Sir Thursday

by Garth Nix

  ‘Is this relevant?’ asked Dame Primus impatiently. ‘I am ready to proceed with the reordered Agenda.’

  Arthur ignored her and took the ring out of the box.

  ‘What does this do?’ he asked. ‘Do I put it on?’

  ‘Yes, do put it on,’ replied Dr Scamandros. ‘In essence, it will tell you the degree to which you have been … ah … tainted with sorcery. It is not exact, of course, and in the case of a mortal, the calibration is uncertain. I would say that if the ring turns more than six parts gold then you will have become irretrievably transformed into a –’

  ‘Can we move on?’ snapped Dame Primus as Dr Scamandros said, ‘Denizen.’

  Arthur put on the ring and watched with fascination and growing horror as each silver segment of the crocodile slowly turned from silver to gold.

  One … two … three –

  If he was transformed into a Denizen, he could never go back home. But he needed to use the Keys and the Atlas against the Morrow Days, and that meant more sor-cerous contamination.

  Unless it was all too late already.

  Arthur stared at the ring as the tide of gold continued on, flowing into the fourth segment without slowing at all.

  Three

  ARTHUR KEPT STARING at the ring with dread fascination. After the fourth segment the gold suddenly stopped spreading, and then it slowly ebbed back a little.

  ‘It’s almost up to the fourth line,’ Arthur reported.

  ‘It is not exact,’ said Dr Scamandros. ‘But that would concur with my previous examination. Your flesh, blood, and bone are some four-tenths contaminated with sorcery.’

  ‘And past six-tenths I become a Denizen?’

  ‘Irrevocably.’

  ‘Can I get rid of the contamination?’ Arthur tried to keep his voice calm. ‘Does it wear off?’

  ‘It will reduce with time,’ Scamandros replied. ‘Provided you don’t add to it. I would expect that degree of contamination to lessen in about a century.’

  ‘A century! It might as well be permanent. But how much would using the Atlas add to the contamination?’

  ‘Without careful experimentation and observation I should not like to say. Considerably less than the interventions to heal your ailments, or to undo misdirected application of the Keys’ power. Anything not focused on your own body will be less harmful.’

  ‘It is not harmful to become a Denizen,’ said Dame Primus. ‘It is to become a higher order of being. I cannot understand your reluctance to shed your mortality, Arthur. After all, you are the Rightful Heir of the Architect of Everything. Now can we please return to the Agenda?’

  ‘I was only chosen because I was about to die and happened to be handy,’ said Arthur. ‘I bet you’ve got a stack of Rightful Heirs noted down somewhere if something happens to me.’

  There was silence in the vast room for a few seconds, until Dame Primus cleared her throat.

  Before she could speak, Arthur raised his voice. ‘We will go back to the Agenda! After we’ve worked out what to do about the Spirit-eater. I just wish I could remember what might have been taken.’

  ‘Try to work your way back through everything you did,’ Leaf suggested. ‘Did you drop your inhaler on the oval? Maybe they picked that up? Or did you have something at school when they burned the library?’

  Arthur shook his head. ‘I don’t think so … Hey, wait a second!’

  He turned to look at Monday’s Dusk. He was slightly shorter than he had been as Noon and looked rather less severe, though no less handsome. He wore the night-black, undertaker-like costume of Dusk, though he’d taken off his top hat with the long black silk scarf wound around its crown.

  ‘You sent the Fetchers when you were Noon. Did one of them bring something back, or were they banished straight into Nothing?’

  ‘They did not return to me,’ said Dusk, his once-silver tongue now a shiny ebony, and his voice much softer. ‘But then I did not raise them in the first place. Mister Monday assigned them to me. I presume he bought them from Grim Tuesday, for he would not have been energetic enough to create them himself. You may recall that I was forced to return to the House when the Fetchers and I cornered you at your school.’

