Ruler of the Realm

by Herbie Brennan

  ‘Your sister agreed the funding the day she became Queen.’ Madame Cardui lowered the light level with a gesture. ‘Kitterick, your seat, please.’

  ‘Yes, Madame.’ Kitterick climbed on to a large chair attached to the main projection equipment. As he settled himself, straps emerged to bind his wrists and ankles, while two gleaming metallic tentacles inserted themselves into his ears. He closed his eyes.

  ‘Are you ready, Kitterick?’ Madame Cardui asked.

  ‘Yes, Madame.’

  Madame Cardui leaned across him and extracted a small card from the tangle of cables that surrounded the machine. It was attached by three differently coloured wires, red, green and blue, to the body of the projector. She parted Kitterick’s hair, and plugged the card into the slot in his skull. Then she threw a switch on the back of his chair.

  The reality globe began to glow.

  Pyrgus watched, fascinated, as a pretty young Trinian in a spangled bathing suit materialised within the globe.

  ‘Concentrate, Kitterick!’ said Madame Cardui sharply.

  ‘Sorry, Madame.’

  The pretty Trinian disappeared, to be replaced by a replica of Lord Hairstreak’s privacy chamber. They were all there: Blue close to Hairstreak, Flapwazzle … (Where had Flapwazzle disappeared to? Pyrgus suddenly thought. He’d accompanied them back to the palace.) … Henry, Kitterick and Pyrgus himself, just inside the closed door. And behind Pyrgus, the slim form of Pelidne, Hairstreak’s vampire. No one was moving.

  ‘Run sequence,’ Madame Cardui demanded.

  The scene sprang to life, in three dimensions, full colour and stereo sound.

  ‘Kitterick?’ Blue asked conversationally.

  ‘Never better, Ma’am,’ Kitterick – the Kitterick inside the reality globe – nodded benignly. ‘In the peak of my health, one might say.’ Pyrgus noticed that the real Kitterick, the one in the chair, mouthed the words silently.

  Hairstreak said, ‘Now we have the niceties out of the way, Your Majesty, perhaps your people would care to tell us why they were trespassing on my land, and what –’

  ‘We have a confidential message for Her Majesty,’ Pyrgus watched himself say loudly. ‘We were proceeding along –’

  ‘Shut up, Pyrgus,’ Blue said. She half turned towards her uncle. ‘Lord Hairstreak, perhaps if we –’

  And then it happened. Henry moved away from the door towards Blue and Hairstreak. He had a peculiar expression on his face, like somebody listening to distant music.

  ‘It’s time we left, Blue,’ he said, and took her arm.

  Pyrgus watched carefully. It was just possible Blue was in on this, but from her expression, he didn’t think so. She seemed surprised and reluctant, maybe even shocked. Pyrgus would have bet his Halek knife that if it had been anybody but Henry she’d have pulled her arm away. As it was, she began to move with him – reluctantly – towards the door.

  ‘Pelidne!’ This was Hairstreak’s voice.

  The scene must have been influenced by Kitterick’s concentration, because it narrowed in focus now so that Hairstreak, Kitterick himself and much of Pyrgus were cut from view. Pelidne grew in size, as did Blue and Henry.

  ‘Slow motion,’ Madame Cardui murmured.

  There was an audible click from Kitterick’s head as it rested in the chair. Within the reality globe, Pelidne slowly withdrew his hand from the one shoulder of Pyrgus that was still visible and began to place himself between Blue and the door. Despite the fact that the scene was slowed, he moved with considerable speed. But nothing compared to Henry when he moved. Even with the scene creeping like a snail, Henry still blurred. Pyrgus watched his body twist as he pulled something from a pocket.

  When it really happened, Pyrgus thought Henry had stabbed the vampire. Now he could see he’d actually thrown the stake. It entered Pelidne’s chest like a driven sword and stuck there, buried all but a protruding inch.

  What happened next was even worse than the reality, since every slow detail was replayed. The scene juddered as Kitterick jerked back his head to avoid the spurting blood. Then Pelidne slowly collapsed into a corrupt powder. His clothes must have been new for they fell to the floor in pristine condition.

  ‘What –?’ somebody said. Pyrgus thought the voice was probably Blue.

