‘It can walk?’ Hairstreak said.
Sulphur frowned. ‘The pen?’
‘The body, you blithering idiot!’
Sulphur nodded enthusiastically. ‘Sir, this is one of the breakthroughs of the aeon. My company has taken the basic Body in a Box technology and revolutionised it. Our new entry-level model can not only support life just as effectively as the old-style cube, but walk under its own power, grip and lift objects with its mechanical arms and generally perform the motor functions of a normal human body.’
‘I could walk?’ Hairstreak said.
Sulphur was grinning broadly now. ‘Walk, dress yourself, feed yourself … with practice, of course. Could I interest you in a demonstration?’
‘Yes,’ Hairstreak said shortly.
Lyside Sulphur opened the briefcase he’d left beside his chair and took out a small, brightly coloured box. He cracked the sealant with his thumb, set it on the floor and flipped the lid. A stream of silver vapour poured out to form itself into a headless humanoid robotic shape which then solidified. ‘We have an artificial head,’ Sulphur explained as he fished in the briefcase again. ‘It runs on a chicken’s brain, so it’s very limited, but it’ll give you an idea of the unit’s capabilities.’ He unfolded a silver sphere and screwed it expertly on to the body. ‘Walk!’ he commanded.
The silver body lumbered across the room in Hairstreak’s direction, did a smart about-turn before it reached him and lumbered back again.
‘Pick up the vase on the table!’ Sulphur glanced reassuringly at Hairstreak. ‘Don’t worry, sir, we’re insured for breakages.’
The creature – now it had a head of sorts, Hairstreak was beginning to think of it as a creature in its own right – clumped over to the table and picked up the vase with surprising ease.
‘Now watch this,’ Sulphur instructed excitedly. ‘Toss the vase and catch it!’
Hairstreak wouldn’t have bet tuppence on the fate of his vase, but the thing threw it several feet in the air and caught it expertly on the way down.
‘Impressive or what?’ Sulphur exclaimed.
‘Impressive,’ Hairstreak grunted grudgingly.
‘Of course,’ Sulphur said in that irritatingly informal way salesmen always seemed to adopt when they were circling for the kill, ‘if you’re concerned with looks, then the unit leaves a lot to be desired. It’s a little better when you put clothes on it, but – and my boss would jail me if he knew I’d told you this – I don’t like the design at all. The technology – wonderful. The design – well …’ He shook his head sadly, then brightened suddenly. ‘The deluxe model makes up for a great deal in that department.’ He batted his eyelids in Hairstreak’s direction and asked innocently, ‘Would you like to see a demonstration of our deluxe model, Lord Hairstreak?’
‘Yes,’ Hairstreak told him. Within the confines of his present Body in a Box, the area of his stomach was feeling a tingle of excitement.
‘I’m not taking up too much of your valuable time?’ Sulphur asked.
Hairstreak wondered vaguely what the penalty was for strangling a salesman with your bare hands. Not that he had bare hands to strangle with, but if he bought the body that had tossed the vase, it could be one of his first actions as a newly mobile Faerie of the Night. For the moment, however, he bit back his irritation and simply answered, ‘No, you’re not.’
Smiling slightly to himself, Sulphur returned to his briefcase. This time the box he took out had none of the garish colours of the last one. Instead, it sported a sophisticated holographic design that incorporated – Hairstreak noticed at once – the Hairstreak family crest. It was a typical salesman’s set-up. CMS had obviously created custom packaging for the body they hoped to sell him, perhaps even created a custom body. The basic model, robotic, clumsy, chicken-brained and ugly was still standing there to create a contrast with the deluxe super-duper model. What he was about to see would be very, very expensive indeed. But it might also be quite interesting.
It was certainly very different. Hairstreak saw that at once, the moment Sulphur flipped open the box. In place of the silver vapour (which was obviously based on the old genie technology) a pink and black origami sheet emerged. It began to unfold itself into an elaborate flower, from the centre of which sprang a life-sized hologram of a naked human figure that began to solidify visibly on contact with the air. Where the original metallic robot had been headless, this form was complete. As it stabilised, it turned slowly towards him and Hairstreak realised he was looking at a perfect representation of himself, head to toe. And not as he was now, but as he used to be when he enjoyed the fullness of his health.
