Keys To The Kingdom_ Sir Thursday Part 10

"Yes, I think so. Sorcerously fixed Nothing. But why transport it into the Maze? What would be the point, since they're never going to know where it w ill end up "

Corbie stopped talking, put the telescope on a rock, and quickly opened his Ephemeris, flicking through the pages till he found the appropriate table, c ross-indexing the day with the tile the Nithling Not-Horse train was on.

"That tile moves right to the center of the Maze tonight," said Corbie. "Grid five hundred/five hundred."

"There's nothing special there," commented the sergeant.

"Not that we know of. But I've heard mention of a famous problem they set a t Staff College called 'The Five Hundred/Five Hundred' the Nithlings must know where that tile is going. And they must have known where all the other tiles have been going, to get that thing this far."

"But they couldn't get hold of an Ephemeris without it exploding," said the sergeant. "Could they?"

"We never thought they could be organized either," said Corbie. "But they a re, and they're being led by someone who knows the business. Here, take thi s and see if you can see anything else."

He handed the perspective gla.s.s to the sergeant and took out a small ivory st and and a lead soldier from the pocket of his quiver. The figure was of a col onel in the Regiment, all scarlet and gold. As Corbie put the model colonel i n position on the stand, its colors grew brighter and lines sharper and then it was like a tiny living version of the real officer, far away at GHQ.

"Colonel Repton!"

"h.e.l.lo, Corbie! Another informal report?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be reporting to Captain Ferouk, but it'll take time for this ne ws to get from him through channels, so I thought you'd better hear this and tr y to get it to Sir Thursday directly "

The little model colonel grimaced when he heard this but nodded for Corbie to continue.

"We've spotted a major Nithling column at tile 72/899, which is escorting a n enormous wagon drawn by over a hundred Not-Horses. On the wagon is a sixt y-foot-long, ten-foot diameter object pointed at one end that appears to be made from Nothing, though its shape is consistent. I can only describe it as a giant spike, sir. The thing is, that tile will move at sundown to tile five hundred/five hundred, and I "

"Did you say tile five hundred/five hundred?" Colonel Repton sounded alar med. "Would you describe the spike as obviously sorcerous?"

"Yes, sir!"

The figurine visibly paled.

"I must inform Sir Thursday at once! Wish me luck, Corbie!"

The figure stiffened and was once more merely lead.

"Better wish ourselves luck," said the sergeant, handing the gla.s.s back to C orbie and picking up his bow. "There are another three squads moving out tow ards us. They're definitely going to attack."

Chapter Fourteen

"I think I just remembered something," said Fred. "About I my old job. I re member separating the flakes of gold!"

"That's good," said his friend Ray Green. "I still don't remember much. I dr eam about it, though, and it's on the edge of my mind as I wake up. Then I o pen my eyes and it's gone."

"It'll come back," said Fred. "It usually does eventually. Most of it."

Ray frowned. "The thing is, I have this feeling that I need to remember quic kly. That there's something really important I have to do."

"It'll come back," said Fred. "It can't be that important anyway. Not when we 're stuck here for the rest of the year. Not to mention the other ninety-nine years stuck in the Army."

"You wanted to be a general," said Ray suddenly. "I remember you telling me that sometime."

"Did I?" asked Fred. "Really? Hmmm. That's not such a bad idea."

It was six weeks since Ray and Fred had been washed between the ears. They' d each woken later that same day, on their beds, with pieces of paper pinne d to their tunics. The pieces of paper had their names on them and nothing else. When they first woke they couldn't even read, but fortunately their r eading and writing abilities had come quickly back to them, along with vari ous skills and background knowledge.

But very few specifics about their previous lives had returned. They'd foun d their notebooks, but those hadn't helped much. Fred had relearned his fav orite color and how he took his tea, but Ray found his own notes very crypt ic. After reading them, he did feel that Ray probably wasn't his real name, but he didn't know what his real name was. Or the significance of the Trus tees' names.

Ray couldn't even remember anything about being an Ink-Filler. Fred had rem embered quite a lot about his civilian life in the Middle House. Ray's was a mystery. Try and try as he might, he could not summon up any memories. So metimes he would feel as if there was an important memory on the very edge of his consciousness, but whenever he reached for it, it would be gone. It felt almost like a physical pain, a dull ache of lost life.

