The Goblin Guard appeared before Aisling was halfway down the stairs. In the old days, Goblin Guards used real goblins, silver-suited demons conjured from Hael and bound to service by the occasional sacrifice. But around the time Mella’s mother was a teenager, the demon guards were replaced by cleverly crafted illusions with enough solidity to maim and murder with the same ferocity as an actual goblin. The illusion had originally been developed in Haleklind, but spread quickly when the wizards offered it for sale. Mella knew a Guard was coming, even before it actually appeared. She heard the distinctive insectile chittering underlaid with a click-clack sound like lobster claws.
‘Don’t move, Aunt Aisling!’ Mella screamed as the goblins began to materialise. So much for waiting to see what happened. So much for maybe sneaking off while Aisling made a fool of herself. Seven heads turned towards her. She was absolutely caught. But what could she do? Aisling was her aunt and Goblin Guards killed people.
Aisling stopped. She could never have seen anything like a goblin in her life before, but to be fair, she took the Guard in her stride. From her vantage point halfway down the stairs, she called calmly to the seven round the table, ‘I am the Lady Atherton, sister of His Consort Majesty King Henry of the Faerie Empire. Please ensure these creatures do not harm me.’
The Lady Atherton? You couldn’t help admire her. But at least the demons were no longer moving and wouldn’t move as long as she stayed still. Mella stayed still herself. If she moved while there was a Guard about, they might well attack her – and go straight through Aisling to get to her.
The woman at the end of the table pushed back her cowl to reveal sharp, almost cruel, features. She glared at Aisling. ‘How did you gain entrance to our chamber?’ she asked with more than a hint of quiet malice.
This had to be Haleklind, Mella thought. Only in Haleklind would that be the first question. Not what do you want? Not what are you doing? Not who did you say you were? But how did you get in? It occurred to her suddenly that Halek defences would be set to stop anyone portalling from the Faerie or the Hael Realms. It would never have occurred to the wizards to worry about the Analogue World, where nobody used portals, or magic of any sort, or even believed in wizards.
‘I have no idea,’ said Aisling, as if the question were of no importance. ‘But if you will kindly instruct these things to step aside and allow me to come down so I don’t have to shout all the time, I will tell you what I want you to do.’
One of the men round the table said, ‘Consort Majesty King Henry of the Faerie Empire does not have a sister in this Realm.’
Mella focused on three of his words: in this Realm. Not doesn’t have a sister, but doesn’t have a sister in this Realm. This was Haleklind all right. The reach of the wizards’ intelligence service was legendary, at least on a par with, if not actually ahead of, Madame Cardui’s own. They knew her father had a sister back in the Analogue World, probably even knew her name. Mella just hoped Aisling wasn’t going to lie to them. She’d already chanced it with her ‘Lady Atherton’ business.
‘I have not come from this Realm,’ Aisling said clearly. ‘I have come from –’ She stopped suddenly, obviously wondering what they might call the Analogue World, then went on, ‘– the Human Realm.’
There was an immediate buzz of conversation around the table and, even though she couldn’t hear a word of it, Mella knew they were back to their old concerns, wondering how somebody from the Analogue World had broken through their defences to gain access to their chamber. The man who had spoken earlier cut through the buzz to ask, ‘What is your forename?’ He frowned, as if searching for the correct term, then added, ‘Your Christian name?’
‘I am the Lady Aisling,’ Aunt Aisling told him, probably having figured Lady Atherton might not be the right form of address.
‘Lady Aisling?’ the man echoed. He raised an eyebrow. This was not going well, not going well at all. Mella wondered if she should simply cut and run, leave Aisling to it. But run where? The transporter was broken, so there was no open portal behind her. Running back the way she came might take her out of this building or might not. Since they’d entered on stairs, it might simply lead to an upper storey. And even if she did get out of the building, what good would that do her? She was somewhere in Haleklind. There were bound to be securities surrounding the building where the Table of Seven met. She would be captured the moment she ran into them. Captured or killed.
