Lord Sunday

by Garth Nix

  Leaf obeyed. A second later, she gasped as a high-pressure shower came on, the water hitting her hard, like tiny needles pricking her everywhere, even through her doctor’s coat. This lasted for about ten seconds, then suddenly stopped.

  ‘Open your eyes,’ said the voice. ‘Remove all your clothing and place it in the receptacle to your left.’

  Leaf slowly opened her eyes. There was a faint hiss of compressed air, and a panel slid open in the wall to her left, revealing what looked like a trash bin.

  Leaf took off her clothes but left her underwear on.

  ‘All clothing must be removed, as it may be irradiated,’ said the woman’s voice. ‘New clothing will be issued. This is normal procedure.’

  Leaf obeyed, and stood there shivering. The panel shut as soon as all her clothes were inside.

  ‘Close your eyes and mouth,’ said the voice. ‘Be aware there will be scrubbing, and it may be painful. Keep your mouth and eyes closed.’

  The needle-jet shower came on again. It was even more painful without any clothes on. Thankfully the pressure eased off after twenty seconds, but there was no real respite, as Leaf felt herself suddenly buffeted by what felt like enormous hairbrushes, which mechanically ran up and down her whole body.

  ‘Extend your arms,’ said the voice.

  Leaf bit her lip as the brushes ran over her arms. It wasn’t so much the pain, it was humiliating being washed and scrubbed, even if it was being done remotely. She felt like some sort of test animal.

  ‘Stand by for more shower,’ said the voice.

  This third time the shower came on even more strongly than ever. Leaf crouched under the stinging water and fought back a sob.

  I was a ship’s boy on the Flying Mantis, she told herself fiercely. I’ve been through storms at sea and battles with pirates. I can handle this. I’ve fought Denizens and murderous plants, I can handle this—

  The shower stopped. There was a pinging noise like a microwave finishing, and a panel slid open on the right-hand wall.

  ‘Put on the clothing from the right-hand receptacle,’ said the voice.

  The clothing in the right-hand receptacle was just a robe made of something like soft blue paper. Leaf put it on.

  ‘Walk through,’ said the voice. The inner door opened, revealing a larger room, but one that was as equally bare and white, except for a small folding table. There was a pair of scissors on the table, a portable diagnostic unit, and a medical case. A soldier stood behind the table. She was wearing a protective suit like the soldiers outside, but instead of a gas mask she wore a visored helmet like an astronaut’s, with an air tube that ran to a small backpack.

  ‘Hi,’ said the soldier. ‘My name’s Ellen. Leaf, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut off most of your hair. We’ll be doing some quick tests as well.’

  ‘Great,’ said Leaf. ‘Better get it over and done with.’

  ‘That’s the way,’ said Ellen. ‘You’re just getting in ahead of everyone else. We’ll be decontaminating everyone in the fallout area, once we get completely set up.’

  ‘Everyone who’s still alive, you mean,’ said Leaf.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellen quietly. ‘We’ll save everyone we can. Stand on this square, would you, and we can begin.’

  Five

  ARTHUR GRABBED THE flaming garden fork around the central tine, ignoring the heat and the flames, and ripped it from the grasp of the boy, who fell over backwards and collided with the pantry door, smashing it in. While the boy was still trying to get up, Arthur flipped the fork so he could hold it by the haft and raised it over his head, ready to strike. He was just about to furiously drive it into the boy when he stopped.

  He’s only a boy, just like me . . . just like I was, Arthur thought through the red mist of rage. What am I doing?

  ‘Don’t kill me!’ the boy shrieked.

  ‘Why were you trying to kill me?’ Arthur asked. He didn’t lower the flaming garden fork.

  ‘You’re s’posed to be a weed,’ said the boy. Now that Arthur had a good look at the intruder, he was sure he was a Piper’s child. He was wearing green boots made from something like rubber; muddy tartan trousers; a short-tailed tan coat over a mustard-coloured waistcoat and green shirt with a frilled front; and a large cloth cap that overhung his face.

  ‘A weed?’ asked Arthur. ‘But I’m inside a house. And I’m clearly not a plant.’

