‘Right,’ said Paris, trying to take it all in. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, King Oberon and Queen… Gladys.’
‘She’s never been keen on Gladioli,’ said the king. ‘All fairy girls have to be named after flowers, but it’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Paris. ‘I sort of assumed she’d be called Titania.’
The tiny man seemed puzzled. ‘Isn’t that the film about the iceberg?’
Paris considered how he should answer. It didn’t feel appropriate to call somebody royal an airhead. Then again, perhaps it helped them to fly.
As he deliberated, a movement caught his attention. Another blue-uniformed fairy was by the door. He stood on the handle, peering out through the window panel, evidently on sentry duty. The soldier noticed him and nodded. Paris continued to stare.
‘Is something wrong, sir?’ asked the fairy.
‘Not wrong, exactly,’ replied the inspector. ‘I’ve just never seen a fairy with a beard.’
Not the long thick beard that the dwarves had either, but a close-cropped set of whiskers and moustache like sea captains wore. At least, mused Paris, like the ones handsome actors wore in films about heroic sea captains. Bearded or clean-shaven, it made no difference – fairies didn’t do ugly. In fact, they didn’t even seem to do plain. And there he sat unshaved, crumpled, his hair doubtless sticking up all over the place. Maybe it wasn’t a dream, it was a magical fashion makeover.
The sentry gazed back, impassive. ‘Yes, sir. Seen many fairies, have we?’
No, thought Paris. I could do without seeing sarky ones too.
‘I suppose,’ said King Oberon, ‘beards aren’t hugely common. But they’re not unheard of. It doesn’t affect his duties. Ezekarel is one of our best men.’
‘Oh yes,’ said the queen. ‘We knew this trip would be confusing and dangerous, so we had to bring him. For scary hurly-burly, get a burly, hairy fairy. And don’t ask me to say that again; it took half an hour to work it out.’
Paris turned back to the royal couple, weighing them up. Were there any mystical creatures who weren’t, in some way, completely off their heads?
‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘I think. Only what do you mean, “this trip” will be dangerous? Have you come from the magic world?’
‘We have indeed,’ said Oberon. ‘First visit here. Came to see some of our people who live in your world. We’ve been here almost three weeks now.’
‘And,’ said Gladys, ‘the portal’s in enemy territory these days. So we sneaked our way to it. Very un-regal, but terribly exciting.’
Paris tried to come up with any human monarchs who would travel through a war zone in order to meet their subjects. None sprang to mind. Although some magical creatures apparently shared his DNA, most of the things they did were totally alien to him.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘So you were already here when your girl Daffodil got killed?’
‘We were,’ replied Oberon. ‘So we went to console her family. Then we wanted to meet you in person.’
‘Definitely,’ said Gladys. ‘I’m a huge fan.’
Paris stared blankly at her. ‘Of what?’
‘You, of course! You’ve become a bit of a celebrity to our people.’
‘That’s right,’ said the king. ‘You see, if a fairy gets killed by a demon, the other races aren’t too concerned. They’re just glad it’s not them. And when the Vanethria go into another country making their demands for refugees to go back, everyone rolls over and does what they’re told. But you’re not rolling over. You’re not keeping out of the way either. You’re taking them on.’
The king and queen stood beaming at him. Paris didn’t feel like smiling back. Their words sank in like a house brick on a bowl of custard. No sooner than he’d found out the demons in Manchester weren’t after him, now he was in danger of upsetting all the demons in the magic world without even being there. Martyrdom had never struck him as a good career choice. Mainly because you had to be dead.
‘I’m not taking on anyone,’ said Paris. ‘But her death, well, it wasn’t nice. I’m simply trying to find out what happened.’
‘We know what happened,’ said Gladys. ‘She went out with her friends, Lavender and Poppy. They managed to escape when Daffs got caught. Said the demon just appeared, out of nowhere.’
‘He didn’t have a concealment spell,’ said Oberon. ‘He used complete invisibility. Powerful magic.’
