CHAPTER SIX- NEW ARRIVALS

Arthur winced as the nurse applied a salve to his injuries. It'd been three or four days, but they still hurt as if he had gotten them minutes or seconds before. The healing salve stung a little, but it was nowhere near as bad as the bite of the whip.

"I suppose this has taught you a lesson," the nurse said.

"A big one," Arthur agreed.

"I don't know how well this will work on mortals," the nurse continued, "but it works on Piper's Children, so I'm crossing my fingers." Carefully wiping her fingers free of the remnant salve on a cloth, the nurse then picked up several rolls of gauze and some padding, beginning to dress his wounds. "These will have to be changed daily."

Arthur groaned. Changing the dressing always hurt.

"Where's Marshall Dawn?" he asked.

"In a separate ward. She's fine, don't worry yourself, dear," the nurse soothed. "She's a Denizen, after all. Nowhere near as fragile as you poor mortal stock."

"I guess so," Arthur said softly.

"Oh, cheer up! The world won't end! Though I thought it would last week."

"Why? Where were you last week?" Arthur asked, interest piqued.

"On tile 260/431," the nurse answered. "There'd been a huge battle with the Nithlings. The Horde won, of course- superiority always shines through, as we Denizens like to say- but there were scores wounded."

"Really? But I thought Nithlings weren't that big a threat. I mean, sure they can swarm you in big numbers, but-"

"This lot is organized."

"Organized Nithlings?" Arthur said incredulously. It sounded preposterous. Nithlings, the strange creatures born from Nothing, were usually feral, insane, or downright stupid. They were dangerous, Arthur admitted, and in large numbers they were more than formidable- but never had they been organized. If they were in groups at all, it was with a sort of mob mentality, and the second things started to sour, they'd split up and scamper.

Or so he'd heard from Noon. Arthur only had one-on-one experience with Nithlings, not any military know-how about them. Even one-on-one they were scary and lethal, and he didn't want to meet scores of them.

"Seems so," the nurse said. "Don't know how, or who's leading them. There're all sorts of conspiracy theories ranging about. Some say it's Lord Arthur."

"But I'm right here," Arthur protested.

"Not everyone in the Maze knows that," the nurse shrugged.

"And I wouldn't work with Nithlings," he added.

"Who would?" the nurse asked. Arthur didn't answer; he knew the question was rhetorical.

There was a knock on the door. "Visitor for Recruit Penhaligon," boomed a voice.

That's strange, Arthur thought. Monday's Dusk- er, I mean Noon, they're so hard to keep straight- told me that recruits aren't allowed any visitors. Maybe it's an officer.

The door opened, and Sir Thursday strode in. He stopped in front of Arthur's bed, saluted, and then asked gruffly, "Are you better?"

"Yes, sir," Arthur replied, surprised Sir Thursday would do such a thing as visit a wounded recruit- especially a recruit wounded because of Sir Thursday. "I'm getting there."

"My sentry found this wandering around," Thursday said, and barked at the open doorway, "Come in!"

A girl clad in the scarlet of the Regiment marched in, saluted, and gave a surreptitious wink. Arthur immediately felt himself smile. Why, if it wasn't his best friend in the world, Suzy!

"Explain," Thursday said coldly.

"I don't really know what she's doing here, sir," Arthur admitted. "Um, sorry."

"I was speaking to the reservist, Private Turquoise-Blue."

"Ha, well, sir, to make a long story short, I have a deliver for Recruit Penhaligon here," she said. "We need to destroy this here pocket."

"By whose orders?" Thursday demanded.

"Um, Recruit Penhaligon's, sir."

"Give it to me," he commanded.

"Ah-" Suzy glanced to Arthur, who nodded. He figured he didn't want to suffer the consequences of disobeying orders again. She sighed, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small box.

"What is this?" Thursday inquired.

"It's a cocigrue's lifeblood," Arthur answered. "It's replacing me at home."

"Is it?"

"Yes, sir. I wanted to destroy it, so that I would eventually be able to return home."

"I see. I shall consider what to do with it," Thursday replied. He snapped his fingers, and the pocket disappeared.

"Where'd it go?" Arthur said.

"To my study, where it will be safe," Thursday assured him. "Recruit, your orders are to heal as quickly as possible."

"Yes, sir!"

"And you, Private Turquoise-Blue," Thursday growled, eyes narrowed. "You should not be here. But now you are. Unfortunately. I suppose you could make yourself useful somehow."

Suzy snapped into a perfect salute. "Yes, sir!" she barked.

Arthur grinned. Things wouldn't be quite so bad with Suzy along.

Lieutenant Corbie lowered his perspective glass.

"What in the Far Reaches is that thing?" he hissed in a harsh whisper. "A giant spike? How'd they even get it this far into the Maze?" He knew this did not bode well; that tile was scheduled to move straight to 500/500, the master point of the Maze, at sunset. If it didn't go directly there, it would be close enough to easily traverse the distance- perhaps only a tile or two away.

"What should we do, sir?" asked several Major-Sergeants and Privates behind him.

The four of them had been tracking this squadron of Nithlings all day, only to find them rendezvousing with a much, much, much larger force carrying a suspicious and clearly sorcerous object.

"Do you think it was made in the House?" one of the Privates asked.

"Where else would it have been made, stupid?" hissed another.

"Don't be so sure," Corbie replied. "I think such a thing would have been discovered if it was made in the House."

"But it got this far in the Maze without anyone finding it," a Major-Sergeant pointed out.

"What should we do, sir?" repeated the soldier who'd asked the same question earlier.

"Report," Corbie sighed.

A whistle shrieked somewhere distant. The Nithlings gave a screech and turned, eyes fixing on them. Their clawed or taloned, too-many fingered hands closed on the hilts of their weapons, a sure sign of trouble.

"How close are we to a tile border?" Corbie asked.

"Not far, sir. I'd say about half a mile."

"Good. And how long until sunset?"

"Less than a half-hour."

"Everyone, I have one order," Corbie stated.

The other three looked at him, awaiting it. "What is it, sir?"

"Run for your miserable lives."

A/N: Okay, this one was a bit shorter, for which I apologize.