CHAPTER FIFTEEN- PROMISES OF TEA AND HOT WATER
Noon scowled. He had not planned to run into the Pretender. It was his bad luck that his mission would bring him this. His brother, Dusk, might leap at the chance to win favor with the mistress, but Noon was displeased that his job now had that much extra work involved. Saturday was probably taking Burinberg now, but here he was, stuck waiting for the Pretender to come out of his little cottage to parley.
Naturally, it would not be a parley as much as it would be a "I'm capturing you, deal with it" sort of exchange, though he supposed that Sir Thursday might pose a bit of a problem when it came to the capturing part.
He was a bit surprised he had to wait twenty minutes for it, though now that he thought about it, that would have been his reaction as well. The one thing about Denizens that anyone could appreciate was their somewhat predictability. This, of course, meant that Thursday and the Pretender were no doubt trying to escape.
The other thing about Denizens that absolutely no one could appreciate was their lack of creativity, and as such, Noon had no idea what kind of stunt they'd pull. He was counting on them having just as little creativity as him, and thus hoped they really would come out to parley soon.
Otherwise, his mistress might be very displeased indeed.
Arthur followed Elibazeth, clutching the box of gold foil tightly. Elibazeth's gaze would occasionally dart to the tiny speck of golden dust, and her brown eyes would narrow in displeasure every time before hardening into focus as she led them along a corridor. At this point, it really didn't surprise Arthur that the inside of the cottage was much larger than the outside. The corridor looked like it belonged in a fort or a dungeon instead of the inside of a foiling house or plant or whatever the place was called. The stone walls had clusters of torches laid along it, and some parts were even damp.
Elibazeth pointed to a low door. "That's the way out," she said. "We've traveled quite a bit underground. You'll come up near the Extremely Grand Canal. If you value your lives, don't fall in."
Arthur nodded and held out his hand as a sort of goodbye gesture. "Thanks for all your help."
Elibazeth didn't shake it. "The foil," she hissed, pressing her lips together into a scowl.
"What?"
Elibazeth pointed to the box he held in his other hand. "You promised you would hand me the foil if I helped you."
He considered arguing for a moment, or tricking her. He still believed he needed it, and had no intention of turning it over, though this conscious act of deceit was worse than when he'd snatched it earlier. Now, he was aware of what he was doing and going ahead with it anyway. Arthur didn't like the feeling, but he didn't fight it, either.
"All right," he said, and as he held the foil out to her, he touched the Fourth Key and whispered to it, quietly so that he could barely hear it himself, hoping there was no chance Elibazeth could. He didn't like using magic. He wanted to remain human, but what choice did he have? He had to have the foil so he could find the Will. "Key, put her to sleep."
Just as Elibazeth touched the glass box, she suddenly went limp and slouched against the wall. Her eyes glazed over, and Arthur wondered if he'd killed her by accident. It was a disturbing sight, the way her sightless brown eyes bore into his, accusatory. Arthur placed his hand on her neck to find a pulse, but couldn't palpate any. He was truly panicking, now, and tried her wrist, and again found nothing. As a last resort, he placed his hand just under his nose and was relieved to feel soft bursts of breath. So she was alive. Either Denizens had different peripheral pulses, or he wasn't as great at checking them as he should have been for being Emily Penhaligon's son.
"May we continue?" asked Thursday, who'd watched the proceedings without a word.
"Yes," Arthur said, and sighed as Thursday opened the door and they stepped out, blinking, into brightness. The effect of the sun of the Middle House, already ablaze, was intensified by the snow, faithfully shining back in pure whiteness. He rubbed his eyes and slipped the foil into his pocket, glad for the coat Elibazeth had given him. It made him feel slightly guilty, though.
"This way," Thursday said, and pointed to a small building several hundred yards ahead. It looked like a tiny, dockside ticket booth where one would buy fare for a ferry. It had no chimney, but a little curl of smoke coiled above it anyway, giving it a rather comical look. A raft was moored next to it, and Arthur realized that they were near a roaring, wide river that must have been the Extremely Grand Canal that Elibazeth had mentioned. "We'll ask for fare. We need to be long gone before she wakes up, if she does."
