Disclaimer: The Keys to the Kingdom series does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Garth Nix, etc.
The (very important) Meeting of the Morrow Days (most of them anyway)
"Now that the Trustees are all present - or suitably represented -" Lord Sunday looks briefly at Monday's Noon and Wednesday's Dawn, "- I believe we can begin this meeting of the Morrow Days."
"Now that you've decided to show up, an hour late," Grim Tuesday grumbles.
"Superior Saturday will be keeping the minutes," Lord Sunday continues, magnanimously choosing to ignore the Grim.
"Just because my Key is a quill does not mean I am your personal secretary!" Superior Saturday hisses, but she already has a sheaf of parchment before her and the Sixth Key in her hand, so Lord Sunday chooses to ignore that too.
"Now then, I have received numerous complaints from the Lieutenant Keeper of the Front Door," Lord Sunday says. "Apparently the Captain Keeper is missing, along with the other Lieutenant, so this Lieutenant Keeper has been patrolling the Front Door constantly for the last-" he pulls out the latest angry letter that he'd received, "-five thousand years. Lieutenant Keeper would like for there to be a new Captain Keeper appointed or, if-" he frowns at the parchment and stuffs it back in his pocket; what the Lieutenant Keeper had written about the Trustees was hardly appropriate to repeat, "-if we consider the Captain to merely be 'missing' at least appoint another Lieutenant for him to share his duties with."
He looks at Superior Saturday, who quickly covers what she has written for the minutes with her free hand. "Is it true that you had the Captain Keeper killed?"
Superior Saturday's eyes widen. "Of course not," she says loudly. "Furthermore, does the Front Door even require a Keeper of any sort? Any Nithlings that penetrate the House will be put down by the Denizens in whichever Demesne they enter."
"What of the Secondary Realms? The Front Door opens onto all of them," a rough voice says, to Lord Sunday's left.
He turns to look, since Lady Friday usually sits on his left, and that voice was nothing like her light, melodious tones. Friday's Dawn (the new one) is sitting there, looking uncomfortable. Lord Sunday blinks; he had not even noticed that the entire left side of the table is represented by Times rather than Trustees.
It is no surprise about Drowned Wednesday, of course; a leviathan of that size wouldn't fit into this room, never mind getting through the considerably smaller door. Mister Monday has not attended these meetings for even longer. But Lady Friday's absence is unexpected: she has always turned up in the past, even if she often seems impatient to leave.
"No interference," Superior Saturday says dismissively.
Sir Thursday, who is sitting on her other side, snorts derisively. "I am the only Trustee here who even obeys that law anymore," he says.
"I am your superior," Superior Saturday hisses. "Be silent."
"Can I have that conveyed in writing? I do not feel comfortable carrying out any orders from my superiors unless they are in writing," Sir Thursday says. "It's been so long since I received verbal orders I'm not sure I remember how to obey them."
"Who are the eligible candidates to be Captain or Lieutenant Keeper of the Front Door?" Grim Tuesday asks, leaning around the budding argument taking place in the seats between him and Lord Sunday. "Unlike some people, my time is valuable."
"-I want it in writing so I can have some record of the truly ignorant orders you gave me when you come demanding why I have failed in whatever inane task you have set me to," Sir Thursday is snarling at Superior Saturday.
"You are just a grunt! A nothing! You cannot even think for yourself!" Superior Saturday shrieks.
Lord Sunday considers intervening, then thinks better of it. "I have not compiled a list, Grim Tuesday. I leave the floor open to suggestions. The typical majority vote should be sufficient to decide upon a new Keeper."
"-I am not the one building a tower to see the inside of some stupid Garden once more-"
Lord Sunday feels offended; his Gardens are not stupid, they are Incomparable. But a soldier like Sir Thursday would never understand. Superior Saturday would also not understand; she is much too petty, she could not possibly tend the Incomparable Gardens.
"-not some mindless toy soldier-"
Grim Tuesday makes a sound of disgust and produces a gobbet of Nothing from somewhere. He slumps back in his chair, clearly intending to ignore the others while he fashions something out of the Nothing.
Friday's Dawn clears his throat meaningfully. Sir Thursday and Superior Saturday both ignore him. Or possibly they do not hear him; they are shouting rather loudly now.
"Excuse me," Friday's Dawn says.
"Superior Saturday," Friday's Dawn tries.
"Sir Thursday," Friday's Dawn tries again.
"I don't think they can hear you," Monday's Noon says; his smooth voice sounds rather sarcastic, but Lord Sunday must be looking too far into things. Surely a Time would not be so presumptuous.
"Even if you can get a word in edgewise, it won't matter," Wednesday's Dawn adds. "None of the Trustees care what you have to say."
"That is because all you talk about is improving the state of the Border Sea," Monday's Noon says. "They do not care about anything beyond their own Demesnes."
"Lady Friday does not even care about that much," Friday's Dawn agrees. "All she cares for is experiencing. And she cannot even manage that competently any longer."
Wednesday's Dawn frowns. "Duchess Wednesday does what she can."
