It towered over the policeman, baleful eyes glaring down at him. They contained no iris or features of any kind, but glowed an unbroken yellow. Above them the forehead rose to a huge domed crest. Twin horns thrust out from the brow, curving upwards into the air. Below the eyes a broad flat nose blew out streams of smoke. Behind the smoke lay a gaping mouth with two rows of stiletto teeth and a pair of tusks which erupted from the cheeks. The bare red chest was twice as wide as a man’s, solid muscle glistening with sweat. Flanking it were arms the diameter of Paris’s thighs. One ended in a fist the size of a football, the other wielded a long black sword. Round the creature’s waist a thick belt held up a loincloth. Two tree-trunk legs stretched down to colossal clawed feet, a pointed tail swishing behind them.
Paris’s gaze rose slowly back up the monstrous body and settled on the horrific face. He’d never seen a demon before. He knew, without question, that he had now.
It growled, and the sound rumbled across the garden like an earthquake.
‘I,’ it boomed, ‘am Grarf. Warrior of Delostra, Knight of the High Council, destroyer of the Bantuk.’
The living nightmare leant forward. Its enormous visage loomed even closer to Paris. Sulphurous clouds billowed out of its nostrils.
‘And I,’ it said, ‘am very pleased to meet you.’
Surprise leapt to the front of Paris’s brain, elbowing fear out the way as it passed.
‘What?’
‘I hath studied thy culture. Be that not the correct expression?’
‘Depends,’ spluttered Paris. ‘You’re pleased to meet me before you eat me?’
The demon frowned. ‘I do not eat humans. Thou hast no abilities I desire. Also, thou art too fatty.’
Paris gulped. ‘So you’re just going to kill me?’
‘Nay, human. I shall not hurt thee.’
‘But…’ stammered Paris. ‘I mean… You’re…’
Yellow eyes glared at him.
‘It would seem,’ said the creature, ‘that what I hath heard of humans be true. Everything thou see as “nice” be good. And all thou wouldst see as “nasty” be bad. Verily, there be a word for this.’
‘Anthropomorphism?’
‘Nay. Stupidity.’
Paris’s head swam. Surprise and fear were joined by total bewilderment. Even three days of complete madness hadn’t prepared him for this.
The giant shape in front of him stood up straight, almost two and a half metres tall. The huge head turned from side to side as it scanned the garden.
‘Second human,’ it said. ‘Where art thou? Ah! Come. I mean you no harm.’
Paris’s gaze flicked towards where the thing was looking. Bonetti peered around the hedge, evidently not too sure about what he’d just been told. He moved out from behind the shrubbery and took a few nervous steps forward. Paris couldn’t tell if this action came from bravery, curiosity or concern for his boss. Knowing Bonetti, it was probably stupidity.
‘I am Grarf,’ the demon repeated. ‘What be thy name, second human?’
Bonetti swallowed.
‘Sergeant Bonetti,’ he said.
Grarf nodded. ‘Sergeant. A soldier. ’Tis good. Welcome, fellow warrior.’
The featureless eyes stared down at Paris once more.
‘And what art thou named, first human?’
Paris thought quickly. It seemed to like soldiers. But “inspector” wasn’t a soldier. And he had no desire for it to think he was a taxman.
‘Nick Paris,’ he said.
‘Greetings, Nipparis. Though thou art obviously not a warrior.’
The policeman didn’t argue. Compared to present company, he was most definitely out of shape. Right now, however, there were other matters on his mind besides gym membership.
Grarf opened the football-sized fist and held out a hand.
‘Come, Nipparis,’ he said. ‘I will assist thee to rise.’
Paris stared back up at it. It? A bizarre notion came to him – do demons have sexes? Wearing just a single loincloth suggested it was male. But applying human characteristics to magical creatures had been shot down before. Besides, whether male, female, or something else altogether, did he want to let this monster get hold of him? He appraised the thumb and three fingers in front of him, each with a long, sharp claw like an eagle’s talon. His mind flashed back to a bird he knew and what Malbus had told him in Cassandra’s shop. The crow said if the Vanethria wanted him dead, he’d already be dead. It certainly applied here. So if they didn’t intend to kill him, what did they want? Maybe it was time to find out.
