When there was nowhere left to write, Suzy jumped off and helped Arthur up. She stared aghast at the Hour Hand embedded in his chest, with the Minute Hand wedged under it so it could go in no farther.

‘Has it come out the back?’ whispered Arthur. The ditch was swimming around him and he knew only the power of the Minute Hand kept him from fainting. The Hour Hand was still shaking back and forth, cutting deeper into his body, despite all he could do.

‘Yes, yes, it has!’ sobbed Suzy.

Arthur sighed and barely managed to whisper, ‘Key . . . hold the Hour Hand for . . . a minute . . . a minute . . .’

He let go of the Hour Hand, reached behind his own back, and pricked his right thumb with the point of the Greater Key, though it was already slick with his own blood. Then he reached around again, held the Minute Key with his right hand, and pricked the thumb of his left hand with the Lesser Key. Then he smeared a drop of blood from his left thumb onto the Hour Key and from his right thumb onto the Minute Key.

Behind him, Monday managed to hurl himself back through the doorway, sending both Suzy and hundreds of bibliophages flying.

Arthur touched the bloodied circle ends of the Keys together and sobbed out, ‘I, Arthur, anointed Heir to the Kingdom . . . claim this Key and with it the Mastery of the Lower House . . . I claim it by blood and bone and contest . . .’

The Hour Key drove in again, at least an inch. Arthur screamed and the whole world darkened. But he only had a few words left to get out. Just a few words. He could do it. He had to do it.

‘Out . . . out of truth, in testament, and . . .’

Twenty-six

AGAINST ALL TROUBLE! ’

The Hour Hand eased itself out of Arthur’s chest and the two hands twisted in his grasp, until the Hour Hand lay across the Minute Hand. There was a bright flash, and the Minute Hand grew longer as the Hour Hand shrank. Then Arthur was holding not two clock hands, but a sword that had some resemblance to what it had been, in the shape of its circular pommel, the circles on each end of the hilt, and the gold chasing down the silver blade.

The wound in Arthur’s chest closed over with a pop, and the pain began to ebb away. Arthur stood straighter and took a long, lingering breath. Suzy stared back at him, her hands and wings shaking.

‘I guess,’ Arthur said, raising the sword, ‘I guess we’ve won.’

He looked down at the writhing river of bibliophages they were standing in and lowered the sword into the heaving mass.

‘Return to Nothing!’ commanded Arthur. The sword shone, and delicate rivulets of molten gold shot from its point, moving and dividing until a fine network of gold spread all through the ditch. As it spread, the bibliophages faded and became indistinct, until they disappeared and the golden threads went with them.

‘Rise up!’ said Arthur, touching the bottom of the ditch. The ground rumbled and shook beneath his feet, then slowly began to rise, burying the door. Arthur quickly touched it with the sword and commanded it to rise as well. In a few seconds, the ditch was no more, and the door was back in place against the wall of the villa.

‘I feel a bit off,’ said Suzy. She looked very pale and was holding her side. Pravuil had obviously wounded her, and dragging Arthur out hadn’t helped. She started to stagger, then collapsed.

Arthur just managed to catch her head as she fell back on the grass. A second later, he touched the sword to her stomach and said, ‘Heal. Be well.’

A glowing nimbus of light spread from the Key and surrounded Suzy’s body. As it spread, her hands and wings stopped their violent shivering. Suzy opened her eyes again. When the light faded, she slowly got up. She felt her side and experimentally flexed both her fingers and wings.

‘I thought we were done for,’ she said quietly. Then she smiled and jumped in the air, her wings sending a blast of air in Arthur’s face. ‘But we done it, Arthur! You finished off Mister Monday!’

Arthur stared at her. He knew he should be celebrating but somehow he just didn’t feel like jumping up and down. He wasn’t in pain, but he felt really tired.

‘You have the Key, the First of the Seven Keys to the Kingdom! Well done, Arthur! Very well done!’ exclaimed the Will as it came hopping across the lawn, high-jumping in excitement. ‘Where there’s a Will, there’s a Way, if I do say so myself. Where is the former Monday?’

Arthur gestured with the sword at the door.

‘Summon him forth,’ instructed the Will. ‘Let justice be meted out. There is much to do, you know, Arthur.’