  ‘At the school,’ Arthur said slowly, revisiting that scene in his memory. ‘They took the Atlas! I’d forgotten, because the Atlas came back here and I just picked it up again. A Fetcher ripped the pocket off my shirt, and it got the Atlas with it –’

  ‘A pocket!’ interrupted Scamandros, scattering the things he’d put on the table with an excited wave of his arms, and the tower tattoos on his cheeks grew sturdier and sprouted fancy battlements. ‘That must be it. That will be the source of this Spirit-eater. A scrap of material that has lain next to your heart, overlaid with charms and planted in Nothing to grow a Cocigrue! Find that and we might be able to do something about the Spirit-eater!’

  ‘Right,’ said Leaf. ‘That sounds really easy.’

  ‘You don’t have to try,’ said Arthur. ‘I … I understand if you want to stay out of all this.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s much choice,’ said Leaf. ‘I can’t just let an evil clone of you go around taking over people’s minds, can I?’

  ‘You could,’ said Arthur. Though Leaf was trying to make light of the situation, he could tell she was afraid. ‘I know people who wouldn’t do anything unless it directly affected them.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I don’t want to be one of those people. And if Ed’s out of quarantine, he can help … though I guess if it’s still Wednesday when I get back he’ll be stuck in the hospital …’

  Leaf made a face at the thought of her brother, Ed, still being stuck in the hospital. Her parents, aunt, and brother had all suffered from the Sleepy Plague and been quarantined.

  ‘Anyway, Doc, is there anything particular that I can do to this Spirit-eater, you know, like how salt gets rid of Fetchers and silver dissolved that Scoucher?’

  Dr Scamandros pursed his lips, and wooden scaffolding appeared around the tower tattoos on his cheeks, propping them up.

  ‘I don’t know. A silver spear or sword would annoy it, I suspect, and like all Nithlings it would not eat salt voluntarily, but only the lesser Nithlings suffer much from silver or may be banished with salt.’

  ‘Does it sleep?’ Leaf asked. ‘And will it have Arthur’s pocket on it or will it keep that somewhere else?’

  ‘Good questions, excellent questions,’ muttered Scamandros. ‘I’m afraid my sources don’t say anything about it sleeping, but it is quite possible that it does. I suspect it will hide the pocket somewhere near its lair – but again, my information is sadly lacking.’

  ‘And do you have any idea where its lair will be?’ Leaf continued to question. ‘Arthur’s house?’

  Two small clouds of dust on Scamandros’s cheeks whirled up into miniature tornadoes that threatened a house tattooed across the bridge of his nose.

  ‘My sources are incomplete. One of the references refers to the “Spirit-eater’s Lair” but is not more forthcoming.’

  ‘I guess if it’s imitating Arthur, it will leave the house sometime,’ Leaf pointed out. ‘I can sneak in the back door or something. Is there a back door?’

  ‘The best way would be through the garage,’ Arthur volunteered. ‘There’s a remote switch for it under a blue rock in the driveway. I suppose it would probably sleep in my bedroom, up on the top floor, if it’s being me. But I think we’d better get more information about it before we say for sure.’

  He picked up the Third Key again and laid his other hand on the Atlas. Its green leather binding quivered under his hand.

  ‘Wait a second!’ said Leaf. ‘You don’t have to –’

  ‘I can’t let you take on something like a Spirit-eater without being prepared,’ said Arthur. ‘Besides, it will be a good test to see how much more I get contaminated.’

  ‘Arthur –’ Leaf started to say, but Arthur was already focusing on his questions for the Atlas.

  What
is a Spirit-eater? How can the one that has copied me be defeated? Where is its lair?

  The questions had hardly formed in his mind before the Atlas burst open, expanding to become a much larger book, it pages fluttering like a wind-caught fan. When it reached its full size, the pages settled down and an invisible hand began to write. The first few letters were in a strange alphabet of straight lines and dots, but they shimmered as Arthur watched, turning into the stylish English characters of a fine calligrapher.

  Everyone watched Arthur as he stared down at the Atlas. Even Suzy, from behind Dame Primus.

  For the benefit of the others, Arthur read the entry aloud, with some difficulty because he wasn’t used to reading the old-fashioned writing. Many of the words were not ones he’d used before.

  ‘Spirit-eater’ is a term often used to describe one of a type of Nithlings that are close to Denizen class, known as Near Creations, for they utilise some of the technical sorcery used by the Architect herself to create life from Nothing, while lacking Her artistry.

