Faerie Wars 02 - The Purple Emperor

by Brennan, Herbie

  Gatekeeper Fogarty didn't come back in the morning.

  Blue found Pyrgus pacing angrily outside the Gatekeeper's lodge. 'Where is he?' he demanded the moment he saw her.

  'How should I know?' Blue asked shortly. 'You're the one he talked to. When did he say he would be back?'

  'Dawn,' Pyrgus grunted. 'That was hours ago.' There were dark rings under his eyes as if he'd been up all night. Blue wondered if he hadn't slept - he certainly hadn't gone to bed that late.

  'Maybe his valet or his housekeeper might know something,' Blue suggested.

  'He doesn't have a valet or a housekeeper,' Pyrgus said crossly. 'He doesn't have any servants at all. Won't trust anybody with him in his lodge. You know what he's like. I can't even get in with the Emperor's master key - he's done something to the locks.'

  The Gatekeeper's lodge was a tight conglomeration of tiny towers and spires within sight of the Purple Palace, but quite separate from it. It was set in formal gardens against the backdrop of the island forest where their father Apatura Iris, the last Purple Emperor, had once enjoyed hunting boar. Pyrgus stared thoughtfully towards that forest now.

  Blue said, 'Perhaps his personal business took him longer than he expected.'

  Pyrgus said abruptly, 'Madame Cardui - what exactly did she say to you?'

  Frowning, Blue said, 'That there was a plot to kill a member of the royal family.'

  'Royal family or royal household?'

  Blue hesitated. After a moment she said, 'Household.'

  'Are you sure?'

  Blue nodded. 'Yes. You're right - she said household. I'm certain.'

  Pyrgus dragged his eyes away from the forest. 'You see, if it's royal family, that means you and me and Comma and - well, you know: limited options. But if it's royal household, that includes the noble families in service and dignitaries like Mr Fogarty.'

  'I know,' Blue said soberly. She stared at Pyrgus. 'You don't really think -'

  She stopped. There was a priest running towards them from the direction of the palace. Running priests spelled trouble, as she knew from long experience. From the corner of her eye she saw small movements in the bushes near the forest's edge - Pyrgus had remembered the heightened security alert all right - but the hidden guards must have recognised the priest since they did not emerge.

  Blue recognised him herself now. His name was Thorn, a member of the Dentaria, the Realm's most ancient Funereal Order. He was in charge of the vigil on the body of her father and would pray daily for the late Emperor's soul until Pyrgus was crowned. To her astonishment, he flung himself to his knees before Pyrgus and herself.

  Thorn was not a young man and it was a moment before he caught his breath. 'Majesty,' he gasped finally, 'Serene Highness, your father - your father - the Emperor, your father - Majesty, your father's body has disappeared.'

  CHAPTER TEN

  Brimstone rose early on his wedding day and pulled back the bedroom curtains with a flourish. Things were looking up already. The narrow street and open sewer outside his old lodgings had been replaced by flower beds and a well-manicured lawn. Widow Mormo was a superstitious woman. She believed it would be bad luck for bride and groom to sleep under the same roof the night before their marriage, so she'd arranged for Brimstone to stop over with her brother, who certainly kept a far more comfortable establishment than his smelly sister.

  Brimstone stretched luxuriously. With a well-stocked cabin in the forest, he could hide from Beleth for months. He walked to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, then popped them into his mouth. The magical residue locked them in place with an audible squelch.

  By the time he'd finished in the bathroom, some silent servant had slipped into his quarters and laid out his wedding suit. Brimstone put it on, admired himself in the mirror, then, humming a catchy little tune, went down to breakfast.

  Widow Mormo's brother was already at the table.

  'Morning, Graminis,' Brimstone said cheerfully.

  'There's eggs,' Graminis grunted. 'Poached, fried or scrambled.' He had the same tattered look as his sister, but nicer eyes.

  'Poached eggs would be just dandy,' Brimstone said. Hell of a lot better than bone gruel, anyway. 'Two please - one hard, one soft.'

  Graminis signalled to some half-visible servant lurking in the gloom of an archway and she scuttled off to fill Brimstone's order. 'Public prints?' asked Graminis, pushing the newspapers towards Brimstone. 'Find out what else is happening in the world this morning?'

