Ruler of the Realm

by Herbie Brennan

  She went carefully and very slowly. Henry could open his eyes again at any minute and, when he did, she wanted it to look as if she was just stretching her legs. That wasn’t going to be easy. A really good illusion spell affected the character of an object, not just its appearance; but even the best of them weren’t as good at fooling your sense of smell as your sight. If you took your time you could pick up the telltale signs. But that meant getting up close. Really close. If Henry opened his eyes while she had her nose pressed up against the wall he’d know at once what she was up to.

  She looked back. His eyes were still closed, but his lips were moving silently and his body was tense as a coiled spring. His eyelids flickered.

  Blue froze. She’d found a door! It wasn’t even that well concealed, except to sight. She could feel the outlines quite plainly. She glanced across at Henry. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

  Cautiously, Blue pushed the door.

  It opened.

  Fifty-one

  The personal flyer was fantastic. The top speed was about seven times faster than an ouklo. Just one word and you could make it loop the loop. It very nearly hovered without stalling and if you banked sharply it started up this amazing sonic hum. If Pyrgus hadn’t been on a serious mission, he could have had a lot of fun.

  The street grid of Yammeth City was underneath him now and he could see the amazing expanse of green that was their final destination. He put the flyer into a sharp dive.

  ‘Do we plan to crash inside the Ogyris Estate, sir?’ Kitterick enquired. ‘If not, Merchant Ogyris may have a landing pad.’

  ‘I think he probably has air defences as well,’ Pyrgus said, frowning. ‘Besides, I don’t want him to know we’re here. I thought we’d come down somewhere on the edge of the city and walk.’

  ‘There is a public landing area quite close to the main gate of the estate, sir.’

  ‘Is there? How do you know?’

  ‘I have been equipped with maps of Yammeth City, sir.’

  ‘You’ve got maps? You might have shown them to me.’ What with never having used a personal flyer before, he’d had some trouble finding the place.

  ‘They’re internal, sir. Imprinted on my brain. I’m afraid I only have visionary access.’

  Pyrgus put the flyer into a holding pattern, describing a wide circle over the city. ‘This public landing area – wouldn’t a Lighter flyer be a bit conspicuous there? I mean, I don’t want word getting around that we’ve arrived.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so, sir,’ Kitterick said soberly. ‘Faeries of the Night use far more air transports than we do, so there are scores of vehicles coming and going. One more will scarcely be noticed. Besides, this is an unmarked flyer.’

  Pyrgus thought about it for a second. The last thing he wanted was a long walk through Yammeth City. If the public landing area really was close to the estate gate …

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Where is this place?’

  ‘The large rectangle rimmed in green, ahead and a little to starboard, sir.’

  Pyrgus saw it. ‘I’m on it,’ he said. ‘We’re going down!’

  Kitterick proved right about their not being noticed. Several hundred Nighter vehicles were parked in neat rows. People were coming and going all the time. There appeared to be no formalities at all. Pyrgus slipped on his lenses and handed a pair to Kitterick.

  ‘What’s this, sir?’

  ‘Darkened glasses,’ Pyrgus said. ‘So people can’t see your eyes and tell you’re not a Faerie of the Night.’

  Kitterick blinked. ‘I’m four foot seven inches tall with orange skin. I think people might suspect I’m not a Faerie of the Night even with dark glasses, sir.’ He folded the lenses neatly and handed them back. ‘I don’t think we need worry unduly, if I may say so, sir. There are quite a few Trinians in service throughout the Cretch. More so now, of course, since the Hael portals closed and demon servants are at a premium.’ He began to tidy away the flying gear. ‘May I enquire whether we have a plan on this mission or whether we will simply be crawling through the bushes until something attacks us as we did at Lord Hairstreak’s?’

  Pyrgus grinned. ‘No crawling through the bushes this time, Kitterick. We do have a plan. We’ll present ourselves at the main gate and ask for Gela.’

  ‘Gela, sir?’

  Pyrgus hesitated. ‘My, ah, friend. My friend Gela. She’s Merchant Ogyris’s daughter.’ He felt a lot less confident than he sounded. Gela might not be prepared to help. In fact, on balance, he thought it was a bit unlikely, but he didn’t have a better idea and it was probably worth a try.

  ‘I see, sir.’