A cowled figure leaned across to whisper something in the ear of the woman at the head of the table. They both turned to look directly at Mella. ‘Are you sure, Companion Aubertin?’ asked the woman at the head of the table.
‘I saw her once at a State occasion, Companion Ysabeau,’ the man told her.
The woman Ysabeau called out, ‘Are you Culmella Chrysotenchia?’
Mella swallowed. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she called back.
‘And this … lady, is your father’s sister? From the Analogue World?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Mella repeated.
Ysabeau made a gesture and the Goblin Guard vanished. She stood up and walked towards the staircase. ‘Lady Aisling, Princess Culmella, on behalf of the Table of Seven, may I welcome you to Haleklind.’
Twenty-Six
Companion Ysabeau showed them to a magnificently appointed suite of rooms and left them to freshen up. Aisling was ecstatic.
‘See?’ she said. ‘See? Didn’t I say we’d be treated like visiting dignitaries? Didn’t I tell you?’ She raced into her bedroom and, moments later, raced out again. ‘My God, Culmella, come and see this!’
Mella dutifully followed her back in. Aunt Aisling had opened a massive wardrobe. ‘Look!’ she exclaimed. ‘Look what she’s given me!’ There were dresses and frocks, evening wear and daywear, there were suits, there were jackets, there were tops, there were shirts, there were blouses, there were trousers, there were slacks, there was silk, there was satin, there was cloth-of-gold, there were hats, there were tunics, there were scarves, there were overcoats, there were furs and skins and fabrics with patterns and fabrics with prints and fabrics that had magically moving pictures. ‘They fit!’ Aisling exclaimed. ‘They’re all my size!’
Of course they fit, Mella thought crossly. That’s your basic clothing spell – where have you been?
‘Look!’ In her enthusiasm Aisling jerked a drawer out of its fittings so that the contents cascaded in a glittering pile on to the floor. This one even brought Mella up short. The drawer was packed with accessories, mainly jewellery and gemstones. Mella recognised opals, sapphires, amethysts, rubies, emeralds, tourmalines, spinels, aquamarines, moonstones, agates, sunstones, turquoises, amber, topazes, aventurines, bloodstones, polished coral and garnets, jade, olivines, zircons and, most common of all, diamonds. Some were crafted into brooches, bracelets and pendants, some clearly meant as a gem dusting for clothing, but all, without exception, had been carefully hand-painted with spell coatings. As a result, they sparkled brightly, sang gently and emitted the most heavenly of scents. Some even moved sinuously or slowly revolved.
‘I just want to …’ Mella said, glancing at the door.
‘But you simply have to see this!’ Aisling sang, flinging open yet another wardrobe cabinet. Mella groaned inwardly. ‘Shoes!’ screamed Aisling delightedly.
The cabinet had been treated so that it expanded once the door was opened, converting into storage space equivalent to a small warehouse. Within it were racks upon racks, stacked like shelves, each one displaying thousands of pairs of shoes. Pinpoint spotlights flashed on and off at random to highlight one pair after another for inspection. Mella had seen the system before, but only in commercial premises and on a markedly smaller scale.
‘You can walk in,’ she said, hoping to get rid of Aisling. She needed to think. She mistrusted Companion Ysabeau – and all the other sinister hooded Companions – with every fibre of her being. She needed to get away from her over-excited aunt and take a little planning time to herself, away from the girlie co
ncerns of clothes and shoes. She needed to warn her parents about the invasion of the Empire.
Aisling did walk in, a trance-like, blissed-out expression on her face, and Mella took the opportunity to leave the bedroom. She was in the living area – vast, brightly lit, with ormolu furnishings and more spell coatings per square foot than she’d seen anywhere else in the entire Faerie Realm – when Aunt Aisling reappeared, noticeably taller than she’d been a few moments before.
‘Look!’ she cooed. ‘Oh, Mella, look!’
Mella groaned inwardly. She had to stop this nonsense. They were in trouble – she knew they were in trouble – and they had to figure a way out. ‘Aunt Aisling –’
But Aisling wasn’t listening. She had put on a gold lamé, off-the-shoulder, ankle-length evening gown that somehow accentuated her height even more, and now twirled in the centre of the floor to show it off. ‘See? Look at the shoes!’