  ‘I’m s’posed to find a weed that’s got into the Garden,’ said the boy. He reached into a waistcoat pocket and pulled out a grubby piece of paper that had been folded several times. ‘Look, I got the work order. A mix-up, I guess. They never said someone high up was going to do the weeding—’

  ‘Shut up,’ ordered Arthur. He leaned the flaming garden fork against the bench and added, ‘And you, go out.’

  The fire on the fork snuffed out. The Piper’s child stared at it and whispered, ‘Blimey!’

  Arthur took the paper and unfolded it. Despite a muddy stain across the middle, it was easy to read the fine copper-plate handwriting.

  Weed Intrusion. Bed 27. Pot 5. Dispatch gardener.

  ‘You’re a gardener?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘Second Assistant Sub-Gardener’s Aide Fourth Class Once Removed Phineas Dirtdigger,’ said the boy. ‘Sir.’

  ‘Are there a lot of Piper’s children in the Incomparable Gardens?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘Dunno, sir,’ said Phineas. ‘It’s a big garden. I only work this bed . . . well, pots one to fifty. Are . . . are you Sunday’s Reaper, sir?’

  ‘Sunday’s Reaper?’ asked Arthur. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘You know, sir. The Sower, the Grower, and the Reaper. I did always think they were green, but I’ve never seen them, not in person, like.’

  ‘I suppose they must be names for Sunday’s Dawn, Noon, and Dusk,’ mused Arthur. ‘Now tell me, you called this place a pot. But it’s a house, with a woman in it upstairs.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir, she’s what we call an exhibit,’ said Phineas eagerly. ‘This part of the Incomparable Gardens is the Zoological Gardens, with people and animals, and such like, that Lord Sunday has collected. He always takes their home as well, so they’re displayed properly.’

  ‘Why couldn’t she see me?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘Oh, sir, the human exhibits would be distressed if they saw us,’ said Phineas. ‘They’re looped, to keep them safe.’

  ‘What do you mean, looped?’ asked Arthur.

  Phineas scratched his head. ‘Looped. That’s when their time goes around and around, and they’re separate from everything. They just do the same things over and over again.’

  ‘What would happen if I went up and tapped her on the shoulder?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘Oh, you couldn’t even touch her, sir,’ said Phineas. He frowned, then added, ‘Least, I couldn’t. You’re powerful, so maybe you’d bring her into our time, but that wouldn’t be good.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Arthur thoughtfully. He was wondering if he could make Emily fall asleep and then synchronise her with House time and take her home . . . except the house would still be here.

  Perhaps if I just took Mum back to somewhere she knows well, Arthur thought. Even if our place has disappeared, it would be better to get her back to Earth—

  ‘Who are you, sir?’ interrupted Phineas. ‘Are you . . . are you Lord Sunday?’

  ‘No,’ said Arthur. He stood up to his full height, towering above the boy. ‘I am Lord Arthur, Rightful Heir to the Architect.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Phineas. ‘Um, am I supposed to know what that means?’

  ‘You haven’t heard of me?’ asked Arthur. ‘How I have defeated six of the seven treacherous Trustees of the Architect, and taken their Keys of power?’

  ‘No . . .’ said Phineas. ‘I don’t really get to talk to anyone but my boss, the Second Assistant Sub-Gardener for Bed Twenty-seven. His name is Karkwhal, and he doesn’t talk, not really, so I never know what’
s going on, even in the rest of the Gardens, let alone the House. It’s quite good to talk, I must say. So you’re Lord Arthur?’

  ‘Yes. Sworn enemy of Lord Sunday.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Phineas scratched his nose. ‘I wonder if I’m supposed to do something – I mean, tell someone you’re here or something.’

  ‘No,’ said Arthur. ‘You don’t want to do that.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Phineas. ‘Well, I s’pose I’d better go back to the shed and see what else needs doing. Can I have my flaming fork back?’

  ‘That depends,’ said Arthur. ‘Do you know where Part Seven of the Will is?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ said Phineas. He scratched the side of his nose again, and his forehead wrinkled in deep thought. ‘Nope. Is it rare and valuable?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmmm . . . could be in the Arbor . . . or the Gazebo . . . or the Elysium. Most likely the Elysium, I should think . . .’

  ‘Where are these places?’ asked Arthur. ‘Are they part of the Incomparable Gardens?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Not that the likes of me have been there. But I know where they are, theoretically speaking.’

  ‘Why would the Will be in the Elysium?’

