‘Patience,’ Beleth cautioned over his shoulder. ‘All will soon be clear. And rest assured I shall tell you everything. It’s such a delicious plan, I’ve been dying to tell somebody. Of course I couldn’t until now in case word got out. But since you’re captive here now, I can tell you all. It’s quite, quite marvellous!’
They crossed the perimeter of the city and stepped on to a gloomy metal plain. Stretched across it for as far as the eye could see were rank upon rank of heavily armed and armoured demons. They carried fire lances, stun wands, rocket launchers. They wore bandoleers of laser grenades and biological spell cones. Servo-assisted boots meant they could leap for fifty yards or more. Helicopter backpacks would enable them to fly. They were the most fearsome fighting force Pyrgus had ever seen.
‘Salute the troops,’ said Beleth.
Pyrgus felt his arm move of its own accord until it snapped off an awkward salute. As it fell back to his side, Beleth said, ‘This is what it’s all about.’
Pyrgus stared out across the vast army and tried to make sense of it all. ‘You’re expecting trouble?’ he ventured. He wondered if Hael might be threatened with invasion.
‘You could say that,’ Beleth told him. ‘Although expecting isn’t quite the right word. It’s trouble we shall be starting soon. With a little help from our friends. That’s what your song says, isn’t it?’ He caught the confusion in Pyrgus’s mind. ‘Well, perhaps it’s an Analogue World song. I know I heard it somewhere. No matter. The point is any day now decades of careful planning will bear fruit. There are going to be ... changes ... in the Realm of Faerie.’
Pyrgus definitely was floating. When he looked down he could see his feet were nearly six inches off the ground. Beleth towed him like a child’s toy through the ranks of stone-faced demons. The smell of brimstone was exceptionally strong here, intermingled with the heavy scent of cordite, as if wars and armies were particularly demonic things. Which they probably were, Pyrgus supposed.
‘How do you get on with your father?’ Beleth asked.
‘Very well,’ Pyrgus answered loyally, although it was far from the truth.
‘I ate mine,’ Beleth told him. ‘He got old and feeble and useless, but he wanted to hold on to power. So I took steps. Tasted disgusting – stringy, tough, smelly ... you know how fathers are – but it’s the custom here. You’re supposed to absorb the essence that way. Rank superstition, of course, but, well ... tradition.’ He shrugged.
‘So you became King of Hael?’ Pyrgus said. He had an idea that if he could keep Beleth talking, the demon might not take time to read his thoughts.
‘Prince of Darkness,’ Beleth told him. ‘The title is Prince of Darkness. We’ve never had a king here, or an emperor – prince is the highest rank. I was a duke when I ate him. Anyway, the point is when I became Prince, there were a few changes round here, I can tell you. This place had stagnated for centuries. But I made plans, Crown Prince Pyrgus. Would you like to hear about the plans I made?’
‘Yes, please,’ Pyrgus said eagerly. Maybe it was his imagination, but the more Beleth talked the more his control over Pyrgus seemed to be easing. Pyrgus still couldn’t do anything and he had to be hideously careful about everything he thought, but in time ...
‘I made plans to expand my sphere of influence. That’s the way they put it, isn’t it? Nobody talks about conquest, loot and pillage any more, although it’s much the same thing and such fun. Perhaps since we’re friends now, I should speak plainly. I made plans to conquer, loot and pillage the entire Realm of Faerie. And after that to march my legions into the Analogue World, although that’s not really your concern. In short, Pyrgus, I made plans to become the greatest Prince of Darkness the universe has ever known.’ He stopped, black eyes shining.
After a moment, Pyrgus said encouragingly, ‘Wow, how were you going to do that?’
‘We demons have had a long relationship with the Faeries of the Night – a little help here, a sacrifice there, the occasional blood contract. You know that, of course. What you may not know is that only months ago I personally negotiated a secret treaty with one of the more powerful Nightside leaders –’
‘Lord Hairstreak!’ Pyrgus exclaimed.
