the matters at hand?”
“I believe so, Majesty,” said the new Saturday’s Dusk.
Saturday flicked a finger and her Dusk stood up. Though he was easily seven feet tall, his mistress was at least a foot taller, even without her steel shoes. In any case, he kept his head bowed, not daring to look her in the eye.
“Tell me then,” she said. “Do all my enterprises conjoin for the final victory?”
“We believe so,” said Dusk. “Though the House does not crumble as swiftly as was hoped at one time, it does fall, and our new offensive should accelerate matters. At present our reports show that Nothing has impinged greatly into the Far Reaches and across large areas of the Border Sea, and though it is not related to our activities, there has been some considerable damage to the mountain defences of the Great Maze. It is now almost certainly beyond the power of Dame Primus, as the Will calls itself, and its cat’s-paw, Arthur, to prevent the destruction.”
“Good,” said Saturday. “What of the effect upon the trees?”
“As the Nothing spreads, the deeper roots of the Drasil are severed. This has already slowed their growth by some six per cent. However, they still lift the Gardens faster than we can build. Projections indicate that when the entirety of the Far Reaches and the Lower House has been devoured by Nothing, we will be able to build faster than the trees can grow and can reach the target position in days. If more of the House falls, it will be a matter of hours.”
“Excellent!” cried Saturday, a smile rippling across her shining, blue-painted lips. “I trust the Front Door remains closed and the elevators secured? I want no interference from Primus or the Piper.”
“The Front Door remains shut, though the Lieutenant Keeper has petitioned the Court of Days for it to be reopened. So if Lord Sunday—”
“Sunday immures himself in the Gardens,” Saturday interrupted. “He cares not for anything else. He will not interfere—at least not until it is too late for him to do anything.”
“As you say, Majesty,” said Dusk diplomatically. “All elevator entrances into the Upper House have been sealed and are guarded, but it is believed that renegade operators have opened some services in other parts of the House.”
“Let them run about the ruins,” said Saturday. “The sorceries against the Improbable Stair and the Fifth Key remain constant?”
“Four shifts of nine hundred sorcerers each maintain the wards. Twenty-eight hundred executive-level sorcerers wait at ready desks, should they need to counter any workings of the Keys held by the Pretender or a sorcerous attack from the Piper.”
“The Piper!” Saturday spat. “If only I had managed to finish him centuries ago! At least he blames his brother. What is the latest news of the Piper? Have we got rid of his blasted Rats?”
Dusk proceeded with caution. “We are not absolutely clear on what the Piper is doing. His forces have withdrawn from the Great Maze, presumably to the worldlet he made for his New Nithlings. But we have not yet located that worldlet, nor do we know if he masses his forces there against us or against Dame Primus.”
“Our defences will hold as well against the Piper as they will against the Pretender,” Saturday stated confidently. “They cannot enter via elevator, Stair, Front Door or by use of the Fifth Key. There is no other way.”
Saturday’s Dusk did not speak, but the faintest frown line appeared on his forehead, just for a moment, before he smoothed it away.
“And the Rats?” prompted Saturday.
“None has been spotted in five days. We have lost fourteen lower-level clerks and some Piper’s children to the Rat-catcher automatons, and there have been requests that they be recalled.”
“No,” said Saturday. “Keep them at it. I do not want those creatures sneaking about here.”
“Speaking of Piper’s children, we employ a large number of them as grease monkeys and chain-hands, but there was a report that some of Sir Thursday’s Piper’s children were turned against him by the Piper. We would not want our Piper’s children to be similarly turned against us.”
“Yes,” said Saturday. “He has power over his creations and they must answer to his pipe. It is not an eventuality that should arise, if he is kept out of the Upper House, and we need those children to maintain our building speed. However, we should be prepared. Tell Noon to detail a suitable number of Sorcerous Supernumeraries to shadow the Piper’s children—and slay them, if I so command.”
“Very good, Majesty,” said Dusk. “There is one other matter…”
“Yes?”
“The Pretender, this Arthur Penhaligon. We have just had a report that he has returned to the Secondary Realms, to Earth. Do we implement the contingency plan?”
Saturday smiled.
“Yes, at once. Do we know if he has a Key with him?”
“We do not know, Majesty, but circumstance suggests he has at least the Fifth Key.”
“I wonder if that will protect him? It will be interesting to see. Tell Pravuil to act at once.”
“Ahem…” Dusk coughed. “I regret to say that it is not yet Saturday on Earth, Majesty. It is some forty minutes short of Friday’s midnight, and the House and that Secondary Realm are in close temporal step.”
Saturday hesitated, weighing up the situation. The Accord between the Trustees was effectively broken, but the Treaty still existed and there could be sorcerous implications if she or her agents acted outside their allotted span of power in the Secondary Realms.
“Then Pravuil must strike as the twelfth chime of midnight fades,” she instructed. “In the first second of Saturday. No later. See to it at once.”
“Yes, Majesty,” replied the new Dusk. After an elegant bow, he retreated to the silver spiral stair that led down to the desk cube immediately beneath the viewing chamber.
As soon as he was gone, Superior Saturday’s gaze was once again drawn to the sky, the parting clouds, and another infuriating but tantalising glimpse of the underside of the Incomparable Gardens.
It was dark outside the small private hospital, the street lights out and the houses across the road shut up tight. Only the faintest glowing lines around some windows indicated that there were probably people inside and that the city still had power. There were other lights in the sky, but these were the navigation lights of helicopters, tiny pinprick red dots circling high above. Occasionally a searchlight flickered down from one of the helicopters, closely followed by the harsh clatter of machine-gun fire.
Inside the hospital, a flash of light suddenly lit up the empty swimming pool, accompanied by a thunderclap that rattled every window and drowned the distant sounds of the choppers and gunfire. As the light from the flash slowly faded, a slow, regular drumbeat echoed through the halls.
In the front office, a tired woman clad in a crumpled blue hospital uniform looked away from the videoscreen that was carrying the latest very bad news and jumped up to flick on the corridor lights. Then she grabbed her mop and bucket and ran. The thunderclap and drumming announced the arrival of Doctor Friday, and Doctor Friday always wanted the floors cleaned ahead of her, so she could see her reflection in the glossy surface of the freshly-washed linoleum.
The cleaner ran through the wards, turning on lights as she passed. Just before the pool room, she glanced at her watch. It was 11:15 on Friday night. Doctor Friday had never come so late before, but her servants sometimes did. In any case, the cleaner was not allowed to leave until the day was completely done. Not that there was