CHAPTER SIXTEEN- BURINSBERG

"What are you doing back here?"

Noon winced.

"Well?" Saturday demanded, leaning on her umbrella as if it was a cane. Despite the loud booms of cannons and the clamor of battle in the distance, the horizon hid the town of Burinsberg and allowed Saturday to remain nonchalant so far from the gore. "What are you doing back here without the Pretender? I asked for you to parley with him."

"He escaped," Noon said, and winced. He almost expected Saturday to launch into a tirade.

"I see," she said. "I suppose you were just waiting for him?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"How long did it take you to realize he'd disappeared?"

"Ten minutes after the twenty I gave him."

"You gave him twenty minutes?" she hissed. "Why did I switch you? Dusk was so much more proficient."

Noon's hand clenched into a fist, but he quickly hid it behind his back before she could see, carefully trying to uncurl his fingers. "Yes, milady," he said.

"Burinberg is taking too long to capture," she sighed. "Friday's Dawn is actually putting up a resistance. As soon as that traitor is captured, I want him detained in a proper manner so that he won't escape. Once we reach the Upper House, I'll deal with him accordingly."

"Yes, milady."

A silence. Then, "Well, don't just stand there! Do something!"

"Yes, milady." He turned to go, but Saturday's voice cut through the air.

"Actually, wait."

"What is it, milady?" he asked.

She transferred the umbrella to the other hand. "Noon. Get yourself a pair of wings, and find this Pretender. Bring him to me, or I swear you won't be Noon for much longer. Everyone is replaceable, Noon. Don't ever delude yourself into thinking otherwise."

Noon gulped. "Understood, milady. Are you going to join the battle?"

"Perhaps." She tapped the umbrella against the ground six times. "If I appeared with a Key, I doubt Burinsberg would hold for much longer, but word would reach quickly. I want to wait."

"What for?"

"Think, Noon! There's all of one canal here."

"You want to search the boats on the Extremely Grand Canal?" Noon asked. "But you don't know the Pretender's going to be on one."

"If he's not," she said, "you will bring him to me. If he is, I shall find him. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, milady. Very much so."

"Wonderful." She waved her hand. "Dismissed."

"Are you feeling all right, Leaf?" Friday asked. "You're just picking at your food. Not hungry?"

That wasn't it at all, Leaf decided. It was just rather difficult to eat with the Denizen scrutinizing her every move as if she was about to attack Friday with a fork. She wasn't that stupid- Friday could at least give her that much credit. To her left, Aunt Mango was smiling happily and trying different delicacies laid out in front of them. "You need to eat, Leafy dear," Mango said. "You don't want the stomach rumbling, do you?"

Friday cracked a smile. "No, Leaf, you most definitely would not want the stomach rumbling."

"I'm not hungry," Leaf said.

"Aw, something up? Stomach troubling you? A boy?" Friday snickered. "Lovesick?"

"Were you experiencing a mother?" Leaf retorted.

"You're in no position to talk to me like that, young lady," Friday replied, which pretty much confirmed it. Or, it was at least as close to a confirmation as Leaf needed.

"Hey, Friday," Leaf said, struck by a whim. "Could I follow you around tomorrow? Like an intern?"

"A what?"

"You know, an intern. I'm curious about how this place works, so if I could just shadow you…" Seeing Friday's face eclipse annoyance, Leaf quickly added, "I won't get in the way or anything. You won't even know I'm there!"

"Not me, you can't follow me." Friday shrugged. "I could arrange for you to follow someone, though, or have some sort of activity to occupy the time. Being a hostage can be such boring, troublesome work, I know."

"How?" Leaf asked.

"I was a hostage, once," Friday answered, "or perhaps I experienced it. In any case, you'll find that I don't forget absolutely everything that passes through my mind. It is not, as you mortals say, 'In one ear and out the other.' The emotions are fleeting, but the memories remain…" She eyed Leaf. "I wonder if it's any use letting a mortal try experiencing… but it probably wouldn't work anyway. Ah, well. It'd make an interesting experiment, at the least…"

Leaf shivered. She didn't like the sound of 'experiment.'

"I wonder. What do your innards look like?" Friday continued, and Leaf grew a shade paler as she said, "I could cut you open and take a look. I have some surgeons on the staff; surely they could analyze the findings, especially blood typing. Mortal blood is so useful in House sorcery, you know… I drink blood every now and then to keep my youth."