"What do you mean, if?" Arthur asked as they headed towards it.
Thursday shook his head. "Nothing."
Arthur stopped. "Do you think I may have… made the sleep permanent?"
"If you did, it is not your fault. You are clearly a very inexperienced sorcerer, and this sort of thing happens all the time with beginners. In any case, you can easily return and put her right later. We mustn't tarry," Thursday retorted, scowling. "We are still close enough for Saturday's buffoons to find us."
"I don't like this," Arthur murmured, but started walking again.
Thursday smirked. "You don't have to like it."
Leaf found the layout of the place like a giant clock. It was very hot and humid, and she didn't like it one bit. However, she was hopelessly lost, and couldn't have returned to her room even if she wanted to. She asked several Denizens, but they either shook their heads and said they didn't know or told her to make like a bee and buzz off.
Leaf eventually cornered a blonde Denizen with bright blue eyes and said, "I don't care whether you know where it is or not. Find out!"
The Denizen seemed a little taken aback at her brashness. "Er, I don't know, but Milka might have a map. She always has that sort of thing, Milka, and yells at me because I don't, but it's not my fault. So, yeah. Ask Milka." He paused, then said, "Er, do you know who that is? Because I don't think you do. Milka's tall- I think six feet, maybe, or maybe she's just a tad over six eight now because of her promotion- and she has hair like chocolate, and skin the opposite of chocolate, unless it's white chocolate, which doesn't taste as good as the regular kind, at least in my opinion…"
Leaf had a sudden feeling this Denizen was very stupid. "Why don't you show me who Milka is?" she said. She couldn't help but envision bars of chocolate when the Denizen said her name, and saying her hair was the same color did not help.
"This way," the Denizen motioned, and started into a brisk walk. Leaf strode abreast with him, and he looked down at her and smiled. "You're cute. Like, little kiddy cute. How old are you?"
This was immensely creepy. "Twelve."
"Oh, I see. I always wondered what it'd be like to be twelve. But I'm not twelve." He shrugged. "I'm Feorin. What's your name?"
"Leaf."
"As in, from a tree?" he asked, wrinkling his brow as if it was the most eccentric name he'd ever heard.
"Yes," Leaf sighed.
"Weird name," Feorin said.
"Not any close to how weird Feorin is."
"My name's normal," he sniffed, indignant. "Want to know a weird name? Pravuil."
Leaf frowned. The name sounded familiar. Maybe Arthur had mentioned him once or twice, back in the hospital when Arthur had explained his story before she was unwittingly thrust into the Border Sea.
"… And then there's Susan," Feorin said, and Leaf realized he'd still been talking.
"Susan's not a weird name," Leaf said.
"Yes, it is. I'd feel sorry for anyone named Susan."
"Well, I'm sure anyone named Susan would feel sorry for you, because you're named Feorin," Leaf retorted, not sure why she was defending the name when she didn't even know anyone named that. "And I'd feel sorry for anyone named after Swiss chocolate like Milka-"
"Milka!" exclaimed Feorin. "Do you know Milka?"
"No," said Leaf, exasperated. "I was going to see her."
"Oh, so was I!" Feorin said.
"I know. You were going to introduce me," Leaf replied.
"That does sound familiar," Feorin said. "You'll have to forgive me, I've just been experiencing, and it makes me even more forgetful than usual. A-ha, here we are. Mine and Milka's quarters."
"You share quarters?" Leaf asked as Feorin opened the door without knocking and called out, "MIIIILLKA! I'm BAAAACCK!" There was a sound like someone groaning and what may have been an uttered, 'Architect, I beseech you, why me?'
"We share quarters because we're partners," Feorin whispered to Leaf. He bent over as he divulged his information, and straightened, beaming, as a Denizen opened another door that led to what looked like a sitting room and motioned for them to enter.