He fought back the instinct to gasp, which would have given the oily little salesman an advantage in negotiations. The body was incredible, his replica in every way, yet with subtle exceptions. It was taller than he used to be and better muscled. The skin tone looked more healthy – smoother, with fewer blemishes and less body hair. There was an aura of strength and power about this creature that he liked very, very much.
‘Of course the head is for display purposes only,’ Sulphur said, disconcertingly passing his hand through it to demonstrate. ‘But our designers have animated it to give you some small feel of how you would look should you decide to invest in our new BodyFree deluxe design.’ He patted the solid shoulder and the head smiled at Hairstreak benignly. It was a beautiful smile, full of depth and wisdom.
Hairstreak knew he was going to buy this BodyFree deluxe whatever it cost. Knew he had to have it, and put Battus out to pasture for a long-overdue retirement. But he held tight rein on his emotions and said flatly, ‘Let’s see it move.’
‘Certainly, Your Lordship. Perhaps if your factotum wheeled you back a bit, we could give it a little more room …’
Hairstreak gave an eye signal to Battus, who pulled the barrow back towards the door. ‘That good enough?’ Hairstreak asked.
‘Admirable,’ said Sulphur.
The demonstration was incredible. The figure burst into action like an athlete. It ran the entire length of the reception chamber with the grace of a gazelle, then cartwheeled back in the fashion of a gymnast. It leaped over tables and chairs, then hurled itself upwards to swing briefly from the chandelier before dropping lightly to the ground with its back arched, arms stretched and bum pushed out.
‘I’ll take it,’ Hairstreak said.
‘Our entry-level model or the deluxe?’ asked Sulphur innocently.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Hairstreak growled. ‘Now talk to me about the head transfer.’
Sulphur was grinning broadly now. His commission on this single sale would probably earn him an obscene sum of money. ‘That’s another benefit of our deluxe model, sir. We find our customers are typically – and understandably – impatient to experience the benefits of their new bodies, so this model comes equipped as standard with the very latest magnetic slide technology which completely obviates the need for surgery. Essentially, what we do is to infuse your present Body in a Box with specially treated iron filings. These are absorbed by your natural head, thus rendering it magnetic. After that, a simple stasis spell allows us to remove your head from the box and transfer it to the shoulders of your new body – you experience the moment of blankness typical of the stasis spell. Once in place, the magnetic field of the body holds the head firmly in place – we’ve tested it against a pull of seven thousand tons; far in excess of anything your natural body could ever have withstood. The greatest benefit, of course, is that henceforth all your body–head connections are magnetic – far more efficient than the old flesh/blood/nerve connectors of a natural body.’
‘What are the vulnerabilities?’ Hairstreak asked.
‘None. As I think I mentioned, the base technology is that of our Body in a Box, so the unit is solar powered and indestructible. Once you’ve been joined, you are essentially immortal and invulnerable.’
Hairstreak frowned. ‘Essentially?’
‘Your natural head remains vulnerable,’ S
ulphur explained. ‘Although we can offer at extra cost a spray-on armour plating that will help somewhat with that problem. The body itself is immortal and invulnerable. It doesn’t even require our after-sales service.’
Hairstreak licked his lips, his eyes bright. ‘I assume all this involves a visit to the CMS clinic? How long does the transfer take?’
Sulphur picked up his briefcase again and began to shuffle papers. ‘Actually, sir, this is the great benefit of magnetic slide technology. Once you have signed the contract, we can make the transfer, without any need of clinic facilities, here in your own home. Typically the whole thing takes less than half an hour.’
‘Let’s have the contract,’ Hairstreak said.
