The raft was a.s.sembled by the lake's edge, very close to the tile border wit h the bucolic village. Arthur was acutely aware of this, though he managed t o stop himself from looking at the position of the sun all the time, and he didn't ask Jarrow where the village was going to go at sundown. But he got more nervous as the afternoon progressed. It was perhaps half an hour short of dusk when they finished, with the final touches being three oa rs from planks ripped out of the pub's benches.

It was a fine-looking raft, but it didn't look big enough for three Not-Horses , a Denizen, and two Piper's children.

"Get all the harness and gear off the mounts and onto the raft," said Jarrow.

He too looked at the setting sun. "We'll give them a quick brush and oiling before they go."

"Where will they go, sir?" asked Fred. He had become very attached to his Not-Horse, who according to the name engraved on its steel toe-caps was ca lled Skwidge.

"They'll find their way to friends," said Jarrow. He took the saddlebags of f his mount and dropped them on the raft, which was now half in the water. "Hurry up! We have to be away from the tile border before the village moves !"

The sun was little more than a sliver, barely visible on the horizon, betwee n the Star Fort and the Inner Bastion, when the last Not-Horse went on its w ay with a farewell whinny. Arthur and Fred hastily threw their brushes and c leaning clothes on the raft and started to push it completely into the lake.

"Put your backs into it!" urged Jarrow, once more looking at the setting sun. But the raft, despite being two-thirds in the water, with the barrels on the f ar end already floating, was stuck fast in the mud.

Arthur and Fred got down lower and really heaved, and this time Jarrow join ed them. The raft slid a few inches but stopped again.

"What's that noise?" gasped Arthur, in between shoves. He could hear a high-p itched whistling, like an ultrasonic dentist's drill.

"Tile moving!" shouted Jarrow. "Into the water, quick!"

He grabbed Arthur and Fred and dragged them away from the raft and into the lake. Within a few steps it was up to the chests of the Piper's children, but Jarrow kept dragging them on, even though Arthur and Fred had their hea ds back and were gasping for air, their feet scrabbling to touch the ground as their heavy Horde hauberks and gear threatened to drag them beneath the water.

Chapter Twenty-one

Iust as Arthur and Fred thought they were going to drown, which was no im provement over death by dismemberment when the tile changed, the high-pit ched whistle stopped. Jarrow stopped too and turned around, but he didn't immediately head for the sh.o.r.e.

"Help!" gurgled Arthur.

"Can't reach the ground," gasped Fred.

Jarrow still didn't do anything but stare back at the sh.o.r.e. Then he slowly dragged Arthur and Fred back out and dropped them next to the raft. After a frenzied minute of coughing and gasping, the two boys recovered enough to no tice that the raft was intact and the bucolic village was still there.

Jarrow stood near them, flicking through his Ephemeris, the pages held close so he could read them in the twilight.

"The tile didn't move," said Arthur.

"No," said Jarrow. He shook his head. "But it should have. This is very ser ious. Only tectonic strategy has kept the New Nithlings from ma.s.sing an ove rwhelming force against us for a decisive battle We had best get to the Ci tadel at once!"

He threw himself against the raft with new fervor, weakly a.s.sisted by Arthur and Fred. This time, their makeshift vessel slid all the way into the lake an d bobbed about almost as well as a proper boat. Or at least a proper boat tha t permanently suffered from a fifteen-degree list to starboard.

Though it was slightly less than a mile across the lake, Arthur and Fred we re very tired before they had gotten halfway. Jarrow kept up a punishing pa ddling pace and would not let them rest.

"Sir, if we could take a few minutes " Arthur began to ask.

"Paddle!" shouted Jarrow. "You are soldiers of the Architect. Paddle!"

Arthur paddled. His arms and shoulders hurt so much that he had to bite his lip to stop himself from whimpering, but he kept paddling. Fred kept paddl ing too, but Arthur didn't really notice. His world had become small, conta ining only pain, the paddle, and the water he had to cleave and push.

The moon began its shaky ascent as they approached one of the outer bastion s that thrust out into the lake, small waves lapping the stone wall that fa ced the earthen embankment. The moonlight caught their helmets and hauberks , and that caught the attention of the sentries.

"Who goes there?" came the cry across the water, accompanied by the flare of a quick-match as someone readied a musket or small cannon to fire.

"Lieutenant Jarrow of the Horde and two troopers!" shouted Jarrow. "Reques ting permission to land at the water-dock."

"Cease paddling and await our word!"