Milka was indeed a tad over six-foot-eight, and she had long waves of curly brown hair that reminded Leaf of, indeed, caramel and chocolate. Her eyes complemented her locks, and they were soft-hued, smiling eyes, even if her mouth was pressed into a frown, as it was in the current moment. Milka was holding a small plate with several biscuits on it and a cup of tea. Leaf couldn't tell what kind it was because she couldn't see ewhat kind of tea was in the cup. At least, she assumed it was tea in the cup, because it was a tea cup, but even back on Earth people would go against nature and put stupid liquids other than tea in a tea cup. Milka was wearing a pencil skirt and a white blouse, giving her the look of an amazingly beautiful and strangely tall secretary. A grey trench coat that she must have been wearing until just several minutes ago had the sleeves tied around her neck, and the coat trailed behind her like a cape as she walked to a chair and sat down, pointing to a loveseat opposite and clearly wanting Leaf and Feorin to sit as well.
So they sat, though Leaf did not appreciate that the small size of the loveseat forced her to be too close to Feorin for comfort. She wondered if more than one Denizen ever sat on it at once, and if they even understood concepts such as loveseats and why they were called such.
"Cup of tea?" Milka asked.
"Yes, please!" Feorin said.
"Not you. Our guest," Milka rolled her eyes. "Go fetch a cup for Miss…" She glanced at Leaf in a way that said, 'Finish the sentence, mortal.'
"Leaf," she said.
"For Miss Leaf, then," Milka said. "Right. Don't forget to give her some biscuits. And get me a sugar cube while you're at it."
"Okay. You have a map I can use? Leaf needs to get back to her room," Feorin said.
"And which room is that?" Milka asked.
"Er, which room is it?" Feorin said.
"I don't know," Leaf answered truthfully.
"She doesn't know," Feorin replied. "But we could find it with the map."
"We can find any room with a map, but we won't know if it's the right one if we don't know the room number!" Milka snapped. Then, to Leaf, she said, "My partner here is very clueless sometimes."
"I noticed," Leaf said, which made Milka laugh. Leaf paused to ponder what Milka had said. Partner. Feorin had said it before too. She didn't know Denizens were romantically involved. "So, when you say partner," Leaf said, "how long have you been together?"
"About… six weeks now?" Milka said.
"That's rushing things, to move in after six weeks," Leaf said. "Not that it's my place or anything."
"We moved in on day one," Feorin said, confused. "That's what all partners do. Milka's work table is over there. I bind. She gilds the letters. And we do whatever Friday and her officers tell us to do. Odd jobs, mostly. We helped shepherd the sleepers because the regular guards got eaten by ambulatory seedpods."
"Ambulatory whatsits?" Leaf said, feeling immensely stupid. Of course they meant work partners!
"The tea, Feorin," Milka reminded him gently.
"Right!" He sprang up to get it as Milka sighed and leaned back in her chair.
"So, what's an ambulatory whatever?" Leaf repeated.
"It's what we call the walking plants around here."
Friday's warning flashed into Leaf's mind. Oh, the plants can eat you. That's all. No biggie. It seemed like a 'biggie' to Leaf. "The plants walk?"
"Yes, but up here, in the living quarters, you're not bound to find many," Milka reassured her. "The Denizens below in the working areas will get rid of the little nasties before they can get too far. Still, sometimes they manage to get someone."
"So what happens if they get someone?" The unspoken question was really, "What if they get me?"
"Count yourself lucky mortals die quickly," Milka said. "I'd rather not discuss gruesome details while having tea, if you don't mind."
"So that is tea?"
"It's a tea cup. Who doesn't put tea in a tea cup?"
Leaf decided she liked Milka very much.
Feorin returned with a cup of tea and the map. "So, if you don't know which room's yours, I guess we'll have to ask her."
'Her' was clearly 'Lady Friday.'
