Plink! Then silence. Then another plink. And another. It is rather irritating. Plink! Arrgh, there it goes again! No doubt there is some perfectly – plink – acceptable reason for these – plink – yes, for those plinks.
Noon rolled over onto his front and stopped his ears with two manicured fingers.
That is better. Perhaps now I will get some peace…
Splosh! Noon jerked up and looked at the ceiling, there was a small, black puddle forming above him. Noon assumed the offensive noise was caused by the equally offensive puddle that was staining the paintwork. Naturally, Noon was right. It was coming from above him. A drop of black water then decided to baptise his thin nose.
Urgh! What in the name of the Architect is that? What is it with the plinks and the sploshes? Not to mention the squishes from earlier, and the pings before that. Where are these…things…doing?
Noon wiped his nose and rose, stretching, cat-like. He slipped on a pair of tan trousers and a white shirt with a stiff collar. Next came the crimson waist-coat and matching neckerchief (which he had 'borrowed' from Dusk) and finally the green jacket with long tails. It was his usual dress, but Noon considered that if something is perfect – and his attire was – then there was no need to change it. He smoothed down his curly hair, inspecting the chocolate carefully for signs of grey, which there never was, and finally placed a bottle-green top hat on his head and pulled matching leather gloves onto his hands.
That is better, but those damned plinks are still there! If Dusk is up to something, I swear by all the bricks of the House I will find out what it is, and he will rue the day he tried to hide something from me!
Noon smiled to himself in the looking glass and popped a rhubarb and custard sweet in his mouth from the pretty little crystal jar that sat on the table beside mirror. Sucking on the confectionary, he made his way across the room and, after a moment's hesitation, locked the door behind him. The lock was old and unoiled, and resisted Noon's touch, but after a brief struggle Noon overcame the obstinate catch. Noon had never locked the door to his room, but with the unrest all the unrest, especially in the Dayroom, he decided it would be a good idea to keep himself as private as possible.
Noon's footsteps rang out on the metal walkways. Monday had recently installed them, to accommodate for his steam baths, which he never found time to use. Apart from the clear ringing of Noon's treads and the occasional burst of sulphur from the baths, there was silence. Nothing moved and nothing made a sound. This place used to be bustling, filled to the rafters with workers and guards and Piper's children and everything that the Architect had made. Noon thought sadly, he missed the old days, the days when Monday was of a keener age and worked for the Architect, rather than himself, like all the Days, Monday had ruined the Architect's plan. Noon stopped himself and shook his head. Who am I to question the will of any of the Morrow Days, let alone my master's? I was created to serve him and only him, not to support my own fickle whims, not like –
"Dusk!" Noon cried, and jumped back in horror
"Yes, dear brother, what can I do for you" Dusk stared at his brother for a moment, then, "Can it be that that neckerchief you happen to be wearing is mine?"
"Hmm? What, yes, yes, take it" Noon said distractedly, hoping his brother wasn't able to read his thoughts. What if Monday found out I was in doubt of his powers? What if he discovered I…disagreed with him?
"Noon, you do seem terribly preoccupied by something" said Dusk, tying the crimson cloth around his neck. Against his pale skin and dark attire, it looked like a bloody gash across his neck. "You weren't thinking of anything, I don't know, treacherous, were you?" His husky voice, so quiet, filled Noon's head with screams of panic.
"No, of c-course not. Why would I do that? As I always say, dear brother, if – "
"If something is perfect, why change it" Dusk gave a small, cynical snort and slipped past Noon. His boots made no sound on the metal floor as he strode off, like he was no more than a shadow. Monday's legate watched him leave, and with a shaking hand clung to the hand-rail. Then he coughed, made a right, and headed up the stairs. He alighted on a musty passage-way, light by greasy candles, and the floor was carpeted in velvet of dark purple. Counting his paces, Noon found the room directly above his.
The door was old, solid, and very black. So black it looked like it was impregnated with Nothing. Noon brushed the wood, searching for a handle or lock, but he found none. As he pulled his hand away, he saw that the supple green leather of his gloves had become hard and black where they had touched the door. This is a dark power which I know not of. What is this passage way – I have never been here before? What is this door? What is behind it? All too aware that his clothes would be wrecked by his actions, he gave the door a hefty shove with his shoulder. His jacket turned inky, and spread down waistcoat and his trousers, and his boots. The midnight crept up and stained his hair and eyes, and it burned. Noon screamed, and collapsed on the floor, all but dead.
"Dusk." Came a voice, cutting through the pain. "Dusk, I command you to get up. Get up." Noon's body jerked upwards, as if it was pulled on a string. He found himself staring at the handsome face of Monday. "Dusk, what were you doing at this door?"
"My name…" Noon began, his brain befuddled, and his tongue heavy, "My name is Noon."
"No, no, no." Monday tutted, "You are Dusk now." He pointed to his black clothes. "Look at you, you are my undertaker now." The Day leaned in close, and said with a voice no more than a whisper, "You are my shadow."
"No. Where is Dusk? Where is the true night?" Noon looked at Monday, beginning to understand.
"I suppose you mean the old Dusk? I had him promoted, he is now Noon." Monday paused to yawn. "We can't have those less loyal at the top now, can we?"
"Please, no I beg you. The pain, this pain is meant for mortals." Noon fell to his knees and grovelled at the feet of his master, "Please, put me back, I cannot survive like AAARRGHH " With a surprising swiftness, the Day had grabbed his coal-black hair and yanked him close to his own face, Noon's feet were swinging in the thick air.
"You will do as I say, you cur" Monday spat, and dropped him, "Or I'll have that black tongue of yours." He strode off without saying another word, leaving Noon curled in a ball of torture.
Long minutes passed until Noon finally unravelled himself, stood up, and dusted himself down. He looked at the door one last time, promising that one day he would make it reveal its secrets, and limped back to his room. The patch on his ceiling had grown and filled his room with twilight. He stared at the mirror, and a gaunt, pale figure dressed in black with thin lips and inky eyes stared back. Opening his mouth, a black tongue began to form a solemn and solitary oath, "By all the nights that I now stand for. By all the days taken from me hence. I swear that I, Monday's Dusk, shall destroy the first Day, and the second, and third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh, and rid the House and mortal worlds of the corruption that they have created, and in its place set the true heir of the Architect. Let the Will be done." Dusk turned, smiled, and began to create a plan.