“Caught!” shouted Jakem, wringing his hands again, this time in glee.
“What are you going on about?” asked Arthur wearily. “We’ll just walk out.”
The press wasn’t moving, and though he couldn’t see directly above the plate, he could see one of the arms of the press about thirty feet up, with ten Denizens there standing ready to push the arm, walking around a circular gallery like an internal verandah. He knew there would be a giant screw above the plate and that by pushing the arms clockwise or counterclockwise the Denizens could open or close the press. But it wouldn’t be a quick process.
“Not from the Architect’s own press, made for the binding of very difficult things!” crowed Jakem. “And not when you’re drugged by ghowchem tea, for good measure!”
Arthur frowned and his hand fell to the Key at his side.
“The Key won’t help you either.” Jakem laughed. “Not if we press you very slowly, so it does not react to a sharp threat! We have had particular advice on that!”
Arthur frowned again. His arm did feel strangely heavy, and it was true that the Key was quiescent, not leaping into his hand or turning into its rapier form.
“Start the press down!” ordered Jakem. “Half-speed!”
Chapter Eighteen
“I had heard the High Guild was treacherous,” said Arthur.
He sat up straighter in his chair, which took considerable effort. It felt like he had a sack of cement tied to his chest and back.
“We are merely pragmatic,” said Jakem.
“And knowing that,” said Arthur, “I didn’t drink the tea.”
With a gasp, he stood up. The gasp was echoed by Jakem.
“I bet my friends didn’t either,” added Arthur. He wasted no effort by looking around as he said that, and he heard no answer. But even if they hadn’t drunk the tea, the others would probably be held silent and in place by the powers of the press.
“You can’t get up!” protested Jakem. “The press was made by the Architect! It has never failed to hold recalcitrants!”
“This was made by the Architect too,” said Arthur. He took a step and drew the Key, willing it to take its sword form. For a moment he thought it wouldn’t work, then the baton slowly lengthened and shimmered, transforming into a thin silver blade, the graceful quillons of the hilt wrapped around Arthur’s fist.
“Stop the press,” ordered Arthur. He took another step, directly towards Jakem. It hurt to walk, with every muscle in his legs, back, and arms feeling like they were being twisted by the fingers of a sadistic masseur. But he had kept going before, when he had no air to breathe, when only his determination kept him moving. This was only pain, not lack of breath.
“But you can’t!” protested Jakem. “You simply can’t be walking out!”
Arthur did not reply. He took another step and snarled with the effort. His arms and legs were shaking, but he forced himself on. Only four more steps and he would be clear of the base plate-and within striking distance of Jakem, if the Denizen didn’t flee.
“Perhaps we have been a little overhasty,” said Jakem. Three more steps.
“We were ordered to, you see,” said Jakem. “We have to follow orders.”
Arthur gritted his teeth together. It was only two more steps but he couldn’t lift his foot, it was just too hard.
Instead, he slid his right foot forward and let out a sound that to him sounded like a moan of pain, but to Jakem sounded like a growl of anger.
“Stop the press!” shouted Jakem. “Lord Arthur, we most humbly apologize!”
Arthur slid his left foot off the base plate of the press. Immediately the weight fell off him, so suddenly that he bounded forward and the point of his rapier accidentally flew to Jakem’s face. Arthur only just managed to twitch his wrist so the blade cleared the Denizen’s forehead by two inches and drilled a hole straight through his paper hat.
Jakem fell to the ground as Arthur recovered, bringing the rapier back to the guard position with the Denizen’s hat halfway along the blade. As he slid the hat off, Arthur looked over his shoulder. Suzy was hurrying to his side, her knife in her hand. Ugham had leaped clear of the press and was looking up at the Denizens in the winding gallery, his spear ready. Only Fred was still in his chair, sitting immobile, with his eyes open.
Maybe he’s dead, thought Arthur, struck by this sudden fear. He’d be trusting enough to drink ....
“Get up!” ordered Arthur. He tapped Jakem on the head with his rapier. “Get someone to give Fred an antidote for whatever you put in the tea.”
Jakem rose unsteadily, his hands clasped in supplication.
“There is no antidote-”
Arthur snarled and pulled his hand back, ready to stab with the rapier.
“But it is merely a soporific!” said Jakem. “A little sleep-maker, that’s all. Your friend will wake within the hour!”
“Too trusting, that lad,” said Suzy. “Should’ve learned to never drink a tea you can see through.”
“What?” asked Arthur. His hand was shaking-not, he thought, from the effort of crossing the floor of the press, but from repressing the surge of anger he’d felt towards Jakem. He’d really wanted to kill the Denizen for a second, and if Fred had been killed or even harmed, he thought he would have.
“Tea,” said Suzy. “Got to be thick and dark, or it’s no good.”
Arthur shook his head. He was tired again, he realized. He’d had a good sleep after the siege of the Citadel but that was at least twenty hours ago.
No time to sleep, he thought, with a glance at Fred. Ugham had moved to look at the boy and now he nodded and gestured with his hand, indicating the rise and fall of a chest, to show the boy was breathing.
Sleep can come after ... after what? Don’t think about that ... think about what has to be done ....
“Right,” he said. “Jakem, get two of your Denizens to move Fred and his chair out of the press. They can put him over there. Were you telling the truth about the spell on the gold leaf?”
“Yes, Lord Arthur!” said Jakem. “Digby, Hurrent, fetch Mister Fred out of the press. Quickly now, you dolts!”
“Do you need anything to do the spell?” asked Arthur.
“No, it is a simple matter,” said Jakem. “If I may hold the gold leaf?”
Arthur reached inside his coat and got out the crystal prism with the speck of gold leaf inside.
“Just do the spell I want,” he warned as he handed it over. “I want to be able to use it to find Part Five of the Will.”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” said Jakem. “It should work as you wish, the gold leaf here calling out to the greater part that was used in the creation of the Will.”
“I don’t want it pointing to Dame Primus, though,” added Arthur. “That’s the current shape of Parts One to Four of the Will.”
“It will point to whichever part of the Will is closest,” said Jakem. “Providing, of course, that this speck of gold is in fact part of the greater whole the Architect used.”
“He talks a lot, doesn’t he?” said Suzy. “You should stick him a bit, Arthur, for encouragement.”
“Not with the Key,” said Arthur. “It only needs a touch to kill.”
“Please, Lord Arthur!” grovelled Jakem. “If I may concentrate for a moment?”
Arthur nodded and looked at Suzy, who correctly interpreted his look as a sign to keep silent. She shrugged, smiled, and wandered over to Fred, who had just been carried out of the press.
Jakem drew out a large piece of stiff paper from one of the pockets of his robe and put it down on the floor with the crystal sitting in the middle. Then he took a quill pen and tiny bottle of activated ink from another pocket and, crouching down on his knees, quickly inked the pen and swiftly wrote four incomprehensible words from an alien alphabet on the paper around the crystal. The words were hardly written when they began to float up off the paper, shimmering and writhing like strange sea creatures on the tide. Jakem waved the quill above them in a ritual fashion and the words slid into the crystal, shrinking as they entered, till they were too small to see.