Fred told Ray at least some of his memories would come back in time, but tha t was small comfort. When the platoon got together in their rare time off, c onversation would invariably come around to everyone's previous lives. Ray w ould sit there, silent and still, but listening intently, in the hope that a detail from someone else's life might spark some memory of his own.

The pain of listening to the others reminisce was lessened as their time off got scarcer and scarcer every day. For some reason, soon after they'd been washed between the ears, the normal training schedule had been accelerated, and it got accelerated again. In the beginning, the recruits were given six hours off a night, and two hours free during the day. That had been cut back to a mere five hours a night and then four, and even that was p.r.o.ne to inte rruption.

The training had been intense. Ray and Fred now knew how to march moderat ely well by themselves, with their platoon or with larger formations. The y could march unarmed, or march and do basic drills with a variety of wea pons, including clockwork-action poleaxes, Nothing-powder muskets, explos ive pikes, muscle-fiber longbows, savage-sword and buckler, power-spears, and lightning-charged tulwars. They knew the seventeen forms of salute a nd the thirty-eight honorifics used in the Army.

They could also use the weapons they drilled with and look after them witho ut injuring their companions. They could manage to present themselves in th e basic uniforms of the Army's main units, though never completely to the s atisfaction of Sergeant Helve. They had learned to follow orders first and think about them afterwards.

They were becoming soldiers.

"You should have remembered more straightaway," said Fred. "With that silv er ring and all."

Ray dug the ring out of his pocket and looked at it again. He'd woken with it under his tongue and asked Fred about it. But Fred couldn't remember eve r seeing it before, and it was a week before he recalled that a silver coin under the tongue was meant to prevent against washing between the ears.

"It's not all silver," said Ray. "Part of it has turned gold. I think that mea ns something but "

"I can't remember," finished Fred. He looked over at the scrubby desert to t he west. "Almost sunset. Maybe Helve'll let us off when it gets dark."

"I doubt it," said Ray. He didn't want time off. Time off meant time trying t o remember. He preferred to be busy, to have no time to think at all. The section was on cleanup detail. The tiles to the southwest, west, and no rthwest had changed a lot in the last week, and the wind had been westerly, blowing bits of vegetation into the camp. Unsightly leaves had lodged them selves under the buildings and in various corners, upsetting the cadre stuf f. So the recruits had been unleashed and ordered to clean everything up, t he penalty for the survival of a single leaf or whirly-thorn being a fourte en-mile-route march that night in Horde armor (good when riding Not-Horses, but terrible for marching) with Legion weapons and Borderer boots (as Hord e boots would render the whole recruit battalion lame if they marched fourt een miles in them).

"What's that over in the desert?" asked Fred. "Is one of the other recruit co mpanies doing an a.s.sault exercise?"

Ray looked where Fred was pointing. A line of figures was marching across th e desert, less than a mile away. The late afternoon sun glistened on the poi nts of their long spears and their helmets, and reflected very brightly from the metallic thread of the banner that flew above the knot of four or five Denizens on the left flank who were riding Not-Horses.

"They aren't recruits," said Ray. "Or any unit I've ever read about."

To try and make up for not remembering his earlier life, Ray had read all the way through The Recruit's Companion and had memorized large sections o f it.

"Maybe we should tell Sergeant Helve," said Ray thoughtfully. He turned aro und to march to the orderly office but jerked to attention instead. Sergean t Helve was right there, staring at the desert. He was panting very slightl y, which surprised Ray and Fred. They'd never seen Helve out of breath.

"Stand to!" shouted Helve, at a volume they'd also never heard before, desp ite some truly stupendous vocal performances when they'd inadequately polis hed their bra.s.s or whitened their belts. "All recruits, Legion dress, savag e-swords, and power-spears, on the double! This is not a drill! We are unde r attack!"

"Who are they?" asked Fred as he and Ray sprinted to the barracks, without any NCOs telling them off. There was a torrent of corporals and sergeants g oing the other way, but they were not concerned with petty infringements li ke sprinting instead of marching today. "Can't be Nithlings."

