Lady Friday

by Garth Nix

  ‘Yes, I’m Arthur.’

  ‘The High Guild welcomes you to Binding Junction, Lord Arthur.’ The Denizen performed yet another (and even lower) bow, so low even his flattened nose almost scraped the steps above where he stood. ‘I am Master Binder Jakem, First Pressmaster, 1000th in precedence within the House and, with the absence of Lady Friday’s Noon, in authority over the High Guild of Binding and Restoration. I apologise for not being ready to receive you when you alighted above, but we only just received word of your arrival—’

  ‘Who from?’ asked Suzy.

  Jakem ignored her and continued. ‘But in any case, we naturally wish to do whatever we can to make your visit enjoyable. Perhaps you might like to take a tour of the presses? Or begin with a cup of tea in our … though I say it myself … charming executive tearoom?’

  ‘A cup of tea would be good,’ said Arthur. ‘But I haven’t got time to waste, so if along with a cup of tea you can provide your best sorcerer, that would be better still.’

  ‘A cup and sorcerer, ha-ha!’ replied Jakem.

  Nobody laughed, and the Denizen’s hand-wringing increased.

  ‘Just my little joke. Naturally, I am the most accomplished of us in sorcerous arts, though I must confess in a somewhat narrow field related to our work. But please, follow me to the executive tearoom, and pray do tell me what it is that you require, Lord Arthur.’

  Arthur explained what he wanted as Jakem led the way, out of the tower stair and along a stone-walled corridor that was hung with tapestries depicting Denizens sewing, gluing, and pressing books, as well as chiselling tablets of stone and casting type from molten metal, presumably lead.

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem, Lord Arthur,’ said Jakem. ‘Linking objects that were once together is a simple matter of rebinding and falls within our purview.’

  He opened a door and led the way down another corridor, this one draped in white sheets like a painter’s drop covers. This white-wrapped passage led to a chamber whose walls were also draped with sheets, some of them splashed with paint. Apart from the drop cloths, the room looked very comfortable, with half a dozen armchairs richly upholstered in a plum-coloured material adorned with pictograms in gold thread. Numerous cushions that together traversed the full spectrum of a rainbow were piled on the chairs, and in the middle there was a table carved from a single block of gold-flecked stone with a silver tray and tea service on it.

  ‘The renovations are not yet complete!’ said Jakem crossly. ‘I do apologise, Lord Arthur. Would you care to take tea in the Lower Common Room instead?’

  ‘Here will do,’ said Arthur. ‘Provided you fix up that spell on the gold leaf right away.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said Jakem. ‘Please, do sit down. Shall I pour?’

  Arthur and the others sat down, save for Ugham, who stood between Suzy’s and Fred’s chairs. Jakem snapped his fingers and the teapot jumped and let forth a burst of steam. He then poured cups for everyone, handed the small cups delicately balanced on saucers around, took one himself, and sat down on the chair nearest the corridor entrance.

  ‘This is a special blend, imported from the Secondary Realms, not made in the Lower Reaches.’ Jakem sniffed at the steam from his cup. ‘Ahh! Delightful. But I understand your impatience, Lord Arthur.’

  He set the cup and saucer down on the arm of his chair and stood.

  ‘I shall just fetch the few tools I need,’ he said, quickly stepping back into the corridor. As he reached it, he shouted three words in an unknown language, words that Arthur felt vibrate in his chest. Words of sorcery and power.

  With that shout, the white sheets whipped back to reveal open space, the real walls some twenty or thirty feet away. The ceiling above was also revealed as a huge slab of green-painted bronze, because it was the top plate of an enormous book press, with Arthur and his friends sitting right in the middle, on top of the bottom plate.

  ‘Caught!’ shouted Jakem, wringing his hands again, this time in glee.

  ‘What are you going on about?’ asked Arthur wearily. ‘We’ll just walk out.’

  The press wasn’t moving, and though he couldn’t see directly above the plate, he could see one of the arms of the press about thirty feet up, with ten Denizens there standing ready to push the arm, walking around a circular gallery like an internal verandah. He knew there would be a giant screw above the plate and that by pushing the arms clockwise or counterclockwise the Denizens could open or close the press. But it wouldn’t be a quick process.

  ‘Not from the Architect’s own press, made for the binding of very difficult things!’ crowed Jakem. ‘And not when you’re drugged by ghowchem tea, for good measure!’