With great trepidation, he raised his arm. Grarf took hold and yanked. Paris flew up onto his feet. He lurched forward, bashed against the massive scarlet body, and bounced off.
Paris staggered like he’d run into a wall. Grarf looked as if a flea had landed on him.
‘Forgive me,’ he intoned. ‘I did forget mine own strength.’
Paris glanced at Bonetti. His sergeant might be a strapping rugby player, but this thing was an entire team. He felt like the corner flag.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, rubbing his shoulder.
Grarf leered down at him, revealing a further row of dagger-like teeth. It was more frightening than ever. Paris stared at the fangs, waiting to feel them rip off his face. Nothing happened. Slowly it dawned on him that this horrendous brute was trying to smile.
‘’Tis good,’ said Grarf. ‘We are well met.’
He grabbed hold of his belt and thrust his sword into the scabbard hanging from it. Paris’s panic eased a little. One less problem to worry about, at least. Although he still struggled to make sense of what was happening. After all he’d been told, after everything he thought he’d discovered, here was a demon being friendly? He studied the grotesque red face, searching for some sign of sincerity, or insincerity, or anything except raw power. No chance. All his accumulated police interview techniques were of no use whatsoever with something this alien. The appearance of a fiend from hell, the muscles of a surgically enhanced bodybuilder and the deep rich voice of an operatic baritone. Paris suppressed a shudder. He hated the opera.
‘You said you’re not going to kill us,’ he ventured. ‘Now I’m not complaining. Only isn’t that, well, what demons do?’
The creature snorted. ‘Nay, human. We be not all evil.’
Paris mulled over the statement. The ones running round south Manchester certainly appeared to be somewhat less than good. But how to ask about them, without revealing that he knew already? Doing so would mean admitting he must have been told and thereby putting every magical creature he’d met in danger. Could this be why the demons wanted him? Were they going to use him to get to Malbus, Tergil and the rest? He needed to work out what to say. It would have to be subtle.
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Bonetti. ‘You’re one of the Vanethria.’
The inspector groaned inwardly. When it came to discretion, his sergeant was as much use as a goldfish in an arm-wrestling contest.
He waited for the reaction. It came unexpectedly as Grarf made another attempt at a smile.
‘Thou knowest of them? Verily, I be most impressed at thy learning.’
Paris raised an eyebrow. He realised that logic and reason were slowly creeping towards the front of his brain again. Maybe even Bonetti could be useful sometimes.
‘We know of “them”,’ he said. ‘Not “of us”. You’re not one of them?’
‘Nay. Not all demons be Vanethria. And not all the Vanethria be demons.’
Paris stared up in confusion.
Grarf frowned back at him. ‘Thou didst not know? Mayhap thy learning be not so great as I didst think.’
Paris thought so too. The cocktail of emotions inside his mind was rapidly being joined by anger. Provided there was room. He wanted to ask more questions, but Bonetti got there ahead of him.
‘So what are you doing here?’ asked the sergeant.
Grarf turned towards him, chest swelling still larger than before.
‘Fellow warrior,’ he said, with evident pride. ‘I hath been chosen to journey to the human world. ’Tis my mission.’
‘A mission?’
‘Aye. One that be most important.’
‘Why? What have you got to do?’
Paris looked at Bonetti. The sergeant’s fear was being overcome by fascination and locker-room male bonding. He only needed Conan the Barbarian in a Halloween outfit and he was quite happy.
‘He means he’s on a quest,’ said Paris. ‘Don’t you?’
Grarf turned to face the inspector. ‘Aye. How couldst thou tell?’
‘You’re a knight, aren’t you? Knights are always on quests. You’ll be searching for something like the Sacred Wibble of Fludge.’
‘I know not of what you speak, Nipparis. I seek the princess.’
Paris sighed.
‘Of course you do,’ he said. ‘And I suppose she’s beautiful, fair-skinned, with long blonde hair. Right?’