"Why not?" asked Ray as they burst inside and rushed to their lockers.

"That lot out there are organized. Disciplined. Uniforms and banners and the same kind of weapon and everything," said Fred a minute later. "Here, help tie this up, will you?"

Ray tied the leather laces on Fred's segmented armor and stood still while F red returned the favor. They strapped on their savage-swords, with the blade s that twirled when you twisted the hilt, swung on their rectangular shields , and picked up their power-spears. The long metal points of these spears st arted to glow as they were lifted up, and wisps of black smoke coiled toward s the ceiling. Many a roof or a companion's uniform had been set alight by r ecruits with power-spears.

"What do we do, Ray?" asked Florimel. She and the rest of the section were just finishing their preparations. Though no formal recruit corporal had ev er been appointed, and both Sergeant Helve and Corporal Axeforth said none ever would be because none of the recruits was good enough, the rest of the section all looked to Ray to explain orders or to tell them what to do. If Ray was unavailable for some reason, they looked to Fred as his deputy.

Ray wondered if it was something to do with his past. He had a vague inklin g that he had been someone in authority, which, though unusual for a Piper' s child in the House, was not unheard of.

"We're under attack," explained Ray. "So we'll fall in here and march out an d just follow orders and everything will be fine. Everyone got everything? T heodoric! Where's your savage-sword? Grab it and catch up with us. Everyone else, fall in! By the left, quick march! Left left left, right, left!"

They were just marching out of the barracks when a panting Corporal Axefort h met them. He wasn't in full Legionary rig-out, having just swapped his ha t for a helmet and thrown a cuira.s.s over his scarlet tunic, and he had a cl ockwork poleaxe instead of a savage-sword. But he was calm enough as he qui ckly fell in step next to the line of recruits.

"Good work, Recruit Green. We're a.s.sembling on the parade ground. Recruit Rannifer, march towards that gap to the left of Two Platoon. We'll be fo rming up on them."

Rannifer was the tallest of the Denizens, by a hair over Florimel, so he w as always the right marker, the one who the others formed up on and who co nsequently was first in line when the rest marched in twos as they were do ing now. This was not a very good thing, as Rannifer was more easily confu sed than most of the other Denizens.

This time, Axeforth marched very close to Rannifer, to make sure there was no error. The corporal also marched faster than normal, Ray noticed, though it was not double time. Making sure they got in place quickly, he guessed, while not appearing to be panicked or hurried.

The other recruit platoons were all marching onto the parade ground as well . Some were already formed up, with their sergeants bellowing and shouting.

There were even officers present, conferring together nearby. Ray automati cally a.s.sessed the plumes on their helmets, for all were in Legionary unifo rm. Four lieutenants, a major, and even a colonel. Ray was impressed. He'd seen the lieutenants but never anyone of higher rank.

"I've just remembered something," whispered Fred as they halted in the center of the front line. "About Piper's children."

"What?" Ray whispered back. The enemy were only five hundred yards distan t now, advancing at a steady march. They had a whole lot of big, ba.s.s dru ms for keeping the time, their low pounding rhythm punctuated every ten s teps or so by all the enemy making a sound that was more like an animal s narl than a shout.

There were also a lot more of them than he'd first thought. Many hundreds at least. Not that Ray was counting. It was just the impression he got, that t here were an awful lot of them, approaching very quickly.

"We aren't so good with getting hurt as Denizens," said Fred. "I mean, if our heads get cut off, that's it. And our arms and legs probably won't grow back either."

"Silence in the ranks!" shouted Sergeant Helve. He walked slowly along the front line, not even looking at the onrushing enemy. "This will be just lik e a drill! The enemy are Nithlings. They are inferior! We are the Army of t he Architect! The Architect! Let me hear you say it! The Architect!"

"The Architect!" boomed out six hundred Denizen mouths. It sounded incredibl y loud and solid and confident, and Ray started to feel a bit better, despit e what Fred had just said.

"We will not give ground!" shouted Sergeant Helve. "The Architect!"