  Arthur frowned and his hand fell to the Key at his side.

  ‘The Key won’t help you either.’ Jakem laughed. ‘Not if we press you very slowly, so it does not react to a sharp threat! We have had particular advice on that!’

  Arthur frowned again. His arm did feel strangely heavy, and it was true that the Key was quiescent, not leaping into his hand or turning into its rapier form.

  ‘Start the press down!’ ordered Jakem. ‘Half-speed!’

  Eighteen

  ‘ I HAD HEARD the High Guild was treacherous,’ said Arthur. He sat up straighter in his chair, which took considerable effort. It felt like he had a sack of cement tied to his chest and back.

  ‘We are merely pragmatic,’ said Jakem.

  ‘And knowing that,’ said Arthur, ‘I didn’t drink the tea.’

  With a gasp, he stood up. The gasp was echoed by Jakem.

  ‘I bet my friends didn’t either,’ added Arthur. He wasted no effort by looking around as he said that, and he heard no answer. But even if they hadn’t drunk the tea, the others would probably be held silent and in place by the powers of the press.

  ‘You can’t get up!’ protested Jakem. ‘The press was made by the Architect! It has never failed to hold recalci-trants!’ ‘This was made by the Architect too,’ said Arthur. He took a step and drew the Key, willing it to take its sword form. For a moment he thought it wouldn’t work, then the baton slowly lengthened and shimmered, transforming into a thin silver blade, the graceful quillons of the hilt wrapped around Arthur’s fist.

  ‘Stop the press,’ ordered Arthur. He took another step, directly towards Jakem. It hurt to walk, with every muscle in his legs, back, and arms feeling like they were being twisted by the fingers of a sadistic masseur. But he had kept going before, when he had no air to breathe, when only his determination kept him moving. This was only pain, not lack of breath.

  ‘But you can’t!’ protested Jakem. ‘You simply can’t be walking out!’

  Arthur did not reply. He took another step and snarled with the effort. His arms and legs were shaking, but he forced himself on. Only four more steps and he would be clear of the base plate – and within striking distance of Jakem, if the Denizen didn’t flee.

  ‘Perhaps we have been a little overhasty,’ said Jakem.

  Three more steps.

  ‘We were ordered to, you see,’ said Jakem. ‘We have to follow orders.’

  Arthur gritted his teeth together. It was only two more steps but he couldn’t lift his foot, it was just too hard. Instead, he slid his right foot forward and let out a sound that to him sounded like a moan of pain, but to Jakem sounded like a growl of anger.

  ‘Stop the press!’ shouted Jakem. ‘Lord Arthur, we most humbly apologise!’

  Arthur slid his left foot off the base plate of the press. Immediately the weight fell off him, so suddenly that he bounded forward and the point of his rapier accidentally flew to Jakem’s face. Arthur only just managed to twitch his wrist so the blade cleared the Denizen’s forehead by two inches and drilled a hole straight through his paper hat.

  Jakem fell to the ground as Arthur recovered, bringing the rapier back to the guard position with the Denizen’s hat halfway along the blade. As he slid the hat off, Arthur looked over his shoulder. Suzy was hurrying to his side, her kn
ife in her hand. Ugham had leaped clear of the press and was looking up at the Denizens in the winding gallery, his spear ready. Only Fred was still in his chair, sitting immobile, with his eyes open.

  Maybe he’s dead, thought Arthur, struck by this sudden fear. He’d be trusting enough to drink …

  ‘Get up!’ ordered Arthur. He tapped Jakem on the head with his rapier. ‘Get someone to give Fred an antidote for whatever you put in the tea.’

  Jakem rose unsteadily, his hands clasped in supplication.

  ‘There is no antidote—’

  Arthur snarled and pulled his hand back, ready to stab with the rapier.

  ‘But it is merely a soporific!’ said Jakem. ‘A little sleep-maker, that’s all. Your friend will wake within the hour!’

  ‘Too trusting, that lad,’ said Suzy. ‘Should’ve learned to never drink a tea you can see through.’

  ‘What?’ asked Arthur. His hand was shaking – not, he thought, from the effort of crossing the floor of the press, but from repressing the surge of anger he’d felt towards Jakem. He’d really wanted to kill the Denizen for a second, and if Fred had been killed or even harmed, he thought he would have.