‘Precisely!’ Beleth nodded. ‘What an intelligent young man you are – you would make an excellent demon. As you say, Lord Hairstreak. He has ambitions to conquer, loot and pillage the entire Realm of Faerie himself and I agreed to help him. Specifically, Pyrgus, I agreed to add my forces to his when he launched an attack on the ancient Administration of the Light. In short, your father’s Government. That attack is now imminent.’
‘Hairstreak is going to declare war on my father?’
‘Perhaps not declare. One would prefer an element of surprise. But he is certainly going to wage war and these stout fellows all around you will help him win it.’
This was no longer a game to keep Beleth talking. Pyrgus was chill as an icicle. He knew there had been some trouble with the Faeries of the Night, but it had never occurred to him the situation was so serious that it threatened war. And with Beleth’s legions allied to the Nightside, it was a war his father could not win. Furiously he fought the panic rising through his thoughts. ‘Hairstreak plans to overthrow my father?’
‘Yes.’
‘And declare himself Purple Emperor?’
‘Something like that.’ Beleth smiled benignly.
After a stunned moment, Pyrgus said, ‘Our people will never stand for it!’
‘They may have to when they lose the war. But you are quite right to suggest they will not like it. Hairstreak knows that, of course, which is why he asked me to murder you.’
‘Hairstreak asked you to murder me?’ Pyrgus echoed.
‘Nothing personal,’ said Beleth. ‘It’s only politics.’
Beleth’s control was definitely slipping. Pyrgus had both feet on the ground now and the sensation of floating had all but gone. None the less he followed the Demon Prince willingly as they left the military field and re-entered the great, gloomy, metal city. Escape was useless to him now, even if he managed it. Before he took any action at all, he had to find out everything that was going on.
Luckily Beleth seemed happy to talk. ‘The point, of course, is that you are Crown Prince, the legitimate heir to the throne should anything ... unfortunate befall your father.’
Frowning, Pyrgus asked, ‘You mean like getting killed in the war?’
Beleth glanced back at him in surprise. ‘Oh, no your father won’t be killed in battle. That would make him a martyr. He must be killed before hostilities break out. And so, I fear, must you.’
Twenty-Seven
Blue felt like killing her father.
‘I’ve been worried sick, young lady!’
‘Honestly, Father, there was no need.’
‘No need? Do you know what time it is?’
He had a point of sorts there. It was almost dawn. But even so, there was no need for him to speak to her like this in front of the servants. ‘I’m sorry it’s so late, Father, but I was on an important mission.’
‘I don’t care if you were visiting the High Priest of Coridon!’ snapped the Purple Emperor. ‘You don’t think I have enough to worry me with your brother missing without you taking yourself off as well?’
‘It was actually about Pyrgus that I –’
‘I don’t care. I don’t care what you thought you were doing. I’m sick of all this Secret Service business. I’m sick of you sneaking around pretending to be some sort of spy. You’re a Princess of the Realm, not a grubby field operative in Imperial Espionage.’
‘Father,’ Holly Blue said patiently, ‘I really don’t want to go into this in front of other people, but the books I brought back contain important information. They may give us some clue to where Pyrgus has got to.’
She watched her father carefully. He had confiscated the books she’d brought back from Brimstone’s lodgings almost as soon as she returned to the palace – the moment she’d admitted t
o stealing them, in fact. But she’d at least had time to glance at Brimstone’s magical diary. It left no doubt that Brimstone had tried to kill Pyrgus as part of some ghastly demonic operation. It also showed that Brimstone’s partner Chalkhill had captured Pyrgus in the first place. What had Chalkhill and Brimstone been up to? Were they behind the sabotage of the portal? Did they know where he was now? Since Brimstone seemed to be missing at the moment, Blue fully intended to pay a little call on Chalkhill and get the truth from him one way or another.
Her father’s brow turned thunderous. ‘Those books were stolen, young lady. Stolen by you. I never thought I would see the day when a daughter of mine turned into a common thief. Gatekeeper Tithonus will return them in the morning. In the interim, I suggest you go to your room, take off those ridiculous clothes and get straight to bed.’
