Grim Tuesday (24 page)

He finished just as the Will called, “Time!”

The last fading note of the xylophone merged with the watch’s third chime.

There was silence for a moment, then Grim Tuesday gave a scornful laugh and held out his hand for the gauntlets. But the Will stepped between him and Arthur.

“We must await the adjudication,” it said sniffily. “Captain?”

Tom looked down at Grim Tuesday’s gold-and-platinum tree and scratched his chin.

“That’s a beautiful piece of work,” he said. “There’s not many that could work a masterpiece out of Nothing. A real work of genius.”

Arthur’s head sank. He’d gambled on what he’d heard about Grim Tuesday’s nature and what Tom
might think was important, and he’d lost. Even if Grim Tuesday did let them go as he’d promised, and if he went down and stopped the Nothing breaking out, Arthur’s family would still lose everything. Maybe the whole world would slide into an economic depression, and all because Arthur couldn’t do—

“A real work of genius,” Tom repeated. “Only not
your
genius, Lord Tuesday.”

“I made it!” roared Grim Tuesday. “I wrought it from Nothing!”

“But it is a copy,” insisted Tom. “I have seen it before, though you have replaced silver with platinum. It was in the workshop of del Moro in Rome, upon the old Earth, when I was master of a Genoese trader, buying candlesticks and silver-gilt basins on my own account. I saw it again, in a much later time, in the collection of Froment-Meurice. I suppose the original is now in your Treasure Tower.”

Tom turned to Arthur and continued. “Arthur’s tune, on the other hand, I have not heard, and I have heard many songs. It made me think of returning home from a long, lonely voyage to a glad welcome, but also gave me the joy of boarding a new vessel, the deck fresh-scrubbed and the tide about to turn. I declare Arthur the winner of the competition!”

“No!” screamed Grim Tuesday. “No!”

He threw himself at Arthur and his pallid, wiry fingers gripped Arthur’s hands, lifting the boy bodily off the ground. But when the Grim tried to pull off the gloves, they wouldn’t budge. Arthur’s arms were almost wrenched out of their sockets and he was flung all over the place as Grim Tuesday raged and pulled, till he was restrained by Tom and the Will.

Even those two powerful individuals had trouble holding Grim Tuesday back, till Arthur held out his palms and yelled, “Stop!”

The gloves wriggled against his skin, and Arthur felt the zap of an electric charge cross the air. He didn’t see anything, but Grim Tuesday suddenly stopped struggling and became still. As still as a statue.

“You must claim the Second Key properly, milord,” said the Will rather humbly. “Repeat after me: I, Arthur, anointed Heir to the Kingdom, claim this Key and with it the Mastery of the Far Reaches. I claim it by blood and bone and contest, out of truth, in testament, and against all trouble.”

Arthur quietly repeated the claim. His left side twinged as he spoke, reminding him of when he’d claimed Monday’s key. He also felt the gloves move on
his hands, wriggling about till they fitted most comfortably.

“Well done, Arthur! Like a walk in the park!” declared Suzy. The fact that she could hardly stand up and her nose and chin were caked in blood somewhat lessened the effect of this statement. She clapped Arthur on the back, making him lose his balance and once more reminding him of his misshapen leg.

“You shall not have long to enjoy your triumph,” whispered Grim Tuesday. “When the eastern buttress fails, Nothing will burst forth and destroy us all!”

A
rthur closed his eyes for a second and tried to summon up all his remaining strength. Grim Tuesday was defeated. He had the Second Key. But he felt no thrill of victory, because he still hadn’t won. He couldn’t rest, or go home, or do anything he really wanted. He had to take on yet another huge problem that he was quite unsuited for and totally unprepared to deal with.

“I’ll fix the buttress,” he said. “Will you tell me how to do it?”

Grim Tuesday snarled and spat at Arthur’s feet.

“I have lost the Key, my domain, and all my treasures,” he growled. “But I shall have the satisfaction of returning to the void with them around me, and my enemies in confusion!”

“That means
no,
” said Suzy helpfully.

“I suppose I’ll just have to work it out.” Arthur looked out through the glass wall to the smog-shrouded Pit. “Only, how do I get down there quickly enough?”

“You can’t,” sneered Grim Tuesday. “The buttress
can hold for less than an hour, yet even my train takes days to reach the face of the Pit!”