Mella looked at the shoes. They were gold and jewelled high-heels and they floated – levitated – almost three inches above the surface of the floor, carrying Aisling aloft with them.
‘Aren’t they divine?’ Aunt Aisling sang out. ‘Aren’t they just the most amazing things you’ve ever seen? And so comfortable! Honestly, Mella –’
But Mella had had enough. ‘I’d like to show you something, Aunt Aisling,’ she said firmly and walked to the door of their suite that led into the corridor outside. She waited.
‘Well, there’s no need to adopt that tone,’ Aisling said sulkily. ‘If you look in the wardrobe in your room I’m quite sure you’ll find some very nice clothes that are perfectly suited to a girl of your age. Companion Ysabeau most certainly will not have left you out, so there’s no need to be jealous. I tell you what, why don’t we both go to your room together and I’ll help you pick something appropriate. I think they’re planning some sort of reception, probably a banquet in my – our – honour, so you’ll need to be looking quite the proper little princess. I mean, you can hardly go in what you’re wearing now, can you? Much too informal.’
Mella glared at her. ‘Come … over … here!’
Aisling blinked. ‘Honestly, Mella, I don’t know what’s got into you.’ But she glided across just the same.
‘Try the door,’ Mella said quietly.
‘What?’
‘Try the door,’ Mella repeated. She gestured towards the gilded handle.
Aisling frowned at her suspiciously. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why do you want me to go outside?’
‘Try the bloody door!’ Mella hissed furiously. She’d picked up the word from her father who’d once told her it had an impact on humans that was entirely missing in the Faerie Realm, where the adjective was strictly descriptive.
It had an impact on Aisling, all right. She recoiled visibly and her expression of suspicion changed instantly to one of shock. ‘Mella!’ she exclaimed. But all the same she floated forward, circled round Mella as if she might be exuding some miasmic plague, and reached for the handle.
The door was locked, as Mella knew it would be.
From the outside.
Twenty-Seven
They were lying side by side on a four-poster bed. Henry blinked. Somebody had made it up with black satin sheets. The brocade drapes were a deep, gut-clenching red. The curtains at the foot of the bed had been drawn back so he could see part of the room. A spell-driven mural on the wall featured a classical scene of nymphs fleeing listlessly from satyrs. The carpet on the floor was a bilious yellow. He sat up and his head throbbed suddenly, as if he’d drunk himself into a hangover the night before.
‘What ghastly taste,’ he muttered.
Blue gave that funny little moan she always did when she was waking up from sleep and opened her eyes. She looked at Henry, then the curtains, then the moving mural. After a moment, she sat up as well. They were both wearing the same clothes they’d chosen for their Analogue World visit.
‘Looks like we’re back in the Realm,’ Henry said. The mural gave the clue. Unless somebody was using back projection.
‘Yes,’ Blue muttered. She swung her feet on to the floor and stood up. ‘Have you any idea how long we’ve been unconscious?’
‘None.’ Henry shook his head; and wished he hadn’t. ‘Do you have a headache?’
‘Yes.’
‘Long enough for them to portal us back and bring us here, I suppose,’ Henry said. ‘That was Chalkhill and Brimstone.’
‘Yes,’ Blue said again.
‘I thought he was insane.’
‘Brimstone? He was. Probably still is.’ She hesitated. ‘It doesn’t feel as if I’ve been unconscious for very long, but I suppose it’s hard to tell.’
Henry gathered his courage and stood up as well. His head toppled a bit, but failed to fall from his shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again and felt a little better. ‘He used some sort of magic net thing on me.’
‘Me too,’ Blue said. ‘Standard net spell. They play Hael with your nervous system. But it should wear off quickly now we’re awake.’
They looked around the bedroom. The garish theme carried through to the furnishings, but the most noticeable feature was a mirrored dressing table that produced its own light when Henry touched the chair beside it. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and thought, despite everything, he looked rather well.
‘Positive distortion,’ Blue muttered annoyingly. ‘This is the bedroom of someone vain.’