  ‘I thought Gela could get us in,’ Pyrgus pressed on. ‘Maybe ask us to the house for a cup of fume or something. I’d ask her not to mention the visit to her father. Then, while one of us engages her in conversation, the other could sneak out and take a look at the crystal flowers.’ He hesitated. ‘Probably you,’ he added lamely.

  ‘May I say, sir, that is possibly the worst plan I have ever heard?’

  ‘It’s the only one I’ve got,’ Pyrgus told him sourly. ‘We might as well try it.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Kitterick.

  The main gates of the Ogyris Estate were enormous ornamental bastions flanked by twin statues of grinning demons. The statues were in a garish pink-veined marble. The gates were wrought in lethal iron, hideously expensive, but impervious to faerie attack and with a thin, black spell coating to protect any legitimate visitor who might touch them accidentally. They were shut.

  Pyrgus blinked. For some reason it had never occurred to him that the estate might be closed off, although now he was here it seemed the most likely thing in the world.

  ‘What do we do now?’ he muttered aloud.

  ‘Allow me, sir,’ said Kitterick and placed his palm squarely on the brass attention plate sunk into the left hand wall.

  ‘Please state your name and business,’ said the nearest statue.

  ‘Please face the gate and speak clearly,’ said its twin on the other side.

  ‘Please refrain from touching the gates at any time,’ said the first statue.

  ‘The gates are made from iron,’ remarked the other statue conversationally. ‘Very dangerous to faeries.’

  ‘The master coated it with spells, but they’ve worn a bit thin.’

  ‘Need replacing, really.’

  ‘So keep clear, or let the dwarf touch them. Iron doesn’t work on Trinians.’

  ‘It’s Prince Pyrgus, isn’t it?’ the other statue said. ‘You’ve been here before with young Mistress Gela, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Pyrgus said nervously.

  ‘Thought I recognised you. Nice to see you again, sir. Careful of the gates.’

  ‘You’ll still have to state your name and business, I’m afraid, sir,’ said the other statue. ‘Just for the record. We have to log all visitors with Security Central.’

  ‘Troubled times.’

  ‘Purely a formality in your case, sir.’

  ‘But one we must adhere to. Full name with titles, sir. Please speak clearly. Oh, and you should name the dwarf as well. He has to be stamped, since it’s his first time.’

  So much for Gela sneaking them in without her father knowing. ‘Prince Pyrgus Malvae of House Iris,’ Pyrgus said quietly, in case the name was heard by some passer-by. You could never tell what might happen to a Faerie of the Light in Yammeth City. You heard stories of them being lynched.

  ‘Bit louder, sir,’ the statue said.

  ‘Prince Pyrgus Malvae of House Iris!’ Pyrgus shouted, throwing caution to the winds. ‘Knight Commander of the Grey Dagger, Honorary Arcond of the Church of Light, former Emperor Elect, former Crown Prince of the Realm, Chief Friend and Sponsor of the League of Decency to Animals, President of the Weirdling Congress, Honorary Grand Herald of the College of Heraldry, First Cooperdentoid of the Ancient and Honourable Order of the Immaculate Hand, plus various subsidiary honours.’ He drew a fresh breath and added, �
�And Kitterick.’ He leaned across and whispered, ‘You don’t have any titles, do you Kitterick?’

  ‘Afraid not, sir.’

  ‘And the Orange Trinian Kitterick,’ said Pyrgus loudly.

  ‘And your business, sir? Succinctly. It just needs to be something like “Visiting Merchant Ogyris” or “Delivering ornaments for the house” or something of that sort, sir.’

  ‘Visiting Mistress Gela Ogyris,’ Pyrgus said.

  ‘Passing on,’ murmured the first statue. It closed its eyes to process the information.

  ‘Would you like to step over beside me, Mr Kitterick?’ asked the second statue in a friendly tone. ‘Might as well get you stamped while we’re waiting.’

  When Kitterick moved beside it, the statue produced a large rubber stamp from the folds of its tunic and imprinted a luminous OG on his forehead.

  ‘Just show that if you’re stopped. It’s valid for twenty-four hours. Don’t wash until you want rid of it – rain won’t affect it, but it comes off with soap. Some of the younger generation keep them on for weeks – it’s a fashion accessory, apparently.’

