Lord Sunday

Seventeen

IT WAS HALF PAST ELEVEN, and the chains that bound Arthur to the clock had shrunk, dragging him back to the central boss. With each passing minute, they tightened farther, pulling his hands behind his back.

There had been no sign or portent of the Mariner’s arrival. Arthur tried to not think of how long it had taken the Captain to come to his – or Leaf’s – aid in the past. He’d hoped that the Mariner might not be too far away, cosmically speaking.

Now he had to address the very real possibility that within forty minutes two horrendous puppets were going to take out his eyes. While he was pretty confident they would grow back, that didn’t make him feel any better.

Elephant shifted at his side, sensing Arthur’s fear. His friend had continued to grow for a while after bringing the medal back, but had stopped when he got to the size of a large dog. Or rather the height of one, for he was very round, and would weigh much more than even the most heavyset dog.

‘You’ll have to go and hide soon,’ said Arthur. ‘Lord Sunday said he’d be back before twelve. And I don’t want the puppets taking your eyes as well.’

Elephant made a thrusting motion with his tusks. They were about a foot long now, and very sharp.

Arthur shook his head.

‘No. You can’t fight Sunday. Or the puppets. But thank you.’

Elephant made a deep grumbling sound.

‘No, I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt or killed,’ said Arthur. He remembered when he’d lost Elephant all those years ago. It was an intense ache that had never really left him, though it had become smaller inside him as he had grown bigger. ‘You’d better go and hide now.’

Elephant saluted with his trunk and rumbled off to hide among a stand of tall, flowering shrubs.

Arthur twisted around to look at the trapdoor in the clock face. He could hear rattling and scratching noises behind it now, as the puppets came alive and readied their chopper and corkscrew.

‘I’m going to kick the bark off your little wooden heads,’ warned Arthur, attempting to channel Suzy or the inner anger that had risen in him in the past. But his voice lacked conviction and he found no rage. He was going to try kicking them if it was possible, but he knew it probably wouldn’t be. When the chains tightened up completely, he would be held down against the clock face and the puppets would come at him from behind his head. To kick them he’d have to be a contortionist.

‘I’ll bite too,’ added Arthur.

Not that my teeth would do much to those puppets, even if I could land a bite on them. I’d need much more serious teeth for that. Or I could just give up.

Arthur banished that thought. He wasn’t going to give up.

I have to think outside the square, like Eric is always going on about. Maybe I could grow sharp teeth. Or extra arms. I could direct my power to change myself.

Arthur looked down at his manacled wrists and a new thought popped into his head.

Maybe I could make my hands really small and slip these manacles off!

He stared down at his wrists and concentrated on them, willing them to become thinner, to shrink down.

Nothing happened, save the tick of the clock and the rattle of the chains as another link crept into its neighbour and became one.

Arthur kept concentrating for the next ten minutes, but it didn’t work. His wrists and hands remained unchanged. He was so intent on forcing his body to reshape itself that he didn’t notice Lord Sunday till the Denizen was standing in front of him, on the rim of the clock face.

‘It lacks but a quarter hour to twelve,’ said Lord Sunday. ‘Will you give me the Keys and the Atlas?’

Arthur looked up at him. Though many hours had passed, the sun in the Incomparable Gardens moved slowly, and had barely shifted against the painted sky. Lord Sunday stood so the disc of the sun was behind his head, giving him a bright and blinding halo.

‘No,’ said Arthur slowly. ‘I won’t.’

Lord Sunday frowned and turned away. Arthur blinked and looked up, but saw no dragonfly. Wherever Lord Sunday had come from, it was not on one of his winged creatures.

‘I will wait,’ said Lord Sunday. ‘Perhaps you will reconsider afterwards.’

Arthur craned his head around. Sunday had sat down just behind the clock, on a striped canvas chair that had not been there before. A Denizen in a butler’s uniform who looked a bit like Sneezer, though he had green skin, was handing him a tall, pinkish drink. Beyond the butler, a tall-legged beetle the size of a van munched on the leaves of a tree. The beetle had a gilded throne on its back, and several smaller cane chairs behind it, and was evidently Sunday’s choice of ground transportation.

The clock ticked. Arthur watched the minute hand move to three minutes to twelve. The chain tightened again, and he lay back and stared at the sky.

It will only be a short pain, he thought. Followed by an ache that will pass in an hour or two as my eyes grow back. It’s not like when I was human ...

‘Not like when I was human,’ he whispered.