  A Spirit-eater is always based upon one of the Architect’s own creations, either directly, as in a copied Denizen, or indirectly, in the case of a copied mortal, the current end result of the Architect’s ancient experiment with the evolution of life.

  The purpose of a Spirit-eater, in either case, is to replace an original, usually for the purposes of espionage, treachery, or other foul deeds. In order to do so, the Spirit-eater will, to most onlookers, appear to have the physical appearance of its target. Its true face and form may be seen by gazing at it through a veil of raindrops on a sunny day, or by application of various sorceries.

  Initially the Spirit-eater will have limited knowledge of its subject, no more than it has been told by its creator. However, part of the spell used to grow a Spirit-eater in Nothing also develops other powers within the Nithling. It is able to extrude its mentality into any sentient mind that it has physical contact with, by the use of a mentally conductive mould that is symbiotic with the Spirit-eater. The mould is derived from a semi-intelligent life-form from a world in the Secondary Realms (House name: Avraxyn, Local Name. X|?v?* ).

  ‘I can’t read the local name –’

  Leaf was shaking her head, but it wasn’t at Arthur’s inability to read the alien name.

  ‘A mentally conductive what? What did you say? It grows mould on people?’

  ‘That’s … that’s what it says here,’ said Arthur, who had only just realised what he was reading. He’d been concentrating so hard on getting the words right.

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Leaf with a shudder. ‘How do you stop it from doing that?’

  ‘I’ll … I’ll see what the Atlas says,’ said Arthur. He continued reading.

  The mould enters its victim through skin, scales, or hide once the Spirit-eater has provided a bridge by means of shaking hands, gripping a shoulder, or such-like. Its spores are a grey colour, but they linger on the skin for only minutes, so the target is usually unaware it has been colonised. The mould travels through the blood, eventually lodging itself in the target’s brain or other major sensorium. At this location it rapidly spreads, duplicating the nervous tissue until it is able to sift through the target’s thoughts and memory, telepathically sharing them with the greater part of the mould that lies within the Spirit-eater’s own secondary brain, usually located in its midsection. The Spirit-eater uses these memories and thoughts to better mimic the target it has replaced. It is able to control the minds of those subjects where the mould is well-established, but not with great precision.

  The influence of the mould is also felt in the behaviour of the Spirit-eater. In its natural state on Avraxyn, the mould always establishes a lair where it locates its primary host safe from harm. In the Spirit-eater, the mould is subordinate and must go where the Spirit-eater wills, but it will always influence the Spirit-eater to establish a lair. This will be dark and as deep in the ground as is practical for the Spirit-eater to easily access. It will be lined with soft materials, and somewhere in it will be the original seed item from which the Spirit-eater has been grown. This is usually a bone, piece of flesh, item of clothing, treasured personal possession, or long-term pet or companion of the victim.

  ‘That’s really foul,’ said Leaf.

  ‘I’ve known worse,’ muttered a voice from somewhere under the table. Dr Scamandros looked around, but either no one else heard Suzy’s comment or they were well-practiced at ignoring her.

  ‘It’s writing more,’ said Arthur. The page cleared, and the invisible hand wrote on.

  The particular Spirit-eater that has duplicated Lord Arthur has chosen to call itself the Skinless Boy, perhaps because in its natural appearance it does not have very much skin, instead showing exposed bone. It may be defeated by taking its seed item, the pocket from Lord Arthur’s school shirt. Lord Arthur must plunge that pocket back into Nothing.

  At present, 10:20 A.M. local Earth Arthur time on Thursday, the Skinless Boy has established a temporary lair in the primary linen closet of East Area Hospital on Lower Ground Three. If the Spirit-eater moves to Arthur’s home, it is most probable that it will establish its lair in the sump cavity beneath the house, which can be accessed by raising a concrete slab in the garden near the back fence.

  ‘What was that about Thursday?’ asked Leaf. ‘What’s Arthur time?’

  Arthur read it again.

  ‘It shouldn’t be Thursday back home! We need to get back on Wednesday afternoon! How can it be Thursday?’