Friday laughed, and Leaf realized she'd been joking. "That wasn't a very funny joke," Leaf said.

"I thought it was splendid," Aunt Mango said absentmindedly.

"What was splendid?" Leaf said.

"Oh, the bananas," she replied wistfully, staring at the ceiling. "And all the pretty angels here. So many angels here, Leaf! Are we in heaven?"

"Nowhere close," Leaf muttered.

Friday watched the proceedings with an amused smirk. "I have never been compared to an angel."

"She probably wasn't talking about you," Leaf snapped, and then, in response to her stomach's protests, added, "Uh, do you have any vegetarian options?"

"And that means…?" Friday raised an eyebrow.

Arthur tried to get some sleep while riding on the raft with Pirkin and the other members of the Paper Pusher Association. He was sorely exhausted, but his thoughts kept whirring in strange directions. He'd have to fix problems with Elibazeth, and he wasn't quite human anymore…

Thursday also remained awake, and the two of them were the only souls not snoring away as the Middle House night descended besides those propelling the raft. He sat near the edge of the raft, staring up at the sky. After a moment's hesitation, Arthur sidled up next to him. "What're you thinking?" he asked.

Thursday harrumphed in response. "Thoughts."

"What about?" Arthur pressed.

Thursday turned and glared at him, the scar down his eye intensifying the look. "Thoughts about things little mortal boys would not understand."

"Because I'm not a Denizen?"

"Because you've never had a girlfriend," Thursday quipped, flicking Arthur's bangs. The boy blinked. "You're too young."

"Are you afraid of seeing Friday?" Arthur asked.

"I am not afraid of fighting Friday," Thursday answered. "I am afraid of speaking to her."

"I see."

Arthur said nothing, then, and merely studied Thursday's expression. It was, however, impossible to read. "Uh, do you know where we're going?"

"Burinsberg," Thursday said. "We should probably ditch the raft before that."

"Why?"

"A precaution. It may not be necessary."

Arthur looked up at the fake stars painted on the ceiling of the Middle House. "How does the House emulate stars?"

"Radioactive paint," Thursday gruffed. "You're going to get cancer."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"Perhaps." He cracked a smile. It didn't quite suite him.

"These stars are pretty," Arthur said. "They look like they're in constellations."

"They are, but not of your solar system," Thursday said. "This particular grouping was a favorite of the Architect's. Here," he pointed, "You can see the Victor." Swinging his arm to point at an opposite shape, he said, "That is the Victoria."

"The what?"

"The Victor's wife."

"Oh." Arthur could make out both shapes, though they didn't seem to resemble people too much to him. "Why's she all the way over there?"

"Because in winning, there are also sacrifices," Thursday said. "That is one of the prime rules of a soldier."

"I understand," Arthur said, though he didn't. "How long does night last here?"

"I don't know. The machine's broken," Thursday replied. "I'm quite surprised there's even a night right now. Last time I was here, it was day for about five years straight."

Arthur winced. "Must have messed with everyone's internal clocks."

Thursday blinked. "Clocks… inside a person?"

"Not quite like that," Arthur said.

"Sleep," Thursday said suddenly. "You need rest."

"I can't fall asleep," Arthur said, resisting the urge to pout like a little child. That would not do, especially in front of an immortal Trustee.

"Look at the stars. Think of where they come from," Thursday replied, "and where they will be going when the dawn comes." He looked up at the sky again. "The moon is frozen in its tracks. The stars are going out, one by one. The sun will stop burning. The House will fall apart." He continued talking but not looking at Arthur, his eyes searching for some sort of sign in the stars. "The House will fall apart from within, even if you… even if Saturday gets her way... because that is our nature. We are not good at creating anew, but merely maintaining. So how are we to replace what is broken, hmm?" Now he did look at Arthur, as if expecting an answer, but the boy's chest was rising and falling softly.

"I didn't know I had I soothing voice," Thursday said, his tone neither offended nor pleased. "Strange."

"Forget it," Saturday snorted. "Who knows where Dusk is, and no raft is coming. Let's get this siege over with." She pulled the Sixth Key out of her sleeve and flapped her wings, taking to the air. "Oh, wait," she said as she rose above the chimneys of the abandoned buildings she'd claimed. "Is that a raft?" She could barely tell in the darkness, but it was at least some sort of moving… thing… in the canal, which warranted investigation.

She thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. "It's go time."

"Waaaahh!"

Arthur sat bolt upright as a Piper's Child crash-landed into the river.

"Someone help!" he cried. "She's not wearing the right clothes; the water'll drown her!"

Thursday had already dived in, wrestling with the sorcery with a bark of his own magic (which must have not been very good; all it did was make the water fizzle pathetically, but at least he managed to throw the girl onto the raft). A moment later, he clambered up, wet and growling, "What are you, stupid?"

"Yeah, sorry," she said. A slight thing with brown hair and wide green eyes, her wings seemed very drab. She held up a trembling hand, clutching a soaked letter. "I have a message to pass along to Burinsberg. Saturday's forces are marching closer."

"We're on our way to Burinsberg!" exclaimed Perkin. "How delightful! What's your name, dear girl?"

"Venetia," she said, glancing back up the sky. "It's a little hard to fly at night, but Friday's Dawn wanted me to deliver the letter as quickly as possible. We have to evacuate the town."

"You're not going to be able to see the town in this weather," said Pirkin, and sure enough, a crack of thunder echoed overhead. "Seems there's a storm brewing."

"Dear," sighed Venetia. "And I do so hate the rain." She sighed. "Anyway, if I may ask whose good company I'm in?"

"Sir Thursday and Arthur Penhaligon," Thursday answered. "This here is Peter Pirkin, and the rest are members of the Paper Pushers' Association."

"Splendid," she said, not sounding as if it was splendid at all. More like she had to eat a pile of brussel sprouts.

Rain began pouring down, and Venetia raised her eyes to the sky, letting it drip over her face. "The rain here is so warm…" she whispered.

Thursday raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to come under the cover until it's over?"

"I suppose," she said, but it was no good. By the time Arthur, Thursday, and Venetia reached it, all three were soaked through.

"Heavy drizzle, there," said Pirkin. "Cup of tea, miss?"

"Oh, yes, please," Venetia replied. "Thank you, kind sir." She winked.

Pirkin blushed a little. "It's nothing, miss."

After a couple of minutes, Pirkin brought Venetia her tea, which she sipped once delicately before shrieking as Thursday accidentally made the raft lean a little. "Careful, there!" she said, quickly amending, "sir."

"Whatever," Thursday snorted. "Drink your tea."

"What are you doing after Buringsberg?" asked Arthur.

"I don't really know," Venetia replied. "I was, you know, hoping someone could bring Friday back because Saturday's control is horrid. She outlawed experiencing, don't you know? It's quite natural Friday's Dawn is fighting back. We can't have people like that running the Middle House. Besides, what does Saturday know of binding records? She's all into governmental affairs."

"How much has Saturday taken?" Arthur inquired. "Of the Middle House, I mean."

Venetia bit her lip before responding. "Oh, I don't know. I don't think it's become two-thirds yet, but it's at least over a half."

Thursday frowned. "Whatever."

A boom resounded overhead, startling Venetia. She dropped the cup, smashing it, and apologized profusely as Pirkin loquaciously told her not to fret about it.

"What was that?" Arthur cried.

"Cannon," Thursday said, staring at Venetia. "Seems you were a bit late."

"Whups," she said, and winced. "Ah, that's terrible, truly. What happens when this raft reaches the checkpoint?"

"Saturday will probably have people checking passengers," Thursday answered. "We need to ditch the raft now. You have any wings, Pirkin?"

"No," he said. "What for? The Extremely Grand Canal's always been good enough for us Paper Pushers!"

"I have just one extra pair in my satchel," Venetia said, pulling out two feathers that exploded into a full set the second they were free of the leather bag.

"Good. Arthur, put those on," Thursday commanded.

"But what about you?"

"The day I can't fight off some of Saturday's fiends is the day Saturday finally gets that kiss from Lord Sunday," Thursday replied.

"I don't get it," Venetia said.

"Whatever." It seemed to be something he said a lot to the girl. "Now, give him the wings."

Venetia nodded and helped Arthur put them on. "You want to follow me? I should probably lead. You don't look like a very experienced flier."

"No," Arthur admitted. "Most of my lessons were for ground combat."

"The Army reserves in-flight training for advanced stages," Thursday said. "You are nowhere close."

Arthur experimentally flapped his wings as Venetia launched off the side of the raft. "You coming?"

