‘You haven’t?’ Hairstreak asked, feigning surprise.
And Chalkhill still didn’t spot the signs! ‘Actually,’ he said again, ‘I thought you might like to have them.’ Don’t offer them for sale, Brimstone thought, don’t offer them for sale. ‘For a small consideration, of course,’ Chalkhill concluded.
There was a sound like a pistol crack. It took Brimstone a moment to realise that Lord Hairstreak had gripped the marble egg so tightly that it shattered. A stream of powdered marble trickled through his fingers. ‘How about,’ Lord Hairstreak suggested, his eyes on Chalkhill, ‘the small consideration is that I allow you to live another few weeks of your miserable life?’
Chalkhill blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Let them go, you cretin!’ Hairstreak screamed. His face turned bright red and a vein began to pulse on his forehead. ‘Get out of here at once and let them go!’
Chalkhill’s jaw dropped. ‘Don’t you want them? You could ransom them for much more than I’d charge you.’
‘Imbecile! Tort-feasor! Idiot! Goonberry! Crumpmuckler! Your stupidity could ruin all my plans! Get back to your villa and release them. Release them at once!’
‘But if you don’t want them, I could ransom them myse—’
‘No ransom!’ Hairstreak shrieked. ‘Let them go! Apologise! Grovel! Tell them you made a terrible mistake! Make up some story. Fly them out! Fly them home! Fly them anywhere they want to go!’
‘But, Your Lordship, what will I –’
Hairstreak’s small reserves of patience collapsed completely. Brimstone, who could see the trouble coming half a mile away, moved discreetly from the fireplace to take shelter behind a couch. He signalled George to keep clear and watched while Hairstreak hurled himself across the room to grip the lapels of Chalkhill’s designer jacket. To Brimstone’s surprise, he lifted Chalkhill bodily off the ground and slammed him against a wall, something which would have been quite beyond His (littler, shorter) Lordship in the old days.
Something weird happened. Afterwards, Brimstone decided Chalkhill must have overdone his ninja training and acted on reflex without thought of consequences. As Hairstreak held him, Chalkhill unleashed a rain of lethal blows, moving almost faster than the eye could follow, striking Hairstreak with fists, hands, elbows, knees and feet.
‘Eeeeyah!’ Chalkhill shouted.
Nothing happened.
‘Fly them home,’ Lord Hairstreak demanded. ‘Then bring me Culmella.’
It was fascinating. Brimstone could tell Chalkhill was still acting on instinct as he produced a long, serrated knife and plunged it deep into Lord Hairstreak’s heart.
Nothing happened.
Lord Hairstreak relaxed his grip so that Chalkhill slid slowly down the wall. ‘Bring me Culmella.’ Hairstreak gripped the knife and drew it slowly from his heart with a repulsive sucking sound. He smiled into Chalkhill’s face. ‘Otherwise I shall come after you.’
‘That could have gone better,’ Brimstone remarked in the ouklo.
Chalkhill glared at him, but said nothing.
‘Now you’ve antagonised the Queen of the Realm and her King Consort and Lord Hairstreak. Powerful enemies.’
Chalkhill glared at him, but said nothing.
‘And you don’t know where to find Princess Mella,’ Brimstone reminded him. ‘So there’s no way of getting back into Hairstreak’s good books.’
Chalkhill glared at him, but said nothing. George was sitting on the seat beside him, his knees drawn up nearly to his chest because his legs were too long even for a stretch carriage. Not that Chalkhill noticed.
‘And then,’ said Brimstone cheerfully, ‘there’s the problem of getting away after you release Queen Blue. She knows who kidnapped her, of course – she must have seen you clearly before I cracked the spell cone; and besides she knows your house. No talking your way out of this one, is there? Once she gets back to the Purple Palace, she’ll have every guard, soldier and policeman in the kingdom looking for you. Still, there’s one consolation …’
‘What’s that?’ Chalkhill asked, breaking his silence for the first time since they’d left Lord Hairstreak’s Keep.
‘Things can’t get any worse!’ Brimstone cackled.
