‘Thanks,’ Henry muttered.
‘Arise, Iron Prominent!’ Pyrgus commanded.
There was a trumpet fanfare and a swell of cheering as Henry struggled to his feet. ‘Now,’ Pyrgus whispered, ‘there’s somewhere you and I have to go.’
They were in a narrow street called Seething Lane and this time, thank heavens, Henry was not the centre of attention. Pyrgus was at his shoulder, dressed the way he was when Henry had first met him. Ranged around them was a company of the toughest soldiers Henry had encountered.
‘That’s it,’ Pyrgus said, nodding. ‘My father wouldn’t close it down because of politics, but the Nighters are on the run now, so I reckon I can do what I damn well please.’
The glue works at the bottom of the lane looked miserable to Henry. They were covered in grime and belching smoke, as gloomy a set of buildings as he’d ever seen in his life. Pyrgus gave a signal and the soldiers wheeled up an enormous wood-and-twisted-rope machine that reminded Henry of Roman catapults. The captain of the guard began personally to wind back the throwing arm.
‘Have all animals been evacuated?’ Pyrgus asked.
‘Yes, sire,’ said the captain.
‘And the people?’
‘Yes, sire.’
Pyrgus turned to Henry. ‘We have one of the owners – Chalkhill – in jail. He’ll be there for a very long time. The other one, Brimstone, has gone into hiding, but we’ll find him eventually, I promise you that,’ he said grimly.
Henry licked his lips. He was fascinated by the enormous catapult. Four soldiers were rolling a gigantic rock on to the throwing cradle.
‘Have the coatings been applied?’ asked Pyrgus.
‘Liberally, sire,’ the captain assured him.
The rock was on the cradle now and the soldiers stood back, panting and sweating. The captain finished winding back the ropes and wedged the wheel to hold them. ‘Ready, Emperor!’ he snapped.
Pyrgus stared down Seething Lane towards the gloomy factory. ‘Fire,’ he ordered quietly.
The captain knocked out the wedge and stepped back in a single movement. Henry actually felt wind on his face as the catapult jerked violently. The huge arm whipped forward with unimaginable ferocity. He watched as the enormous rock arced higher than the rooftops, then fell like a meteor towards the factory.
It struck dead centre on the roof of the main building, to one side of a smoking chimney, and crashed through as if the structure was matchwood. For a heartbeat there was total silence, then the spell coatings triggered.
A sheet of flame erupted sideways through the factory buildings, shattering windows and walls, collapsing roofs, hurtling stonework and fiery beams high into the air. The noise was deafening and the explosive spells went on and on. Henry watched chimneys tumble, metal gates twist into slag, melting machinery suddenly exposed as their gloomy housing disappeared. In moments it was over. In place of the Chalkhill and Brimstone Miracle Glue factory, there was nothing but a smoking wasteland leading out to Wildmoor Broads.
‘That’s for the kittens,’ Pyrgus whispered.
Mr Fogarty said it didn’t matter where he used the cube – it would still open a portal – but it was usually better to trigger it outside. So they decided to say their farewells in the palace gardens.
‘You might keep an eye on the house,’ Fogarty said. He was dressed in an amazing ermine-trimmed robe, which he claimed was the official uniform of his new position. ‘I’ll be popping back from time to time, but I expect to be spending most of my time here.’ He glanced briefly at the sky and added seriously, ‘None of the surveillance agencies know how to get to this world yet, so I should be left in peace for a time.’
‘Yes, I will,’ Henry said about the house. There would be trouble with his parents, but he didn’t care. ‘You can rely on me.’
Pyrgus placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘And so can I.’ He looked Henry deep in the eyes. ‘Henry,’ he said, ‘I want to thank you. I owe you my life.’
Henry flushed. ‘Oh, it wasn’t like that,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘I mean, I ...’ He trailed off, not knowing what to say. After a moment, what he did say was, ‘Well, I suppose I’d better be going.’
‘Henry?’ Blue said.
Henry pulled the cube from his pocket as he turned towards her. It was the first time she’d spoken to him since he’d changed back into his old clothes and he’d been wondering if she thought he looked stupid. ‘Yes?’
‘You remember you said you were just unlucky to see me without my clothes on?’
Henry flushed a deeper crimson than he had when Pyrgus thanked him. He swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes. Wh – wh-why?’
‘Did you really mean it when you said I was beautiful?’ Blue asked him, smiling shyly.
Thirty-Four
Even though he’d only been away a single night, Henry was expecting major hassles about where he’d been and had a cover story prepared. He’d gone to see Charlie and her parents invited him to stay the night. He’d tried to phone home, but there was a fault on the line. It sounded convincing enough – he’d stayed at the Severs’s often enough before – unless they’d phoned Charlie’s house last night. Which they might well have done. If they had, he was cooked. Cooked twice because they’d know he was lying to cover his tracks. Except what could he do? He couldn’t think of a better story.
But though he got home in a state of nerves, he found them too wrapped up in their own thing to care.
