Sir Thursday

Eleven

" I CAN"T LET them wash me between the ears," said Arthur.

"There's not much choice," said Fred gloomily.

"Even if you hide, they always find you. We'd better start getting ready."

"There must be a way to avoid it," Arthur insisted.

"And what do you mean 'start getting ready”?"

"Start writing down the important stuff," said Fred.

"You know, name, friends, favourite colour. Sometimes it's enough to bring some memories back. Of course, if we had some silver coins and some salt …"

"We could even forget our names?" In Arthur's weary state it was only just beginning to hit home that cleaning between the ears could be even worse than he'd thought. He'd been worried about forgetting some details about his life on Earth, or his family, or the Morrow Days and the Keys … not that he might entirely forget who he was.

"You must have been cleaned quite recently if you can't even remember that," said Fred. "If they do a complete job you'll forget everything about yourself. And they don't care if you were only done yesterday, they just do you again."

"What was that about silver coins and salt?"

"A silver coin under the tongue is supposed to help resist the washing," said Fred. "And salt in the nose. But we've got neither, so we'd better start writing. I really hope I don't forget how to read this time. It's going to set back our training too. I'll never make general if I get washed between the ears too often. Come on."

He marched back to the beds, Arthur following more slowly and out of step. But no NCOs appeared to berate him. As far as he could tell, it was the middle of the night and their appointed wake-up time would be in only three or four hours.

Despite his weariness, Arthur followed Fred's lead and got out a service notebook and scarlet pencil with the platoon name on it in gold type. But while Fred wrote busily, Arthur wondered about what he should put down. If he wrote his real name and other important stuff, someone might see it.

In the end, he compromised by starting his list with Ray Green and then putting underneath it Real name? and then AP. After that, he put down his favourite colour, which was blue, his parents" first names, Bob and Emily, and his brothers" and sisters", Erazmuz, Staria, Patrick, Suzanne, Michaeli, and Eric. Arthur thought for a while, then added Suzy TB, Leaf, and Mister Monday, Grim Tuesday, and Drowned Wednesday. If those names didn't trigger memories, he'd be in a really bad state.

He wanted to write more, but he felt faint. The paper was swimming around … or maybe his vision was. He managed to lose a few seconds in between writing Drowned and Wednesday, waking with a start as his chin hit his chest. So he closed the notebook, slid the pencil into its pocket, and lay back on his bed. He told himself he'd just sleep for a little while, maybe half an hour, and then he'd wake up and write some more.

The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by Fred. Groggily, Arthur swung his legs out of bed and stood up. There were trumpets blasting out long, irritating notes, and only half of the hurricane lanterns were lit. Fred thrust a towel and a leather case into Arthur's hands.

"Come on! We have to wash and shave."

"But I don't shave … "

"Neither does anyone else, really. Hair doesn't grow much in the House. But we have to try. Regulations."

Arthur stumbled after Fred. In a dim, more-asleep-than-awake way, he was surprised that they were walking, rather than marching, and heading for a door he hadn't seen before, on the east side of the barracks.

The door shone slightly with a faint greenish light. When Arthur stepped through it into a narrow, dark corridor, he almost lost his balance, the floor wobbling under his feet like jelly. He threw out a hand to steady himself on the corridor wall, and that gave way under his fingers.

"This is a weirdway!" he protested.

"Yes," Fred agreed. "It leads to the washroom."

A few steps later, though as far as he could tell he'd passed no other door, Arthur came out into a truly vast washroom that had no roof. The night sky above was brilliant, with strange constellations of stars that looked too close, and a rather unsteady crescent moon that cast a pale-green light. Arthur stopped where he was, momentarily stunned by the unexpected night sky and the sight of endless lines of Denizen soldiers stretching out as far as he could see in the moonlight, standing in front of equally endless lines of mirrors and washbasins, each one lit by a naked gas flame above the mirror.

The Denizens were mostly stripped to their undervests, but even these varied with their units. The uniforms" trousers, kilts, or leggings included every kind Arthur had in his cupboard, plus a few more he hadn't seen before.

"We share the washroom with the whole Army," said Fred. "Come on, let's find our spot. You need to get some cold water on your face, I think."