"Yes!" he called, but before he could take a running start, Thursday grabbed his wrist. "What?"

"Fly the opposite direction." He held up a rifle.

"WHERE ON EARTH DID YOU GET THAT?" Arthur demanded.

"Ssh," Thursday said, and patted his pocket. "Transdimensional. That girl is bad news, kid. I'm going to shoot her back into the water. It was a mistake fishing her out."

Arthur nodded, and Thursday let go.

"Now get the heck out of here before she thinks something's up," Thursday ordered.

Arthur nodded once more and immediately launched in the opposite direction.

Venetia yelled, "What are you doing, nimbus?" She shrieked as a shot clipped one of her wings, and she nearly fell into the water again before the other started flapping twice as hard to make up for its partner's failings, barely keeping her skimming above the water. She drew her knees to her chest to avoid them touching, for the water would suck her down, and then shouted, "What's the big deal?"

"Go back to the Upper House, you grease monkey!" Thursday screamed in return.

"Grease monkey?! Never have I been so insulted!" she cried.

"Shut up, you Piper's Child!"

Arthur didn't spare much of a glance at them, flying as fast as he could. Another shot reverberated through the air, mixing with the strident screams of the battle, and he thought he saw Venetia dip beneath the water.

An eruption of spray, and she resurfaced, drab wings suddenly bright blue and long, a wingspan of at least six feet, something glowing impossibly bright in her hand, and Arthur turned away. Get out of here get out of here get out of here went over and over in his mind.

"So, this 'ere's the tunnel?" Suzy asked.

Dawn nodded. "If you continue onward, it should bring you to the Middle House. Just give the soldiers there this note and several pounds of tea and biscuit. That should be enough." She handed the letter to Quicksilver, much to Suzy's chagrin.

"Oi, let me have a look," Suzy said.

"No, you'll get it all grubby," Quicksilver said, which was true but stung nonetheless. "Everybody ready to go? Squad Arthur Retrieval, quiiick march!"

The tunnel was cut stone clearly done with magic, as the walls were perfectly rounded and arched, not a single blemish to be seen. Occasionally, there were damp areas where water dripped down, some splashing onto Suzy's forehead and slipping down her face. "Ugh!" she exclaimed. "Gross." She noticed she'd fallen a bit behind the procession and ran to catch up, catching Gold's amused look and Fineold's ire at her not marching anymore. "Quicksilver!"

"That'd be Captain Quicksilver to you," she replied. "What is it, Private Turquoise-Blue?"

Suzy groaned. "Do you have to be so uptight? We're not near the soldiers now, so we can relax a little."

Immediately upon her pronouncement, half of the Piper's Children stopped marching and started ambling along in a rather loitering pace. Quicksilver scowled at the sight. "You all need the rod of discipline," she said.

"And you're holding that rod?" Suzy challenged. "Who made you Miss High-and-Mighty? The way I see things, I've been at Arthur's right hand- or maybe his left, I wasn't paying much attention- for, say, the entire span of his adventures in the House. Blimey, if it wasn't for me, he'd have been eaten by a Nithling by now!"

"Nithlings don't eat people," Quicksilver sniffed. "They dissolve them."

"How do you know?" Suzy asked, backed up by a chorus of "Yeah, how?" from the other Piper's Children. Gold watched the proceedings nervously. "Now give me the letter," Suzy demanded. "I'm curious."

Scowling, Quicksilver handed it over, and Suzy ripped it open.

Soldiers at the bulwarks:

From Marshall Dawn, interim commander of the Great Maze in the absence of Arthur Penhaligon and Sir Thursday.

Greetings from the Citadel! These Piper's Children are part of a covert group sent to the Middle House on my orders. Let them through without delay. I am also placing a military gag order; you may not speak of this to anybody, regardless of House Precedence, without the explicit command of the military.

"Can she really place a gag order?" Suzy asked.

"Sure, she can," Half-cut said from behind Quicksilver. "The military can place gag orders and I think requisition items and valuables without express permission from the Upper House in cases of emergencies. Of course, it could be rescinded, but it'd take a while for them sorcerers to go through the process."

"Blimey," said Suzy. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Could we go on?" Jazebeth cut in. "We've got a ways to go."

"Oh, stick a sock in it, Jezebel," Suzy said, and Jazebeth scowled.