The demon looked puzzled.
‘She hath an inner beauty,’ replied Grarf, ‘but she be not what humans would consider attractive. Her skin be hard and coarse. And she hath no hair at all.’
Suddenly everything clicked into place. Paris’s eyes widened as realisation hit him like a punch on the nose.
‘Are you telling me,’ he said, ‘that your princess… is Rocky the rock troll?’
22
Nick Paris had seen some pretty strange things over the last few days. Centaurs, both living and dead. A musical routine performed by a crow. Bonetti doing something useful. Now he was watching possibly the strangest sight of all, as a mixture of surprise and delight spread across Grarf’s terrifying face. The inspector had no idea how demons were supposed to look, but he guessed it wasn’t like a five-year-old child opening birthday presents. Even if this particular child was bigger than him, bright red, and brandished horns where his party hat should be.
‘Thou knowest of a rock troll?’ said Grarf. ‘Here in the human world? Praise to Xaxx. My quest be not in vain. Though what be the name thou hast said? Rocky?’
He roared with laughter, throwing back his huge head. Gigantic guffaws reverberated round the garden.
‘’Tis a grand jest, indeed,’ he said. ‘Methinks thou canst not pronounce the princess’s true name. I shall tell thee what it be.’
He reeled off a shopping list of syllables, something which Paris realised he would never be able to say himself. It was incredibly long, with no sign of vowels whatsoever, and sounded like a fight between Welsh, Polish and a walrus.
Grarf unleashed another vast stiletto-tooth smile. ‘Be that not a more fitting title for one of royal blood?’
Paris didn’t really mind what she was called. For all he knew, this demon wanted to find Rocky and kill her. He cursed himself for mentioning her at all. His brain was so mangled by this monster’s arrival that the information had slipped out. It was too late to pull it back. He forced himself to focus, to see if he could turn things round. What could he find out that might help?
‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘But why did you think your quest would be in vain?’
‘The High Council knew not if the princess be in thy world,’ replied Grarf. ‘I hath been sent to find out.’
‘I see,’ replied Paris slowly. ‘It’s a scouting mission. So why haven’t they sent someone who, well, doesn’t stand out quite so much?’
‘It be not that simple, Nipparis. I didst hath to fight to get here. The portal were guarded by four Vanethria soldiers.’
Paris raised an eyebrow. ‘Were guarded?’
‘Aye. But no more. They now be sentries in Y’hadron, the land of spirits.’
Paris looked at him. He detected no triumph in the demon’s voice, just a matter-of-fact observation. Killing was obviously an everyday activity for him. There was no sadness either, though presumably he’d killed four others of his own kind. Magic world politics, Paris decided, was completely beyond him.
His thoughts were interrupted as Grarf’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. The policeman’s knees almost gave way under the strain.
‘Enough talk,’ said Grarf. ‘Thou must take me to the princess. At once.’
Yellow eyes blazed down intently. They blasted away the fog of confusion and fear in Paris’s mind. If it hadn’t been focused before, it certainly was now.
‘Of course,’ he said, thinking as fast as possible. ‘Except she’s in a safe place. There are security protocols. We can’t just walk in there. I’m sure you understand.’
Grarf stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘The safety of the princess be paramount.’
He lifted his enormous hand. Paris felt a huge weight being taken off him. In more ways than one.
‘I’ll have to contact them,’ he said. ‘Make the arrangements. Not here, though. Too close to the gateway. Can’t tell who might come through it, can we?’
He pointed towards the house. Grarf nodded again and turned towards it.
Paris breathed a sigh of relief. All he had to do now was move everyone to where they wouldn’t be spotted by the neighbours – provided nobody was already out investigating the noise. Then find out what Malbus and Tergil knew about the new arrival, while finding some excuse to keep him away from Rocky. And stay alive while he did it. Easy.
They headed off up the garden. Grarf stomped along in front, his great clawed feet leaving dents like dinosaur tracks on the grass. The two cops trailed in his wake, almost jogging to keep up. Paris studied him lumbering along and appreciated that other beings apart from centaurs used spells of concealment. Although perhaps with less success. Again he saw the out-of-focus image of two pictures at once. The first was a gigantic scarlet demon. The other was a much less conspicuous gigantic scarlet gorilla.