Once the transfer was complete, Hairstreak celebrated the athletic abilities of his new body by slitting Sulphur’s throat, disposing of the corpse, tearing up the contract and carefully destroying all evidence that the salesman had ever visited. No sense letting his enemies know he was fully mobile again. They’d find out eventually, of course, but in the interim, Sulphur’s disappearance would give him a definite edge.
He had a slight problem with clothing – the new body was bigger than his old one – but he found some formal garments that hung well enough once he removed their padding. Then he walked – walked! – to the gardens in the central courtyard.
He found Mella seated on a bench talking to a rabbit: how much the sweet child enjoyed the small glories of the natural world! And how few things fazed her. She devoted no more than a passing glance to his new body before focusing on his face and smiling broadly. ‘Why, Uncle Hairstreak, how kind of you visit. It’s not your usual day, unless I’m very much mistaken.’
Hairstreak sat down beside her. ‘Not mistaken at all. But I have something I wish to discuss with you.’
She shooed away the rabbit – which was just as well, Hairstreak thought, for even rabbits had ears – and turned to face him, knees primly together, a look of rapt attention on her face.
‘You know, of course, that I have plans to make you Queen of our Realm in the very near future,’ Hairstreak said.
‘Indeed, Uncle, and I am very grateful,’ Mella told him.
‘Well,’ said Hairstreak easily, ‘it occurred to me that now I have regained my mobility, regained my body, so to speak …’ He gestured at the new BodyFree and smiled slide-magnetically, ‘… it occurred to me that we might marry, so I could guide you henceforth as your husband and, eventually, as your King.’
‘Why, Uncle,’ Mella said. ‘What an absolutely spiffing idea!’
Sixteen
Suddenly he’d lost her. One minute she was there, in that peculiar little Analogue kitchen, the next she was gone. As was the human with her and the kitchen itself. Brimstone extended his senses to their fullest limit. He could hear the hum of the city, listen to the eager sucking of a flea on Chalkhill’s bottom, even catch the primitive, angry feelings of the prickleweed far below them, but the girl Chalkhill wanted him to track was gone without trace.
Instinctively, he reached for the handkerchief in his pocket, then stopped. The last thing he wanted was to give Chalkhill any hint that something was wrong. They hadn’t agreed a deal yet and if Chalkhill found out he’d lost the girl, they never would. Best to keep him in the dark for the moment and try to pick up the girl’s scent in private later. Assuming she hadn’t died. That sort of now you see it, now you don’t business used to happen when he stomped on cockroaches. One minute you were hearing their scritches and their scratches and their roachy little thoughts, the next … stomp-squish … nothing. Just the way it happened to the girl, except for the stomp-squish, of course. What a tragedy it would be, if she had died: the Queen’s own daughter, finest flower of the Realm. All that potential ransom money gone. A tragedy. It was making him feel quite emotional, so that he had to suppress the urge to sniff.
But perhaps she wasn’t dead. After all, there’d been nothing to suggest a threat. Perhaps she was just lying dreadfully injured somewhere. That would hardly affect her value at all; in fact in some ways it might enhance it. Actually, now he came to think of it, even her body might be worth a bob or two. People were so sentimental about corpses and where they should be buried, especially the Royal Family. It would be well worth trying to find out what had happened, even if she was dead.
They were back in the stretch ouklo, Brimstone, George and Chalkhill, on a course to Chalkhill’s family estate on Wildmoor Broads. Chalkhill had drunk too much with the meal and was now nodding as if finding it difficult to stay awake. George was quiet too, having eaten two steaks and, apparently, a waiter, although in the rush at the restaurant, no one had seemed to notice. Perhaps he might risk using the handkerchief briefly, just to refocus himself.
With a quick glance towards the nodding Chalkhill – his eyes seemed to be closed at the moment – Brimstone slid the hankie from his pocket and sniffed it surreptitiously. At once he tuned in to a scene of utter desolation. A building lay in ruins, little more than a pile of dusty rubble. There were uniformed humans crawling over it, so this was presumably an Analogue World building, perhaps the same Analogue World building that had housed the Analogue World kitchen he’d seen earlier. Yes, that was likely; that would make sense. But if the building that housed the kitchen had fallen down and the faeman child was in the kitchen at the time, then young Mella was certainly dead – the uniformed humans were presumably searching for her corpse, probably in the hope of looting her jewellery. But that would be a good thing, because they wouldn’t be interested in the body itself, which meant Brimstone might still have a chance of getting hold of it.