Paris pondered. He’d seen this potent wizardry first-hand and heard from various beings about the great sorcerer responsible. It made him less than keen to meet the Vanethria battle mage. Especially now he’d become a fairy celebrity. Although a thought nagged away at him. The ability to turn invisible or slice someone in half would be beyond mere mortals, but it wasn’t exactly blowing mountains apart either. So was it actually that powerful?
He chose not to ask. Another nagging thought took precedence.
‘Daffodil and her friends,’ he said. ‘All lived here in the human world, right?’
King Oberon frowned. ‘I know where you’re going. You think she got careless. Let her guard down. It doesn’t happen. You never lower your guard against something that wants to eat you.’
Paris couldn’t argue. He was very wary of sharks and you didn’t see many of them round Didsbury.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I understand. Apart from that, can you tell me anything else?’
‘Not really. Poppy and Lavender flew away as fast as they could. Spread word the demons have reached the human world. Everybody hid. The news filtered back to us. Then we heard about you.’
‘We did indeed,’ said the queen.
She batted her eyelashes as she smiled the most sensational smile Paris had ever seen. His mind had already been mangled, now his emotions were too. Flirting with members of the public would never be permitted. Flirting with somebody married, beautiful and six inches tall was not only disallowed, it was absolutely bloody ridiculous.
‘Er, right,’ he said, trying to recover himself. ‘Well, thank you for coming. Hope you found the trip worthwhile.’
‘We didn’t come just to say hello,’ said Oberon. ‘We’ve brought you a present. A token of our appreciation.’
He gestured towards the two guards on the desk. Putting down their spears, they picked up something from behind them. Paris watched intently as the soldiers carried it towards him. He held out his hand while they laid it on his palm. A pink tube almost the size of a cigarette, with a cork in one end. It seemed to be made of extremely fine pottery. As he moved his hand he could tell there was some sort of powder shifting around inside. Paris studied it with a mixture of fascination and confusion.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Fairy dust?’
The king looked shocked.
‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘Fairy dust is what you get when one of us is cremated.’
‘Oh.’
‘This is a spell,’ said the queen. ‘Sprinkle it on yourself. You’ll be able to fly.’
Paris gasped. ‘Fly?’
‘Only for a short period,’ said the king. ‘Don’t do anything stupid like leaping off a tall building, though. Flying is easy. Landing’s the hard part.’
‘Right,’ said Paris. ‘I’ll keep it safe.’
He folded his fingers around the tube and looked back up at the fairies.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘I guess you’re all going back through the portal now. Will you be safe?’
King Oberon smiled. ‘Don’t worry. We have the cream of the Royal Guard with us. Brindeggar and Corrulus here are experts with spears. Ezekarel is our muscle man. He’s as strong as a hamster.’
Paris forced himself to keep a straight face.
‘Really?’ he asked. ‘That strong?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Gladys. ‘How do you think we opened your office door to get in?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it. I presumed you came straight through the window using magic.’
O
beron chuckled. ‘I wish we could. But now, we must go. Farewell.’
He waved up towards the door. The sentry stepped off the handle, grabbing hold of it as his wings fluttered. Muscles as mighty as a pet rodent pulled the door open ten centimetres. Ezekarel let go, hovering in the air while he scrutinised it. Evidently content that it wasn’t going to swing shut again, he saluted the inspector and disappeared into the corridor. Oberon and the two other soldiers took off towards the gap.
Queen Gladys stayed behind for a moment, her stunning brown eyes fixed on the inspector’s. She blew him a kiss, then followed after the others.
Paris sat in the newly vacated office, still bewildered. Would it be too much to hope he was asleep after all? He opened his hand, looking down at the small pink tube. Light, fragile, yet also tangible and unmistakeably real. Obviously this wasn’t a dream.
‘Bugger,’ he said. ‘So what the hell am I going to do with you?’
34
Early morning meetings were a standard part of police life, a means of comparing notes and planning out the work for the day. Their role, in Paris’s opinion, was similar to the messages which went round your body when you sat on a fire: important and necessary, but still a pain in the backside.
They were especially arduous if you hadn’t got enough sleep or felt a bit hungover. Today would be even worse, since the cause of the hangover hadn’t done what it was supposed to. The whisky had produced no more brainwaves at all. He opened the door of the staffroom with an already heavy heart.
