trousers with a broad gold stripe down each leg, his feet by black boots with spurs, and he was made at least a foot taller by a towering black fur hat with blue and white plumes. He also had a hand-sized crescent of bronze hanging around his neck, which was engraved with curlicues and numbers.
He looked around the room and saw Dame Primus, clearly the tallest and most important Denizen in the room.
“I do beg your pardon, ma’am,” said the lieutenant. “Crosshaw is my name, recruiting officer. I have a draft requisition for one Arthur Penhaligon, only I think there must be a mistake, as it gives this Arthur a precedence within the House of…well…six. I thought perhaps there might be a large number of zeroes missing…Perhaps if there is someone among Mister Monday’s staff called Arthur Penhaligon, I might test the draft document?”
“There is no mistake,” said Dame Primus. She indicatedArthur with a lofty wave of her hand. “The person in question is Lord Arthur Penhaligon, Master of the Lower House, Lord of the Far Reaches, Duke of the Border Sea, sixth in precedence within the House. I am Dame Primus, Parts One, Two, and Three of the Will of the Architect.”
Crosshaw gulped loudly, opened his mouth, shut it again, then looked at the papers in his hand. He seemed to find strength there, for he looked straight at Arthur and marched over, coming to a heel-stamping stop right in front of him.
“I do beg your pardon, ah…Lord Arthur. Having been at a remote outpost in the Great Maze up until yesterday when I assumed my new duties, I did not know that there had been changes, um, among the Trustees. The thing is…I don’t quite know how to put it…As far as I know, if your name’s on the draft form, then you’ve been drafted. I have to give it to you.”
The lieutenant held out a large square of parchment, which had a lot of small type with Arthur’s name written clearly in a space in the middle.
“What happens if I don’t take it?” Arthur asked.
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Crosshaw. “If you do take it, I escort you via elevator to the Great Maze, to the Recruit Camp. If you don’t take it, I think the powerswithin the draft form take you to the Recruit Camp anyway, by more…unpleasant means.”
“If I might glance at the document?” asked Dr. Scamandros, who had moved to stand at Arthur’s shoulder. He set his crystal-lensed glasses on his forehead, not on his eyes, and peered at the document. “Ah, yes, here we are. Most interesting. If you do not go willingly, Arthur, then you will be transformed into a shape, generally a small package of brown paper tied up with string, able to pass through the House’s postal system…which, given the problems still current in the Lower House, would not be an…ah…efficient means of travel.”
“Okay, I’ll take it,” said Arthur. He reached out and took the paper, then cried out in horror as it wrapped itself around his hand and started to shrug itself up his arm like a horrid slug consuming his flesh—though it didn’t hurt.
“Don’t be alarmed!” cried Crosshaw. “It’s just turning into a recruit uniform!”
Arthur looked away and tried to relax. The paper continued to move over him, rustling and billowing. When he looked down, his clothes had been transformed into a simple blue tunic with black buttons, blue breeches, and short black boots. A white canvas belt with a brass buckle carried a white ammunition pouch and an empty bayonet loop (known as a frog) on his hip.
But the draft notice wasn’t entirely finished. Arthur flinched as he felt it come out from under his tunic and swarm up the back of his neck. It climbed onto his head and transformed itself into a blue pillbox hat, with a tight and uncomfortable chinstrap that buckled on under Arthur’s lip instead of under his chin.
“Very good, Recruit,” said Crosshaw. He was no longer nervous, and Arthur felt immediately smaller and more insignificant. “Follow
He looked around the room and saw Dame Primus, clearly the tallest and most important Denizen in the room.
“I do beg your pardon, ma’am,” said the lieutenant. “Crosshaw is my name, recruiting officer. I have a draft requisition for one Arthur Penhaligon, only I think there must be a mistake, as it gives this Arthur a precedence within the House of…well…six. I thought perhaps there might be a large number of zeroes missing…Perhaps if there is someone among Mister Monday’s staff called Arthur Penhaligon, I might test the draft document?”
“There is no mistake,” said Dame Primus. She indicatedArthur with a lofty wave of her hand. “The person in question is Lord Arthur Penhaligon, Master of the Lower House, Lord of the Far Reaches, Duke of the Border Sea, sixth in precedence within the House. I am Dame Primus, Parts One, Two, and Three of the Will of the Architect.”
Crosshaw gulped loudly, opened his mouth, shut it again, then looked at the papers in his hand. He seemed to find strength there, for he looked straight at Arthur and marched over, coming to a heel-stamping stop right in front of him.
“I do beg your pardon, ah…Lord Arthur. Having been at a remote outpost in the Great Maze up until yesterday when I assumed my new duties, I did not know that there had been changes, um, among the Trustees. The thing is…I don’t quite know how to put it…As far as I know, if your name’s on the draft form, then you’ve been drafted. I have to give it to you.”
The lieutenant held out a large square of parchment, which had a lot of small type with Arthur’s name written clearly in a space in the middle.
“What happens if I don’t take it?” Arthur asked.
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Crosshaw. “If you do take it, I escort you via elevator to the Great Maze, to the Recruit Camp. If you don’t take it, I think the powerswithin the draft form take you to the Recruit Camp anyway, by more…unpleasant means.”
“If I might glance at the document?” asked Dr. Scamandros, who had moved to stand at Arthur’s shoulder. He set his crystal-lensed glasses on his forehead, not on his eyes, and peered at the document. “Ah, yes, here we are. Most interesting. If you do not go willingly, Arthur, then you will be transformed into a shape, generally a small package of brown paper tied up with string, able to pass through the House’s postal system…which, given the problems still current in the Lower House, would not be an…ah…efficient means of travel.”
“Okay, I’ll take it,” said Arthur. He reached out and took the paper, then cried out in horror as it wrapped itself around his hand and started to shrug itself up his arm like a horrid slug consuming his flesh—though it didn’t hurt.
“Don’t be alarmed!” cried Crosshaw. “It’s just turning into a recruit uniform!”
Arthur looked away and tried to relax. The paper continued to move over him, rustling and billowing. When he looked down, his clothes had been transformed into a simple blue tunic with black buttons, blue breeches, and short black boots. A white canvas belt with a brass buckle carried a white ammunition pouch and an empty bayonet loop (known as a frog) on his hip.
But the draft notice wasn’t entirely finished. Arthur flinched as he felt it come out from under his tunic and swarm up the back of his neck. It climbed onto his head and transformed itself into a blue pillbox hat, with a tight and uncomfortable chinstrap that buckled on under Arthur’s lip instead of under his chin.
“Very good, Recruit,” said Crosshaw. He was no longer nervous, and Arthur felt immediately smaller and more insignificant. “Follow