A thin but very wiry Denizen poked his head around nervously and said, “Come in, sir, come in. You won’t slay us all, will you?”
“I won’t slay anyone,” said Arthur.
The Denizen stood aside as the boy came through, then pushed the foot-thick iron-bound door closed with considerable effort and slid home several huge bolts, then lowered a bar that looked as if it would be more at home as the central prop for a very deep mine, where it could hold up tons and tons of rock.
Arthur looked around at the small antechamber, but there was nothing of interest to see apart from slightly damp stone walls and another, closed door opposite of a less sturdy appearance. It was still very cold.
“I just want to get warm,” said Arthur. “Who are you?”
“Marek Flat Gold, sir. Leading Foilmaker, Second Class, 97,858th in precedence within the House. You’re not going to slay us? Or destroy the mill?”
“No,” said Arthur. He didn’t pause to wonder why a Denizen who towered over him could be so afraid of a young, mortal boy. Marek hesitated, then opened the inner door and gestured for Arthur to go ahead.
The boy walked through, but recoiled as he passed the threshold and felt a wave of heat roll over him, accompanied by fierce yellow light.
“Wow, it’s hot in here!”
He felt like he’d walked from the snow into a sauna. Past the door was a huge open area, as big as a sports arena, far larger than was possible from the tower’s outer dimensions. Arthur was used to that; in the House many buildings were larger on the inside than they seemed on the outside. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the heat, the rich red and yellow light, and the source of both: a huge pool of molten gold in the middle of the chamber. It was as big as an Olympic-size swimming pool, but instead of being sunk into the ground, it was built up, its clear crystal sides at least six feet high.
Red-hot liquid gold flowed from the big pool along an open gutter of crystal that was supported by stilts of dark iron, ending up in a series of six smaller pools. At each of these, Denizens scooped the gold up with tools that looked like big cups on the end of ten-foot-long metal poles. The gold-carriers then took their cups to another corner of the chamber, where it was cast into ingots. The still-hot ingots were carried away by yet more Denizens who wore huge, elbow-high padded gloves, a constantly moving line of them taking the gold to another corner, which looked like a brick yard, except with gold ingots instead of bricks stacked up everywhere. As soon as a Denizen unloaded his ingots he went back again in yet another line. Both moving lines of Denizens reminded Arthur very much of ants at work.
In addition to the heat and light, there was also a dull, mechanical thumping noise that pervaded the room. That came from one end, where an axle powered by the waterwheel outside turned a slightly smaller interior wheel that in turn drove a series of lesser wheels, belts, and pistons that powered an array of mechanical hammers. The largest hammer had a head about the size of a family car, and the smallest had a head about as big as Arthur’s.
All the hammers were pounding away with monotonous regularity, Denizens busy around them, placing and snatching out gold that started as an ingot beneath the big hammer and ended up as a broad flat sheet by the time the smallest mechanical hammer was finished with it. From there the sheets of gold were taken by another line of Denizens to the farthest corner of the room, where two or three hundred workbenches were set up, each with a Denizen hammering away, making the sheets of gold even thinner.
There was constant activity everywhere, save for one area quite close to Arthur, where around fifty Denizens lay as if asleep, each with a narrow strip of pale blue parchment or paper stuck on their foreheads, extending down their noses to their necks.
Arthur looked quickly around at the workers and the odd sight of the papered Denizens, but didn’t waste any time in asking what they were doing. He had more important things to worry about.
“Who’s in charge here?” he asked. He had to shout to be heard over all the noise of the hammering, the Denizens calling out to one another and the gurgle and hiss of molten gold running along the gutter. “And is there any way to look outside to see what’s happening?”
“You’re really, truly not going to kill everyone?” asked Marek.
“No!” shouted Arthur. “Why do you keep asking? Do I look like some kind of crazy murderer?”
“No ....” Marek sounded as if he did still think that but didn’t want to upset Arthur. “Forgive me. These are strange times ... and I saw what you did to those Nithlings.”
“Speaking of Nithlings, a whole lot more will be attacking here soon,” Arthur warned. “I need to talk to whoever is in charge.”
Marek said something, but Arthur couldn’t hear it. Frustrated, he retreated back to the antechamber, gesturing to Marek to follow him. With the door half-closed, in the relative quiet, Arthur repeated his question yet again.
“I don’t know who’s in charge,” said Marek, cringing so low that his head was almost level with Arthur’s. “None of the telephones work. We had a letter this morning saying Lady Friday has gone away and Friday’s Dawn, our Guildmaster, went up the canal to find out what’s happening. After he left we got a letter from Superior Saturday saying she has taken over the Middle House and we are all to keep at work, that a new Guildmaster will soon come to oversee us.”
“Who’s next in precedence within the House after Friday’s Dawn?” asked Arthur. He was getting anxious about an imminent attack by Fetchers. “And is there any way to get a view from the tower of what’s happening outside?”
“Elibazeth Flat Gold is the Master Foiler,” said Marek. “But she is far too busy with the foil to interrupt. I am third, after Elibazeth, and responsible for collecting letters. Kemen is second, but he is experiencing and won’t be back for weeks. To look out from the tower, it is a matter of opening this inner door differently. However, if you are not going to kill us or destroy anything, why don’t you just leave? We have work to do!”
Arthur blinked. Marek had switched from cowardly grovelling to strangely aggressive in the space of a breath.
“I’m Lord Arthur, Rightful Heir to the Architect, Commander of the Army of the Architect, and a whole lot of other stuff, and I’m taking command here, not Superior Saturday or anyone else. Understand?”
Marek immediately went back to cowardly grovelling, sinking down on one knee as he answered, “Yes, Lord.”
“Go and interrupt Elizabeth-”
“Elibazeth, lord.”
“Elibazeth, then. Go and tell her I want any Denizens who have served in the Army to gather near the door here, with whatever weapons you have or can improvise. And open this door the ‘different way’ so I can take a look out of the tower.”
“Yes, lord.”
Marek showed Arthur how to pull out the door handle, rotate it ninety degrees, and push it back in. This time what lay beyond the open door was not the antechamber and the outer door, but a dim, cold, and very damp stairway, none of these conditions much relieved by the thin bands of light that came in through the gaps in the slats of the shuttered windows above.
Arthur bounded up the stairs as Marek shut the door behind him. Reaching the first window, the boy unbolted the shutters and opened one a few inches, enough to look out without being too obvious.
Through the narrow gap he saw the snowy plain and not much else. Visibility was still very limited, with snow falling steadily and the clouds almost low enough to touch from the tower. Arthur had half-expected to see massed ranks of Fetchers or other Nithlings, so he was relieved by the absence of enemies, even if it was only for the time being.
Then it occurred to him that he was looking out only one side of the tower. The Fetchers could be forming up on one of the other two sides, the fourth side being the canal, and thus probably safe. Unless the Fetchers had wings, or boats. Which was entirely possible, Arthur thought. So he would have to check that side as well.