"Hey, watch it, Ink-Filler. I've got myself more accolades in the military than you could imagine," Jazebeth replied, "including a medal." She waved her Immaterial prosthetic in Suzy's face. "You got a medal?"

"I bet Arthur will give me dozens once I've rescued him," Suzy retorted.

"Once YOU'VE rescued him?" protested Ermine. "We're helping you!"

Suzy frowned as Quicksilver's look of dismay returned to a self-confident smile. The balance of power was shifting back to her. "We're all in this together," Quicksilver said. "Suzy included. So, Squad Arthur Retrieval…"

If she says 'quick march,' Suzy thought, I swear I will kill her.

"Quick march!" finished Quicksilver.

"Why not just march?" Suzy asked, thinking it was not a good idea to confront Quicksilver too aggressively with all of her minions nearby. "You too fond of the adjective 'quick,' there, Quicksilver?"

"Fine, fine," Quicksilver relented. "March on the double."

Which was faster than a quick march.

The other Piper's Children all glared at Suzy as they continued on down the tunnel, all but Gold who shrugged. "That did not go your way," he said.

"Blimey, Gold, I got to read the letter, didn't I?" Suzy said.

"I think you're jealous everyone listens to Quicksilver," Fred Gold replied.

"That is ridiculous," Suzy scoffed.

"But also true, huh?" Fred teased.

Suzy nodded. "Oi, Gold, you got an 'off' switch for your mouth?"

"Do you?"

Suzy smirked. "Mine's broken."

Arthur was far from the raft by now, but he was being chased.

Not by Venetia, but by some figures glowing brightly. One of them reached out and grabbed his ankle. "We've got him!" he shouted, then shrieked as a whirl of darkness sliced into him. With a scream, the Denizen plummeted below.

Arthur screamed too.

The shrouded figure returned and made a furious hand motion. Arthur wondered if it was a Denizen's version of flipping someone off. "What?" he shouted.

The figure repeated the motion.

"I don't understand!"

The figure made a motion that looked a bit like a face-palm, then grabbed him and pulled up, just as another glowing figure flew past, narrowly missing him.

"Oh, thanks," Arthur said.

The figure nodded. It had some sort of mask on that resembled a snout, or an old-fashioned gas mask.

"Are those some of Saturday's Denizens?" Arthur asked.

Another nod.

"And you're not?"

Yet another nod.

A shrieking whistle, and the figure transferred Arthur into a fireman's carry, shooting up with wings beating with enough force to probably shake some feathers loose. Arthur strained his eyes. It was hard to see in the dark and the rain, but he thought he could see more similarly-dressed dark figures with him, flying in formation. The figure holding him flew towards the front and assumed the "spearhead" of the formation, whistling again. Arthur realized it must have whistled before.

Arthur wanted to know where they were going, but realized the figure probably couldn't talk. Maybe that was why it'd been using all the hand motions? That was splendid, then, considering he could understand absolutely none of them.

Thursday raised the rifle at the girl, who had, by now, dropped her disguise.

"Oh, Saturday," he said. "An honor that you'd come take care of me yourself. Was that on a whim? You don't usually have those. Or impulses, I suppose. Everything's so calculated."

"I admit this was not one of my brighter moments," she said, "but I was getting reasonably impatient."

"You going to duel me or what?" Thursday asked.

"A tempting proposition, but now that the brief insanity that possessed me has disappeared, most unattractive," she replied. "I should probably go and aide my troops in taking over Burinsberg. If you'd like to help, O Tactful Commander, I'd be sure to reimburse."

"You know what I'd say to that," he said.

"Ah, yes. But it was worth a try." She shrugged. "I am positively soaked, though. It was complete luck you and the Pretender were on the raft. Up until this point, I didn't know what he looked like, so I can't call it a total waste."

"Go rot, you witch."

"How rude. It's a shame that you alone get to see my gorgeous beauty," she smirked. "I'm sure the Pretender would have been awestruck."

"Why call him the Pretender? He's the Heir and you know it."

"Simple, really. Propaganda. If I can make him sound like a fake, it doesn't matter if he is or not. Anyway, adieu, Thursday. I've got work to do."

Thursday pulled the trigger, but he either missed (not likely) or she had a spell (far more likely). He heard her provocative laugh as she flew away. Without meaning to, he turned and smashed the rifle against the raft, bending it in two.