Drowned Wednesday. Гарт Никс

bed. Then she was gone.

      Arthur wondered if he’d ever be able to tell her that the Sleepy Plague had come from Mister Monday’s Fetchers, and had been cured by the Nightsweeper, a magical intervention he’d brought back from the House. Though he had brought back the cure, he still felt responsible for the plague in the first place.

      He looked at his watch. It was still going backwards.

      A knock on the door made him sit up again. He was as ready as he could be. He had the Atlas in his pyjama pocket, and he’d twisted numerous strands of dental floss together so he could hang the Captain’s medallion around his neck. His dressing gown was on the chair next to the bed, along with his Immaterial Boots, which had disguised themselves as slippers. He could only tell what they really were because they felt slightly electric and tingly when he picked them up.

      The knock was repeated. Arthur didn’t answer. He knew that Fetchers—the creatures who had pursued him on Monday—couldn’t cross a threshold without permission. So he wasn’t going to say a word—just in case.

      He lay there silently, watching the door. It slowly opened a crack. Arthur reached across to the bedside table and picked up a paper packet of salt he’d kept from his lunch, ready to tear it open and throw it if a Fetcher peered around.

      But it wasn’t a dog-faced, bowler-hatted creature. It was Leaf, his friend from school, who had helped save him from a Scoucher the day before, and who had been injured herself.

      “Arthur?”

      “Leaf! Come in!”

      Leaf closed the door behind her. She was wearing her normal clothes: boots, jeans and a T-shirt with an obscure band logo. But her right arm was bound from elbow to wrist in white bandages.

      “How’s your arm?”

      “Sore. But not too bad. The doctor couldn’t figure out what made the cuts. I told him I never saw what the guy hit me with.”

      “I suppose he wouldn’t believe the true story,” said Arthur, thinking about the shape-changing Scoucher and its long, razor-tendrilled arms.

      “What is the true story?” asked Leaf. She sat down on the visitor’s chair and looked intently at Arthur, making him uncomfortable. “I mean, all I know is that last week you were involved in some weird stuff with dog-faced guys, and it got even weirder this week, when you suddenly appeared in my living room on Monday with a kind of history girl who had … wings. You ran up the bedroom stairs and vanished. Then yesterday, you came racing into my yard with a monster chasing after you, which could easily have killed me, only it got … destroyed … by one of my dad’s old silver medals. Then you had to run off again. Then today I hear you’re in the next ward with a broken leg. What’s going on?”

      Arthur opened his mouth, then hesitated. It would be a great relief to tell Leaf everything. At least she could see the Denizens of the House, when no one else could. Perhaps, as she’d claimed, it was because her great-grandmother had possessed second sight. But telling Leaf everything might also put her in danger.

      “Come on, Arthur! I need to know,” urged Leaf. “What if one of those Scoucher things comes back to finish me off? Or something else. Like one of those dog-faces. I’ve got a couple of Dad’s medals for the Scouchers, but what do I do about the dog-faces?”

      “Fetchers,” Arthur said slowly. He held up the paper sachet. “The dog-faces are called Fetchers. Throw salt on them.”

      “That’s a good start,” said Leaf. “Fetchers. Where do they come from? What do they want?”

      “They’re servants,” Arthur explained. He started to talk faster and faster. It was such a relief to tell somebody about what had happened. “Creatures made from Nothing. The ones you saw were in the service of Mister Monday. He is … was one of the seven Trustees of the House—”

      “Hang on!” Leaf interrupted. “Slow down. Start at the beginning.”

      Arthur took a deep breath, as deep as his lungs allowed, and started at the beginning. He told Leaf about his encounter with Mister Monday and Sneezer. About Monday’s Noon pursuing him through the school library with his flaming sword. He told her how he got into the House the first time, and how he met Suzy Turquoise Blue and the First Part of the Will, and the three of them together had ultimately defeated Mister Monday. How he’d brought back the Nightsweeper to cure the Sleepy Plague, and how he’d thought he would be left alone till he grew up, only to have that hope dashed by Grim Tuesday’s Grotesques, whose appearance had led to his return to the House, his descent into the Pit, and his eventual triumph over Grim Tuesday.

      Leaf occasionally asked a question, but most of the time she just sat there, taking in everything Arthur had to say. Finally, he showed her the cardboard invitation from Lady Wednesday. She took it and read it several times.

      “I wish I had adventures like you do,” Leaf said as she traced her finger over the writing on the invitation.

      “They didn’t feel like adventures,” said Arthur. “I was too scared most of the time to actually enjoy anything or get excited about it. Weren’t you scared by the Scoucher?”

      “Sure,” Leaf said, with a glance at her bandaged arm. “But we survived, didn’t we? That makes it an adventure. If you get killed it’s a tragedy.”

      “I could do without any more adventures for a while.” Arthur thought Leaf would agree with him if she’d had the same experiences. They sounded much more exciting and safer just as stories. “I really just want to be left alone!”

      “They’re not going to leave you alone, though.” Leaf held up Wednesday’s invitation, then flipped it over to Arthur, who put it back in his pocket. “Are they?”

      “No,” Arthur agreed, resignation all through his voice. “The Morrow Days aren’t going to leave me alone.”

      “So what are you going to do to them?” said Leaf.

      “What do you mean?”

      “Well, since they won’t leave you alone, you’d better get in first. You know, attack is the best form of defence.”

      “I suppose…” said Arthur. “You mean I shouldn’t wait for whatever Wednesday is going to do, but go back into the House now?”

      “Yeah, why not? Get together with your friend Suzy, and the Will, and work out some plan to deal with Wednesday before she deals with you.”

      “It’s a good idea,” admitted Arthur. “The only thing is, I don’t know how to get back into the House. I can’t open the Atlas because I’ve used up all the power I had from holding on to the Keys. And in case you haven’t noticed, I do have a broken leg. Though I suppose…”

      “What?”

      “I could phone Dame Primus if I had my phone box, because it’ll probably be reconnected now that Grim Tuesday’s bills have been paid.”

      “Where’s the phone box? What’s it look like?”

      “It’s at home,” said Arthur. “In my bedroom. It’s just a velvet-lined wooden box about this big.” He held his hands apart.

      “Maybe I could get it for you,” said Leaf. “If they ever let me out of this hospital. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. Quarantine this, quarantine that…”

      “Maybe,” said Arthur. “Or maybe I could … what’s that smell?”

      Leaf sniffed the air and looked around. As she looked, the pages of the calendar on the wall started to flutter.

      “I don’t know. I think the air-conditioning just came on. Feel the breeze.”

      Arthur held up his hands to feel the air. There was a definite rush of cold coming from somewhere, and a kind of salty odour, like when they stayed at the beach and the surf was big…