Jarrow stopped paddling. Arthur almost couldn't stop, his muscles set in a rep et.i.tive pattern. When he did lift the oar out of the water and lay it down acr oss the raft, it took several seconds to get his hands to unclench.

"Advance to the water-gate!"

"Commence paddling!" ordered Jarrow.

Arthur and Fred mechanically took up their oars again and dipped them into th e water. The raft, having stopped, was very difficult to get moving again. Fo rtunately it was not far to the water-gate, a grilled gate of old iron some t hirty yards farther along the bastion's lake wall.

This portcullis was raised just enough to allow them to get the raft and th emselves through and into a flooded chamber within the bastion. The grille came crashing and splashing back down as soon as they were inside.

There was just enough room inside to paddle the raft to a spot between two small boats, which were tied up against a low wooden quay or wharf.

There was a reception party arrayed along the wharf: a lieutenant, a corpor al, and two dozen Denizens in regimental scarlet, with bayonets fixed to th eir Nothing-powder muskets. Jarrow climbed up and, after an exchange of sal utes and the presenting of arms, talked quickly with the other lieutenant. Arthur and Fred wearily gathered up all the gear and Not-Horse harnesses.

"Gold! Green! Leave that!" instructed Jarrow. "We have to report to Marshal Noon's headquarters. You're the last two Piper's children to arrive."

Arthur and Fred looked at each other and happily dropped the saddles, saddl ebags, and other gear. Then they helped each other climb up onto the dock, remembering to salute the other lieutenant.

"Better get 'em in Regimentals before they go to the marshal," said the other officer. "Unless they're permanent troopers."

"They aren't yet," said Jarrow. He clapped Arthur and Fred on their sore bac ks, and they both nearly fell over from the sudden pain. "But they have the makings. Let's be off. Troopers, atten-hut! By the left, quick march!"

Jarrow obviously knew the Citadel well. From the water-gate, he led them u p a ramp and out onto the top of the bastion. They marched along its lengt h, pa.s.sing sentries and cannons, all staring out. Then they pa.s.sed through a guardhouse with some formality between Jarrow and the officer of the wa tch, continued down another ramp and along a covered walkway lined with sm all cannons on swivels, climbed up through another guardhouse, went down a spiral staircase, marched across a cleared s.p.a.ce between the third and se cond defense lines, entered another bastion, and ultimately found themselv es in a Quartermaster's Store that was so identical to the one at Fort Tra nsformation that the two weary Piper's children wondered if they'd ever left.

In the s.p.a.ce of fifteen minutes their Horde hauberks and helmets were strip ped off and replaced by the much lighter and more comfortable scarlet tunic s, black trousers, and pillbox hats of the Regiment. They were issued famil iar white belts with pouch and bayonet frog, and bayonets but not muskets.

"Only got powder for the sharpshooters," said the Quartermaster Sergeant, a grizzled Denizen who had at some time been shot through the cheeks with a Nothing-laced bullet, so the wound would not completely heal. As he spok e, air sucked through the holes and made it hard to understand his speech.

Jarrow did not change, presumably because he was a permanent Horde officer, but he did take the time to give his armor and boots a quick clean, earnin g the Quartermaster Sergeant's approval for doing it himself. Then he waite d patiently while Arthur and Fred got sorted out. When they started to exam ine their bayonets, he called them to attention and marched them out again.

This time, they left the outer bastions behind, crossing the bare area to the second line and taking a zigzag path along various ramps, through several gu ardhouses, and up four sets of stairs. On the far side of the second defense line, they crossed an even wider expanse of bare earth and a greater complexi ty of ramps, stairs, and guardhouses before exiting the third-line bastion to arrive at the bottom of a narrow stair that wound its way up the side of the white stone hill.

"Where are we going, sir?" asked Fred.

"Marshal Noon's headquarters are in the Star Fort," said Jarrow. "Up these s tairs, now!"

The hill was not as high as Arthur had thought it was when he'd been out o n the lake. Perhaps no more than three hundred feet. He felt so much bette r after shedding the heavy weight of the hauberk, helmet, and lightning-ch arged tulwar that it was almost a pleasure to climb the steps, though he k new he would be sore later. His time in the Army of the Architect had help ed him discover numerous muscles he had not previously known he had; unfor tunately this discovery was always painful.

The bastions of the Star Fort were smaller versions of the ones in the lower defense lines. At the top of the stairs, Jarrow called out and did not procee d until he was answered by the sentry. Then, clearly illuminated by the green ish moonlight, they marched across the bare earth, crossed a ditch on a gangp lank, and entered a sally port in the face of the bastion.

