Comparing Arthur to his younger brothers is hardly a fair judgement for Sunday to make, and yet he cannot stop himself from doing so nearly every time the boy is in his care.
They - the sons of the Architect, that is - had been so much younger then.
Sunday was already an adult, intent upon making something of himself, when Tom came along; and the two brothers were so different. Tom's interest in the Secondary Realms was almost incomprehensible to Sunday; why would he want to see those chaotic, imperfect worlds when he had the order of the House at his disposal?
Then Pietro came along, constantly following Sunday around because Tom was already spending the majority of his time outside the House and their parents were fighting so dreadfully. Increasingly involved in the daily maintenance of the House, Sunday had little time for his youngest brother, and brushed the budding musician off more than he perhaps should have.
But was it his responsibility to raise his younger brothers? No, that task was for the Architect and the Old One.
Raising Arthur, on the other hand, is the collective responsibility of the Trustees. Sunday will not pass off the task; he tends his responsibilities dutifully. The Incomparable Gardens flourish under his hand, and he intends for Arthur to do the same.
Nevertheless, there are times when Arthur reminds him of both Tom and Pietro.
"Can't I play in the Beds?" Arthur asks. Sunday looks up from his desk - more irritating proposals from Saturday, so the distraction is most welcome - and sees that Arthur is peering over the hedge that borders the terrace Sunday considers to be his office. There is a wistful expression on his face.
"No, Arthur," Sunday says patiently. "You are too young to be in the Beds unattended."
Arthur turns to him, his lower lip jutting out slightly. Sunday remembers Pietro pouting every time his older brother put him off.
"I suppose we can take a walk," Sunday relents, setting his pen down. The proposals can wait; honestly, sometimes Sunday thinks Saturday just sends them up to annoy him.
"Piggyback?" Arthur asks hopefully.
The term is faintly familiar, though Sunday cannot immediately place it. "What is that?" he asks.
"Saturday's Dusk showed me," Arthur explains. "I put my arms around his neck or shoulders and hang off his back! That way his hands are free and I can go with him when he does his duties."
Sunday frowns. "What if your arms get tired?"
"Well I tell you and we take a break. Or you can hold my legs, I'm supposed to wrap them around your waist," Arthur says.
"Very well," Sunday says, kneeling in the grass before him.
Arthur scrambles onto his back, wrapping his arms securely around Sunday's neck. "Ready!" he shouts excitedly.
Sunday winces. "A bit quieter, Arthur," he says, standing. They descend to the grounds quickly, Sunday's long legs taking the steps several at a time. It would be faster to take a dragon, but the distant Beds are more dangerous so Sunday has only taken Arthur to them once or twice; for the Beds that Arthur is allowed to visit, it would be a waste to take a dragon.
"Where would you like to go?" Sunday asks, glancing back at him.
"The Secondary Realms exhibits," Arthur decides after several moments of thought. He likes those best, and that affection reminds Sunday of Tom.
The Mariner has always been fond of the Secondary Realms, a fact that has not changed since his far gone youth. He has not returned to the House in millennia, and while Sunday does not consider them close he does find himself wondering what has become of his younger brothers from time to time, especially since Arthur first came to the House.
"I should have guessed," Sunday says drily, walking in the direction of the exhibits. Arthur shifts on his back, craning his head as he takes in all the sights. Sunday is much taller than him; he's also taller than Saturday's Dusk, and the Incomparable Gardens has a lot more to see than the Upper House. Sunday imagines that Arthur wants to see everything he can from this high.
"This is better than with Saturday's Dusk," Arthur comments. "My arms get tired faster 'cause I have to hold the umbrella in one hand."
"Saturday's Dusk allows you to handle his umbrella?" Sunday demands, scandalized. Arthur is a small child; he should not be allowed to handle such a sorcerous implement.
"It's just a plain old umbrella," Arthur mutters sulkily. "I can't do any spells with it, even though I've tried."
Sunday breathes out an imperceptible sigh of relief. "Saturday could surely stop the rain when you are present in the Upper House," he says.
"Huh?" Arthur leans forward to peer at the side of Sunday's face. "What d'you mean?"
Saturday has split her portion of the Will into numerous tiny fragments that fall with the rain, though she could easily have it fall merely on the lower levels of the tower as (Sunday imagines) Arthur would stay near the top. However, none of the Trustees have yet broached the subject of the Will to Arthur, and doing so would violate the terms of their agreement.
"Saturday makes it rain," Sunday says simply.
"No, she doesn't," Arthur says with a frown. "She hates the rain, and I think all the water makes her, um, uncomfortable. Because the Border Sea can connect to any body of water, and she's worried Wednesday will come and eat her one day."
"That's absurd," Sunday says. "Entering another Demesne for such a purpose would violate our agreement."
"I'm not saying Wednesday would actually do it," Arthur says crossly, his arms tightening around Sunday's neck. "She's too nice."
Trusting Wednesday may have been, but Sunday can only imagine that she harbours quite a few feelings for her fellow Trustees, none of which can be described as 'nice'.
"Hey! Don't try to distract me!" Arthur adds, poking him in the cheek. "You're the one who makes it rain in the Upper House, Sunday."
Sunday stiffens, his stride faltering for a moment before he continues down the path. "I do not," he says.
"Do too," Arthur says.
"Do not," Sunday insists.
"Do too!"
"Do no- Arthur," Sunday says, irritated. "Why would you think I'm the one who makes it rain in the Upper House? Doing so would violate the original agreement the Trustees made, but more importantly, what motive would I have for doing so?"
"I don't know!" Arthur says impatiently. "But I know that it's always cloudy so you can't see the bottom of the Incomparable Gardens, unless Saturday looks up! Then the clouds clear and she can see it, until another Denizen looks up. The clouds cover it up again after that. Looking up always makes her angry," Arthur adds.
"I am not the one making it rain in the Upper House, and I certainly do not mean to excite her envy," Sunday says, frowning.
"Well I asked her a while ago and she said it wasn't her. I don't know why she'd lie about that," Arthur says. "I don't know why you'd want to do it either but someone has to be doing it." He shifts again, his attention focussing outward once more as they enter the first Bed of exhibits. "I want to see the Earth exhibit first!" he says excitedly.
Sunday does not enjoy their walk as much as he usually does, preoccupied with what Arthur had told them on the way there. He answers Arthur's questions distractedly, turning the boy's earlier words over and over in his mind.
Arthur is no fool; he can tell he does not have Sunday's full attention and his disappointment over that knowledge reminds Sunday of both Tom and Pietro. Putting aside the issue of the rain in the Upper House, Sunday makes a conscious effort to engage the boy fully.
Sunday is not the sort who does not learn from his mistakes.