He set out on a diagonal path, walking right through a couple of Legionary Denizens and their washbasins and mirrors, as if none of them were there, and they were all just ghostly images. The Legionaries ignored Fred, but Arthur saw them talk to one another, though he heard no sound.

"Hold on!" Arthur yelled. "Where are we? How come you just walked through them?"

"Oh, they're not real to us, or us to them," said Fred. "Corporal Axeforth explained yesterday morning. We just have to find our washbasins. They won't be far away."

He kept walking. Reluctantly, Arthur followed, flinching as he stepped through the Legionaries. Fred was still ahead, passing through a couple of buff-coated Artillery Denizens. On the other side, there was a row of vacant washbasins, and to either side of them, some other Recruit Denizens. They turned to look as Arthur and Fred arrived, and Arthur heard the gurgle of the water in their basins and the chink of razors laid down on the porcelain.

"But how does this work?" asked Arthur. "Are they all here or not?"

"The corp wasn't all that informational," Fred said as he opened his leather case and removed a cutthroat razor, brush, soap, and lathering bowl. "Something about weird-ways leading to lots of different washrooms that coexist in the same place within the House but offset in time. Saves on hot water or some such."

Fred started to whip up a lather in his bowl. Arthur shook his head, then splashed his face with the water from the basin, which was warm and filled up again immediately, though there were no visible taps or spout.

Fred applied the lather to his face and began to shave, at the same time whispering to himself. Arthur wondered if it was some kind of prayer that Fred might not cut his own throat. He'd just gotten his own razor out and it was incredibly sharp and dangerous. Then he saw that Fred was using the blunt back instead of the blade.

"What're you whispering?" Arthur enquired.

"My name," said Fred as he carefully scraped some lathered soap off his chin. "And my favourite colour."

"Oh," said Arthur. "I forgot … "

He stared at the mirror, looking at his familiar – though not very satisfying – face. He couldn't believe he might not know himself soon.

"You'd better shave, or you'll get put on defaulters," Fred warned. "That means get punished."

"Even though my skin is perfectly smooth?" Arthur ran his hand over his chin. "I won't have to shave for years."

"They'll know you haven't shaved," said Fred despondently. "Just because we're going to get washed between the ears doesn't mean they'll let us off shaving, or anything else."

"Okay," said Arthur. "Okay!"

He put some soap in his lathering bowl and started to whisk it with the brush, as he'd seen Fred do. Then, following the other boy's lead, he slapped the frothy soap on his face and shaved with the back of the razor. It was completely pointless, just putting on soap and scraping it off. Arthur thought about what he was going to do as he scraped, flicked, and rinsed.

"Let's not go back," he said as they were washing their necks and under their arms. "Let's stay here."

"Here?" squeaked Fred. He was obviously unnerved by the idea. "I'm not sure this place even exists after morning ablution time. The weirdway closes … " "If we stay by these basins, I reckon we'll be okay," said Arthur. "They're real to us, so they must be somewhere."

"But we'll be absent without leave," mumbled Fred. "Not on parade. The Bathroom Attendants will come looking for us."

"If the weirdway's closed till tomorrow morning, they won't be able to find us, will they?" asked Arthur. "How long do they hang around?"

"They come, do the washing, and go," said Fred. "Just as long as it takes to do all the Piper's children in the area."

"So we wait here, then go back tomorrow morning," said Arthur. "Take our punishment and get on with the training."

"You'll do no such thing," said the recruit who'd just finished packing up next to them. Arthur vaguely recognised her as being from his platoon. Florimel – the one Fred had said to watch out for. "You will report as ordered."

"No, we won't," said Fred, all his despair of a moment ago vanishing. Apparently all it took to encourage him was someone like Florimel telling him he couldn't do something. "I'm ordering you back to the barracks!"

"Who made you High Lady Muckamuck?" asked Fred. "You're just a recruit, same as us. We'll do what we want and you keep your mouth shut."

"I'll report you," said Florimel, drawing herself up to her full height.

"No, you won't," said Arthur sternly. "You won't say a word."