“But you were going to get there,” said Arthur. “You said you would fix the buttress. So there has to be a way.”

“You can’t fly,” said Suzy as she looked up towards the ceiling. “Not with all those gobbets floating around.”

“Tom? Do you know a way to the bottom of the Pit?”

“Nay, save for the Improbable Stair,” replied Tom. “But it would be very dangerous, so close to so much Nothing. The Stair skirts Nothing closely everywhere, but never so close as here. I doubt that Grim Tuesday would risk the Stair himself.”

“You can compel Grim Tuesday to answer your questions with the Key,” said the Will. “It will harm him, but that is of little account. You must not allow Nothing to break out. I suggest you move swiftly, milord Arthur.”

“If you’d helped me in the first place, then we’d have more time,” Arthur pointed out bitterly.

Something caught his eye over in the smog. A flicker of light, then another. It was not the red flare of the distress rockets, but steady beams of light coming down from the ceiling.

“Elevators!” Suzy exclaimed, following his look.

“Dame Primus, I guess,” said Arthur. “Late and useless as usual.”

He turned back to Grim Tuesday. The Denizen seemed shorter than he had been and less fierce. Diminished in all respects.

Arthur reluctantly raised his hands, then dropped them as a thought struck him.

“Elevators! There must be an elevator to the bottom of the Pit! Where is it?”

Grim Tuesday didn’t answer.

“I don’t want to do anything nasty to you,” said Arthur. “But I will use the Key on you if I have to. Is there an elevator to the Pit?”

“Do your worst,” said Grim Tuesday. “I care not.”

Arthur shook his head, then raised his right hand and pointed his index finger at Grim Tuesday.

“By the power of the Second Key, I command you to answer my questions truthfully.”

Once again Arthur felt the static electric shock. This time he saw sparkling ultra-fine tendrils of light extend from his finger to Grim Tuesday’s head, winding into his ears and nose.

Grim Tuesday grimaced and shook himself like a dog coming out of water, but did not speak.

“Is there an elevator from here to the bottom of the Pit?”

“Yes,” growled the Grim through clenched teeth. “Emergency elevator. Small. Only for me.”

“Where is it?”

Grim Tuesday clenched his teeth still tighter, but his right arm rose up and one finger uncurled. A bronze button appeared out of nowhere. The Grim tried not to press it, but his hand lunged forward. As the button depressed, an electric bell rang and a second later a narrow elevator, no larger than a phone box, erupted out of the ground.

Only Grim Tuesday was ready for it. He toppled forward, but the elevator door was not quite open. Rebounding from it, the Denizen was seized again by Tom and the Will. He did not struggle.

Arthur looked at the elevator. As well as being very narrow, it looked a lot worse for wear. There were many tiny holes like acid burns all over the plush leather interior, and the wooden paneling in the ceiling was blackened and burned.

“Let’s go!” said Suzy. She stepped shakily inside, still partially stunned by her encounter with the palm tree. Once in, she took up more than half the space. The elevator was clearly made to just fit the lean body of Grim Tuesday.

“No,” said Arthur. “I think I have to go alone.”

“We’ll fit,” said Suzy. “I’ll breathe in.”

Arthur shook his head and pulled her sleeve. His gauntlet tingled against his skin and a surprised Suzy found herself unable to resist. Before she could jump back in, Arthur jumped in himself and slid the door closed.

“Wait, Arthur! You might need my—”

Her voice was cut off as Arthur pressed the button with the down arrow clearly marked upon it. The elevator lurched, knocking Arthur off his feet. He bounced off both walls, then managed to wedge himself into the corner.

“All the way down
again
?” asked a disembodied voice. “You know this elevator’s only good for a few trips down
there.
”

“All the way to the bottom,” instructed Arthur. The elevator increased its downwards velocity, and Arthur felt himself rising up towards the ceiling, as if he were in free fall. While he was wedging himself even more firmly into the corner, he added, “What do you mean
again
? When was this elevator last used?”

“Half an hour ago,” said the voice. “Fair gave me a turn. Haven’t had to run this elevator for more than
twenty years. Beautifully mothballed it was, everything sealed up, waxed, and greased. Look at it now!”

“Who was the passenger?” asked Arthur. Who could possibly have gone to the bottom of the Pit half an hour ago?

“Dunno,” said the voice. “He had the proper authority, though. From on high.”

