bastions spaced evenly along its length. Initially, I took this to be a defence against seagoing marauders, but as we passed onto the eighth terrace through a tremendously tall gateway, I realised the battlements were facing inward, not outward. This made no sense. If the Yatsill feared a land attack, why was the wall here rather than at the top of the first level? And what, exactly, was the nature of the threat? I determined to find this out as soon as possible.
Beyond the wall, the eighth terrace contained forts, parade grounds, and barracks. There were also builders’ yards, paper mills, printworks, and the premises of metalworkers, carpenters, and glassblowers.
The cabbie drove me to a military establishment and dropped me at the gate, above which a sign read “Crooked Blue Tower Barracks” despite there being no tower present, crooked, blue, or otherwise. Out of habit, I patted my pockets in search of loose change to pay for my ride. Of course, I had none, and regardless, the hansom clattered away before I could have handed over any coins.
A sentry—Working Class—stepped forward and said, “You must be Fleischer.”
“Yes,” I responded, then foolishly added, “How did you know?”
The Yatsill regarded me through the holes of his mask and said, “You’re underequipped in the leg and elbow department, Guardsman. Go through, please. Colonel Spearjab is waiting for you.”
He held the portal open and I passed through into a large courtyard. There were about thirty Workers in it, all dressed in Napoleonic grey. Five of them were wielding swords—chopping, slashing, and stabbing at ten-foot-tall tree stumps—while the others watched.
A figure strode over to me. When he spoke, I recognised the voice of Colonel Momentous Spearjab coming from behind the long-beaked stork mask.
“Ah-ha! There you are, old chap! We’ve been waiting for you! What! What! Here, take this.”
He held out a scabbarded sword, hilt first.
I looked at it and felt the heat sucked out of my body.
“We’ve been practising but we’re not bally sure of the technique,” Spearjab said. “Show us, would you? Hey?”
I shook my head and took a step back. “I can’t. I don’t know how to use it.”
“Come come, old fellow. Harrumph! Give it a try.”
Again, I shook my head.
“I say,” Spearjab grumbled. “I am a colonel, you know. A colonel, I say! Humph! Humph! You do realise you have to obey my jolly old orders, yes? The thing of it is, this is an order. What! Take the sword.”
I drew an unsteady breath, reached out, and closed my fingers around the weapon’s grip. Spearjab maintained his hold on the scabbard as I slowly pulled the weapon from it. It scraped free and I stumbled a little, surprised by its weight. It was much heavier than I had anticipated.
“Good show!” the colonel murmured.
I looked down at the hilt, at the ornately carved quillons and studded pommel.
“Please, no.”
It was the sword the Valley of Reflections had shown to me—the weapon I would use to kill Mademoiselle Crockery Clattersmash.
° °
6. GUARDSMAN AND MAGICIAN
How much time had passed since I’d last awoken in a bed? I had no idea, but when I finally did so once again, it was not the pleasure it should have been, for my entire body ached abysmally. Every muscle felt bruised. My hands were blistered and I could hardly straighten my fingers. When I sat up and swung my legs to the floor, the pain was so excruciating I couldn’t help but moan in distress.
I had no memory of my return to the house—though I could vaguely recall a cab driver helping me out of a hansom—nor did I know how much time had passed since then. By the angle of the light slanting in through the gap in my curtains, I guessed it to be no small period.
Curtains! There’d been none before!
With another moan, I pushed myself upright, hobbled across the room, and pulled the draperies open. The square below was empty, the only movement being from the water of the tinkling fountain. I looked down at myself and found, to my surprise, that I was wearing blue-and-yellow-striped pyjamas. Then I turned and surveyed my bedchamber. The walls had been painted a very pale green. A dressing gown was hanging from a hook on the door. There was a wardrobe to my left, its doors open, showing it to be full of clothes. A pair of slippers poked out from beneath the end of my bed.
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, bemused.
I could smell toast.
In a