‘Chalkhill?’ Henry said. Which would make sense since they’d been captured by Chalkhill and Brimstone – duh! But why would Chalkhill lock them in his bedroom? Why not in a dungeon somewhere? It was always hard for Henry to believe, but the truth was they were a King and Queen – well, King Consort, anyway. You didn’t kidnap a King and Queen and lock them in your bedroom where anybody might walk in and find them and there was no proper security. That was like something a child would make up as part of a fairy tale. But perhaps it wasn’t a real bedroom. Perhaps it was a dungeon tarted up to look like a bedroom. But whether real or faked, there was just one priority. He looked around. ‘The question is, how do we escape from it?’
‘Window?’ Blue suggested. They walked together to the window and looked out into a well-kept stretch of garden.
Henry ran the palm of his hand gently across the surface of the glass and felt the familiar tingling of his allergy to magic. ‘It’s spell coated,’ he said. The thought occurred to him that the well-kept garden might be an illusion created by the coating. What was really out there might be an angry sea, a lava lake or a forest full of dinosaurs.
‘Could still be breakable,’ Blue said.
Henry doubted it. Chalkhill and Brimstone would hardly imprison them in a room with a breakable window. All the same, he knew better than to argue with Blue, who had a stubborn streak when ideas occurred to her. He looked around until his gaze fell on the dressing table chair. ‘Stand back,’ he said and picked it up.
Blue stood clear as Henry swung the chair against the windowpane. It struck the glass with a resounding thwack and bounced back violently. ‘Jeez!’ Henry gasped, dropping the chair and shaking the shock from his hands.
‘Security glass,’ Blue murmured. ‘This isn’t going to be as easy as we thought.’
Henry, who’d never thought it was going to be easy, put the chair back tidily beside the dressing table. ‘I wonder if there used to be a fireplace …’
‘In a bedroom?’ Blue asked incredulously.
‘If it’s an old house,’ Henry said. ‘They used to have fireplaces in the bedrooms of old houses in my world: I thought it might be the same here.’
‘Not since we discovered magic,’ Blue said. ‘I’m not sure we ever did. Anyway, there’s no fireplace here.’
‘No, I know there’s not. But this is either a new house or an old house that’s been renovated. If it’s a new house there won’t be a fireplace, but if it’s an old house renovated, then one might be hidden.’ If there was one hidden, they might be able to b
reak through and climb up the chimney, assuming the chimney hadn’t been blocked up. He began to tap the wall in the manner of a doctor sounding a patient’s chest, hoping to detect a hollow.
Blue turned away in disgust and walked back to the window. ‘There’s something about that garden …’ she said.
‘I thought it mightn’t be there at all,’ Henry told her. So far, every bit of wall he tapped sounded solid as a rock, possibly because it was actually made of rock.
‘What do you mean – not there?’
‘Scenery spell, or whatever they call it,’ Henry muttered. ‘The tacky coating they use in piddling little town houses to make you think you’re living on a country estate.’ His mind went back to an earlier thought, but he decided not to mention the tarted dungeon theory, which would probably just upset Blue or, worse still, make her cross. He tapped another bit of wall. It sounded solid.
‘I doubt it,’ Blue told him. ‘Scenery spells are cheap and nasty. If you look at them at an angle, there’s nearly always a telltale sheen. There’s nothing like that on this window.’
‘Blue …’ Henry said.
‘Besides, there’s something odd about the garden out there, something –’
‘Blue …’ Henry said again.
‘– familiar. It’s as if –’
‘Blue,’ Henry said, ‘the door’s open.’
She turned and her face took on a look of astonishment that quickly turned to admiration. ‘How on earth did you do that?’
Henry was wondering about that himself. He’d been tapping the wall when he came to the door and something – force of habit probably – made him turn the handle and push. The door had opened easily. For a moment he considered claiming he’d cleverly picked the lock – he liked that look of admiration – but he knew she’d only ask how and the resulting hassle wouldn’t be worth it. Instead he said, ‘I didn’t: it wasn’t locked.’
The Faeman Quest Page 14