  The focus of the scene narrowed again. From behind him, Pyrgus heard a sound like snoring as if Kitterick had fallen asleep. Blue and Henry were now the only two showing in the reality globe. Henry had hold of Blue’s arm and was dragging her towards the door. He looked utterly calm. It was impossible to believe he’d just killed a vampire.

  Blue shouted, ‘No, Henry! Let me go!’ and tried to pull away.

  Pyrgus leaned forward. This was the point where they’d disappeared.

  But they didn’t disappear. Henry continued to drag Blue to the door, which he opened with his free hand. He looked back briefly into the room, then pulled her over the threshold and closed the door behind him.

  Pyrgus stared in disbelief. ‘That wasn’t what happened,’ he told Madame Cardui.

  Forty

  ‘Ah, there you are, Alan,’ Madame Cardui said, as Fogarty swept in. ‘Where were –?’ She stopped. ‘Why on earth are you dressed like that?’

  Pyrgus glanced around, then blinked. Mr Fogarty was dressed in the full regalia of a Purple Emperor. Only the State Crown was missing. He scowled at them both.

  ‘Heard the news about Blue. Somebody had to run the shop.’ He sniffed. ‘Even if it involves dressing like a ponce.’

  Pyrgus felt a sudden surge of suspicion. He’d have trusted Mr Fogarty with his life, but sometimes a lust for power did strange things to people. He said cautiously, ‘How did you hear about Blue, Mr Fogarty?’

  Fogarty was staring at Kitterick, who was still strapped to the chair with the card plugged into his head. ‘What?’

  ‘How did you hear about Blue, Mr Fogarty?’ Pyrgus repeated. ‘Kitterick and I were the only ones who knew.’

  Fogarty turned slowly to look at him. The barest hint of a smile curled his lips. ‘You weren’t the only ones who knew. I had it from the talking rug.’

  ‘Oh, Flapwazzle!’ Pyrgus exclaimed, relieved.

  ‘We had a problem of protocol,’ said Mr Fogarty briskly. ‘With the Queen missing, supreme authority passes temporarily to the Gatekeeper. He can delegate it to the next-in-line for the throne, which is Comma. Do you want that? No, I thought not. Or it can go to the next closest relatives of Her Missing Majesty, which is you, Pyrgus – don’t say it, I know you don’t want it – or Queen Quercusia, who’s mad and locked up, or – and you’re going to love this one – Lord Hairstreak. Or the Gatekeeper can assume the throne himself for a period of one calendar month. I made an executive decision. For the rest of this month you curtsy to Emperor Fogarty. Any objections? Thought not. Now, what the hell are you doing to Kitterick?’

  Forty-one

  The delegates arrived at Hairstreak’s mansion grumbling, but they arrived. Most of them eyed Hairstreak with open suspicion. But their looks were tinged with respect. The assassination of Fuscus had done its job. There wasn’t a soul in the chamber who’d consider opposing Hairstreak now. Except possibly Hamearis. The Duke of Burgundy had been too close to death too many times to fear anything any more. But he nodded amiably enough as he ambled in.

  Would they notice Pelidne was missing? Hairstreak felt an impotent rage rise up to knot his stomach. It was incredible to think that human child had actually killed Pelidne. And hugely frustrating not to have worked out how. Burgundy, with all his military experience, would never tackle a vampire on his own. Old Duke Electo had dispatched one once, in his younger days, but he’d only managed the job with the backing of eighteen of his best men – and eleven of them were slaughtered in the process.

  Probably Pelidne’s absence wouldn’t impinge. If they thought about it at all, they’d assume Hairstreak had sent him off somewhere. No reason for anyone to suspect he was dead, and Hairstreak certainly didn’t plan to
tell them unless he had to.

  The really infuriating thing was that Pelidne was irreplaceable. Vampires were rare in the Realm, far more rare than they were in the Analogue World. It had taken Hairstreak years to find one – and months to negotiate a contract. He still shuddered to think of the cost. And what did he get in return? A few weeks’ service, one miserable assassination and a hideously expensive security system nobody really understood. How had the brat killed him?

  Hairstreak pushed the thoughts to one side. He had rather more urgent problems now. He waited until everyone was seated, then closed the door to trigger the privacy spells.

  ‘Well, Blackie,’ Hamearis said cheerfully, ‘I hadn’t expected to be back here quite so soon.’

