Blue retraced her steps down the stairs. She was still within sight of the landing when she reached the tread that squeaked. She trod on it a few times and the squeak never failed. It wasn’t so loud you’d pay much attention, but loud enough so an old man would hear. Was this the illusion trigger? Did it switch the demons on when you climbed up? Or were the demons always there and the squeak just a way of marking the place to switch them off?
Frowning, Blue tried to work it out logically. If this really was the switch, then it couldn’t just be a question of pressure on the tread. She’d made it squeak coming up, which might well have switched on the demons, but she’d made it squeak again running down, which certainly hadn’t switched them off. Or had it? Maybe she’d switched them off running down, then switched them on again when she climbed back up?
It didn’t seem right somehow. Mainly because it didn’t do the job well enough. Brimstone wanted his house secure. He’d want to be sure that his illusions were all working. If this one was just a question of a pressure switch, anybody climbing the stairs two at a time would never trip it at all. She frowned. Couldn’t be a simple pressure switch.
She thought of the winking picture. The illusion disappeared when you winked back. Maybe ... maybe ... maybe the Goblin Guard disappeared when you squeaked back. Blue trod on the step to make it squeak, then imitated the squeak as an answer. She waited, then, when nothing happened, climbed the stairs again. The door on the second landing was still open, but from this angle she couldn’t see if there was anything inside. She’d have to take a chance and go right on to the landing.
She did it fast before she lost her courage. The library was empty.
Blue breathed a sigh of relief. Although he was someone she’d never met, she had a very strong picture of Brimstone in her head now. He was a dangerous and crafty old man, somebody who didn’t care much what he did to people. Pyrgus was lucky to get away from him with a whole skin.
But she still didn’t know what had happened between them. The library was packed with books on sorcery, wizardry, witchcraft, necromancy and magic some of them rare tomes – but though she searched it thoroughly, there was nothing at all to show how Brimstone might have tried to kill her brother.
She left the library and climbed the stairs to the third floor. This time she listened carefully for squeaks and examined every inch of the way for another illusion trigger. She spotted none, but even so she was caution itself when she reached the final landing. It was laid out exactly like the others and it proved a complete anticlimax. One door led to a bathroom, the other a bedroom. There were no more Goblin Guards, no more illusions of any sort as far as she could discover. It seemed as if Brimstone was happy no intruder was likely to get past the second floor.
But she still hadn’t discovered anything about Pyrgus.
Twenty-Two
Pyrgus stepped into choking darkness. For an instant he thought he’d somehow wandered into one of the portals that opened at the bottom of the sea. Then he realised he was breathing air, not water, although it was air mixed with something sulphureous that caught violently in the back of his throat. He stumbled forward, arms outstretched, until his hands touched rough rock, then fumbled his way along, coughing furiously, in a desperate attempt to find fresher air.
It seemed an eternity, but eventually he reached a place where the worst of the choking fumes were behind him and a dim light appeared far ahead. He slowed down and made his way cautiously towards it. He’d already bruised a knee and grazed his ankle and it was still so dark in here (wherever here was) that he could easily fall to his death down some subterranean pit. So he edged forward, one hand still on the rock wall, testing each step before he took it. This was always the problem when you used a portal for the first time: you could never be really sure where it would come out. Mr Fogarty had reckoned he should emerge in the palace chapel – something to do with locking on to ion trails – but even he’d admitted there was a margin of error. Besides which, Pyrgus knew he’d been just the tiniest bit impatient. He’d used the control before Mr Fogarty had adjusted it completely.
The light ahead grew brighter and eventually resolved itself into an opening. As Pyrgus approached it, he was able to confirm what he already knew. He was in some sort of underground passageway. It seemed to be a natural formation, possibly part of a cave system. As the light level increased, he could see rock walls and floor. At one point where the passage widened, there was a single stalactite.
Now he could see the source of the light, he realised it was an opening to daylight high up in a rock wall. It wasn’t very large, but he thought he should be able to squeeze through. The problem was reaching it.
Pyrgus examined the rockface. It was sheer, but rough, which meant there might be enough handholds for a climb but also meant that if he fell he would be dead. For the first time, he missed his wings. He stared up at the opening for a long moment, then wiped his palms on his breeches to dry off any excess sweat and tackled the wall.
It wasn’t as hard as it looked, but he climbed slowly all the same, taking great care to establish firm footholds before reaching for the next handhold. By the time he reached the narrow ledge in front of the opening, his muscles were aching and he was breathing heavily. He sat on the ledge for a moment, allowing himself to recover, then turned to tackle the opening. It looked like a fissure in the rock and up close there was no doubt it was wide enough for him to squeeze through. He could see sky beyond, but nothing else, so he had no idea whether he was going to come out at ground level or high up on some cliff face. But no sense worrying until he found out. He wiggled through the crack.
Pyrgus tumbled out on to a rocky hillside and knew at once something was wrong. He wasn’t near the palace portal, of course, or near the palace at all for that matter. In fact, he didn’t even seem to be near the city. But it wasn’t that. The air tasted foul. It still had a hint of the metallic sulphur that had nearly choked him underground. And the sky, now he was outside, looked the wrong colour. It had the dirty yellowish tint you sometimes got before a storm, except no storm was approaching – there was not a cloud in sight.