He stuffed the hankie in his pocket and sat back to have a little think. If he could figure out exactly where the house had collapsed, the trick would obviously be to persuade Chalkhill to fund a trip to the Analogue World. Just for Brimstone, of course – or Brimstone and George, to be exact: always safer with a bodyguard. The sooner they got shot of Chalkhill himself the better. But if Chalkhill had any inkling that Brimstone knew Mella was in the Analogue World, albeit not necessarily breathing, Chalkhill would want to come too. Which was back to square one. So …
Brimstone thought.
Brimstone thought.
Brimstone thought.
So … what he needed to do was persuade Chalkhill that he didn’t know exactly where Mella was, but that he’d narrowed it down to two possibilities, one in the Analogue World, one in the Faerie Realm. No, belay that. Both in the Faerie Realm – the more he diverted Chalkhill’s attention from the Analogue World the better. After that, it would be a small step to persuade him that they should then split up for the sake of speed and efficiency, with Chalkhill searching vainly in the Faerie Realm while Brimstone secretly visited the scene of the disaster in the Analogue World.
So where had the house collapsed?
Brimstone was familiar with parts of the Analogue World. He knew the more disreputable bits of New York quite well, for example. But the style of architecture around the collapsed building didn’t look at all American. If anything …
The ouklo banked and swooped suddenly. Chalkhill opened his eyes. Brimstone stared through the window. They were over Chalkhill’s family estate, a pretentious, spell-encrusted manor with manicured parkland far enough away from the city to be both comfortable and private, close enough to be worth a fortune. (How had an idiot like Chalkhill managed to keep hold of his money? Gods knew Brimstone had tried to take it away from him often enough.) A permanent fair-weather spell added to its value as well as its attraction.
They sat together by the swimming pool while Chalkhill’s butler served them coffee cocktails. ‘Any luck with the hankie?’ Chalkhill asked on the first sip.
‘Not easy,’ Brimstone muttered. ‘Even when you’ve been goosed by a cloud dancer.’ He noticed George was dangling his enormous feet in the pool. George had always liked water.
Chalkhill followed the sip with a gulp. ‘Well, if it’s not going to work, it’s not going to work. I
’ll have to find another way. Androgeous, perhaps you’d organise transport to the workhouse for Mr Brimstone.’
‘No need to be like that, Jasper,’ Brimstone said hurriedly. ‘I only said it wouldn’t be easy. I didn’t say it wouldn’t be possible.’ A sly look crossed his features. ‘Besides, we haven’t talked terms yet.’
‘Oh, so that’s the problem,’ Chalkhill said. ‘Here’s the deal. You find me the girl – you don’t have to do anything to her, don’t have to catch her, just find her. Five hundred up front – should give you a float after your little stay in the asylum, buy you a bar or two of soap; you could do with a bath – and five thousand if you find her.’
Five thousand? That was an enormous sum of money: enough to buy a town house and live without working for a decade. ‘Ten,’ Brimstone said instinctively.
‘Seven and a half,’ Chalkhill countered.
‘Done,’ Brimstone said. And Chalkhill certainly had been. Seven thousand five hundred, plus the five hundred up front: eight thousand altogether. That was more than they’d payed to ransom Scolitandes the Weedy. Chalkhill clearly wanted the girl very badly indeed. Which meant she was worth much more than eight thousand. An interesting situation.
But Chalkhill was talking. ‘You’ll have the five hundred before you leave here today, but you only get the rest after I get hold of the girl. It’s yours once I have her in custody.’
‘That’s not fair!’ Brimstone protested. ‘Suppose I find her and you’re too clumsy to catch her or so stupid you let her go? I’ve kept my part of the bargain. I should get paid.’
The Faeman Quest Page 8