‘You’d think we could ’ave a cup of tea and a biscuit first,’ muttered Suzy. She stopped jumping and scowled at the Will, who ignored her.

‘Monday!’ called out Arthur, not very enthusiastically. He waved the sword – the First Key – in the air. ‘Come out!’

The door opened, and a bedraggled figure slowly limped out. It was recognisably Monday, but only just. The bibliophages’ Nothing poison had eaten away part of his face, and there were strange holes all over – and completely through – his body. His clothes were ripped and shredded, little more than rags that he clutched around himself.

‘Execution,’ said the Will with some satisfaction. ‘A tap on the shoulder will do, Arthur, and just say, ‘From Nothing, to Nothing.’ That will do the trick.’

Monday collapsed on his knees before Arthur and bowed his head. Arthur extended the Key and touched it to Monday’s shoulder. But he did not say the words the Will had told him. He remembered what Dusk had said about Mister Monday as they slowly fell into the Coal Cellar. Monday was not always as he is now.

‘Be healed,’ said Arthur quietly. ‘In body and in mind.’

Monday looked up in astonishment as the Will jumped up and down angrily, booming out something that Arthur ignored. He watched the holes in Monday shrink into pinpoints as the flesh regrew. Even Monday’s clothes restitched and rewove themselves. But they weren’t as fine as the ones he’d worn before, and neither was his face so handsome. But Arthur saw that his eyes were also kinder, and there were laughter lines around them. He stared up at Arthur and then bowed his head once more.

‘I beg forgiveness, Master,’ he said. ‘I do not know why I did what I have done. But I thank you for my new life.’

‘Charity is a very labour-intensive virtue,’ said the Will crossly. ‘And you never know where it will end. But I suppose it was well-enough done.’

‘Indeed,’ said someone. ‘I’m sure it will end badly for all concerned.’

Everyone swung around just in time to see the door slide shut on a very small, narrow elevator, no larger than a phone booth. A bell rattled, and the elevator shot up and vanished inside a beam of light that easily pierced the golden net above.

‘Pravuil!’ shouted Suzy. ‘I thought I finished the little creep off.’

‘Unfortunately not, it seems,’ said the Will. ‘He must be more than he seems. A spy for one of the Morrow Days, curse their treacherous hearts. But they cannot do anything here and now. They are bound by the compact with the former Master of the Lower House. They cannot interfere here, or on any Monday in the Secondary Realms. They are your preserves now, Arthur. In any case, we will deal with the Morrow Days in due course. First we must make a solid beginning here. Ah, here comes our ally, Dusk. And with him Noon and Dawn, come to beg for their miserable existences.’

Sure enough, the three principal servants of Mister Monday were coming around the side of the villa. Dusk came first, Noon hangdog at his heels. Both showed no physical signs of their battle. Behind them came a gaggle of Inspectors, Commissionaires, and other Denizens, all of them unarmed, save for the Midnight Visitors who marched around them, proudly holding their whips at the salute. Dawn hung close behind.

When the crowd was about twenty feet away and slowing down, fear and apprehension clear on many faces, Arthur raised the Key and they all stopped. He lowered it again and looked out on them.

‘I suggest that you reappoint Dusk in his position,’ said the Will. ‘As for Noon, I think that I had best take that on for the time being –’

Arthur shook his head. ‘I’m not staying on as the Master of the Lower House.’

A collective gasp went up from everyone except the former Monday, who remained kneeling, his head bent.

‘But you have to,’ expostulated the Will. ‘You can’t just give it up!’

‘You mean I’m not allowed or is it actually impossible?’ asked Arthur.

‘It’s impossible!’ said the Will. ‘You are the Heir! Selected by me, proven by challenge. And there is much to be done here!’

‘I told you before,’ said Arthur. ‘I want a cure for the plague in my world. That’s all I want! A cure and to go home.’

‘You cannot return to the Secondary Realms,’ said the Will sternly. ‘Or cure the plague. Remember the Original Law. No interference is allowed, even interference to correct interference.’

Arthur stared down at the green frog. Anger swelled up inside him, and he started to raise the Key. He would smash it down on the Will –

No. That’s not the way to do anything, he thought. I have to stay calm. The Will is a manipulator. I have to work around it.