Pyrgus frowned. He still felt nauseous and wondered if there might be sulphur fumes venting from some volcanic source nearby. But now he was in the open air, fumes were no longer the first of his worries. He needed to find out exactly where he was; and then take the fastest route back to the palace. Although he’d been gone only a short time he was afraid of what might have happened. He’d never taken much interest in politics, but he wasn’t a fool. Somebody had tried to kill him and for all he knew his father might be next. This latest attempt on his life was a political act and his father needed to know about it as soon as possible.
He climbed to his feet and looked around. The landscape was hilly, rocky and generally barren except for a few clumps of pod-like plants he didn’t recognise. He was beginning to wonder if he was even within walking distance of the city – he knew the surrounding area well and none of this looked familiar.
The sun was low in the sky and the sulphur fumes, or whatever they were, had given it an angry, fiery hue. If he was to reach anywhere familiar before nightfall, he needed to get started. He made a brief check of his possessions, glad he’d taken up Mr Fogarty on his offer of a knife. The old man kept going on about how you never knew when you might need a weapon, and while Pyrgus hadn’t expected to end up in the middle of nowhere, he knew from past experience his own world could be a dangerous place. The knife was no Halek blade – Mr Fogarty had found it in his kitchen – but it was better than nothing.
He also had a knapsack – Mr Fogarty called it a ‘kitbag’ – with food. He hadn’t thought he’d need that at all, but he liked the stuff you got to eat in the Analogue World and had packed the bag with crisps, Mars bars and a tin of baked beans. Things could be a lot worse. If he had a few miles to walk, it was no further than he’d walked before. Even if he was forced to sleep in the open for a night or two, it hardly mattered. He’d do
ne that before as well.
He slung the knapsack over his shoulder and started down the hill.
He reckoned he’d walked for an hour before deciding something else was wrong. The landscape hadn’t varied and the angry sun still hadn’t set. By his calculation, it should be growing dusk by now, yet the sun hardly seemed to have moved from its original place in the sky. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced it hadn’t moved at all. That wasn’t possible, so he had to be mistaken about how long he’d been walking.
Pyrgus stopped. His surroundings still looked much the same as they’d done when he’d reached the surface. Were they actually the same surroundings? Was he wandering around in circles? He pushed the thought aside. It couldn’t be that simple. The sun hadn’t moved. Which meant no time had passed. He felt a little tired, as you might expect after walking for an hour. He remembered walking for about an hour. But if the sun hadn’t moved, he couldn’t have been walking for about an hour. He wondered if the fumes had affected his mind. It was a scary thought, but could he be hallucinating?
He started to move again, very much aware of placing one foot in front of the other. He was walking. Of course he was walking! He slipped his knapsack off his back and dropped it on the ground, then watched it as he took half a dozen backward paces. The knapsack stayed put and he moved away from it, exactly as he should. He walked back and retrieved the knapsack. He was walking. Of course he was walking! He’d been walking for an hour or more. So why hadn’t the sun moved?
He walked on, westwards, in the direction he’d been walking before. What else was there to do? But the mystery disturbed him. It was like the smell of sulphur – he still had that in his nostrils – and the yellow sky. Something was wrong, yet he couldn’t figure out exactly what.
He topped a rise and found himself looking down on a ruined city.
The ancient buildings rose up out of the barren plain like rotten teeth. Collapsed walls left heaps of rubble, but enough remained standing to show this had once been a busy metropolis. He could see the remnants of a pylon gate and the foundations of stone towers. There was a central plaza, its paving split and cracked. Old roadways and streets were half hidden by patches of the same strange vegetation he’d seen earlier. Even in ruins, the city was impressive. The wall stones were enormous. Several must have weighed tons.
Pyrgus felt a sudden chill. He’d never heard of a city like this anywhere in the Realm of Faerie and certainly not anywhere near his palace. That meant it had to be undiscovered, probably in some distant country on another continent, which would explain the unfamiliar vegetation. How far was he away from home? It might take him weeks, even months, to reach his father and warn him about what had been going on.
If he could get back at all ...
Pyrgus had an optimistic nature, but, all the same, he knew he needed to be realistic. He’d been walking across countryside so barren it was almost a desert, confused by fumes and with absolutely no idea of where he was. He had food – of a sort – in his knapsack. With care, it might last him two or three days, but after that he’d have to hunt and so far he hadn’t seen so much as a gruntrat in this desolate terrain, let alone anything edible.
More to the point, he hadn’t seen water either and he had no water at all with him. He wouldn’t last much more than a week without water. It was cool enough now with the sun near the horizon, but tomorrow at noon it could be leaching moisture from his body at a frightening rate.
He glanced towards the sun. It hung in the same place in the sky as if time itself had stopped.
Water had to be his first priority. He needed water to survive. Without it, he would never reach his father, never warn him, never find out who was behind the murder attempt, never – He cut off the train of thought and forced his mind on to the immediate problem. He might be able to squeeze some moisture from the curious plants, but that had to be a last resort since he’d no idea if they were poisonous. What he really needed was a stream or a pool or...