How could your own father be so stupid? So maddening. So ... so ... so ... ‘Father, you can’t give them back. They could help us find Pyrgus –’
‘I think you may safely leave the search for Pyrgus to those who know what they’re doing,’ her father told her coldly. His tone softened a little as he added, ‘I know you’re worried about your brother, Blue, but while you’ve been on your ridiculous escapade, Tithonus and I have ascertained that he is safely back in the realm. It will be only a matter of time before we find him.’
So they hadn’t found him yet. She knew it! She knew it! ‘Father, I –’
‘Not another word,’ her father said. ‘Not one more word. I’ve had a long day and a long night and a great deal more worry than I needed – much of it, I might say, caused entirely by you. Go to your room.’ say, caused entirely ‘But, Father, I –’
‘No "buts",’ her father snapped. He half turned so that his back was towards her as if firmly ending the conversation, then, because he could never resist, he turned back and said, ‘What is that ludicrous fashion you’re wearing? You realise it makes you look exactly like a boy?’
‘Father –’
‘Not another word!’ her father said. This time he turned away without turning back. Had he done so, he might have noticed the mutinous set of Blue’s lower lip as she headed for her room.
Chalkhill had to be very rich indeed – there was a fair-weather spell laid across his entire estate. You could see the break in the clouds for miles across the Wildmoor Broads and when Blue approached the main gates she noticed the temperature had risen so much it felt almost sub-tropical. To her surprise, the gates themselves were open.
Kitterick seemed surprised as well. ‘Come into my parlour ...’ he murmured.
It was late morning on the day after the row with her father. She’d borrowed Kitterick again from Madame Cardui and they were riding side by side in an unmarked palace ouklo, perfect for the Broads since it carried them above the spreading prickleweed. Now it floated serenely along Chalkhill’s pristine driveway, allowing them time to admire the manicured lawns and jasmine-scented borders. As the mansion came into view, Blue’s attention was drawn to a massive flower bed tightly planted with pink and white roses to spell out the word Jasper in flamboyant, flowing script.
‘Must be his first name,’ Blue muttered. Her expression showed distaste at the vulgarity.
‘I believe it is, Serenity,’ Kitterick confirmed.
‘You must stop calling me "Serenity", Kitterick,’ Blue told him. ‘It’s important Chalkhill doesn’t realise my identity.’
‘Of course, Serenity,’ Kitterick nodded. ‘What shall I call you?’
She was dressed in the clothes her father believed made her look exactly like a boy. After a moment’s thought she said, ‘Sluce. You should call me Sluce.’
‘Sluce, Serenity?’ Kitterick’s nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘A little ... merchant class, surely?’
‘We’re supposed to be merchant class,’ Blue said firmly. The cover story was they were here to offer Chalkhill a new wrinkle cream that actually reversed the ageing process to leave the skin soft as a child’s. Madame Cardui claimed it was exactly the sort of nonsense to guarantee Chalkhill would see them. ‘Are all the arrangements in place?’ Blue asked Kitterick.
‘Of course ... Mr Sluce,’ the orange dwarf confirmed with an audible sniff. ‘We can move on a whistle.’ He patted his briefcase and stared, mysteriously, up at the sky.
The ouklo reached the courtyard in front of the house and descended like thistledown to the gravelled surface. Blue and Kitterick both stepped off delicately. There were several gardeners at work within sight of the windows, but they ignored the visitors completely.
The mansion was a mixture of styles. The central portion had the look of a minor manor and would have been perfectly acceptable had it been left alone. But someone had extended it with two enormous baroque wings and added gothic towers inlaid with something crystalline that sparkled in the sun. An extra storey – clearly only built within the last few years squatted on top like some monstrous cosy. All the external surfaces that did not sparkle had been painted a uniform pink. The windows were outlined in a delicate sky blue and their glass sprayed with a liquid spell that created the illusion of cherubs dancing.
‘A little ... sudden for my taste,’ Kitterick remarked.
Blue shushed him. ‘It’s probably better inside.’
Kitterick shuddered.
Two enormous rock-crystal manticores guarded the front steps. Like the windows, they had been enchanted for they turned to watch as Blue and Kitterick approached. Blue gave them a wide, nervous berth, but they made no move to block the way. She jerked the bell-pull on the pulsing pink front door and was rewarded with the brief swelling of a phantom orchestra somewhere deep inside. The amount of money Chalkhill had spent on spells and nonsense was quite extraordinary.