The trio reached the back door without anybody seeing them. Or at least without anybody screaming about escaped mutant zoo animals. Paris edged his way carefully around Grarf.
‘Wait here a minute,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure there’s enough room.’
Paris walked across the kitchen towards the hallway. He hadn’t noticed when he’d followed the rabbit, but, looking at it now, it was obvious that a path had been cleared. Furniture and appliances had been moved, making it easier for the magical creatures to get through. Normal-sized creatures, anyway.
He turned, waving Grarf to come into the house. Paris watched the demon squeezing his enormous bulk through the doorway. He wondered how Rocky had managed to achieve the same feat when she came from the mystic world. Grarf was bigger than the troll, though also much more flexible. Yet another question he needed to ask Tergil; one of several which had come to light this evening.
Grarf popped out through the door frame with a jolt, massive arms swinging out on both sides. One thumped against a vase on the windowsill, smashing it to pieces. His other arm banged against the kettle, sending clangs echoing round the room. He raised his head towards the ceiling and a horn ripped through the lampshade. He staggered, staring down at Paris with his face a mixture of confusion, anger and dejection. As dejected as an eight-foot-tall mountain of fangs and muscle could be, anyway. It was possibly an even better picture than the look of surprise earlier. Paris bit his lip, making very sure that he didn’t laugh.
He heard the sound of footsteps running down the hallway. Paris stepped out to see Stone and Cassandra coming towards him. He held up his hand to stop them.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ demanded the householder.
‘I’ve brought you another visitor,’ replied the cop.
He took a step towards them. Behind him, Grarf emerged into the hallway. The creature squashed his body through the door, then straightened up as best he could, towering over the humans.
Stone turned to stone, his face the colour of chalk. Cassandra, however, reacted somewhat differently.
‘Oh, yes!’ she said. ‘Aren’t you amazing?’
Grarf bowed.
‘Mil
ady,’ he said. ‘I am Grarf. Warrior of Delostra, Knight of the High Council, destroyer of the Bantuk.’
Paris rolled his eyes. Although the introduction was impressive, he had no great need to listen to it again. Demons evidently didn’t do business cards.
Cassandra, of course, hadn’t heard it before. She beamed.
‘And I,’ she said, ‘am Cassandra du Mort. Member of the South Manchester coven, and shop owner of Chorlton.’
Grarf nodded. ‘’Tis an honour.’
‘Oh no,’ said Cassandra. ‘The honour is all mine.’
Paris considered her responses. As usual, she took everything in her stride. And, as usual, he didn’t have the foggiest idea how she did it.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘That’s very interesting, but we need you out the way now.’
Grarf looked down at him, puzzled. ‘What dost thou mean, Nipparis?’
‘Well, all the other magic creatures from the gateway have to pass through here. And you’re kind of blocking the way.’
He pointed at the living room door. This room, he’d worked out, faced the back of the house, rather than out into the street.
‘You can go in here. Bonetti’ll keep you company. Where is he?’
The sergeant peered out from behind the demon and waved.
A huge horned head leant forward, impeding Paris’s view. ‘Thou will contact the princess’s guards now?’
It was posed as a question. Paris realised, however, that it was an order. Grarf obviously felt uncomfortable in the confines of the house, but he still knew what he wanted. Paris nodded.
‘Just get you sorted out first,’ he said.
Grarf struggled through the doorway into the living room. Bonetti came out of the kitchen and followed him. Paris turned back towards the house’s owner.
‘You too.’
Stone looked horrified. ‘Me?’
‘If you hope to keep your possessions in one piece, yeah. There’s a big clumsy brute gone in there. And a demon.’
Stone gulped and went in. Paris closed the door behind him. Then he headed in the opposite direction, into the dining room. Flopping down onto one of the expensive chairs, he let out a long, slow sigh.
Breaking the Lore Page 13