But he was wrong. When they reached Chalkhill’s villa, they discovered Queen Blue and King Consort Henry were no longer there.
Thirty
‘You’re not hungry again?’ Blue asked in astonishment. ‘At a time like this?’
Henry looked at her blankly, then realised what she was going on about. ‘No, no – this is a kitchen and in a kitchen there are knives. Chalkhill won’t have left us any other weapons, but he might have overlooked something here.’ Since there were no knives on obvious display, he began to pull out drawers.
Blue said, ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ She began to pull out drawers as well. In a few moments they were both equipped with lengthy knives and Henry was also carrying a chopper. ‘Do you think this’ll be enough to fight off the prickleweed?’ Blue asked.
‘I haven’t finished yet,’ Henry told her.
He led her back into the gardens and they walked to the edge of the estate. He gripped the low boundary fence with both hands and began to jerk it violently.
‘What are you doing?’ Blue asked him.
‘I’m trying to break off a piece of this fence,’ Henry said. ‘Actually I’m trying to break off two pieces …’ He renewed his attack, more violently this time.
Blue watched him. After a moment, she asked, ‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘Because the wood is spell impregnated to keep out prickleweed – you can see the plants don’t like to come near it at all. I thought we might be able to use it as shields.’
‘Clever husband!’ Blue grinned. She turned and began to walk back towards the house.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To see if I can find some rope or string,’ Blue called over her shoulder. ‘If we’re going to use shields, we’ll need something to carry them by. I thought I could make us a handle.’
She returned with a coil of rope in time to find Henry ripping out a piece of fencing and now in the process of breaking it in two so they could both have shields. Blue cut the rope to size with her kitchen knife and looped it in a cross over the piece of wood. Once knotted, it meant she could carry the makeshift shield on her arm. She stared at the gap in the fencing. ‘Won’t the prickleweed get in?’
‘Oh yes,’ Henry said. ‘But not before we’re gone.’ He looped his own piece of rope in imitation of Blue’s and hefted his shield on his arm like a hero. ‘With a bit of luck, it may have eaten the entire place by the time Mr Chalkhill gets home.’ He took her hand and led her away from the gap in the fence to the entrance gates of the estate. Beyond them was a short, straight stretch of roadway, clearly spell protected since it was free of vegetation. But then the roadway ended and the prickleweed began. The road itself was obviously not a real road at all, but just a landing strip for ouklos. ‘I’m going to open the gate now – are you ready?’
Blue swallowed and drew her knife. ‘Yes.’
Henry began to open the gate. ‘As far as I know, the Broads aren’t all prickleweed. It can’t grow on rock, for example, and it avoids anywhere with Border Redcaps. Some of the thorn and shrub give it a run for its money as well, although we probably couldn’t get through there anyway. But there are bits and pieces of roads, if we can find them.’
‘Are there?’ Blue looked at him in surprise.
‘Just remnants,’ Henry said. ‘I came across it in one of the Realm histories. Apparently there was a proper network at one time, all magically protected. This was before they developed flying spells. Once that happened, people stopped using the network and it fell into disrepair. But there are still parts of it left and some of them even have their spell coating. I figured if we can get past the worst of the weed surrounding the estate, we might try to find the old roads and see how far they can take us. Might not be the most dire
ct way, but …’ He looked at Blue, letting the sentence trail.
‘Hard to believe we’re so close to the city,’ Blue said. ‘If only we had a flyer.’
‘Well, we haven’t. So we do it the hard way.’ He grinned at her. ‘Chin up, old girl – we’ve been through worse.’
It was meant as a sort of joke – not that Blue would know English people used to talk like that. She didn’t grin back, but stared instead along the open road that stopped so abruptly in the seething mass of vegetation. ‘Henry …’ she said.
‘Mmm?’
‘Just in case …’ She looked up at him soberly. ‘You know …’
He knew all right. For all the knives and shields and brave talk of old road networks, their chances of crossing the Broads alive were slim. ‘Mmm,’ he said again.
‘I want you to know I never regretted a single moment of our life together since we married,’ Blue said quietly. ‘I want you to know I love you.’