Though Florimel was tall, for a moment Arthur appeared taller still, and his hair suddenly moved as if it had been swept by the beat of unseen wings. There was something of Dame Primus in Arthur's stance and voice, just for an instant. Then he was just a boy again, but Florimel had already looked down and backed away.

"Yes, sir," said Florimel. "Whatever you say, sir."

She half-saluted, did a clumsy right turn, and marched away through a couple of green-clad Borderers who were also leaving, but in the opposite direction.

"How did you do that?" asked Fred, openmouthed. "I thought for sure she'd put us in a pickle. Someone like that …" He stopped talking as the moon above their heads suddenly lurched towards the horizon. At the same time, a rosy glow fell on them from the east. Arthur turned to look. He couldn't see the sun, but the light was the first hint of the dawn.

With that hint, the remaining soldiers hurriedly left in all directions, evidently disappearing back through their own weirdways to their respective places in the Great Maze. Within a few minutes, Arthur and Fred were alone in the vast, lonely washroom, with nothing but mirrors and basins to see in all directions, the mirrors beginning to reflect the morning light.

"I hope this turns out to be a good idea," said Arthur.

"So do I," said Fred with a shiver.

He shivered again as some of the farther mirrors began to fade away, as if they had dissolved in sunshine. He backed up to his own basin. Arthur found that he too had unconsciously backed up to make contact with the solid porcelain.

Slowly, as the sun rose and became an identifiable disk above the horizon, the sinks and mirrors around them faded away. Arthur and Fred drew closer together, till they were standing shoulder to shoulder. They could see nothing around them save sunlight, but their own basins remained solid, and their mirrors shone.

"Maybe it's going to be all right," Fred whispered.

"Maybe," Arthur said.

That was when everything went black. Just for an instant. Arthur and Fred blinked and saw that while they were still shoulder to shoulder they were no longer leaning against a basin, nor were they surrounded by sunlight.

They were back in the barracks, leaning against Arthur's wardrobe, and the only light came from the hurricane lantern above their heads and the others like it, all of them now lit.

In the dim light, Arthur saw three shapes standing ten feet in front of him. They were Denizen sized and shaped but clad in all-concealing daisy-yellow robes with long, pointed hoods. Their hands were gloved in flexible steel mesh and their faces too were hidden – this time behind masks of beaten bronze.

One mask had a smiling mouth. One had a mouth turned down in sombre reflection. The third mask had a mouth twisted in agony.

There was no sign of anyone … or anything … behind the mouths or the eyes of the masks. There was only darkness.

"B … B … Bathroom Attendants," whispered Fred. "Fred Initial Numbers Gold, Manuscript Gilder's Assistant Sixth Class, favourite colour green, tea with milk and one sugar, shortbread but not caraway biscuits …"

The Bathroom Attendants glided forward, robes whispering on the floor. Two of them reached into their broad sleeves and pulled out strange crowns of sculpted blue ice, all spikes and shards that crackled and sparkled with dancing light. The third produced a length of golden rope that moved in his hand like a spitting cobra, rearing up to spit its venom.

But it did not spit poison. Instead the golden rope leaped through the air and fastened itself around Arthur's ankles, bringing him down even as he turned to run away.

Arthur hit the floor hard. The golden rope swarmed over his legs, wrapping them tight, then the loose end fastened itself on his left wrist and started to draw it behind his back. Arthur resisted as hard as he could and scrabbled desperately in his pouch with his right hand, trying to get the silver crocodile ring. It wasn't a coin, but it was silver, and Arthur wanted it under his tongue.

He had it in his grasp and was bringing it up to his mouth when a coil of the rope lashed itself around his right wrist and pulled it back. Arthur snapped his head forward, got his fingers in his mouth, and pushed the ring under his tongue, cutting his lip in the process.

Blood trickled down his chin as he was hauled up onto his knees, the golden rope securing his arms behind him and his ankles together.

Arthur looked up and saw the fizzing, sparkling crown coming down.

I'm Arthur Penhaligon, he thought desperately. Arthur Penhaligon, my parents are Bob and Emily. I'm the Master of the Lower House, the Far Reaches, the Border Sea –

The crown was wedged tight upon his head – and Arthur fell silently screaming into darkness.