  ‘That’s Sunday’s favourite bit,’ said Phineas. ‘Everyone knows that. He keeps all the rarest exhibits there. The perfect place. I’d love to work there, not that I expect they have a weed problem in the Elysium—’

  ‘Ah, the weeds,’ said Arthur. ‘What are they exactly?’

  ‘Oh, Nithlings of one kind or another,’ said Phineas.

  ‘When Lord Sunday brings in a new exhibit, sometimes a few weeds come in with them, and if you don’t get to them quickly, they spread. Why, there was this one ship thing Lord Sunday brought in that was covered in weeds. There were lots of us on that job, and a Sub-Gardener First Class in charge. But I didn’t get to do much; they made me hang back and watch for any getting away. Only none did get away. And no one talked to me.’

  ‘Why does Sunday collect people and living things for the Garden?’ asked Arthur. He remembered that Grim Tuesday had liked to collect valuables, things that people had made, but not living creatures or plants.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Phineas. ‘He just does. We have to look after them carefully, though – the boss is always going on about that. Weeding, for example. Can’t let a Nithling interfere with any of the exhibits.’

  ‘Could you show me how to get to the Elysium?’ asked Arthur. ‘Is it far away?’

  ‘I s’pose,’ said Phineas. He scratched the bridge of his nose. ‘We’d have to cut between the hedges here, get onto the Garden Path . . . pick up a dragon—’

  ‘A dragon?’

  ‘Dragonfly,’ said Phineas. ‘Big ones, fitted for riding. Only I’ve never ridden one, though I s’pect they’d do what you tell them. Anyhow, we get on a dragon and fly towards the sunset – have to wait for it, of course, cos Lord Sunday moves the sun around, but the Elysium always faces the setting sun.’

  ‘If he likes it so much, there must be a good chance Lord Sunday will be there himself,’ Arthur guessed.

  ‘I dunno,’ said Phineas. ‘There’s a lot of Garden. You could sort him out, though, couldn’t you? What with being . . . what did you say? . . . the Rightful Heir and all that.’

  Yes, I could, thought the angry, boastful part of Arthur. But his more sensible side said quite the opposite, remembering what he had been told about the Keys, and how the Seventh Key was paramount over all.

  I’d have to find the Will quickly enough to get its help to force Lord Sunday to relinquish the Seventh Key, thought Arthur. But if I run into Lord Sunday first, I’ll be toast.Perhaps I should get help first, like Part Six of the Will said . . .

  ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing you and Lord Sunday have a punch-up,’ remarked Phineas eagerly. ‘That’d be right promising, I reckon.’

  ‘You’d probably get killed just watching,’ said Arthur bleakly, remembering the Keys being used in battle back in the Great Maze, and when Saturday had first broached the Gardens.

  He shook his head and took out the Fifth Key.

  ‘I have to go somewhere,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell anyone I was here, all right? And make sure this house . . . this Garden bed stays weed free.’

  Phineas nodded, but his dark eyes were fixed on the mirror, intent on what Arthur was going to do.

  Arthur held the mirror up, looked into it, and tried once more to visualise Thursday’s room. At first he saw only his reflection, but that wavered, and he felt a surge of relief as the now-familiar carpet with its battle-scene motif slowly coalesced into a solid view, with the rest of the room shimmering into focus around it. But just as it was about to become entirely crisp and real, the mirror shook in his hand and the vision wavered. Arthur frowned and gripped his wrist with his left hand to steady it, but the mirror continued to shake and twist, as if someone else was trying to take it away from him.

  ‘Steady!’ hissed Arthur, exerting his willpower to keep the mirror still and the scene in view. But just as he had with the Atlas, he felt an opposing force, one that grew stronger and stronger, until the Fifth Key flew from his grasp and clattered onto the floor.

  Arthur clenched his fist, but seeing Phineas watching him so intently, he managed to contain his anger. Instead of punching the walls, he knelt down and picked up the mirror, slipping it back into his pouch.

  ‘Maybe I won’t be going after all,’ he said. ‘How do we get out of here?’

  ‘Through the hedge,’ said Phineas. ‘It’ll open for me, being a Gardener and all. Just stay close behind.’

  He touched the hedge that blocked the kitchen door, and a boy-sized hole opened in the greenery.