‘What?’ asked Lord Sunday. ‘What did you say? Did you agree to my proposal?’

‘No!’ Arthur shouted. He shut his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could stand the pain, but he was absolutely sure he didn’t want to see it happen. ‘Do your worst!’

The last few minutes stretched out for a very long time. Arthur could see the red glare of the sun through his eyelids. He scrunched his eyes more tightly closed, and tried to think of other, nicer things. Of Bob’s music, and of his own songs. He tried to hum one, but he couldn’t remember it, and there were other songs that he should be able to remember but he couldn’t think how they went either, not even classic songs he’d played a million times himself on the keyboard.

Bong! The clock began to strike. Arthur tensed as he heard the trapdoor fly open, his whole body taut as a bowstring. He ground his teeth together to keep his mouth shut as he heard the whirr and cackle of the clockwork puppets. A shadow eclipsed the red blur of the sun- I will not scream, thought Arthur furiously.

I will not scream or cry or show any sign-

The clock continued to strike, slowly counting to twelve.

Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong!

There was no pain. Arthur felt nothing, not the slightest touch on his eyelids or face.

Bong! Bong! Bong!

He gulped, unable to stop himself, and his eyes ever so slightly unscrunched.

Bong! Bong!

Only two strikes to go and still nothing had touched his eyes. Arthur took in a deep, racking breath-

Bong!

The last strike was taking forever, and the puppets still hadn’t attacked. They only had the time it took for the clock to sound the twelve chimes.

‘Come on!’ shouted Arthur.

Bong!

Arthur heard the whirr and the clatter of the puppets’ wooden feet, and the slap of the trapdoor closing. Slowly, ever so slowly, he opened his eyes.

Lord Sunday was standing near him, sipping his drink.

‘You are brave,’ he said. ‘Braver than I might have expected, from a mortal. Yet I think you will not be so brave next time.’

‘Next time ...’ whispered Arthur.

‘You must give me the Keys and the Atlas,’ said Lord Sunday. ‘It is the only hope for the House and the Secondary Realms.’

Arthur stared up at him, his mind racing, fuelled by fear-induced adrenaline.

‘You can’t actually hurt me,’ he said with sudden realisation. ‘That would be like forcing me to hand over the Keys! You can try to scare me and that’s it!’

Lord Sunday gave him a slight, unfriendly smile, and stepped off the clock face.

‘I’m not scared!’ shouted Arthur. He tried to shout it again, but he couldn’t. Because he was scared. He didn’t know if he was right about the Keys. Maybe the next time the clock struck twelve, the puppets would take his eyes.

There was a soft patter in the grass near the clock. Arthur lifted his head and watched the beetle race past, with Lord Sunday and several of his servants on board. The beetle went very close to the plants where Elephant was hiding. Arthur held his breath as it went by, brushing the shrubs aside before disappearing over the edge of the terrace.

Elephant emerged a minute later and crossed the grass. He gripped one of the clock’s numerals with his trunk and used that to help lever himself up onto the clock face before trotting over to Arthur.

‘I’ve still got my eyes, Elephant,’ said Arthur. ‘And twelve hours to figure out something else. I can’t just wait for the Mariner. He took weeks to come to the Border Sea.’

Elephant nodded.

‘I didn’t ask before,’ said Arthur. ‘Because I didn’t think of it. But can you talk now?’

Elephant shook his head slowly and let out a soft, negative boom.

‘I thought maybe I could send you to find a telephone,’ said Arthur. ‘To call Dame Primus. But if you can’t talk ... it’s not that I want you to go anywhere ...’

Elephant nodded and sat down next to Arthur with a loud thud.

Arthur kept staring at the sky, busy thinking.

‘Maybe you could go up the hill behind us,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s where Sunday’s Noon took my Keys. If you could find them and they’re still in that net, you could bring them to me.’

Elephant lumbered back upright and let out a short, eager trumpet.

‘Okay,’ said Arthur. ‘You go and take a look. But be very careful. Don’t get into a fight or get hurt. Try to stay hidden. And remember you can’t touch the Keys themselves. Only the net. Come back if it’s too dangerous.’

Elephant nodded, saluted with his trunk, and headed off.

‘I mean it!’ Arthur called out. ‘Don’t try to touch the Keys. Be careful!’

He waited until Elephant had left the clock before he let his head fall back. Quietly he added, ‘You’re all I’ve got left. To remind me who I really am.’