Or a well!
The ruined city must have had its water sources! The city planners might have built cisterns to collect rainwater, but there would be wells too – they were the only certain source of supply. Some, maybe even most, would probably have dried up by now. But there was a chance one or two might still hold water. All he had to do was find them.
He started down the slope towards the ruins. The thought occurred that he might be lucky enough to stumble on an inscription that would give him some clue to his whereabouts. Once he had water and knew where he was, he’d no doubt he could find his way home, however far away it was. Somehow.
Close up, the city was more impressive than it was at a distance. On several of the structures, the massive stones had been cut and slotted together like a jigsaw. There didn’t seem to be any mortar between them, yet they were a perfect fit. He’d never seen anything like it before, although there were several enormous buildings in his father’s realm, including the palace itself. He wondered how old these ruins really were – a thousand years? ten thousand years?
He wanted to search systematically, so he began at the surviving pylon gate and began slowly to follow the main thoroughfare that led to the central plaza. There were two possible types of well. One would be enormous borings to ensure a water supply for the city as a whole. These would probably be located somewhere near the centre. But there would be another type as well. Some families, particularly the wealthy ones, would want their own water supply and would have sunk shafts near their homes, possibly even inside them. It was these shafts that were more likely to hold some water now, rather than the over-used municipal borings.
He walked slowly, alert for residential buildings. They weren’t as easy to find as he’d thought. Thousands of people must have lived here once, but their homes would have been the smaller, less-well-constructed buildings – the first to fall to rubble. What was left now were segments of the massive city walls, portions of temples, ancient factories, observatories and the like. And in their ruined state, it was tricky enough to tell one type of building from another, especially when all you had to go on were a few flagstones or sections of enclosure walls.
But one area looked promising. The buildings there had all but disappeared, leaving no more than tumbled stones and traces of foundations. It was those foundation outlines that attracted Pyrgus, for they seemed to show small houses clumped together. There were one or two dark crevices that could repay exploration. Even more exciting, there were two cracked slabs that might – just might – be covering shafts.
He was clambering across some rubble to investigate when the demons seized him.
Pyrgus fought like a demon himself. He had no chance to reach the knife Mr Fogarty had given him, but he punched and kicked furiously. There was something about the creatures that sent him into a frenzy of revulsion. They were nearly naked so he could see their repulsive, chalk-white, hairless bodies and their spindly limbs. When they touched him, his skin crawled.
Individually, they were smaller than he was, but there were dozens of them and more swarming across the rubble to help. He had never seen so many in one place, never heard of so many appearing at one time. Even the most skilled Wizard of the Night could call up no more than three at once, not dozens. They chittered like insects and darted excitedly towards him, snatching at his clothing, then jumping back to avoid his flailing fists.
He knew enough not to look at their faces. Instead, he concentrated on kicking at their legs, which were brittle and fairly easily broken. The trouble was, the demons knew that just as well as he did and took care to keep well clear of his boots.
Something grabbed his head from behind and held it like a vice. Despite their size, demons were strong. He jerked and twisted, trying to break free, but the creature clung to him. Then more demon hands seized his head and in a moment he could no longer move it at all.
‘Nooo!’ Pyrgus wailed.
He stopped fighting to concentrate on what he knew was coming.
He closed his eyes tight shut and tried to hit backwards at the demons holding his head. Then his arms were caught as well and he knew he was done for. Probing fingers crawled across his face to prise open his screwed eyes. He looked down at once, but the creatures anticipated the reaction and pulled back his head. He found himself looking into a demon face.
The huge, black eyes stared into his own.
‘Be still,’ a voice said in his mind.
The sensation was hideous, like slime-mould oozing through his brain. He felt the paralysis beginning in his limbs.
‘Be still,’ the demon voice repeated.
‘Rented a tent,’ Pyrgus murmured. ‘Rented a tent. Rented a, rented a, rented a tent.’ It was something Tithonus had taught him. Sometimes rhythmic gibberish could lock your mind enough to break free of a demon’s spell. ‘Rented a tent. Rented a tent. Rented a, rented a –’
‘Your name?’ the demon voice demanded in his mind.
Don’t think the name! Whatever you do, don’t think - Once a demon knew your name, its power over you increased. He’d never heard of anyone escaping demons once they knew his name. Don’t think P – P No, don’t think it! Rented a tent. Rented a tent. Rented a – Don’t think – He felt the name hovering on the edges of his mind, waiting to rush in, to float in, to creep in. – tent, a tent, a tent, a pent, apy – Don’t think P-P-P-P ... Don’t think PYRGUS! Dammit, dammit, dammit! Well at least don’t think Pyrgus Malvae. Oh, double dammit!
‘Come with me, Pyrgus Malvae,’ said the slime-mould in his mind.
The demon hands released his arms and head. The demon horde fell back so that the way was clear. The demon speaking in his mind drew thin lips over tiny, pointed teeth. It took Pyrgus a moment to realise it was smiling. The creature turned and walked away across the rubble.
Pyrgus followed like a lamb.
Twenty-Three
Faerie Wars Page 20