“You didn’t ask
me
for any authority.”

“You got the Second Key, haven’t you, sir? Hold on, we’re almost there.”

The elevator slowed dramatically. Arthur slid down the wall and onto the floor, his stomach attempting to run out through his Immaterial Boots. Then after a series of frightening bangs and lurches, the elevator came to a stop and the door slid open.

“Bottom of the Pit, thank you!” said the voice. Arthur stepped out into darkness. The door slid shut, and the elevator vanished.

For a frightening second it seemed like Arthur was trapped in total darkness. But as his eyes adjusted, he saw lanterns some small distance away. Then his gauntlets began to glow with a cool green light that slowly spread up his arms and all over his brightcoat and boots.

One of the lanterns bobbed nearer. Arthur hurried to meet it. As he got closer, he saw that the bearer was very short and broad. One of Grim Tuesday’s Grotesques.

“You’re only just in time, sir!” called the Grotesque hoarsely. “It’s fair oozing Nothing—”

The Grotesque stopped as he realized that Arthur was not Grim Tuesday. A peculiar expression crossed his face—one of relief, sorrow, and a twist of anger.

“You’re not the Master!”

“I am the Master of the Far Reaches now,” said Arthur, holding up one clenched fist.

“The Grim…that would explain the indentured workers…I thought it had to do with all the Nothing.…” muttered the Grotesque. He appeared confused and kept shaking his head. Then he looked at Arthur and said plaintively, “I am Yan. Will you remake us as we were? As three, instead of seven?”

“I guess…I’ll try,” said Arthur. “Only first, you need to take me to this buttress that’s about to break.”

Yan shook his head again. “The buttress? We need not go anywhere. We are at its foot.”

Arthur looked around, but could see only darkness beyond the circle of light from his own strange glow and Yan’s lantern. But he could hear something off to his
right. A kind of creaking, like the night wind in the trees at home.

“Cast a sunburst up about a thousand feet,” said Yan hurriedly. “That is the first step, sir. You will remember to make us three?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “Uh, how…oh, never mind…”

He cupped his hands and concentrated on the gauntlets.

Sunburst,
he thought.
A sunburst to fly up to a thousand feet and explode like the one I saw before. Hot and glorious, a miniature sun to shed light on everything down here and send the Nothing back into its holes
—

Something jetted out of his grasp, heading skyward at incredible speed. Arthur stared up after it, a shooting star that reached its thousand-foot-tall ceiling in a few seconds. He was still looking when it exploded into light. His star-hood saved him from the worst of it, but he still had to blink and cover his eyes with his arm.

He was just about to lift that arm and take a look around when Yan suddenly cried out. Arthur heard him fall and his lantern smash upon the stone.

Arthur instinctively jumped back. He saw Yan go sprawling, and he saw a tall, immaculately clad top-hatted
Denizen step forward and stab the Grotesque through the heart with a sword-cane that had a shining silver blade.

“He might have helped you repair the buttress,” said the Denizen, his voice smooth and cultured, his handsome face unmoved by what he had just done. “And we can’t have that, can we?”

“You killed him!”

The Denizen gave a small shrug.

“Perhaps. He is one-seventh of a higher being. He might recover. It is all rather academic, with Nothing about to overwhelm the entirety of creation.”

He pointed with his sword-cane. Arthur flicked his head to look, but only for an instant, keeping his attention on that silver blade. In that moment, he saw that they were standing only yards from the foot of a vast wall that stretched as far as he could see to the left and right and up towards the sunburst. It was made of deep red bricks set in yellow mortar, but there were many dark cracks and lines of leaking Nothing among the bricks.

“I should give up if I were you, Arthur,” said the Denizen. His voice was quite hypnotic and Arthur found himself listening intently. He wanted the voice to go on and on. “This is all beyond you. Much easier to give in
to fate. Let the buttress fail, let Nothing wash away the House, the Secondary Realms—”

He lunged at Arthur’s throat on the last word, but the Key was ready for him even though the Key’s wielder was not. The gauntlets caught the blade, twisted and broke it. Then Arthur found himself plunging the broken end of the blade deep into the Denizen’s red silk waistcoat.

“Ah, proof against the voice,” sighed the Denizen as he backed away. He looked down at the golden blood that was trickling down his waistcoat. “A hit! One is enough to end the bout, by any rules. Now others shall take their turn!”