‘You said I could,’ Arthur said coldly. ‘Explain.’

‘No, I merely implied that you could by saying that a great many things were possible if you became the Master. Besides, if you go back to your own time and place without the Key, I expect you’ll die.’

‘But I can change my record, can’t I?’ said Arthur grimly. ‘And since no one else seems to follow the Original Law around here, why should I?’

‘Even if you happen to be correct about your record and so on,’ protested the Will, ‘you can’t give up the Key, and, as Master, you must uphold the Original Law.’

Arthur looked at Suzy.

‘I dunno,’ said Suzy, pointing to the undertaker-like Dusk. ‘Ask Dusk.’

Arthur looked at Dusk, who took off his top hat and bowed, extending one leg.

‘It is true I have some small knowledge, but it pales to insignificance next to the Will’s. Monday had some right to the Key as a Trustee, up until it was claimed by a Rightful Heir. It is possible that now no one else can wield it.’

‘I don’t believe I’ve been through all this for nothing!’ Arthur shouted. ‘I want a cure for the plague and I want it now.’

‘The Original Law –’ the Will began, but shut up when Arthur turned on it, the Key poised to strike.

‘The plague is due to contamination from Fetchers, is it not?’ asked Dusk. When Arthur nodded, he continued, ‘Then it is a simple matter. With your permission, I shall conjure a Nightsweeper from Nothing. Taken back to the Realm you once inhabited, it will collect any remnants of contamination in a single night, and return to Nothing with them. That will remove the effect upon both people and place.’

‘Well. That’s a start,’ said Arthur.

Dusk bowed again, took out a black-bound book and a quill, dipped the quill in an ink bottle a Midnight Visitor proffered, and wrote quickly. Then he tore off the page, walked over to where the ditch had been, rolled the page into a funnel, and plunged it into the dirt.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, then there was a faint whinny from the paper funnel. That was followed by a tiny black horse’s head, two hooves and legs, and then a complete horse no more than three inches high. It gave another whinny, stamped its foot, and then stood completely still. Dusk picked it up and handed it to Arthur, who took it gingerly and slipped it into the pocket of his coat.

‘It must be set on a window ledge shortly before midnight, with the window open,’ instructed Dusk. ‘It will then ride forth, setting all to rights by morning.’

Arthur nodded and let out a sigh of relief. This was what he wanted. Now all he had to do was figure out how to get back with it. He sensed that the Will wasn’t telling him the whole truth. There had to be a way.

A noise at the door distracted him. It opened to reveal Sneezer, several icicles hanging off his nose. He carried the silver tray, which had a tall, thin bottle upon it and a piece of paper. Sneezer proceeded calmly towards Arthur and offered the tray.

‘A drink, milord? A beverage from your native Realm, I believe. Orange juice. Perhaps you are familiar with it? And a document I believe you were looking for?’

Twenty-seven

ARTHUR STARED AND started to slide the sword through his belt. Only then did he realise he didn’t have one. He was standing in front of all these people covered in mud and wearing only a coat and what might be a nightshirt. But he didn’t care. He stuck the Key point-first in the grass instead. It quivered there as he picked up the glass of juice and the paper.

As he touched the paper, a name appeared on it in golden type.

Arthur Penhaligon.

‘My record,’ said Arthur. ‘Can I change it so I don’t die? What does it say now?’

‘I do not know, milord,’ replied Sneezer. ‘I cannot read it, now you are Master.’

‘Can I read it?’

Sneezer didn’t answer. Neither did the Will. Arthur looked at Dusk, who shrugged. Arthur shook his head. Why was nothing simple? He drank the juice, gave the glass to Sneezer, and examined the paper. But aside from the name on the outside, it seemed to be blank.

‘Well, I don’t care what it has on there, or if I can change it,’ Arthur said finally. ‘I’m going to go back anyway. I have to use the Nightsweeper. Even if I die.’

‘You won’t,’ said the former Monday. He didn’t stand up and kept his head bowed. ‘No one in the House can read or change their own record, Arthur. But once you survived your own death, the record will have changed to reflect that. You have borne the Lesser Key for some time too, so it will have strengthened your body. You will not die if you go back. At least not from your lung sickness.’