"I guess we have no choice," Milka sighed, and added another mumbled, 'Architect, why me?'
"Now?" Leaf said.
"If you want. Or you could stay for tea," Milka answered.
"Please stay," Feorin said. "We never get guests for tea!"
I wonder why? Leaf thought, but knew better than to say this aloud. "I'd be delighted," she said, wondering how long it'd be before Friday came looking for her.
"Excellent!" exclaimed Feorin, handing Leaf her cup. She noticed he had forgotten to give her any biscuits, and hadn't gotten Milka her sugar cube, but she didn't comment. "Now, Milka, why don't we show her that project we've been working on?"
"What project?"
Milka blushed. "Just a little… see, Feorin's found some papers lying around that he's bound, and I've done some gilding on it. It's not very good, but we needed something to practice on, and I guess…"
"Could I see it?" Leaf asked, but Feorin was already bounding to the worktable and picking up a thick leather tome.
"Careful with it," Feorin said as Leaf took it and turned the pages. They were, indeed, miscellaneous pages, some about bills, others some field guide for birds that definitely weren't from Earth, even more letters of reprimanding. These were the most plentiful, and when Leaf took the time to read one of them, she realized why. They were all addressed to Feorin for doing something stupid. The pages all had nicely-gilt letters, which was no doubt Milka's painstaking work.
"Nice," Leaf complimented.
Milka and Feorin seemed to glow with the praise. "Glad you like it," she said, but the last part of her sentence was cut off as a loud, blaring horn sounded. Milka sighed and set down her cup on a small table near the chair. "Well, that's the call for the harvest," Milka said.
"The harvest?"
"Friday sucks out mortals' souls!" Feorin said, and giggled.
"It's not funny!" Leaf shouted, and placed her tea on the side. She no longer had the stomach for it, even though she was still hungry and a little bit thirsty.
"Of course it isn't," Milka said. "Done with your tea?"
"Yes," Leaf replied gloomily. "Does she really suck souls?"
"Not quite," Milka said. "If you're done, come on. We can meet her on her way to her rooms if we hurry. I'm sure she knows the way to your quarters."
"Thanks," Leaf said.
"No problem. Don't mention it," Milka brushed off. "Come on."
Leaf followed her, sighing. "By the way," she said, "people don't tie the sleeves of their trench coats around their necks."
"I know," Milka said.
"Then why do you do it?"
"Because I feel like it," Milka said. "It's spontaneous. I'm being spontaneous."
Leaf didn't know that was a Denizen quality. Milka continued, "It's left over from an experience. I don't know why, because I've had that experience a long time ago… but I like it. You almost can't blame us for wanting to be like you mortals, Miss Leaf. You're all so disgustingly, deliciously complex and rife with emotions and experiences and thoughts and… oh, the creativity."
"Do you experience often?" Leaf asked. They exited the quarters, and Milka shut the door behind her. She didn't lock it; Leaf figured there was no need. Denizens didn't break in and steal, did they? If they did, the retribution was horrible.
"No," Milka replied. "It was just that once."
"But she loved it," Feorin added.
Milka didn't deny it, and a tinge of red crept onto her cheeks. "I loved it," she admitted, "and it made me feel guilty and want more at the same time. Leaf, I envy you."
And that gave her something to think about, as they walked.
Arthur heard singing as they approached the little building. It was a merry, jovial little tune, and it made him feel like he half-knew the song and was being reminded, not hearing it for the first time. Things of the House had a way of feeling almost-familiar that slightly disturbed him. "Take those bound-up scrolls, ho!/Tie them to the raft, go!/Onward, onward, down the river; /Don't let the snow make you shiver!"
Arthur quite liked it. Thursday shrugged and rapped on the door. No one answered, though the song continued. "No Nithling can get in our way,/As we ride the Extremely Grand Canal today./Paper-pushers make the House keep ticking,/Though soldiers do the monster-sticking!" Thursday scowled at the last line and knocked again, this time pounding so hard that Arthur was sure it would have splintered the door to pieces if they were out of the House.