  ‘Cleared,’ said the first statue.

  There was an ominous click and the massive gates swung open.

  Fifty-two

  Henry’s eyes opened and flashed red. ‘Won’t do you any good,’ he said.

  Blue swung round, her heart pounding. He was still slumped squatting against the wall. There was no way he could get to his feet, cross the room and reach her before she dived through the open door. All the same she hesitated.

  Henry said, ‘It leads back here.’ He closed his eyes again. There was something in his careless confidence that was absolutely terrifying.

  Blue twisted round again and plunged through the open door. There was a soft snick as it closed behind her.

  She was in another featureless white cube.

  This room looked exactly like the one she’d left. White walls, white floor, white ceiling, the same concealed lighting, the same curious softness underfoot.

  And Henry, slumped against one wall.

  Fifty-three

  At almost four miles long, the winding driveway of the Ogyris Estate was clearly not meant for foot traffic. By the time Pyrgus and Kitterick arrived at the house, it was growing dark.

  ‘You OK, Kitterick?’ Pyrgus asked. His feet were sore and there was a knot in the muscle of one calf.

  ‘Never better, sir,’ said Kitterick annoyingly.

  The Ogyris mansion was a relatively new building of curious construction. It combined the slim spires of a traditional Haleklind castle with a blocky underpinning – so fashionable across the Cretch these days – that seemed to have been inspired by a troll’s dungeon. The result was something that looked vaguely like a giant porcupine crouched to spring. In an ostentatious display of wealth, Zosine Ogyris had commissioned lavish spell coatings that transmuted the base material of the building into copper, into silver, into gold, into platinum, into orichalcum and back to copper again, endlessly, at seven-minute intervals. It was burnished copper at the moment and the reflected rays of the dying sun made it look as if it was on fire.

  ‘Well, here we go,’ said Pyrgus and stepped up to the massive door.

  The woman who answered his knock – Pyrgus assumed she was a maid – was short and plump with something about her eyes that reminded him of Gela. She had the greenish skin tone and nose wrinkles of a Halek peasant, which may have been exactly what she was, since Ogyris could have brought her with him from his native land. She wore a crisp blue-striped apron and there was a dusting of flour on her hands.

  ‘Sorry to keep you,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Making scones.’

  Pyrgus favoured her with an uncertain smile. ‘I’ve come to see Gela,’ he said. Time to find out whether Gela wanted to see him.

  ‘Not here,’ said the woman promptly. ‘Father sent her ’ome.’

  Pyrgus blinked. This was Gela’s home.

  ‘To Creen,’ the woman said, using the native term for Haleklind. ‘Thought it would be safer.’ When Pyrgus looked at her blankly, she added, ‘The war.’

  ‘The war?’

  ‘The war what’s coming.’ She said it so matter-of-factly that Pyrgus chilled. But before he could react, she began to tilt her body at an alarming angle. It took him a moment to realise she was trying to look past him. ‘That you, Kitterick?’ she asked, her face suddenly beaming.

  ‘Yes, indeed, Genoveva,’ Kitterick said smiling, as he stepped from behind Pyrgus. ‘Nice to see you again.’

  ‘Well,’ said Genoveva, ‘this is a real bootiful surprise! Come in, come in and bring your ’andsome young friend. I’ll brew up some fume and you can try my scones, tell me if I’ve lost my touch.’ She smiled broadly at Pyrgus and added, ‘So Gela knows you – lucky girl!’

  As they followed her along a flagstoned corridor towards the smell of baking, Pyrgus whispered urgently to Kitterick, ‘I didn’t know you knew Ogyris’s servants.’

  ‘Not his servant, sir,’ Kitterick whispered back. ‘That’s his wife.’

  ‘His wife?’ Pyrgus exclaimed loudly, then repeated in a whisper, ‘His wife? This is Gela’s mother?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Genoveva, sir. Very pleasant woman. Wonderful touch with scones, as I suspect we’re about to discover. Married when she was sixteen and he was twenty-five. That was before he left Haleklind and got rich. Happy as two clams in gravy, I’m led to understand. Halek marriages are often like that. Something to do with the composition of the soil, I believe.’

  ‘Why’s she doing her own baking?’ Pyrgus asked curiously.

