‘As you wish, Lord Hairstreak, but -’
‘That is as I wish,’ he said, cutting her short again. He and Ysabeau had briefly been lovers before he financed her revolution, a tricky arrangement when one’s body was a featureless cube. She had talked too much even then.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, a little sulkily.
He decided to leave any further details for later. For now, his priority was to make sure they had the right girl. ‘Very well,’ he said tightly. ‘Now, take me to the Princess.’
The interior of Kremlin Karcist was even more depressing than its new facade. The building had been a Grand Palace – a Winter Palace he believed – for the long line of Staretz Tsars who had once ruled Haleklind. The family specialised in high spirit contact and had a tradition of excellent artistic taste, so that the place had once been a veritable showcase of master paintings, stunning sculptures and magical installations that reached out to touch your very soul with their sheer and delicate beauty. All gone now. Rooted out to make way for featureless but functional corridors with automatic security checks every twenty yards. He sighed, inwardly. Perhaps it had been a mistake to back the Table of Seven’s revolution, however successful it had been. But once the invasion was completed and he had direct control of both Haleklind and the Realm, he might remedy that. The Seven were useful enough at the moment, but they were essentially small fry, too unstable in their paranoia to hold power indefinitely. Once he became Supreme Ruler – once he openly became Supreme Ruler – he could execute the lot of them and replace them with interior designers. That would perk the palace up a bit, if nothing else.
A hidden security check emitted a delicate peep to indicate he was unarmed (as if he needed weapons now he had his super-body) and Ysabeau stopped before a doorway flanked by two dour guards. ‘The Princess is inside,’ she said. ‘I take it you will wish to interrogate her?’
Interrogate. It was the way these people thought. All he really wanted to do was make sure it really was the Princess Mella in there, then get her out of the Kremlin so he could set the remainder of his plans in motion. But he only nodded. ‘Yes.’
Ysabeau looked at him soberly. ‘Alone, or would you prefer one or more guards to accompany you for your protection?’
Hairstreak almost laughed aloud. Even when he was only a head on a cube, he hardly needed much protection from a fifteen-year-old girl. He kept his face straight with an effort. ‘Alone.’
Ysabeau looked stricken. ‘Are you sure, Lord Hairstreak? I mean…’ She tailed off under his withering stare. ‘Of course, Lord Hairstreak.’
The girl in the room was Mella, all right. He knew it even as he closed the door behind him: he’d spent more than enough time in her company to be certain. She looked fit and healthy, despite whatever adventures she might have had with the Haleklinders, but there was a curious hint of blankness in her eyes. Ysabeau had had her confined in a small room, not exactly a cell, but certainly a sparsely furnished chamber with a single window too high up in one wall to provide an escape route. The guards outside the door completed the picture: no longer Princess Mella, but Prisoner Mella. Ah, well, no one had got her into this mess except herself.
She was seated on an uncomfortable little chair and did not bother to rise when he came in. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded in that sharp, feisty tone he admired so much.
There was no reason at all to lie to her. ‘I am your uncle, Lord Hairstreak.’
‘I don’t remember you.’
Hairstreak leaned his back against the door and looked down at her. ‘That’s because you have had your memory removed using a lethe spell. Do you know who you are?’
The blankness in her eyes was replaced by a look of uncertainty. ‘I’m not sure,’ she mumbled.
‘Don’t worry about it. Lethe is only a problem if you don’t know about it. Once I get you home, I can have the crystals removed quite easily. After that, you’ll remember everything perfectly.’ Actually, he wasn’t altogether sure of that. Conventional lethe was easy enough to remove if one had the fee for an elemental physician, but the wizards might well have used one of their secret, military-grade spells that could prove far more tricky. Not that it mattered. Lethe was hardly going to interfere with his plans.
‘We’re going home?’ she asked quickly. It was an interesting response. Most people would have demanded more details about their identity and the methods of restoring their memories.
‘Yes.’
Now she stood up. ‘When?’ Memory or no memory, she was still the little princess. Almost a shame what had to happen to her.
‘Soon,’ Hairstreak promised. He stared at her soberly. ‘There was someone with you when you arrived in Haleklind. Your aunt?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘There was,’ Hairstreak insisted. ‘I plan to talk to her now, after which I shall take you home.’