The door opened. A medium-height Denizen slightly taller than Thursday peered at them. He had a sort of mousy look to him, and looked only a little older than Arthur's sister Michaeli. His hair was curly, and he had plump cheeks, aiding to the look of youth, though he was, as all Denizens were, good-looking. Oddly enough, the Denizen wore clothing that looked like it was made of paper, with shining and glistening type in different colored inks decorating it. A sort of accessory around his neck that resembled a bow tie was, for example, marked with red words, while his breeches and jacket were black, and his boots were a dark brown.
"Are you a Paper Pusher?" Thursday said.
"Who's asking?" the Denizen demanded. He was apparently trying to appear tough, but it didn't really work because of his boyish presence.
"Sir Thursday," Thursday replied, "and Lord Arthur."
"Never heard of him," the Denizen said. "No, wait, I did in that one letter that Saturday sent."
"What'd it say?" Arthur asked.
"Oh, she's in charge, you're a dangerous criminal, lah-di-dah," the Denizen scoffed. "I burned it. We don't care much for whatever Saturday does here. She can do what she wants in the Upper House, but Middle work is Middle work, and we were cold and needed kindling for the fire…" He glanced nervously at Thursday. "You're not going to report me, are you?"
"No, I'm not going to report you. Name and precedence," Thursday snapped.
"Peter Pirkin, Primary Paper Pusher and Branch Secretary, First Class, 65, 898,756th in Precedence within the House," Pirkin said. Several other Paper Pushers seemed to be craning their necks to see why Peter was holding the door open and who the visitors were. "We were about to leave to get on our raft," Pirkin explained, "because we have a delivery to make to the binders. Want to come with us?"
"Yes," said Thursday. "You'll drop us off at Binding Junction?"
"Sure. Whatever you say, sir," Pirkin said.
"Binding Junction is a suitable place to acquire transportation to Friday's Scriptorium," Thursday explained before Arthur could ask. "Please, then, Mister Pirkin, we'd like passage on your raft."
"Usually, we don't allow it unless you're a member of the association," Pirkin said, "but I can make an exception for fine gentleman such as yourselves with such nasty-looking weapons."
Arthur grinned and tapped the hilt of the Fourth Key. It was nice to know that the Key held power even when he wasn't holding it.
"Come in, come in!" Pirkin said, ushering them into the hut, which was (of course) larger on the inside. Arthur wondered if there was a single room in the House that wasn't. Several Paper Pushers were lined around the fire, and Pirkin cheerily introduced them. "Lord Arthur and Sir Thursday! Someone give them some hot water- sorry, we haven't got tea- and someone else get them some proper clothes! Then we'll be off!"
"My clothes are fine," Arthur protested.
"You need paper and type if you don't want the Canal to kill you in case you fall in," Pirkin replied. "Have a seat near the fire, and soon as you're changed, we'll be on our way."
Arthur sat down, making himself comfortable. Thursday didn't sit but instead stood in a stiff position behind him, almost as if standing guard. "So, on our way soon?" Arthur said.
"Soon," Thursday said. "Do you really want to go to the Scriptorium? We could get an elevator at Binding Junction and return to the Maze."
"Can't," said a Paper Pusher to Arthur's left. "All elevators are down, for some reason."
"Well, anyway," Thursday said, "we could leave by some other means of transport."
"Don't you like the Middle House?" Arthur asked.
"It's not that I don't like the demesne," Thursday said. "I just do not like to tarry in this particular area because of its mistress."
"Right, because you had an affair," Arthur said. "Are you going to explain that?"
Thursday frowned and tapped his foot, glancing to see where whoever was supposed to be getting his clothes was. "No."
Sorry for taking so long with this chapter! Next one coming soon. (Sorry about the long Milka and Feorin scene, but it just got a little too much fun to write...) Please review and let me know what you think!