  He must have spoken too loudly, for Genoveva called over her shoulder, ‘Because there’s not a servant in the country can match my scones. So Zosine Typha says, anyway. I think it’s a plot to keep me in my place, myself.’ She chuckled.

  ‘How is it you know her?’ Pyrgus whispered to Kitterick.

  ‘I fear I’m not at liberty to say, sir.’

  Pyrgus blinked at him, then said, ‘Oh. Some mission for Madame Cardui?’

  ‘Something of that sort, sir.’

  ‘But you know her well?’

  Kitterick smiled a little, with his poison fangs retracted. ‘Very well, sir. Very well indeed.’

  Pyrgus opened his mouth to push further, then decided better of it. Instead he said, ‘You don’t think you could get her to tell you about the crystal flowers, do you?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, sir,’ Kitterick said politely. ‘She’s extremely loyal to her husband. In certain matters. Besides, I doubt she’d know anything about them. Halek men are notoriously chauvinistic. They tell their wives nothing, nothing at all. I’ve often thought it a most admirable characteristic.’

  ‘You two can stop whispering about my bottom,’ Genoveva called cheerfully over her shoulder. ‘Can’t help it if I have a healthy appetite.’

  ‘I would suggest, sir,’ Kitterick said softly, ‘in relation to the crystal flowers, you tell Veva – Madame Ogyris – that you have an interest in Halek architecture and would like to see over the house. She will issue you with a pass that will permit you entry to any area you wish. If someone stops you, just produce it. I shall keep her chatting in the kitchen until you return.’

  ‘She won’t just let me wander through her home,’ Pyrgus protested. ‘She doesn’t know me from Firstman.’

  ‘Oh yes she will, sir,’ said Kitterick confidently. ‘It’s a tradition of Halek hospitality.’

  ‘What happens if she wants to go with me? Give me a guided tour?’

  ‘She won’t, sir. You can take my word on that.’ Kitterick smiled.

  ‘’Ere we are, boys,’ Genoveva said, opening the kitchen door. ‘Fume and scones, and if you’re very good I might find you a pot of my home-made squing preserve.’

  ‘Try not to take too long, sir,’ Kitterick whispered. ‘I don’t know how long I can distract her.’

  Pyrgus followed them into the kitchen. The plan seemed insane, but for the life of him he co
uldn’t think of a better one.

  Fifty-four

  ‘Hello, Blue,’ Henry said and smiled coldly. ‘I told you they were coming.’

  He was flanked by demons. All but one of them was manifested in its spindly, grey-skinned form. They turned their huge black eyes upon her. Blue tried to jerk her head away, but moved too late. She felt her will begin to drain.

  The exception was skinny and tailed and naked except for a covering of black fur. It had budded horns and pointed ears and sharpened teeth and glowing yellow eyes. It grinned at her and loped across to take her hand. Its fur felt soft and comforting, like a cat.

  ‘Go with John, Blue,’ Henry said.

  Go where? It was a stupid thought but the only one that occurred to her in that chill instant. How could you go anywhere when the only door from the room led right back in again?

  Then other thoughts were smashing down on her like a tidal wave. Henry wasn’t working for Lord Hairstreak. Henry was working for the hordes of Hael. Which meant Henry hadn’t betrayed her. Because nobody like Henry worked for Hael of his own free will. The demons were controlling him!

  It was crazy, but she actually felt relieved.

  The relief lasted less than a second. They were both in big trouble and Henry didn’t even know it. If they were going to get out of this, it was up to her. But she was already caught up in the same web as Henry. Could she claw back control of her mind now she’d looked a demon in the eye?

  Beside her, the foul little creature squeezed her hand encouragingly.

  Blue looked carefully at what was happening to her. She didn’t feel any different to the way she usually did, but that was an illusion – and a subtle trap. However she felt, she was standing quietly holding hands with a demon, in a room full of demons. She should be running or fighting or screaming – anything except standing quietly. So when the demons took control of your mind, they made you feel you wanted to do what they wanted you to do.

  Could she use that insight? Did she have any of her own will left?

  She tried moving her left arm a little. It moved easily. She pushed down the sudden surge of elation. What did that prove? The demons wouldn’t care about her left arm. And why muck about with a small movement anyway? Why not try to run and see what happened? That would be a real test. Except she didn’t want to try to run because she had to go with John, as Henry said.