Monday's Noon scoffs. "She's a giant whale. The best she can do is try not to eat the few Denizens of the Border Seas that remain."
Wednesday's Dawn rounds on him, while Friday's Dawn suddenly becomes engrossed in something that he has brought with him.
A wise move, Lord Sunday thinks approvingly. Best not to get involved in the petty feuds of those beneath oneself. He busies himself with gazing benevolently down the length of the table. Wednesday's Dawn and Monday's Noon have started arguing as well, though it pales in volume to the verbal sparring taking place between Sir Thursday and Superior Saturday. Grim Tuesday and Friday's Dawn have both occupied themselves with something else. Lord Sunday is regretting not bringing something along to divert his own attentions with. Perhaps he will do so in the next meeting, which surely won't occur for another thousand years.
"Enough!" Superior Saturday shrieks particularly loudly, drawing the attention of the others to her and Thursday. "If you do not shut your uneducated mouth I will cut all recruitments off, effective immediately!"
"You'd still have to convey that in writing," Sir Thursday says. "And anyway, you have only been sending down recruitment orders for the regular Denizens, who are largely useless for combat. I have not had a sorceror from the Upper House in the Army for three thousand years!"
"The other Demesnes serve some useful function! Who cares if your stupid, engineered campaigns do not have the soldiers they need," Superior Saturday sneers.
"At least the Great Maze continues to serve its function! When was the last time you applied your sorcerors to observing the Secondary Realms? And I do not mean your forays into them to steal what you want," Sir Thursday snarls back.
"Ah," Friday's Dawn says, sounding resigned.
A truly ear-splitting wail suddenly erupts from where the Time is sitting, interrupting Superior Saturday mid-rant.
"What is that?" Lord Sunday asks, leaning over to see what Friday's Dawn is cradling to his chest. Improbably, it seems to be a wriggling, wailing bundle of... something. Surely it cannot be what he thinks it is.
"A mortal child," Friday's Dawn says, as if it should be obvious, then resumes making soothing noises and rocking the baby.
"Why did you bring a mortal child to this meeting?" Superior Saturday demands, although she keeps her voice to a lower register than before. Friday's Dawn has just calmed the baby, after all.
"I was uncertain what to do with him," Friday's Dawn explains. "Lady Friday mistakenly took him from a hospital when she took the humans she wished to experience, then left him with me. I cannot leave the Middle House unattended to return him to his Secondary Realm, and neither Noon nor Dusk will do it when they accompany Lady Friday."
"Kill it," Superior Saturday suggests.
Friday's Dawn looks affronted. "He is just a baby," he says, in the tone one reserves for speaking with particularly slow Denizens (typically those of low precedence). "It's not his fault Lady Friday can't even discern between old and new humans anymore."
The baby snuffles, his tiny hands clutching at the blanket Friday's Dawn has wrapped about his body.
"Does it have a name?" Wednesday's Dawn asks, watching the pair of them with a sick sort of fascination.
"His name is Arthur," Friday's Dawn says.
"Ar-tor? What a strange name," Monday's Noon says.
"It's Arthur," Friday's Dawn says flatly.
"Arthur- the baby- cannot stay in the House," Lord Sunday says.
"Agreed," Superior Saturday says quickly. "Mortals don't belong in the House."
Lord Sunday looks at her narrowly. He is a mortal, if only in the barest sense of the word.
"It could be useful," Grim Tuesday interjects. "Since apparently you higher ups actually care about the Original Law-" he looks pointedly at Superior Saturday, "-we could use it to move about in the Secondary Realms."
"He is just a baby," Friday's Dawn repeats loudly. "He can't even crawl yet! I had to threaten Dusk just to get him to bring me suitable supplies to feed him."
"If you want to keep Ar-tor so badly, keep him," Monday's Noon says disinterestedly.
"It's Arthur," Friday's Dawn says coolly. "And I don't want to keep him, but I don't know what will happen to him if he returns. Noon checked his records back on Earth and apparently his parents are dead."
"That could be a blessing. Parents can be difficult," Lord Sunday says, thinking of his own parents. They disagreed about a few things, and look what happened. Suddenly his mother wanted to destroy creation just so she could stop existing; the destruction being necessitated because she'd locked Sunday's father up on a giant indestructible clock, of all things.
"Let Friday's Dawn keep the baby, then," Sir Thursday says impatiently. "Can we move back to the issue of who to appoint as Captain Keeper of the Front Door?"
"Lieutenant Keeper," Wednesday's Dawn corrects. "Since Superior Saturday would not confirm whether or not she had killed the Captain, the position will remain open in case of his return."
"She obviously killed him," Sir Thursday says.
"You have no proof!" Superior Saturday says loudly. "I nominate Pravuil to be Lieutenant Keeper of the Front Door."
"Your slimy Dawn?" Sir Thursday scoffs.
"Seconded," Grim Tuesday says, though it seems as if he's agreeing more because he wants the meeting to end than out of any real desire to see Pravuil appointed.
"I do not agree," Wednesday's Dawn says, glaring at Superior Saturday. Likely she recalls that Superior Saturday was the one who'd betrayed Duchess Wednesday to the other Trustees.