Cassandra, Thorpe and Tergil sat at one of the tables, three cups of coffee in front of them. Thorpe nodded a greeting.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Although it looks like you haven’t decided if it’s good or not yet.’
‘Yeah,’ replied Paris as he entered the room. ‘That’s what happens when you get woken up in the middle of the night. By fairies, would you believe? The king and queen came to visit me, with some of their soldiers.’
He saw the superintendent’s eyes widen in surprise, though he wasn’t bothered. Cassandra’s expression provoked much greater interest. Not actually one of astonishment, more like slightly dubious. But it would do. Paris’s grumpy mood evaporated. He clenched his fists, forcing himself not to jump around the room cheering. At last! He’d found something that fazed her! He watched closely, waiting for her to admit it.
‘Seriously?’ she said. ‘Fairies disturbed your beauty sleep? Couldn’t they see how badly you need it?’
Then again… thought Paris. Deflation hit him like a whoopee cushion underneath a troll. As always, she was completely un-astounded by anything he said. Might as well tell her he’d been visited by dancing orange rhinos. She’d probably met them too.
‘I did hear,’ said Tergil, ‘that the royal couple were in the human world. I did not expect them to come here, though.’
Paris flopped down on the seat next to him. ‘They wanted to talk about Daffodil’s death. Very interested in my investigation. Apparently, in the magic realm, nobody cares when fairies get murdered.’
‘Not true,’ replied the elf. ‘But, just like the demons, they have their own interpretation of events.’
A wry smile played with the edges of Paris’s lips. Individuals becoming powerful through bigotry wasn’t limited to humans, and neither, it seemed, were propaganda or spin doctors. Mystic world politics required further study – if their armies didn’t kill him first.
He studied Tergil’s body language, looking for any sign of irritation that the previous statement might have caused. None was in evidence. The poker face stayed as solid as ever. Rats.
‘Did the fairies say anything about the Vanethria forces?’ asked Tergil.
The inspector shook his head.
‘They’ve been here three weeks,’ he said. ‘Since before the crucifixion. And, presumably, before any demon army build-up over on your side of the portal.’ He turned towards Thorpe. ‘Have our army arrived yet?’
‘They have. Set up camp in Ladybarn Park. I told them they couldn’t use here as a base because we had no room. Sounded more convincing than “If you’re on the lookout for stray magical creatures, I don’t want you in the station”.’
Paris nodded. Trying to explain Grarf as one of the good guys would stretch anyone’s powers of persuasion.
‘I guess,’ he said, ‘Tergil’s already told you what he told me yesterday, where he reckons we’ve got a week until the Vanethria come here in force. So in theory that gives us seven days to get ready. But, as you know, in practice the first six will be taken up arguing over what to do.’
‘No doubt,’ replied Thorpe. ‘The army group’s commanding officer is coming here for a meeting later. I’d like you to be involved.’ She glanced at Tergil. ‘And all of our visitors to be out of the way.’
‘Agreed,’ said Tergil. ‘We should prepare before this officer gets here. We need to present a plan and logistics.’
A muffled groan came from Cassandra.
‘Sounds fascinating,’ she said. ‘Think I’ll leave you to it. But before I go – did the fairies give you anything else?’
Paris looked at her and pondered. He didn’t want to mention the supposed flying spell from Queen Gladys because that was the most ridiculous thing of the past few ridiculous days. Even if it actually worked, he couldn’t let anybody else risk injuring themselves until he’d had the chance to test it. However, there was no point at all lying to Cassandra; she saw through him like a window. An open one.
‘Anything else?’ he said, as nonchalantly as possible. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Any information.’
‘Oh. Well, they told me the demon who killed Daffodil used an invisibility spell, so there must be a wizard in tow. Stuff we’d established beforehand.’
It’s not lying, he thought. It’s thinking outside the box. If you can keep your head when all around you are losing theirs, you’ll be the capital of Jordan.
It was Cassandra’s turn to give a hint of a smile. She sat there gazing at him like she knew exactly what was going on inside his head. Paris felt as if he had “HIDDEN MAGIC FLYING SPELL!” tattooed on the outside of it in big red letters. She couldn’t know, though – could she? He decided to shift the conversation before she asked.