  ‘Come on, bigger than that!’ said Phineas. The hole grew large enough for Arthur. Phineas put one leg through it, then hopped back again. ‘My fork! Can I have it back, please, sir?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Arthur. ‘Do you want it lit?’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Phineas. ‘I’ll swap it for another one. I just have to have one to hand in.’

  He climbed through the hole.

  Arthur looked around the kitchen, and glanced up at the ceiling, to the room above where his mother was trapped in a small circuit of time.

  At least I know where Mum is, he thought heavily, then stepped through the hedge.

  He found himself in a cool green alley between two hedges that were at least fifty feet tall. Above them he could see a perfect blue sky with a faint touch of white clouds – it looked like it might have been painted by some old master, and possibly was. He couldn’t see a sun, but there was a source of illumination somewhere above, for the sky was very light. Probably the sun moved along a track, just like the suns in other parts of the House, though Arthur guessed that the one here would be more impressive, and move more smoothly than in any other demesne.

  ‘Which way?’ asked Arthur. ‘Left or right?’

  ‘Oh, this way,’ said Phineas, pointing with his fork. ‘Four hedge junctions this way, then we take a left, go three junctions, take a right, two junctions, left again, straight on past four junctions, and then through another hedge and we’ll be at the Garden Path, which the dragonflies fly along all the time and sometimes the guard beetles run along, though you wouldn’t be scared of them.’

  Arthur thought of the beetles he’d seen fighting Lady Friday’s forces. He’d almost been bitten in half by one himself.

  ‘How many beetles, and how often do they go along this path?’

  ‘Oh, half a dozen at a time, I guess,’ said Phineas. He started walking along the alley, idly thwacking the hedges on either side with his fork. ‘But you don’t see them around that often.’

  They walked in silence for a while after that. It was pleasantly cool between the hedges, with the dappled green light and the beautiful blue sky above. They combined to almost lull Arthur into a sense of peacefulness, but he knew it was only an illusion. He was thinking hard about what he could and should do
.

  ‘Are there telephones here?’ he asked as they approached the first junction, where two hedge-bordered alleys crossed at a broad, paved plaza. Arthur stayed close to the hedge, keeping in its shadow.

  ‘Telephones?’ asked Phineas. ‘Sure. There’s one in Karkwhal’s shed. That’s how he gets the weeding orders.’

  ‘Where is this shed?’ asked Arthur. He didn’t look at Phineas as the boy replied, but stared around and looked up and along the hedges. He had the unpleasant feeling that he was being watched, and there was a slight, sick-making ache in his bones, a sign that sorcery was being practiced somewhere nearby.

  ‘Karkwhal’s shed?’ asked Phineas. ‘That’s back the other way. It’s closer than the Garden Path, if you want to go there. Don’t know why you would, with only old Karkwhal and me there—’ ‘Quiet!’ ordered Arthur. He reached into his pouch and drew out the Fifth and Sixth Keys. ‘I can hear something.’

  ‘What?’ whispered Phineas, not very quietly.

  Arthur held up his hand to silence Phineas again, then listened. There was something – a rustle in the hedge, as if a large rat was wriggling through the tight-packed greenery. But he couldn’t see anything, and the sound stopped as he slowly turned his head, trying to fix the position of the noise.

  ‘It’s gone.’ Arthur hesitated, returned the Keys to his pouch, and turned around to follow Phineas.

  At that moment, two enormous, green-skinned Denizens burst out of the greenery, as if the hedge itself had come to life. They grabbed Arthur’s arms and began to twist them behind his back.

  Arthur shouted in fury, and tried to throw them forward, but they held on tight, and their long, gnarled toes dug into the earth like tree roots, to hold him fast.

  ‘Keys!’ roared Arthur, and flexed his fingers. His pouch flew open, and the mirror and the pen flew up towards his hands.

  But the Keys never reached Arthur’s waiting grasp. They were caught in midair by a bright silver net – a net wielded by Phineas the Second Assistant Sub-Gardener’s Aide Fourth Class Once Removed. Only he no longer looked like a Piper’s child. In that same instant the tall green Denizens had erupted from the hedge, Phineas had grown and changed. He was now a commanding figure some ten feet tall. He stood above Arthur, holding the writhing Keys in the net with his left hand, while his right was held tight around a small object that he wore on a chain around his neck.