  ‘Time is malleable between the House and the Secondary Realms,’ said Dr Scamandros. ‘But powerful personages such as yourself, Lord Arthur, affect and govern the relative flows. I can only surmise that the Spirit-eater, having something of your quality, has taken your place for chronological purposes. In … ah … other words, you are back.’

  ‘But what about Leaf? Can she go back to Wednesday?’

  ‘I would say not,’ said Dr Scamandros. ‘But I am no expert in these relativities. Perhaps Sneezer may know more, from the Seven Dials.’

  ‘Without putting it to the test, sir, I cannot say,’ said Sneezer. ‘However, as a general rule, the temporal relationship between a Secondary World and the House is set by the Front Door and defies explication. It presumably thought you had returned to your Earth and did not miss Miss Leaf, if you pardon me saying so. Therefore, the earliest Miss Leaf can return is twenty minutes past ten on Thursday. If it is still that time. More orange juice?’

  ‘But that means I’ll have been missing all night!’ Leaf couldn’t believe it. ‘My parents will kill me!’

  Four

  ‘REALLY? ’ ASKED DR SCAMANDROS. ‘That seems rather harsh.’

  ‘Oh, they won’t actually kill me.’ Leaf sighed. ‘Even if they wanted to, they’re in quarantine, so they can only shout at me through the intercom and pound on the interview window. It’s just going to make life more difficult.’

  Arthur was looking at the Atlas. Something had changed there, catching his eye. It took a second to work out what it was.

  ‘Hey! The time back home’s 10:21 now!’

  ‘I have got to get back,’ said Leaf. ‘I’ll try and do something about the Skinless Boy, I promise, but I really have to at least go and wave at my parents. So – how do I get home? And how do I get back here if … once I get hold of that pocket?’

  ‘Sneezer can use Seven Dials to send you back to the hospital, I think,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ said Sneezer, with a low bow.

  ‘Coming back, I don’t know …’

  ‘The Skinless Boy went through the Front Door, so the House will have manifested itself on your world,’ said Dame Primus with an airy wave of her hand. ‘All you need to do is find it, knock on the Front Door, and everything will be taken care of. Now, I must insist we return to the Agenda!’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Arthur.

  He turned to Leaf but was suddenly unable to think of anything to say. He hadn’t known her long
but she already felt like an old friend, and he was asking her to do something really huge for him. He didn’t know how to tell her how grateful he was for her friendship and help.

  ‘I … I’m sorry I got you into this, Leaf. I mean I really appreciate it … you … uh … even my old friends back where I used to live wouldn’t be as … anyway … I wish there was something … oh!’

  He bent his hand back behind his neck and pulled off the string with the Mariner’s medallion. It was the only thing he had that he could give.

  ‘I don’t know if it will be any use, but if things get really bad, try calling the Mariner. Maybe … not that he was very quick last time, but … well, good luck.’

  Leaf dropped the string over her head, nodded firmly, and turned away.

  ‘Never gave me nuthin’,’ mumbled an unseen voice. Arthur looked down at the chair Leaf had just left and saw Suzy there, hunched over under the table. She was eyeing Dame Primus’s foot and holding a large darning needle. She grinned at Arthur and stuck the needle in, but it had no effect. Tiny letters moved apart to allow the needle entry and then a savage red spark shot along the metal.

  Suzy dropped it and sucked her fingers as the needle became a small puddle of molten steel. Arthur sighed and gestured at Suzy to come and sit next to him. She shook her head and stayed where she was.

  Even though Leaf hadn’t seen Sneezer move, he was already at the door when she reached it. She was about to go through when Dr Scamandros scurried over and put something in Leaf’s hand as she went past.

  ‘You’ll need this,’ he whispered. ‘Won’t be able to see the House without it or find the Front Door. Dame Primus is a bit impatient – not intentionally, I’m sure.’

  Leaf looked at what he’d given her: an open leather case that contained a pair of gold wire-rimmed spectacles, with thin lenses that were heavily cracked and crazed with tiny lines. She snapped the case shut and slipped it into the tight waistband of her breeches.