  ‘Tea,’ said Suzy. ‘Got to be thick and dark, or it’s no good.’

  Arthur shook his head. He was tired again, he realised. He’d had a good sleep after the siege of the Citadel but that was at least twenty hours ago.

  No time to sleep, he thought, with a glance at Fred. Ugham had moved to look at the boy and now he nodded and gestured with his hand, indicating the rise and fall of a chest, to show the boy was breathing.

  Sleep can come after … after what? Don’t think about that … think about what has to be done …

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Jakem, get two of your Denizens to move Fred and his chair out of the press. They can put him over there. Were you telling the truth about the spell on the gold leaf?’

  ‘Yes, Lord Arthur!’ said Jakem. ‘Digby, Hurrent, fetch Mister Fred out of the press. Quickly now, you dolts!’

  ‘Do you need anything to do the spell?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘No, it is a simple matter,’ said Jakem. ‘If I may hold the gold leaf?’

  Arthur reached inside his coat and got out the crystal prism with the speck of gold leaf inside.

  ‘Just do the spell I want,’ he warned as he handed it over. ‘I want to be able to use it to find Part Five of the Will.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand,’ said Jakem. ‘It should work as you wish, the gold leaf here calling out to the greater part that was used in the creation of the Will.’

  ‘I don’t want it pointing to Dame Primus, though,’ added Arthur. ‘That’s the current shape of Parts One to Four of the Will.’

  ‘It will point to whichever part of the Will is closest,’ said Jakem. ‘Providing, of course, that this speck of gold is in fact part of the greater whole the Architect used.’

  ‘He talks a lot, doesn’t he?’ said Suzy. ‘You should stick him a bit, Arthur, for encouragement.’

  ‘Not with the Key,’ said Arthur. ‘It only needs a touch to kill.’

  ‘Please, Lord Arthur!’ grovelled Jakem. ‘If I may concentrate for a moment?’

  Arthur nodded and looked at Suzy, who correctly interpreted his look as a sign to keep silent. She shrugged, smiled, and wandered over to Fred, who had just been carried out of the press.

  Jakem drew out a large piece of stiff paper from one of the pockets of his robe and put it down on the floor with the crystal sitting in the middle. Then he took a quill pen and tiny bottle of activated ink from another pocket and, crouching down on his knees, quickly inked the pen and swiftly wrote four incomprehensible words from an alien alphabet on the paper around the crystal. The words were hardly written when they began to float up off the paper, shimmering and writhing like strange sea creatures on the tide. Jakem waved the quill above them in a ritual fashion and the words slid into the crystal, shrinking as they entered, till they were too small to see.

  The Pressmaster sniffed, put the lid back on the ink, replaced pen and bottle in a pocket, and stood up.

  ‘There, it’s done,’ he said.

  ‘That’s it?’ said Arthur. ‘Okay, you pick it up.’

  ‘I would not dare essay anything against you, milord—’ Jakem said.

  ‘Pick it up, then,’ interrupted Arthur. ‘And hand it to one of your Denizens. He can give it to me.’

  ‘Better give it to me, Arthur,’ said Suzy suspiciously. ‘Then you can stick ’im if there’s anything havey-cavey going on with it.’

  ‘I have done the spell exactly as instructed!’ bleated Jakem. He bent down and picked up the crystal. ‘Digby! Come here!’

  The denizen Digby ran over, pausing to tug his forelock in front of Arthur before accepting the crystal from Jakem. Nothing odd occurred then, or when it was passed to Suzy. She held it up to look carefully at the speck of gold inside, knocked on it with the handle of her knife, and finally handed it to Arthur, who took it with his left hand, not wanting to let go of the Key. Jakem was just too smooth. He oozed potential for treachery.

  ‘Looks all right, but I’m ready,’ Suzy said, sidling over to Jakem with her knife out. He looked at her nervously and began to wring his hands again.

  Arthur gazed into the crystal.

  ‘How do I make it work?’ he asked, but even as he spoke, he saw that the speck itself was moving within the crystal and changing shape. Slowly it became a very thin and very small arrow, the size of a fingernail clipping. It spun around a little and then settled down to point in a particular direction, at a vertical angle.