‘I reckon they paid me another visit as well,’ he said. ‘Got up this morning to go to the loo. When I came back I found a carrier bag on my desk, with my razor and this change of clothes.’
‘I noticed you’d made an effort,’ said Cassandra. ‘Only that was me. When your sergeant picked me up this morning, I asked him to swing by your place on the way here.’
The inspector frowned. ‘You’ve been in my house while I’m not there?’
The witch beamed back at him. ‘Don’t worry, I’m capable of finding my way round without a guide. There’s a lovely big hole in the wall, which makes it easy to get in. And a slightly less lovely smell of stale whisky, which makes you wish you hadn’t bothered. But once you’re past that and up the stairs, everything’s very easy to find. Your clothes are sensibly arranged, all the way from drab to dull.’
Paris tried to think of a suitable reply. None was forthcoming. Trying to take Cassandra on in a battle of wits was impossible at the best of times and certainly not this early in the day. He’d got more chance of beating an orange rhino in a dancing contest. Besides, he hadn’t complained when he thought fairies were going through his wardrobe, so he couldn’t honestly complain at her. He considered for a moment, then turned his frown into a smile.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘You said you went home to get changed. You’re still wearing the same black robe.’
‘No, I’m not,’ replied Cassandra. ‘This is a different black robe. It has different stitching round the collar, see?’
Paris peered. He failed to make out any stitching, never mind tell if it was the same or not. Fashion had always managed to somehow pass him by – even, it seemed, fashions among witches.
‘Fair enough,�
�� he said. ‘Except you’re telling me off for my dress sense. I bet you’ve got cupboards full of black robes.’
‘I have indeed. And a red one for Christmas.’
‘Do witches believe in Christmas?’
Cassandra grinned. ‘They do if they want any presents.’
Paris grinned back at her. She was completely mad and far too smart but, right at this precise moment, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather buy gifts for.
The staffroom door burst open as he ruminated.
‘Boss!’ shouted Bonetti. ‘The army have arrived!’
‘What?’ said Thorpe. ‘He’s an hour early.’
Paris rolled his eyes. ‘That’s not why he’s excited. They’ve probably come in a tank.’
Bonetti shook his head. ‘No, Boss, you don’t understand! The demon army have arrived!’
35
Paris peered cautiously out from behind a car. Exactly half an hour since Bonetti charged into the staffroom, he was once again in Lange Road, the street where everything had started. The houses were as grand as he remembered, the vehicles in front of them just as expensive as before. However, he experienced no sense of envy at all. In fact, he felt quite glad he lived in a less affluent part of town, some distance away from his current location. Because his neighbourhood wasn’t being overrun by demons.
He’d heard the noise as they wrestled their way through the traffic jam: car alarms blaring out above whooping and shouting in incomprehensible tongues. He caught the smell as they crept towards the nearest cover: sulphurous fumes mixed with sweat, petrol and assorted unidentifiable stenches. And now, as Paris’s eyes lifted carefully above the car’s bonnet, he got his first proper sighting. It was like a scene from hell.
Thirty metres in front of him were scores of Vanethria soldiers. Each stood taller than the average person, with muscular torsos displayed above the now familiar loincloths. A few were almost human in appearance, albeit ugly, deformed humans. Others looked similar to monkeys, or foxes, or even – in the most bizarre individual he could spot – a fish. The rest seemed like nothing at all except apparitions from his nightmares. They came in every conceivable colour, with every variety of horns, fangs and bodily protrusions. All were armed, with swords, spears, axes and various medieval-looking weapons he couldn’t identify. The scene would have been terrifying if it wasn’t so peculiar, since the demons hadn’t arranged themselves in any kind of battle formation. Instead they ambled about the road, poking at garden fences with evident curiosity. Some sprawled on hedges, chomping on pulled-up roses as if sampling a new exotic food. Others examined abandoned children’s toys as though trying to work out their purpose. Altogether it looked, to Paris’s mind, less like an invading army than one which had already conquered the place and didn’t know what to do with it.
Breaking the Lore Page 20
