Grim Tuesday by Garth Nix Read Free Book Online Page B

replaced a moment later by the face of a TV network woman, with the words SUDDEN OIL SHOCK scrolling across the screen. Arthur couldn’t hear her over the shrieking machine and the whirr and buzz of its arms, but he could guess what she was saying.
    The Grotesque’s bizarre machine had somehow sent the price of oil up fifteen percent.
    “What stocks does your father own?” jeered the Grotesque. It took a piece of paper out of its apron pocket and looked at it. “Oh, I know. Music Supa-Planet, down fifty percent!”
    Again it spoke a strange word that sent a ripple of pain through Arthur’s joints. The spider-arms stopped at the word, then began a different dance, tracing out their strange formulae in patterns of light.
    Arthur shook his head to try and clear the aftereffect of the bright sparks and the words. On the second shake, he saw something. A little door at the base of one of the huge paper mill chimneys. A metal inspection hatch that was slightly ajar.
    The chimneys go below the surface. That has to be a way down.
    He ran towards the hatch, with the Grotesque’s voice echoing all around, even above the shrieking engine.
    “Northern Aquafarms, down twenty-five percent!”
    Arthur reached the inspection hatch. As he pulled it open, the shriek of the engine suddenly stopped. He glanced back and saw the Grotesque staring at him malignantly.
    “Go where you will, Master of the Lower House. The Machine merely pauses for want of fuel, and I shall soon supply that!”
    Arthur shuddered, bent his head, and climbed through the hatch. He was only just inside when the Grotesque shouted something, another word that madeArthur’s teeth and bones ache, and slammed shut the hatch behind him, cutting off all the light.
    In the brief moment before the door closed, Arthur saw that the chimney was at least thirty feet in diameter, with well-worn steps that circled around and down. In the total darkness, Arthur descended by feel, careful not to commit his weight to a step until he was sure it was there. Not for the first time, he wished he still had the First Key, for the light it shed and many other reasons.
    Finally he reached the bottom. It was slightly flooded, water coming up to Arthur’s ankles. The river was close by here. He was probably below its level, Arthur thought uneasily. It didn’t help to think of the river suddenly breaking in, not here in the absolute darkness.
    But there had to be a way out, a way into the House. Didn’t there? Arthur began to think that he had been lured into a trap. Maybe this was just a chimney and he’d been led into it like a complete fool.
    Maybe the Grotesque is going to let more water in. Is it already rising?
    Arthur began to edge around the walls, feeling with his feet and hands. He was starting to panic, and the cold water was not helping his breathing. He could feelhis right lung seizing up, the left laboring hard to make up for its companion’s failings.
    His hand touched something sticking out from the wall. Something round, about the size of an apple. Something smooth and soft. Wooden, not brick.
    A door handle.
    Arthur sighed in relief, and turned it.
    The door opened inwards. Arthur stumbled in, tripping over the lintel. His stomach somersaulted as he continued to fall.
    Straight down!
    Just like the last time he’d entered the House, Arthur was falling slowly—as slow as a plastic bag caught on a summer breeze—through darkness.
    But this time he didn’t have the Key to get him out of this strange in-between place that was neither his own world nor the House. He might fall forever and never arrive anywhere…
    Arthur gritted his teeth and tried to think of something positive. He had held the First Key. He was the Master of the Lower House, even if he’d handed his powers over to a Steward. He felt sure there was some remnant magic in his hands, which had once wielded the Key.
    There has to be some residual power.
    Arthur thrust out his right hand and imagined the