"Reckon you could find your way out of here?" asked Fred a little later, as they waited for Jarrow to finish talking to yet another lieutenant in yet an other guard room though this one was nicer than the ones below, as it had panelled wood walls rather than bare stone, and a blue-and-red carpet on the floor.

"No," said Arthur. That thought had occurred to him too, probably because it was quite possible he, unlike Fred, might really need to get out again.

"You're going into Marshal Noon's reception room," said Jarrow, turning bac k to them. "Apparently there's already a number of Piper's children waiting , and the marshal will address you soon. Remember to stand at attention at all times unless ordered otherwise, and do not speak unless you are spoken to. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" shouted Fred and Arthur.

Jarrow winced.

"You don't have to shout like that here. Save it for the parade ground. You' ve done well, Green, and you too, Gold. Good luck for the future. I hope we serve together again."

He shook hands with them and was gone. Arthur and Fred turned nervously to the other door. A corporal grinned at them and opened it, gesturing for t hem to go inside.

Arthur felt an anxious, fluttering pain in his stomach. It didn't look like t his was going to be the prelude to Sir Thursday revealing his ident.i.ty and do ing something horrible to him. But he was nervous about whatever was to come, for it was an unknown, both to his soldier self and his secret role as the R ightful Heir.

They marched in together in perfect step. The room was large but not as exp ansive as the round-table room in Monday's Dayroom. This room was much more spartan. It had a polished timber floor, with a spindly-legged desk in one corner, a black lacquered standing screen with maps pinned to it, several weapons mounted on the walls, and the preserved head of a monster possibl y a fish, as it looked like it might have come off a thirty-foot-long piran ha. There were also twenty Piper's children in two ranks of ten, standing a t ease. Most were in scarlet Regimentals, but there were four Legionaries i n dress armor, three gray-coated Artillerists, and two Borderers in green. They all turned their heads to look as Fred and Arthur entered the room and marched over to form up on the left of the parade.

"Wait for it," whispered Arthur as they neared the ranks. "Fred and Ray, halt ! Left turn!"

They executed the movements perfectly. The other Piper's children looked to the front again. All except for one of the Borderers, who stepped back beh ind the parade and sidled down the line. Then she came over and stood at at tention next to Arthur.

"Hist! Arthur!"

Arthur slid his eyes to the left. The Borderer, a corporal no less, was Suzy!

Arthur's head moved two inches in sheer surprise before he whipped it back i n place. Even so, his eyes nearly left their sockets with the effort of peer ing at his friend. He felt incredibly relieved by her appearance and at the same time his anxiety ratcheted up a notch. Suzy's arrivals normally anticip ated serious mayhem and difficulties only by minutes.

"Suzy! They let you join after all?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "And you've already made corporal?"

"Not exactly," said Suzy. "It's a bit complicated, but basically I got here, and they had a bit of trouble working out what to do with me. For a couple of hours they were going to shoot me as a spy. But it turns out I was in the Army before. I did my hitch four hundred years ago and been in the Reserve ever since! Not that I can remember it, though a few bits and pieces are com ing back now. I told them I'd just got cleaned between the ears and was a bi t confused, and then this order came for all Piper's children to report, no exceptions, so the major who was in charge said 'good riddance' and sent me along. The important thing is, Arthur, I've got the "

"Atten-hut!"

An immaculate Regimental Sergeant-Major, her scarlet sleeves adorned with l aurel wreaths and crossed swords, had entered the room. She marched over to the Piper's children, ramrod-straight, her boots clicking in perfect rhyth m on the floor, a silver-pointed ebony pace-stick under her arm.

"Close up that gap, soldier!" she snapped, pointing to the hole Suzy had left . She halted in front of the two lines, did an about-turn, and saluted the De nizen who had just followed her in.

He was considerably less splendid than the RSM, wearing what looked like ex actly the same kind of Regimental private's uniform as Arthur's, with the a ddition of two black epaulettes that were each adorned with a circle of six tiny golden swords. This struck Arthur as odd, since the Recruit's Compani on said a marshal was only supposed to have five. The only other alteration to the private's uniform was that instead of a pillbox hat he wore a kind of black beret with a golden sword badge pinned to it. The badge looked too big for the beret, depicting a very old-fashioned hand and a half sword, w ith a serpent coiled around the hilt.

He had small, deep-set eyes and was not particularly handsome for such a sup erior Denizen. He wasn't all that tall either, being only six foot six or so , and was perhaps half as wide across the shoulders as Sergeant Helve. All i n all, he was not physically intimidating. But there was something about tho se dark eyes, the flat-lined mouth, and the lift of his chin that made Arthu r immediately fear him.