"The Architect!'''' boomed out the ma.s.sed recruits. Ray noticed that Serge ant Helve was timing it so they shouted at the same time the enemy made th eir creepy snarling noise, the shout almost completely drowning out that a nd the enemy's drums.

"Colonel Huwiti is going to tell you the plan!" shouted Sergeant Helve. "J ust remember to stand by your comrades! Remember your drill!"

Colonel Huwiti strolled out in front of what was now four ranks of recruits spread in lines right across the parade ground. He casually saluted Sergea nt Helve, who returned the salute with absolute precision. Neither Denizen seemed to even notice that there was a solid dark ma.s.s of humanoid Nithling s in dark lacquered armor with short, spark-tipped spears tramping straight towards them, and now only three hundred yards away.

"This will be very simple," said the colonel in a quiet but carrying voice.

"First rank, if you would be so good as to lock your shields, set your pow er-spears, and draw swords. Second rank, ready your power-spears to throw. On the command 'throw,' you will throw and retire to the rear. As the secon d rank retires, third rank will march forward, and on the command 'throw,' and then retire as fourth rank marches forward and throws on command. As ea ch rank reaches the rear, it will turn to face front again and draw swords.

Listen for your sergeants' and corporals' commands and all will be well."

"Yes, sir!" bellowed Helve, the kind of "yes, sir" that drew everybody else to empty their lungs yelling, "Yes, sir!" as well.

"I feel a bit small," muttered Fred as he locked his shield with Ray's and the Denizen to his right, and set the b.u.t.t of his power-spear in the ground.

"So do I," said Ray. They were both at least a foot shorter than the Denizen s to either side of them, and even when they held their shields high, the li ne suddenly dipped when it came to them.

They could hear the beat of the enemy's footsteps vibrating up through the ground now, and their snarls and even the crackle of their weapons, all too like the sound of lightning-charged tulwars, the favored weapon of the Hor de.

"You two Piper's children, retire at once to the fourth rank!" snapped someo ne in front of them.

Ray automatically obeyed the voice of command, unlocking his shield and tur ning on the spot to march back, Fred at his side. Behind him the line shuff led together and in front of him, Denizens stood aside.

They were just about to go through the third rank when the enemy all screa med at once, and the pounding of their feet got much louder and faster, wi th the drums suddenly booming twice as fast and horns blaring as well. At the same time, Helve and some other sergeants were shouting, "Second rank!

Throw!" though even their legendary voices were almost lost in the din.

Ray knew the enemy had charged, and two seconds later, he almost felt the shock wave of sound and movement as the Nithlings' front rank crashed into the locked shields of his comrades and the air was filled with screams an d cries and curses, the hiss of superheated spears and the ratcheting scre ech of savage-swords meeting Nithling armor.

"Third rank, throw! Fourth rank, advance!"

Ray had only just reached the fourth rank. He swiveled around as the whole line advanced, and he and Fred wedged themselves in, raising their power-sp ears as they did so.

As he saw as well as heard the indescribable pandemonium, with the Nithlin g and the Denizen front ranks intermixed in violent battle, Ray Green was totally in the present. There was no part of his mind trying to remember a nything of his past, but as his body obeyed without thought, the power-spe ar soaring out of his hand and into the rear ranks of the enemy, he had a sudden flash of memory. He was throwing something a white ball and som eone else was shouting at him, "Way to go, Arthur Penhaligon!"

The name resonated in Ray's mind so powerfully that for an instant he wasn't even aware of the incredible tumult of the battle.

"I'm not Ray Green!" he shouted. "I'm Arthur Penhaligon!"

Chapter Fifteen

Sylvie looked out the window. Leaf watched her, her heart sinking as the old lady did not react as she expected. She just stood there, fiddling with the l eft arm of the spectacles.

"Very interesting," she said at last.

"Did you see it?" asked Leaf. "The House? Above and around the hospital?"

"Yes, I did, dear," said Sylvie in a very matter-of-fact way. "Is it real, or s ome sort of 3-D projection from these gla.s.ses?"

"It's real," said Leaf grimly. "Very real. The gla.s.ses are not some sort of t echnology. A sorcerer made them."

Sylvie took them off and looked at the wire frames and the cracked lenses. Then she put them on again and stared out the window once more.