He took her hand and they walked together along the landing strip outside Chalkhill’s estate. When they were a few yards from the weed, their hands parted as they arranged their knives and shields. The prickleweed leaned in their direction, as if it somehow sensed their approach. There was something else in the Realm history about the Broads, something about the weed he hadn’t told her. It didn’t strangle you, as many people thought. It secreted a toxic resin on to its thorns and used them to inject it underneath your skin. After a few moments, as the resin reached your bloodstream, you began to feel calm, then lethargic, then downright tired. A creeping paralysis would spread through your body, affecting every part except for your eyelids, your heart and your lungs. Thus, you remained wide awake, capable of seeing, hearing, feeling everything as the prickleweed crawled over your skin and flayed it, piece by piece, to reach the nutrients beneath. It was a brutally slow death, often taking days or even weeks, and, according to the history, perhaps the most agonising you could possibly experience. It occurred to him that if Blue was attacked while he still retained his freedom of action, he might use his knife on her to spare her the horror. He shuddered.
‘I love you too, Blue,’ he said quietly as they walked together towards the weed.
The prickleweed backed away from their shields.
‘That looks hopeful,’ Blue said in a tone of surprise.
‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Henry was just as surprised. He stopped to consider the situation. ‘Our problem is going to be our backs. Once we start to move through the weed, it can attack us from behind. But maybe we could try a trick the Romans used …’
‘What are Romans?’
‘Ancient civilisation in the Analogue World. If they were surrounded in a battle, the legionnaires used to fight back to back. That way, the shield didn’t just protect your front, it protected the man behind you; and his shield protected you. If you and I went into the prickleweed back to back – sort of shuffled along and kept turning like a wheel and kept the shields up firmly and made sure our backs never lost contact and slashed out with our knives and were really, really careful – we might be able to work our way through.’
‘Or else,’ Blue said, ‘we could break off some more fencing and tie shields to our backs as well.’
Henry looked at her with his mouth open, realised what he was doing and closed it again. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘we could definitely do that.’
They returned to the fence and Henry broke more pieces off quite easily. They roped them to their backs and bottoms. ‘How do I look?’ Henry asked, grinning.
‘Very fetching,’ Blue told him. ‘Do you think it’s going to work?’
‘Actually I think it might. I’m surprised nobody’s tried this before – I mean, not tying fencing to your backside, but a spell-coated suit you could wear on the Broads.’
‘I suppose flying is easier,’ Blue said. ‘It’s not as if anybody wants to stroll through the Broads on a nature ramble.’
‘No, I suppose not. Shall we try it?’
They walked off the landing strip with some trepidation, but fronds of prickleweed snapped violently away from them as if stung. After they’d gone close to a hundred yards, Henry began to giggle. ‘This is so easy,’ he said. ‘I think we’re even heading in the right direction. Now all we need to do is find a road.’ He turned to smile at Blue.
‘I think I’ve scratched my hand on something,’ Blue said, frowning.
Thirty-One
Once, when he was a boy, Pyrgus Malvae crashed a personal flyer into a tree that grew close to the main entrance of the Purple Palace. Now, he grazed the same tree by a whisker and, sirens screaming, ploughed up a stretch of turf on the lawn.
The Palace alarms were also sounding wildly as he dropped from his vehicle. He was vaguely aware that without the royal insignia – which he didn’t always remember to display these days – the security systems would have blasted him from the sky. As it was, a stream of guards was pouring from the Palace and running in his direction. He sprinted towards them, fervently hoping their captain was someone who would know who he was. But his hopes were dashed as they came closer and he discovered their leader was a young woman he didn’t recognise.
‘I am Crown Prince Pyrgus,’ he shouted loudly. ‘Brother by blood of Queen Blue, brother by marriage of Consort Majesty King Henry. It is my charge that you take me at once to meet with them.’
The woman stopped a few feet from him and the guards, to his relief, stood down their weapons. She smiled at him benignly. ‘Neither Blue nor Henry can see you at the moment, Pyrgus. Perhaps you might make do with me?’