"Stand them at ease," this Denizen ordered the RSM.

"Stand at ease!" repeated the RSM at several times the other Denizen's volu me.

The Piper's children stood at ease, none of them out of time. Even Suzy got it right.

"I am Sir Thursday," said the Denizen. The faintest ripple went through the r anks as he said that, but no more.

Arthur stared at the air in front of him, not even daring to move an eyeball . But though his body was still, his mind was racing, trying to work out wha t might happen and what he could do.

"I am going to explain to you a plan I have," continued Sir Thursday. "Then I am going to ask for volunteers."

He paced up and down as he spoke, then suddenly stopped and looked out th e window on the far side of the room.

"Marshal Noon was to explain the plan, but he has suffered an indispositio n. He may be joining us later. Sergeant-Major! The mapboard." The RSM marched across the room and picked up the black screen, carrying it back to a position in front of the Piper's children. Then she marched arou nd to stand near Suzy, so she could also watch the presentation.

Sir Thursday walked over to Arthur and took the bayonet from the bayonet fro g on Arthur's belt. Arthur didn't move and didn't look, even as he heard the foot-long blade slide free.

Surely be won't stab me in front of everyone, he thought desperately. Dam e Primus said he would obey his own regulations. He won't stab me "I shall borrow this for a moment, Private," said Sir Thursday. "To use as a pointer."

He turned to the mapboard and flourished the bayonet.

A glowing yellow line appeared where he indicated, and another. Quickly, S ir Thursday sketched a square.

"This is the Great Maze," he said. He added an X down in the lower right cor ner. "This is the Citadel."

Then he drew a small circle right in the middle of the square.

"And this is the absolute center of the maze, a point called five hundred/f ive hundred. Who can tell me the only possible way to get a strike force fr om the Citadel to point five hundred/five hundred by midnight tonight, give n that the tiles have stopped moving? It is three hundred miles away and th ere are perhaps two hundred and fifty thousand New Nithlings in the way."

He turned to face them.

"Anyone? How about you, Private? Green, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," croaked Arthur. He wasn't sure if he should play stupid or give an honest answer, because he had immediately thought of one way to get the re. "I suppose that the only way would be via the Improbable Stair."

"And the natural conclusion one would draw from that?"

"That very few uh Denizens even know about the Improbable Stair, and fe wer still can travel it," said Arthur. He had a bad feeling about where t his was going. "I don't know how many soldiers someone able to use the Im probable Stair could take with them."

"Very good," said Sir Thursday. "You are commissioned herewith as Second Lieutenant Green. In the Regiment, unless you have a preference for the H orde."

"No, sir," said Arthur.

What is he up to? he wondered. He's setting me up for something.

"The obvious question is, why would a force need to be sent from the Citad el to point five hundred/five hundred?" Sir Thursday continued. He started to tap the mapboard with the bayonet. "The answer is simple. Because ulti mately I must obey my political superiors in the House, this campaign year I was compelled to change my plans and allow a vast number of Nithlings i nto the Great Maze. Nithlings who, unbeknownst to me, are New Nithlings, p ractically Denizens. They are trained, disciplined, and well-equipped, and they are led by someone powerful and very clever, someone probably a.s.sist ed by traitors within my very staff, someone who has uncovered one of the secrets of the Great Maze and with a lot of treacherous help has managed t o put a great big spike of stabilized Nothing straight into the master pos ition at point five hundred/five hundred!" Sir Thursday drove the bayonet into the mapboard with his last words, ripp ing and tearing at the wood with unbelievable ferocity. When he had reduce d it to pieces, he impaled the remains with the bayonet, leaving the weapo n quivering in a broken board.

He took a deep breath before turning back to face the parade.

"I find this annoying, as you can see. That spike has sorcerously frozen a ti le at point five hundred/five hundred. This is the master position of the maz e, and if it is unable to move, no tiles can move. Consequently, I will be le ading a force via the Improbable Stair to point five hundred/five hundred. As the vast majority of Denizens are simply rejected by the Stair, I must take Piper's children, who the Stair always accepts, and I am looking for twelve v olunteers. We will go via the Stair, destroy the spike, and return on the Sta ir. Sergeant-Major!"

The RSM marched back out the front, drew in a deep lungful of air, and bell owed, "All those wishing to volunteer for a special a.s.sault via the Improba ble Stair take one pace forward!"