  ‘That way,’ he said, pointing at a spot near where Fred was sleeping in his chair. ‘And up, I think. What lies that way and up, Jakem?’

  ‘The mountain,’ said Jakem. ‘Lady Friday’s Scriptorium.’

  ‘How long till morning?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘Dawn breaks even now,’ Jakem said. ‘The little sun is already up, the greater one in a few minutes.’

  ‘We’ll need wings,’ said Arthur. ‘Or is there some other way to get to the Scriptorium?’

  Jakem shook his head.

  ‘What does that mean?’ snapped Arthur. ‘No other way or no wings?’

  ‘No other way,’ said Jakem, flinching. ‘It may only be reached through flight. As for wings, we have none, but perhaps Friday’s Dawn … the Gilded Youths …’

  ‘Who you haven’t let in,’ said Arthur. ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Saturday’s Noon instructed us, I think because Friday’s Dawn refused to obey. We were only following Saturday’s orders!’

  ‘Is Saturday’s Noon still here?’ asked Arthur. ‘Are your elevators working? And your telephones?’

  ‘No, Saturday’s Noon visited only briefly yesterday. Saturday’s Dusk has visited several times through the night, but he is not here now. The elevators answer to them, but not to us. Our telephones are not working.’

  ‘I want you to send a messenger to Friday’s Dawn,’ instructed Arthur. ‘Tell him that Lord Arthur has assumed command of the Middle House and if he will follow my orders, he will be put in charge of this fortress and the Top Shelf.’

  ‘This fortress!’ squeaked Jakem. ‘But Dawn’s province is the Flat, down there—’

  Arthur lifted the point of his rapier.

  ‘Yes, at once, Lord Arthur. Digby, you dunce! You heard Lord Arthur. Get yourself an olive branch and deliver his message immediately to Friday’s Dawn outside the gates.’

  ‘Get those chairs out from the press and set them up here,’ said Arthur. He really needed to sit down.

  ‘Gaborl, Pluik!’ shouted Jakem. ‘Move these chairs instantly for Lord Arthur!’

  ‘You help them,’ said Suzy to Jakem. ‘Those chairs look heavy.’

  ‘Yes, do,’ said Arthur. ‘Don’t bother with the tea, though.’

  Without being told to, the Denizens set up one chair by itself and the others facing it in a semicircle. Arthur settled down in the single chair. He ke
pt the Key in its rapier form, resting the blade across the arm of the chair, holding the hilt loosely in his hand.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said to Jakem, who chose a seat facing him. Suzy sat down too, while Ugham stood between her and Fred.

  ‘Since we’re going to have to wait for a response from Friday’s Dawn and for Fred to wake up, you can answer some more questions,’ Arthur said to Jakem.

  ‘Anything, anything, milord.’

  ‘Has the Piper been here?’ Arthur couldn’t help but glance at Ugham, who met his eyes with an untroubled gaze. Arthur repressed a sigh. He liked Ugham, and he liked the sound of the Newniths. As the Piper had told him before the assault on the Citadel, they actually wanted to be farmers. But even so, Ugham was a problematic ally. One word from the Piper and he would have to turn on his friends.

  ‘Not here,’ answered Jakem.

  Arthur didn’t suppress his sigh this time.

  ‘You mean not in Binding Junction or not in the Middle House?’

  ‘Ah, I meant to say, he has been seen. He and a troop of his children appeared several hours ago and flew off, presumably to Friday’s Scriptorium, if the Winged Servants did not intercept them first.’

  ‘Did anybody else go after him?’

  ‘Hmm, I believe Saturday’s Dusk and a dozen or so Internal Auditors might have flown after him …’ ‘Internal Auditors?’ asked Arthur.

  ‘The most doughty soldiery of the Upper House,’ said Ugham. ‘Fell warriors, by all accounts.’

  ‘They can suck your innards out by looking at you,’ said Suzy. ‘Least that’s what they say.’

  ‘I wonder which children the Piper had with him,’ said Arthur. ‘He must have used the Improbable Stair, or he’d have brought Newniths. That reminds me. We encountered a Nithling in the Flat, Jakem. A kind of pig thing with a horn …’

  ‘A pig thing with a horn? Ah, I do believe there was some nasty squealing coming out of the elevator Saturday’s Dusk was using … It could perhaps have been the type of created Nithling called a grannow-hoinch …’