‘Hi,’ Henry shouted as he opened the front door. He was desperately anxious to get it all over. ‘Sorry about staying out. Phone wasn’t working. Slept over at Charlie’s.’ He waited. If they’d rung the Severs’s, this was where he’d find out.
His mother popped her head out of the kitchen, frowning vaguely. ‘Oh, Henry.’ She blinked. ‘We assumed that’s where you were. Could you come in here a minute?’
Henry groaned inwardly. He was hugely relieved she’d bought his story, but this was going to be another of those hideous kitchen conferences. He prayed it would be short. What he really wanted was to go to bed.
His heart sank when he found his father was in the kitchen too, although it was long past the time when he should have been off to work. Another biggie. The only good thing was Aisling wasn’t there. He stood just inside the door and waited.
‘Henry,’ his mother said – it was always his mother who spoke first at these happy little family get-togethers, ‘your father is leaving.’
Henry nodded numbly. ‘I know. You told me.’
But his mother shook her head. ‘No, I don’t mean in a few weeks or a month or two. He’s found a flat.’ She glanced at Henry’s father, who smiled weakly. ‘We’ve talked it over and we’ve decided there’s no sense in prolonging the agony, so he’s moving out this weekend. I just wanted to tell you again, to reassure you that this will make no difference at all to your, ah, situation. You’ll still be here, you’ll still have your room and your models. And your school. You and I and Aisling will still be together as a family unit and as we said before your father will visit frequently, so there’s absolutely no question –’
‘Fifty-fifty,’ Henry said.
His mother blinked. ‘What?’
Henry said firmly, ‘I don’t think it’s right I stay with you all the time. I want to spend six months of the year with my dad.’ He turned to his father. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it? You’ve got room?’
‘Ah – I – well, yes. Yes, of course it’s all right,’ his father said, his features a mask of surprise. ‘Yes, if that’s – I mean, if that’s what you want.’
‘That’s what I want,’ Henry said. ‘I think Aisling should do it too, but that’s up to her.’
‘Just a minute, Henry,’ his mother said quickly. ‘This could be very awkward. There’s your school and the whole question of ...’ She tailed off under Henry’s silent stare.
‘I’m sure you’ll work something out,’ Henry said as he turned to leave the kitchen. ‘You’re good at that.’
/> The flying pig was on the dresser in his room. For a moment it looked more alien than anything he’d seen in the Faerie Realm. He turned the cardboard handle and the pig took off along its pillar, wings flapping strongly.
Pigs might fly.
Henry shook his head, smiling slightly. It was astonishing what had happened. Amazing. Incredible. He pulled the ornamental dagger from his pocket and stared at it, remembering. Then he looked around. There was a shelf at the top of his wardrobe where he kept his modelling tools in a shoebox. Nobody ever looked in there. He opened the wardrobe and stepped back as junk fell out, then reached up for the shoebox. There was a smell of glue as he flipped back the top. It reminded him of Seething Lane.
Henry took the cube from his pocket. He’d a feeling he’d be using it again soon, but for now the thing to do was hide it away safely. He dropped the cube and his dagger into the box, then stowed it away on the wardrobe shelf. Despite everything, life seemed to be looking up.
Iron Prominent, he thought. Knight Commander of the Grey Dagger.
And Holly Blue had smiled at him.
THE FAERIE WARS CHRONICLES
By Herbie Brennan
Faerie Wars
The Purple Emperor
Ruler of the Realm
Faerie Lord
Praise for
Faerie Wars
The #1 YALSA Teens’ Top Ten Pick
A Book Sense Children’s Pick
An ALA Best Book for Young Adults
"A fantasy with all the trimmings. . . . Brennan excels at maintaining suspense in general. Juxtaposing different characters’ adventures, he can present a puzzle in one chapter, the missing piece in the next and nonetheless surprise readers when he fits in the piece later on." —The New York Times Book Review
"A clever, sly fantasy with immediate intrigue and plenty of science. . . . Twists and turns provide real surprises along the way." —Kirkus Reviews
"Creative, engaging, and clever. . . . This intelligent book is just the thing for mature young adults who enjoy their fantasy a little on the dark and humorous side." —VOYA
"Brennan takes obvious delight in fashioning a cast of villains so melodramatic and dastardly . . . that readers are likely to plow straight ahead just to keep the bad guys within sight." —BCCB
"Brennan is a terrific writer, with a grasp of his intricate plot that ensures that readers are swept along. His central characters are feisty and vulnerable and utterly convincing."
— The Guardian (UK)
"A crossover title from which few readers of any age would wish to cross back. . . . Inventive as Harry Potter, dark as Gormenghast and as intelligently probing as Philip Pullman, here is a title to brighten the dreariest of winter days. . . . Read it, and enjoy."
— The Independent (UK)
Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Berlin, New York and Sydney
First published in Great Britain in February 2003 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
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First published in the USA in May 2003 by Bloomsbury Books For Young Readers
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This electronic edition published in May 2011 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Text copyright © Herbie Brennan 2003
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved
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may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 4088 2106 0
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