Garth Nix - Grim Tuesday

GARTH NIX

ILLUSTRATED BY

TIM STEVENS

HarperCollins Children’s Books An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’sBooks 2004

Copyright © Garth Nix 2004

Illustrations by Tim Stevens 2004

Garth Nix asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007175031

Ebook edition © SEPTEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780007279135

Version: 2016-11-03

To Anna and Thomas, and to all my family and friends.

CONTENTS

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Keep Reading

Preview

Prologue

About the Author

Praise

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

The blood-red, spike-covered locomotive vented steam in angry blasts as it wound up from the very depths of the Pit. Black smoke billowed through the steam, coal smoke that was laced with deadly particles of Nothing from the deep mines far below.

For over ten thousand years, the Pit had been dug deeper and deeper into the foundations of the House. Grim Tuesday’s miners sought workable deposits of Nothing, from which all things could be made. But if they found too much in one place or broke through to the endless abyss of Nothing, it would destroy them and much else besides, before the hole could be plugged and that particular shaft closed off.

There was also the constant danger of attack by Nithlings, the strange creatures that were born from Nothing. Sometimes Nithlings came as multitudes of lesser creatures, sometimes as a single, fearsome monster that would wreak enormous havoc until it was defeated, turned back or escaped into the Secondary Realms.

Despite the danger, the Pit grew ever deeper, and the shafts and tunnels that preceded it spread wider. The train was a relatively recent addition, a mere three hundred years old as time ran in the House. The train took only four days to travel from the bottom of the Pit up to the Far Reaches. There wasn’t much left of the Reaches, since the digging had eaten away much of Grim Tuesday’s original domain within the House.

Very few ordinary Denizens ever rode the train. Most had to walk, a journey of at least four months, following the service road next to the railway. The train was only for the Grim himself and his favoured servants. Its locomotive and carriages were razor-spiked all over to prevent hitchhikers, and the conductors used steam-guns on anyone who tried to get on. Even an almost immortal Denizen of the House would think twice about risking a blast of superheated steam. Recovery would take a long time and be extraordinarily painful.

Flying would be far faster than the train, but Grim Tuesday never wore wings himself and had forbidden them to everyone else. Wings attracted Nothing from all over the Pit. Sometimes they caused flying Nithlings to form. Other times, the flapping set off storms of Nothing that the Grim himself had to quell.

The train whistled seven times as it came to a screeching stop alongside the platform. Up Station had been built by Grim Tuesday himself, copied from a very grand station on some world in the Secondary Realms. It had once been a beautiful building of vaulting arches and pale stonework. But the coal smoke from the train and the Grim’s many forges and factories had stained the stones black. The pollution from Nothing had also eaten into every wall and arch, riddling the stone with tiny holes, like a worm-eaten wooden ship. The station only stayed up because Grim Tuesday constantly repaired it with the power of his Key.

Grim Tuesday held the Second Key to the Kingdom, the Key that he should have handed to a Rightful Heir ten thousand years ago but instead chose to keep, in defiance of the Will left by the Architect who had created the House and the Secondary Realms.

Grim Tuesday rarely thought about the Will. It had been broken into seven fragments and those fragments had been hidden away across the vastness of space and the depths of time. He had hidden a fragment himself, the Second Clause of the Will, and had once been sure that no one else would ever reach it.

But now he had learned that the first part of the Will had escaped. It had found itself a Rightful Heir, and that heir had unbelievably managed to vanquish Mister Monday and assume his powers.

That meant Grim Tuesday would be next. As he stepped off the train, he scowled at the open letter he held in his gauntleted hand. The messengers who had brought this unwelcome message to the Far Reaches were waiting now, expecting a reply.

Grim Tuesday read over part of the letter again. The heir was a boy named Arthur Penhaligon, a boy from the world that was one of the most interesting of those in the Secondary Realms. A place called Earth, which had given birth to many of the artists and creators whose work Grim Tuesday copied. Humans , they called themselves. They were the most gifted result of all the Architect’s aeons-old seedlings, the only creatures anywhere, in the House or out of it, who rivaled Her in their creativity.

The Grim scowled again and crushed the letter. He did not like to be reminded that he could only copy things. Given a good look at anything original, he could make a copy from Nothing. He could even combine existing things in interesting ways. But he could not create anything entirely new himself.

“Lord Tuesday.”

The greeting came from the taller of two messengers. Denizens of the House, but not like the ones in the Far Reaches. They stood head and shoulders above the soot-stained, Nothing-pocked servants of Grim Tuesday who flocked to the train to unload the great bronze-bound barrels of Nothing brought up from below. These barrels of Nothing would be used to make raw materials like bronze, steel and silver, which would in turn be transformed into finished goods in Grim Tuesday’s factories and foundries. Some of the Nothing would be used directly by the Grim to magically fashion the exquisite items he sold to the rest of the House.

The Grim’s servants usually wore rags and badly mended leather aprons, and were hunched and slow and beaten-looking. The messengers could not look more different, standing arrogantly in their shining black frock coats over snowy-white shirts, their neckties a sombre red, a little lighter than their silken waistcoats. Their top hats were sleek and glossy, reflecting and intensifying the pallid light from the gaslights that lined the platform, so it was hard to see their faces.