The Will

The barriers were breaking down, the first part of the Will could feel it. Monday, the fool, had not bothered to visit its prison in some millennia. Or perhaps he had simply forgotten. In any case the spells keeping the Will trapped were deteriorating without the regular attention of the First Key. And, with a little outside help, the Will escaped.

But it was thwarted in its quest to bring its chosen Heir to the House. After months of careful planning, the child, Arthur, had failed. Monday had sent his Noon to retrieve the Lesser Key from the boy but in a cruel twist of fate he had been killed in the fire Noon caused. Now the Lesser Key was rendered useless since its true master was dead and it could no longer be given.

The Will decided to step back for a moment and consider its position. Its mind was set firstly on revenge, and secondly on fulfilling its purpose. The Trustees would be punished before the final destruction. Having their precious Keys taken away from them by a lowly mortal. Unwilling to trust Monday's Dusk a second time and not wishing to remain in the Lower House where Mister Monday had his people looking for it, the Will made the perilous journey to the Upper House.

It was raining when it arrived there (of course it was raining, it was always raining). At first it considered trying to free the sixth part of itself but decided it was futile, only an Heir could do such a thing. The Upper House was dominated by Saturday's mighty Tower, reaching imperiously for the clouds, looming over all her subjects. Scattered around the Tower were piles of scrap metal and slag heaps. Piper's Children played in this machine graveyard, distinguishable by their bright yellow mackintoshes.

Saturday suspected the Will might come to her domain so security had been tightened tenfold in all the record keeping houses. Not that they were exactly bustling with activity these days anyway. Saturday had pulled all most of the regular sorcerers away from their proper posts to dwell in her Tower, utilising their magic to penetrate the Gardens. Those who were left were not difficult to fool. The Will ambushed one of them on her way to work one miserable morning.

It attacked her mind fiercely, carving out a place for itself in her skull. The denizen, whatever her name was, died that day. The Will assumed her identity and in this capacity gained entry to the offices. She sat at her new body's desk and glanced surreptitiously around. Her co-workers were busy staring into mirrors observing the Realms, or scratching out their findings on bits of parchment. Every few moments there was a soft sucking thwump as someone sent a completed document up a tube into the inter-house messaging system.

The complicated mass of tubes would send the documents to the Middle House where they were sorted and bound into books, before being sent back to the Upper House for storing. Ideally, the Will would have modelled itself (herself, now) as a Runner. This was someone who processed the newly complied records coming from the Middle House. It was easy to steal a record during that part of the process without it being discovered.

But time was short, Saturday's Internal Auditors were sure to pick up her trail sooner rather than later. She began to compile a short list of mortals it deemed suitable for the position of Heir. She needed someone ambitious, who would drive things forward. But she also needed them to be easily manipulated so they wouldn't stray from the proper course. There were no end of good candidates and the Will was fairly confident she had selected wisely.

However her presence had finally been noted. The other record keepers were looking at her curiously. She got up, gathering her precious Heirs, and made for the door. The denizen working at the desk beside her stood up and asked,

"Where are you going with those Lilleth?"

The Will struck. The denizen was dead before he hit the floor. His fellows all leapt to their feet with cries of shock and fear. Flash. Flash. Flash. One by one they fell dead at her feet until there was no one left in the office but the Will. Their shouts were sure to have alerted other denizens in the building so the Will hurried from the murder scene.

She was almost at the exit when a host of Artful Loungers surged into the corridor. At their head was Saturday's Noon, his umbrella raised threateningly. The Will hissed and avoided his spell.

"Seize it!" Noon shrieked. "Don't let it make off with those documents!"

Trapped, the Will transformed itself into sinuous black smoke so it could escape through a ventilation shaft in the ceiling. In order to do this she had to drop the records. Ah well, next time.

But it looked like there wouldn't be a next time. Saturday's sorcery was closing in on the Will, she must have been using the sixth Key to locate her. She had to leave now if she wished to remain free. She was at the elevator bank to take her to the Lower House when she saw it, a big pile of discarded records. She had just enough time to grab one at random and bolt into an elevator. She now had a new destination, the Front Door. And beyond that? Wherever the document took her.