‘And fix my memory?’ Mella asked.
Hairstreak nodded. ‘And fix your memory.’ He reached behind to tap sharply on the door.
Ysabeau was still waiting outside. ‘Is this woman with Princess Mella really her aunt?’ he asked her.
‘She claims to be the sister of King Consort Henry.’
The emphasis laid on claims might mean doubt, or could just indicate caution. Hairstreak frowned. ‘I didn’t know Henry had a sister. At least not in the Faerie Realm.’
‘The Princess confirmed it. While she still had her memory.’
‘Does this creature have a name? I assume she’s human?’
‘She is definitely human. The name she gave us was the Lady Aisling.’ Ysabeau hesitated, then added, ‘She seems… self-assured.’
‘Do you mean self-centred?’ He glanced directly at Ysabeau and caught her checking out his new body. It was an interesting development. He was well aware that their brief affair when he was a cube had been entirely prompted on Ysabeau’s part by her desire to curry favour and extract some of his money for her cause. Now, her look said there was actual desire. Well, perhaps, when he had a little more time… It would be intriguing to experience the differences.
Ysabeau glanced away quickly, flushing a little. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I do mean self-centred.’
‘I shall see her now,’ Hairstreak said. Then, anticipating her next question, ‘For interrogation.’
‘Do you require spell cones?’
Hairstreak shook his head. ‘I shall be using…’ He blinked slowly, like a lizard, ‘… my own methods.’
Ysabeau licked her lips. ‘May I watch?’ she asked, a little breathlessly.
For the first time, Hairstreak favoured her with a smile. ‘Why, of course, my dear,’ he said.
The ‘Lady Aisling’, it transpired, had been no better treated than her niece (if indeed Mella was her niece.) Her door, like Mella’s, was under guard. Hairstreak turned to Ysabeau. ‘I shall need a little while alone with her. After that, I shall call for you to join me.’ Fun and games with Ysabeau would have to take second place to his own interests. Whatever information he extracted from Mella’s mysterious companion, he wanted to keep it to himself – at least for the moment. You never knew in advance what was useful and what wasn’t, what needed to be kept secret and what didn’t.
He pushed the door and strode into the room.
It was as if a thunderbolt had hit him.
Thirty-Five
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Brimstone asked curiously. Even George was staring.
‘Meep, meep!’ Henry said. His legs were pumping furiously, but since he was lying on his side they weren’t carrying him very far, although the motion did encourage him to move in a slow circle. There were strange pink lights in his eyes that spun in random spirals.
‘Looks like a Border Redcap got him,’ Chalkhill muttered. He was knelt beside the still body of Queen Holly Blue, his hands unusually gentle as he checked her pulse spots. He glanced back at Brimstone, caught his blank expression and added, ‘They’re a sentient fungus – you only ev
er find them in the Broads. Their spores induce hallucinations.’
‘Have at you, Coyote!’ Henry shouted suddenly.
‘What do you think he’s hallucinating?’ Brimstone stepped back quickly as one of Henry’s flailing feet came close to his leg.
‘Something from his childhood,’ Chalkhill ventured. ‘It’s often something like that. Something he saw or read in a book. He’s a human so it’s bound to be bizarre. Listen, Silas, I need your help.’
‘He looks as if he’s running,’ Brimstone said. ‘If he wasn’t lying down, he’d be halfway to Yammeth Cretch by now.’
‘ Whoosh! ’ Henry said.
There was an answering rumble from somewhere high above them. Brimstone looked up. Although his eyes weren’t what they used to be, even with his enhanced senses, he could make out distant shapes that might well have been personal flyers. He wondered vaguely if Chalkhill’s souped-up ouklo could outrun them.
‘Silas,’ Chalkhill snapped, more sharply this time, ‘get over here and help me put her in the recovery position.’
‘Recovery from what – she’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘ Meep, meep, eeee-yah!’ Henry murmured, waving both arms about in the manner of someone falling off a cliff. ‘ Thud! ’ he said and lay still. Then he looked up wide-eyed, grimaced and jerked as if an anvil had fallen on his head. But his movements were growing less violent and there was a dopey expression on his face as if he was sliding into sleep.
Chalkhill nodded thoughtfully. ‘Stung by the weed, I’m afraid. That’s what prickleweed does for you.’
