Dusk was rather annoyed. Rather is just an understatement, but if Dusk was mortal, he would be British, and the British like to use rather. So Dusk was a-bit-more-than-rather-but-it-sounds-good annoyed. The annoyance was due to Noon, whom Dusk would have, if he was human, considered his mortal enemy, but being a mere Denizen of the House, just his older brother. Older by a nanosecond, perhaps, but when it comes to being believed, or winning an arm-wrestle, or getting to be Monday's legate, that nanosecond of time where the Architect decided whether or not Dusk should have freckles, mattered a lot. Dusk does not have freckles, so he considered the whole nanosecond a complete was of time and the reason he was not second-in-command.
But today, his complexion was not the reason he was rather annoyed at Noon. Today he was rather annoyed was because Noon had just nicked his new neckerchief and he looked good with it on. He always looked good with whatever he had on. It was unfair. Just a fraction taller, a fraction quicker, a fraction more sophisticated – generally just a fraction more perfect. Dusk was fairly perfect himself, but his brother did outstrip him. Just. And now he had that damn neckerchief, silk it was, and a deep red that complimented his damn bottle-green jacket just so. Dusk had bought it off a small and dirty little ink-seller in return for a very special jade frog. He couldn't remember whether the ink-seller was a boy or girl – or even human-like, but to be fair on his part, it did look like the ink-seller in question was wearing the type of washing (or non-washing) found on the floor of a university student's room after a very long night. Goodness knows how he managed to clean up the neckerchief, but even his just-a-fraction-less-than-Noon's powers had their uses. Apparently cleaning scraps of silk was one of them. And now, gone. Vanished. Goodbye! Farewell and adieu! He had it on now. He with his perfect hair and his sexy fractionally-more-British accent.
Dusk stomped around his bedroom. It wasn't really a bedroom as such, as he never slept so he had no need for a bed, but he couldn't very well call it his stuff-room. Muttering he stomped a bit more, and then, just to stress his annoyance in case someone was watching, flopped onto a chaise-de-lounge with a huff. Fortunately, someone was watching so the flop and the huff were not wasted. Unfortunately, their audience was the one person Dusk didn't want to show his dramatic talents too. Noon.
"What are you doing?" the petulant voice rang across the room. "I sincerely hope it isn't practising to get the lead role in the Morrow Days' play. Remember last time?" Dusk did remember last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. It wasn't fair; they always picked the Noons first, then the Dawns, then the Dusks – all by order of the Morrow Days' powers of course. If the play was a school Nativity, Dusk would be given the role of a lobster or a cauliflower – something unnecessary and so factually incorrect that everyone laughs at the part. It would be a non-speaking part as well.
"Come on Duck, what are you moaning about now?" Noon had seated himself on the edge of the chaise-de-lounge.
"Don't call me that" said Dusk, turning the other way so as to face the wall.
"Don't call you what?" said Noon, enjoying the torment immensely.
"That!"
"Duck, be reasonable, I can hardly stop calling you something if you won't tell me what it is."
"Oh, forget it, why are you in here anyway?" Dusk turned around to see his brother filing his nails onto his bedroom floor, which was covered in very fine Kashmir carpets.
"Do you mind?" he yelled, jumping up, "those are very fine Kashmir carpets, not something you can just file your nails on!"
"No, not a bit" said Noon calmly, finished with his right hand, he proceeded to his left.
"What?" said Dusk, exasperated and confused, sinking down to sit next to his brother.
"You asked if I minded. No I don't. Silly question really, I mean if I had minded, I wouldn't be doing it in the first place. You really ought to think before you open your mouth." He paused, and as an after-thought added, "Duck."
"Urgh! Just get lost!" Dusk aimed a book at his brother's head, to which Noon ducked. The book hit the apricot coloured wall and slid – not fell – down it to rest gently at the bottom. Quick as a flash, Noon pounced on it and proceeded to hold his brother off while he looked at it.
"The Compleat Atlas? Dear, dear you are a naughty boy, what have you got this then for, light reading."
"Give it back, I got it out of the library, I want it back!"
"But it isn't yours." Noon tried to open the book. The pages riffled as if they wanted to be opened, but the covers of the book remained firmly closed, as if clamped shut with an invisible lock. "Damn" muttered the frustrated Noon, his handsome face was briefly contorted with an unexplored feeling – shame. "Can you open this…Compleat Atlas?"
"No," admitted Dusk, who while more experienced in the act of failing, could still feel his ears reddening.
"Right," said Noon, smoothing himself down (which took time, being over seven feet tall) and straightening the offensive neckerchief, "I am going to put this back where it belongs, in the library, and you are going to leave it there. As your superior and older brother, you will obey." Without further ado, he spun on a polished heel and stalked out the room, leaving an ugly dark red stain on Dusk's carpet where he turned. The younger of Monday's servants tutted and tried to remove the mark, but no matter how hard he clicked his gloved hands, the blemish would not budge.
Dusk began to move back towards the chaise-de-lounge, and thinking the better of it, stopped and made for his writing desk. The furniture was made entirely of ivory and was carved most beautifully with little depictions of animals; frogs, bears, whales, bats, snakes, ravens, and in the centre the most intricate tree bearing all sorts of fruits. Pulling out a little black pocket book from the invisible recesses of his jacket and taking hold of a raven-feather quill from mid-air, Dusk began to write:
Raed yraid,
Ym rehtorb si tsom gniyrt. Eh sah nesohc ot (ylgnittiwnu) niur ym snalp ot eerf eht lliw. Eh sah nekat eht taelpmoc salta morf ym wno etavirp moor. Tub I ma llits eno ecap daeha, I tsum evas eht esuoh morf siht htols dna noitpurroc. I lliw eerf eht lliw.
Dusk then sat back to admire his own literary prowess and pure cunning, for the Morrow Day's and their servants were very clever, but they did not possess the same slyness of mortals. Dusk had made humans one of his hobbies almost a millennia back and had come to the conclusion that Denizens of the House had something to learn from them. Many things to learn, in fact, but for the purposes of the moment, the thing they had to learn was how to hide their true thoughts on a rather controversial matter. Dusk sighed and pushed back the chair, slipping the pocket book back into its invisible pocket and snapping the quill into non-existence. He allowed himself a rare smile and walked towards the door. This time, he thought, this time it is going to succeed. This time the Morrow Days will learn that no amount of power can stop the true servants of the Architect.