hard work growing a new body. Not to mention painful! I need all my rest.’
‘You shall have plenty of rest!’ declared Mr Skerrikim. ‘We’re just going to have another look at what happened down that pit, near the dam wall.’
‘Must you?’ asked Marson. The head’s mouth quivered and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. ‘I just can’t relive it again—the pain of the Nothing as it ate away my limbs—’
‘This is entirely unnecessary!’ protested Dr Scamandros as he pushed past
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