Brimstone wondered whether he should alert Chalkhill to the approaching flyers, but curiosity got the better of him. ‘Doesn’t that mean she’s dead?’ he asked. ‘She looks dead to me.’
‘She’s dead, all right. But help me get her into the recovery position anyway. We need to be able to tell Hairstreak we did everything possible before admitting she snuffed it.’
‘I think it might be better if you got her into the ouklo,’ Brimstone said. ‘We’re about to have company.’
Chalkhill followed his gaze. ‘You stupid old tort, why didn’t you tell me?’ He stood up as the first flyer circled for a landing. ‘OK, don’t panic. Nobody knows we kidnapped them and they’re in no position to snitch about it. The story is we were flying to the city when we spotted them down below and landed to see if we could help.’
Brimstone smiled at him benignly. ‘Oh, I’m not panicking, Jasper. It’s not in my nature.’ Besides, George could handle any trouble that might arise.
The flyer set down a short distance from their ouklo and an attractive young woman climbed out. ‘Thank Gods you’re here!’ exclaimed Chalkhill loudly. ‘We have no idea how these unfortunate people come to be in such dire straits, but they seem to have suffered some sort of an accident through no fault of ours and we landed in the hope that we might be of some assistance and now it appears they might be the very persons of Her Imperial Majesty our gracious Queen Blue and her honoured Consort Henry and – good grief, it’s you!’
With his heightened perception, Brimstone had spotted Madame Cardui at once, even though the old bat had obviously undergone a head peel. He smothered a snigger. This was going to be interesting. Chalkhill was terrified of Cardui, and with good reason. He’d once betrayed her while he was working as a double agent. Now he’d kidnapped the Queen. So their enmity was both political and personal.
Cardui ignored Chalkhill and signalled to three further flyers circling overhead. Within moments, the entire rocky apron was swarming with Imperial troops, while Chalkhill continued to babble. ‘Saw them from the air… our duty as citizens… no idea it was our majestic Queen and King… everything we could do to help… afraid the Queen… actions probably saved his life…’
‘Don’t suppose there might be a reward?’ called Brimstone as the motionless body of the Queen and the far-from-motionless body of her raving – meep, meep – Consort were loaded on to Cardui’s flyer. ‘Few goldies for two loyal citizens who took time out to help the royals in distress?
Madame Cardui gave him a withering look. ‘I must obviously get Their Majesties to a healer as quickly as possible,’ she said quietly, ‘but I shall investigate this incident thoroughly and should it come to light that either of you had anything, anything whatsoever, to do with their condition, I shall hunt you down and I shall catch you and I shall punish you. Personally. Severely. Do we understand one another?’
‘Madame Cardui,’ spluttered Chalkhill, ‘I can assure you we had absolutely nothing, nothing whatsoever, to do with -’
But she was already climbing into the flyer. She ignored Chalkhill, signalled to her escort troops and all four craft took off in good order. Chalkhill glared at Brimstone. ‘Another fine mess you’ve got me into,’ he said.
Thirty-Six
Henry opened his eyes. There was someone bending over him and as the face swam into focus, he realised it was Pyrgus. ‘Blue?’ Henry whispered. There was a young woman standing behind Pyrgus, but she wasn’t Blue.
‘She’s fine,’ Pyrgus said. ‘She’s going to be fine.’
‘Which is it?’ Henry croaked. The inside of his mouth was cold, his tongue felt twice its normal size and his throat was parched.
Pyrgus repeated, ‘She’s going to be fine.’
Henry struggled to sit up. ‘She was dead. Did someone do a resurrection?’ He felt suddenly chill. Resurrection spells were a very recent development and not always successful. Sometimes they left the person brain damaged.
‘She wasn’t dead,’ Pyrgus insisted.
‘Tell me the truth, Pyrgus,’ Henry said tiredly. ‘I know she died out there on the Broads. The prickleweed got her.’
But Pyrgus grinned at him. ‘Prickleweed toxin has an effect almost identical to a stasis spell. Everything stops, including your personal time field. If the weed doesn’t eat you, you’re usually fine once it wears off. She’s still in bed recovering, but her death was strictly temporary. Had us worried for a while, though.’