"Would Pravuil's appointment mean you no longer feel the need to use the Lower House to enter the Secondary Realms?" Monday's Noon asks. "Mister Monday finds the constant paperwork you send him about your forays to be vexing."
"Why would I implicate my own Demesne when I can use yours?" Superior Saturday sneers.
"Then I disagree as well," Monday's Noon says, flashing a viciously polite smile across the table at her.
"Two for, two against," Superior Saturday says through gritted teeth.
"Three against, actually," Sir Thursday says, pointedly ignoring the glare that earns him.
"It doesn't matter to me, but if the current Lieutenant Keeper has been patrolling the Front Door without pause for millennia... Another Lieutenant should be appointed," Friday's Dawn says. His words clearly show his inexperience; the upper Denizen's shouldn't care about the troubles of those below them, unless it is to use it to their own advantage.
"Then I counter-nominate Nage; he is a colonel, in the Legion," Sir Thursday says.
"Seconded," Grim Tuesday says distractedly.
"You already voted for Pravuil," Superior Saturday hisses.
"I don't care who gets nominated, so long as we decide on someone," Grim Tuesday snaps.
Arthur gives a disconsolate sort of sound, like a prelude to the wailing from before.
"Speak more quietly," Lord Sunday says.
"If it's not going to be used it should be gotten rid of," Superior Saturday says. "It's useless."
Friday's Dawn glares at her. "I vote for Nage," he says, spiteful.
"Excellent choice, major," Sir Thursday says.
"Thank you, sir," Friday's Dawn answers.
"I feel that appointing your Dawn as Lieutenant Keeper could leave you with too much influence over the running of the House, Saturday," Lord Sunday says. "You already abuse what influence you have."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she denies without batting an eyelash. "And anything I do is with the express purpose of preventing the appearance of a Rightful Heir within the House, anyway."
"Including building a tower into the sky?" Wednesday's Dawn asks.
"Arthur is a Rightful Heir, so you failed at that too," Friday's Dawn adds.
"What. Why didn't you mention that earlier?!" Grim Tuesday demands.
Friday's Dawn shrugs. "It seemed inconsequential. He is in no state to take over the House." He pauses, his gaze flicking to the clock set above Lord Sunday's head. "Ah, feeding time." He pulls a bottle of pale, cloudy liquid from... somewhere in his armour and puts the nipple to Arthur's mouth. The baby wraps his tiny fingers around the bottle and begins sucking industriously.
"That noise is distracting," Superior Saturday says, wrinkling her nose. "As is the sight of it. Take it away, if you will not put it down."
Friday's Dawn ignores her.
"Could we not use him?" Monday's Noon asks. "He is very young; he could be raised in any way we- that is, the Trustees- see fit."
"I agree," Wednesday's Dawn says immediately.
"As do I," Sir Thursday says.
"No," Superior Saturday says flatly.
"The idea does have merit," Grim Tuesday allows.
"I agree as well, which makes five," Friday's Dawn says. "Majority wins."
"Who would raise him?" Lord Sunday asks.
"The duty could be done on rotation," Monday's Noon says. "The Lower House on Mondays, the Far Reaches on Tuesdays, et cetera. That way the influence upon Arthur would be distributed equally."
Friday's Dawn does not look pleased at the prospect, but neither does he protest.
"Oh, very well," Superior Saturday says sourly.
"So, the new Lieutenant Keeper," Sir Thursday says.
"I vote for Nage," Wednesday's Dawn says.
"Agreed," Monday's Noon puts in.
"That is Tuesday for either; Saturday for Pravuil; Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday for Nage," Lord Sunday sums up. "I vote for Nage as well, putting Thursday's nomination in the clear majority."
Superior Saturday looks furious, but says nothing more.
By the time Lord Sunday gets out of the meeting, Superior Saturday has been involved in four more arguments, eleven comments regarding Drowned Wednesday's whale status have been made and Arthur has cried twice more.
Friday's Dawn has also demonstrated how to change a diaper - a disgusting prospect, but Lord Sunday supposes that Arthur will only be in the diaper stage for another year or so, which is nothing to a Denizen of the House - and the Trustees (or their representatives, depending on the case) have laid down a set of rules for the care of Arthur:
Arthur will go to the Demesne of the Morrow Day on that day of the week - he will spend Mondays in the Lower House, Tuesdays in the Far Reaches, Wednesdays on the Border Sea, and so on;
no Trustee will attempt to turn Arthur against the others - any attempts at influencing must be positive (that was, for the Trustee) rather than negative (that was, against the others);
Arthur must be fed and put down to sleep according to a schedule that Friday's Dawn assured them was the optimal amount for a child of his age, with changes to be effected as Arthur grows;
any substantial changes to Arthur's lifestyle must be brought before the Council of the Morrow Days, whereupon a vote would be taken to determine the nature of said changes.
Lord Sunday thinks that this is a very definitive set of rules; with these strictures to guide the Morrow Days' actions, what could possibly go wrong?