They waited. Behind them, the crystal manticores settled back laboriously into their original positions.
The door swung open and Blue almost gasped. She had an impression of luxurious brown ringlets and deep, dark, soulful eyes. The boy was tall. He was dark. He was handsome. In fact he was the most handsome young man Blue had ever seen. He was wearing formal butler’s uniform, but the trousers had been cut off into shorts, worn with ankle socks and soft, green, pointed shoes.
‘Yes?’ He didn’t seem too pleased to see them.
Blue dragged her eyes away from his legs. ‘I am Sluce Ragetus,’ she told him boldly. ‘This is Mr Kitterick. We’re here to see Mr Chalkhill.’
She expected him to ask the nature of their business and had her story about the wrinkle cream all ready. But he only said, ‘You can’t come in.’ He looked Kitterick up and down. ‘He would clash with the furniture.’
Blue’s jaw dropped as the door closed.
‘Sluce Ragetus?’ Kitterick exclaimed. ‘No wonder he wouldn’t let us in.’
Completely at a loss, Blue said, ‘What are we going to do now?’
‘May I suggest, Ser – Mr Sluce, that we walk around to the back? I understand from Madame Cardui that Mr Chalkhill owns some sort of swimming pool. He may be taking the waters or enjoying his enchanted sun.’
‘You think they’ll let us just ... go round to the back?’
‘I see no one to stop us,’ Kitterick said.
Which was surprisingly true. After her experience in Brimstone’s rooms, Blue had expected tight security around Chalkhill’s mansion, but so far there was really none at all. The butler who had refused them entry hardly constituted an armed guard.
A flower bed of foxgloves and bluebells sang softly to them as they walked around the side of the mansion. The path meandered through a heart-shaped grove and past a croquet green with luminous pink hoops. The swimming pool, when they reached it, was nothing short of breathtaking.
At first Blue thought it must be some sort of illusion spell, but as she looked closer, she realised this was actually exactly how the pool was built. Although she was no stranger to wealth, the extravagance astonished her. The pool had been cut from a single piece of amethyst, the largest she had ever seen, then rimme
d in gold and filled with sparkling water driven by machinery that maintained its fizz.
Blue’s eyes slid reluctantly away from the pool to take in the painted apparition reclining on a heavily cushioned lounger beside it. Although the creature was severely under-dressed, she could not decide for a moment whether it was a man or a woman. It was certainly plump and it was painted more extravagantly than Madame Cardui. The skimpy bathing costume was a mix of gold lame and ostrich feathers.
‘What on earth is that?’ asked Blue underneath her breath.
‘That,’ said Kitterick, ‘is Mr Chalkhill.’
They stepped back together, out of sight of the pool. ‘What now?’ Blue whispered.
‘I believe,’ said Kitterick, who never seemed at a loss in any circumstances, ‘we might simply approach him openly. We appear, after all, to be honest merchants travelling salespeople, if you will – with something to purvey. A certain ... aggression is expected of us.’
‘You don’t think he’ll find it suspicious that we’ve sneaked around the back?’
‘That is precisely the point, Mr Sluce. We are not sneaking anywhere – we are approaching quite openly.’
‘And then what?’ Blue asked, irritated with herself at how vulnerable she felt. She’d been more together tackling Brimstone’s traps which were a thousand times more dangerous than this.
‘Then,’ said Kitterick patiently, ‘we lay out our sales pitch, engage Mr Chalkhill in conversation and hope he – ’ He stopped as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
The man was no giant, but he still towered over Kitterick. Blue had an impression of well-balanced features and a pockmarked skin. He was wearing the bottle-green uniform of a Security Guard Captain. There was a vicious-looking stun wand hanging from his belt. He glowered at them. ‘What are you two doing sneaking round back here?’ he asked.
Blue swallowed. ‘Sluce Ragetus,’ she said automatically. ‘Here to see M-Mr Chalkhill. On business,’ she added lamely.
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