Pyrgus frowned. The voice sounded familiar, but …‘Who are you?’ he asked, a little sharply.
To his astonishment, the young woman stepped forward and embraced him, with a warm kiss on one cheek. ‘Oh, you are such a sweet boy and always were. It’s Cynthia Cardui, Pyrgus. I’ve had a head peel.’
‘Good Gods, Madame Cardui! You look amazing!’
‘Thank you, Pyrgus. It takes so much effort these days, I’m afraid, but it’s always nice to know one is appreciated.’
‘Why can’t Blue and Henry see me?’
She slipped a hand through his arm. ‘Now, my deeah, I think perhaps that’s something we should discuss in private. Along with the purpose of your delightful surprise visit.’
Pyrgus allowed himself to be led not to the Palace, as it happened, but to a lodge in the grounds. He noticed their escort dropped away once they were within a hundred yards of the door. ‘You’re Gatekeeper now, aren’t you?’ he asked.
‘Since poor Alan died. I don’t often use the lodge – I still think of it as his somehow – but it does have such excellent security. One of the benefits of paranoia.’
‘Do you speak to him much these days?’
‘Not nearly so much as Henry does. I’m afraid I find it very difficult.’
They moved though the door and Pyrgus heard the familiar click of the securities sliding into place. ‘Why can’t Blue and Henry see me?’ he asked at once.
‘Because they’re not actually here.’
‘The flag is still flying.’ He’d noticed it on his approach, despite his speed. The flag meant the sovereign was in residence. Henry might have taken himself off somewhere, but Blue must certainly be about.
‘A small subterfuge, I’m afraid,’ Madame Cardui told him. ‘In the current emergency Queen Blue and I deemed it best that all seemed business as usual at the Palace. When they left, I substituted dopplegangers. Poor creatures are too silly to rule, of course, but they’re quite capable of making small talk at State functions and waving from a balcony.’
‘What emergency?’ Pyrgus asked at once. Sometimes he almost regretted his life with the sanctuary and vineyard: it felt so cut off from the excitement of the capital.
Madame Cardui sighed. ‘I’m afraid Miss Culmella has been misbehaving again. Would you like a drink? Or perhaps not, since you’re flying. Unless you’d like to stay the night, of course. Although I don’t know when your
sister might be back. Mella has disappeared – run away. Blue and Henry are searching personally and I, of course, have my best agents at work. Without much result, I am embarrassed to tell you. I suspect it has been much the same for Blue and Henry, since I haven’t heard from them.’
‘I think I know where Mella is,’ Pyrgus said.
Madame Cardui, who’d been fussing by the drinks cabinet, set the bottle down abruptly. ‘What?’
‘I think she may be in Haleklind,’ Pyrgus said.
‘I cannot imagine a less likely place,’ Madame Cardui murmured, but her tone indicated she was taking him completely seriously. Her ability to adjust to the unlikely was what made her an excellent spymaster. She looked at Pyrgus soberly. ‘Specifically where in Haleklind?’
‘Specifically, being held prisoner by the ruling Table of Seven.’
This time, Madame Cardui failed to hide her shock. ‘Are you sure?’
Pyrgus shook his head. ‘No, I’m not sure. But I had it from someone I trust, who assures me his source is sound.’
‘Does the Table of Seven know who she is?’
‘I don’t know. It’s possible they may not, but you’d imagine she must have told them.’
‘Unless she’s playing one of her silly games. What is she doing in Haleklind? I assume she entered the country illegally?’
‘I don’t know that either.’
Madame Cardui felt for a chair and sat down. Despite the head peel, Pyrgus suddenly realised how old she really was; and how worried. There was tiredness in her eyes, but determination too. ‘Help me here, Pyrgus: can you imagine any reason for your niece to go to Haleklind?’
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know my niece all that well,’ Pyrgus told her. ‘I mean, I see her from time to time and I watched her turn into a young woman, but since I renounced the throne, I’ve kept away from the Palace as you know, so I’m not exactly in close touch. But I can tell you why I visited Haleklind at her age …’
The Faeman Quest Page 16