The young woman – Henry suddenly realised it was Madame Cardui with her head peeled – said, ‘She’s had treatment, deeah. The healers tell me she’s now sleeping normally.’
‘I want to see her,’ Henry said.
‘Yes, of course: as soon as she wakes up. But the healers haven’t given us clearance on you yet.’
‘I’m fine,’ Henry told him stolidly. ‘I’m in rude good health.’ Then curiosity got the better of him and he added, ‘What happened to me?’
‘Border Redcap attack. The spores produce a state of temporary insanity.’ Pyrgus grinned at him. ‘I’m surprised anybody noticed.’
This was the old, jokey Pyrgus. For the first time, it struck Henry that everything actually was fine. ‘Is Blue really all right?’
‘She just needs rest; and so, apparently, do you. There may be some minor flashbacks, but they’ve flushed most of the spores out of your system. Although…’ He hesitated, then went on, ‘… if you’re feeling up to it, there’s something we need to discuss with you.’
‘I’m feeling up to it.’ Henry started to climb out of bed, but Pyrgus placed a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.
‘We should really be talking to Blue,’ Pyrgus said, ‘but the healers say it’s best not to wake her yet, and there’s a certain urgency about the situation…’
‘Is it Mella?’ Henry asked, suddenly remembering.
‘Mella’s part of it, deeah.’ Madame Cardui pulled a chair to his bedside and sat down. ‘But not the only part.’
‘Is she still missing?’
‘I’m afraid so, deeah, but at least now we know where she is.’
‘Where?’ Henry demanded. When she got back, she’d be grounded for a month. Six months, if he had anything to do with it.
Pyrgus said, ‘She’s in Haleklind.’
Henry stared at him blankly. ‘What’s she doing in Haleklind?’
‘Being held by the Table of Seven, apparently,’ Pyrgus said
.
‘Being held by the Table of -?’ Henry made another attempt to get out of bed and this time Pyrgus let him. Madame Cardui handed him a dressing gown. As he pulled it on, Henry said, ‘The last thing Blue and I knew for sure was that she was in the Analogue World. She had a mad notion to visit my mother, then somehow managed to blow up her house. We thought she’d probably come back to the Realm, but why Haleklind? And what do you mean, being held by the Table of Seven? She’s their guest?’
‘Or their prisoner,’ Madame Cardui said quietly.
Henry looked from one to the other. ‘Back up a little. What did she do in Haleklind that made them throw her into prison?’ His daughter was nearly as wild as her mother, but this was way beyond anything he’d have expected.
‘That’s the whole point, Henry,’ Madame Cardui said. ‘So far as we can gather, she did nothing. The motivation appears to be political.’
‘Political? How political? Why political? Haleklind’s a friendly country. Bit paranoid, but we’re not at war with them or anything.’
‘Yet,’ Pyrgus said.
Henry ignored him. ‘OK, why do they say they’re holding her? You must have had our ambassador ask them.’
‘They’re claiming no knowledge of her whatsoever, denying the whole thing.’
‘So we think they have her and they say they haven’t?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘We’ll soon know the truth of it,’ Madame Cardui chipped in. ‘There’s a sleeper in the ruling council. I’m expecting clarification from him soon.’
‘There’s something else,’ said Pyrgus.
His tone seized Henry’s attention. ‘Go on.’
‘We think Haleklind may be preparing for war.’
Henry frowned. ‘Who with?’
‘I’m afraid it’s with us, deeah,’ Madame Cardui told him.
Henry looked from one to the other with the expression of one who wonders if he’s missed a joke. ‘They can’t go to war with us,’ he said at last. ‘They don’t have the manpower.’ Haleklind was an important country – and a wealthy one – because of its age-old speciality in magic. But while it had an extensive geographical spread, it was grossly under-populated. It had a well-trained standing army, but nothing to match the Empire forces. A thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘They haven’t developed a magical super-weapon, have they?’ He was thinking of something like an H-bomb. The Faerie Realm was mercifully free from atomic weapons, but the wizards were quite capable of coming up with something just as nasty. Next to consumer magic, Haleklind’s second largest source of national income was its weapons industry. So far the wizards had concentrated on improving traditional armaments – bows that fired themselves, heat-seeking spears, clubs that struck with giant strength – but sooner or later they were bound to start thinking of weapons of mass destruction.
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