  Neither had the others, by the look of them. Hairstreak decided to dispense with the usual preliminaries. ‘Queen Holly Blue is missing,’ he said bluntly. ‘Possibly dead.’ The addendum wasn’t for dramatic effect: if the boy could kill a vampire, he was capable of anything.

  There was instant uproar. Hairstreak sat back and waited, scowling, as they tried to shout each other down. Eventually somebody would take charge and settle them. For the moment he didn’t wish to do it himself. Best to wait for his important move: that way it would have more impact.

  It was Electo who cut through the babble with his distinctive baritone. ‘If you can all manage to keep quiet for a moment, we might find out what happened.’ Then, as the noise died down, he turned to the head of the table. ‘Hairstreak?’

  Hairstreak told them succinctly what had happened. For once he kept nothing back, except Pelidne’s death.

  ‘By God,’ Electo snorted when he’d finished. ‘You mean to say she was in your care when this young blighter seized her?’

  ‘Hardly in my care,’ Hairstreak said sourly. ‘She was visiting my mansion, that’s all. She chose to come without security. I can hardly be held responsible for what happened to her.’

  ‘Not sure the Lighters will see it that way,’ Electo muttered.

  Hamearis, blunt as always, said, ‘Were you responsible, Blackie?’

  Hairstreak managed a small, cold smile. ‘Did I arrange to have her kidnapped?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I was surprised as anyone when it happened.’

  Croceus, who’d never been the brightest glowglobe in the dungeon, said frowning, ‘I don’t understand how this child got away with it. Didn’t you have guards, or locks or something? Was your security switched off? I see you’ve a new system installed – I noticed it as we arrived.’

  ‘The usual precautions were in place. I told you. Both the boy and Queen Blue simply vanished.’

  Cardamines said, ‘I don’t understand you. You mean they used an invisibility cone or something?’

  ‘No, it was obviously some new spell technology.’ Hairstreak fixed them with his gaze. ‘But these are unimportant details. The fact is Queen Blue has been kidnapped – however it was achieved or by whom – and that changes the political situation.’

  He thought for a moment he was going to have to spell it out for them, but then Hecla Colias asked the crucial question, probably hoping to embarrass him: ‘Why was the Queen visiting you, Lord Hairstreak?’

  Hairstreak smiled at her bleakly. ‘She came to refuse our offer of negotiation,’ he said.

  Forty-two

  Kitterick’s head was rattling alarmingly, but Madame Cardui ignored it. The re-run in the reality globe was set to close-up and slow motion with the result that the figures looked like exhausted giants.

  ‘What’s that?’ Fogarty asked suddenly.

  ‘What’s what?’ Cynthia asked him, frowning.

  ‘That sparkle effect.’ It was difficult to see because of the angle. ‘And doesn’t Henry have something in his hand?’

  Cynthia leaned forward. ‘Freeze it!’ she told Kitterick. Then, ‘Oh, yes, I think you’re right …’

  ‘Can we run it again – just that segment?’

  ‘Kitterick!’ said Madame Cardui.

  There was an unpleasant scraping sound from inside Kitterick’s head, then the action in the reality globe repeated.

  ‘You see?’ Fogarty said. The problem was the relative positions of the people involved. Kitterick could only record what he saw, and sometimes bodies or furnishings got in the way. It looked as if Henry had taken something from his pocket, but he was sideways on so you couldn’t see exactly what. And then there was the sparkle, for all the world like the edge of a trail of fairy dust in a Walt Disney movie.

  ‘Yes,’ Cynthia confirmed. ‘Yes, there’s something there …’

  ‘Spell cone?’ Fogarty asked. He didn’t know of a spell that would let you walk out of a room while everybody in it thought you’d disappeared, but they were bringing new spell cones on to the market all the time.

  Cynthia frowned. ‘I don’t think so, Alan. It seems a bit big for a spell cone. And what are those particles – the glitter? You don’t get glitter from a spell cone.’

  ‘New type?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Can you go to extreme close-up, Kitterick?’ Fogarty asked. Kitterick gave a strangled gasp, but the reality globe filled with a section of Henry’s body. ‘Do you think that could be the edge of a goblet, Cynthia?’

  ‘Could be. A crystal goblet.’ She hesitated thoughtfully. ‘Or a Halek blade? It has the same sheen.’

  ‘Where would Henry get a Halek blade? They don’t make them in the Analogue World.’ Fogarty straightened his back. ‘Certainly looks like crystal, though.’ He glanced across the room. ‘OK, Kitterick, you can switch off now. Pyrgus, pull that thing out of his head before he croaks.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Kitterick croaked.

  As the scene faded to black and the reality globe collapsed, Fogarty said, ‘The follower you had on Blue …?’

  ‘It lost them.’

  ‘I thought that wasn’t possible.’

  ‘It isn’t, but it happened, deeah.’

  ‘Where did it lose them?’ Fogarty asked.

  ‘In the grounds of Hairstreak’s mansion.’

  ‘He has a vicious security system,’ Pyrgus put in. ‘Trackers that take you down, inject you with stuff that knocks you out.’

  ‘You think they didn’t get far?’ Fogarty asked him.

  ‘We didn’t,’ Pyrgus said.

  ‘Interesting point,’ Madame Cardui remarked. ‘So you think it’s possible Hairstreak may have them both now?’

  Pyrgus licked his lips nervously. ‘No, Henry was definitely up to something. I don’t understand it and I don’t understand how he did it, or why, but he definitely took Blue.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Madame Cardui persisted, ‘but whatever he did, whatever he planned, is it possible that Hairstreak’s security system trapped them when they left the mansion?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Pyrgus said reluctantly, ‘but Henry knew about the security system. It got him as well as me and Kitterick.’

  Fogarty cut across them both. ‘This follower, Cynthia – could I talk to it?’

  ‘It’s a demon, Alan – you realise that?’

  ‘Yes, I know. Presumably there are safeguards you can take …’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Madame Cardui said. ‘When …?’

  Fogarty shrugged. ‘Now. Can we do it now?’

  Pyrgus said, ‘I’ll just go and –’

  Fogarty said sharply, ‘I want you with us.’

  Forty-three

  Pyrgus watched nervously. The last time he’d had anything to do with demons was when a smelly old Faerie of the Night named Brimstone had tried to sacrifice him to one. It had never occurred to him there might be the wherewithal to evoke one in the palace. But Madame Cardui was full of surprises.

  They were in a smallish basement library – another room he’d never known existed – packed with an astonishing assortment of rare books. Including several he could have sworn were Analogue World manufacture. His eyes glided over the titles – The Hieroglyphic Monad … Clavis Chymicus … Mysteries of th
e Rosie Crucis … Illuminations … Liber Visionum … Astral Doorways … Ars Notoria – before coming to rest on the circle/triangle motif inlaid in the tiling of the floor. He’d seen that design before, although Brimstone’s circle and triangle had been picked out in animal parts. Pyrgus shuddered. He loved animals.

  The circle here had a five-pointed star inscribed inside it. The whole room smelled faintly of some heavy, cloying incense.

  Mr Fogarty was staring at the circle as well. ‘You’d be put away for this stuff in my world,’ he remarked.

  ‘Put away?’

  ‘In a lunatic asylum, Cynthia,’ Fogarty said. ‘Nobody believes in it any more.’

  ‘More fool them,’ said Madame Cardui mildly.

  Mr Fogarty followed Pyrgus’s example and looked at the books. He pulled one down from the shelves – Pyrgus noticed it was called Conjuring Spirits – and flicked it open.

  ‘I thought the portals to Hell were all closed,’ he said.

  Madame Cardui was busying herself with an incense burner. ‘They are, deeah,’ she told him absently, ‘but we won’t be calling the follower out of Hael.’

  ‘Won’t we?’ Pyrgus asked, surprised. ‘I thought all demons came from Hael.’

  Madame Cardui finished with the burner and lit the charcoal with a blue flame that emerged from the tip of one long painted fingernail. Perfumed smoke began to climb towards the ceiling.

  ‘Yes, they do. Of course they do, deeah – ultimately. But this one has been pressed into service. It lives in our Realm now. Quite a few demons were trapped here when the portals closed – most of them in service to the Faeries of the Night, of course. They’re based in limbos when they’re not actually operational, but you control them exactly the same way you would if they were still in Hael.’ She caught Pyrgus’s expression and added, ‘They’re quite comfortable. The limbos are furnished. At least mine are: drawer bed, cushions … there’s even a small entertainment globe. Black and white, of course.’

  ‘Home from home,’ Fogarty said, and gave one of his feral grins.