  This was the life all right. Brimstone tilted his chair back and unfolded the paper. It was full of the forthcoming Coronation, just two weeks away now, give or take. Public holiday had been declared, processional route was being painted, invitations had gone out. There was a special feature on the dress chosen by the Female Companion, the Princess Royal. Little brat had splashed out on spinner silk, sort of thing you did when you were funded by the public purse. The Male Companion was somebody called Iron Prominent, a name new to Brimstone - probably some hideous Hooray Henry with a receding chin. Emperor Elect Pyrgus was described as Hooking forward to being of service to all the peoples of the Realm, irrespective of creed or race', a sentiment so sugary it made Brimstone want to puke.

  He started to turn to the section that gave news of Faeries of the Night when another Coronation paragraph caught his eye. It was no more than a passing mention of security arrangements at the ceremony. 'Since the new Emperor wishes to maintain contact with the common people, security provisions are to be kept to a minimum, a situation made possible by the continuing closure of all Hael Realm portals.'

  The continuing closure of all Hael Realm portals ... Brimstone frowned. 'Graminis, it says something here about Hael portals being closed.'

  Graminis glanced up from his porridge. 'Didn't you know? Old news now. Hasn't been a functioning Hael portal for ... oh, must be ... must be weeks now.'

  'You mean we can't evoke demons?' He could tell from Graminis's eyes that he was a Faerie of the Night like himself. Nighters had cat's eyes - very light-sensitive. That was why they kept their cities gloomy and most of them wore trendy shades. It also gave them an affinity with demons that the Lighters never had. Demons liked the dark as well.

  'Not so much as an imp,' Graminis said. 'Plays hell with the servant problem.' He giggled suddenly. 'Get it, Silas? Portals closed plays hell with the servant problem.'

  'Very droll, Graminis,' Brimstone acknowledged. 'How did the Lighters close them?'

  'They didn't, not as far as I know. Just happened. Talk is Hael's collapsed.'

  'What, all of it?'

  'So they say. Seems their Prince of Darkness made a doomsday bomb and the damn thing went off in his face.'

  Brimstone felt a rising excitement. If the Hael portals were down, he was free. Without the portals, there was no way Beleth could get to him, except by making the trip the hard way, in a vimana, and that would take years! And if Graminis was right, Beleth might actually be dead. It was incredible.

  'Are you sure all the portals are closed?' he asked.

  'Course I'm sure. Talk of the Realm just after it happened. And believe me, there've been a lot of sorcerers tried opening them again, but ...' He shrugged. 'Take it from me - anybody gets one working and you'll read about it. Headline news, I'd say.'

  Graminis was right. It would be headline news. So Brimstone could come out of hiding now. He could go anywhere he liked and Beleth couldn't touch him even if he were still alive. All he had to do was keep an eye to the public prints for any announcement that the portals might be reopened. If that happened, he could hide again until somebody confirmed whether Beleth had been killed. Meanwhile - his heart leaped at the thought! - it was business as usual. He could cancel the wedding and go back to his glue factory. He could contact Chalkhill again. He could return to his comfortable lodgings in Seething Lane. More importantly, he could go back to his spell books and his gold. He could -

  A thought occurred to Brimstone like a dousing of cold water. He'd tried to sacrif
ice the young Emperor Elect Pyrgus to Beleth. That wasn't the sort of thing the boy was likely to forget. Now he was going to be Emperor, he might just want a little vengeance. Emperors were notoriously vindictive. Maybe it would be better if he didn't return to Chalkhill and the factory just yet. Maybe it would be better if he kept a low profile and scouted things out before making any public moves. Maybe it would be better to let the marriage go ahead, kill the Widow Mormo as planned, and use her cabin as a base. It was perfect!

  Brimstone found he had actually begun to smile.

  'You're looking happy for a man who's about to get married,' Graminis remarked cynically.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lord Hairstreak had two main residences in the Realm. One was on the edge of the capital, where he'd housed his golden phoenix until Pyrgus Malvae had stolen it. The other, newer and much grander, was surrounded by three thousand wooded acres in the heart of Yammeth Cretch. The forest was full of haniels and sliths, so unwelcome visitors seldom got half a mile before being eaten or poisoned. There was a haniel crouched on a branch overlooking the sweep of formal lawn, its wings half furled as if about to leap and glide. Chalkhill eyed it nervously.

  'Shouldn't worry,' Harold Dingy said. 'They don't come near the house.'

  They waited at the bottom of the broad stone steps until a white-gloved, bewigged footman teetered down in high-heeled boots. 'His Lordship will be pleased to see you now,' he announced, staring out a little way above their heads. He handed Dingy a luminous green labyrinth coin and stepped aside. 'Go on! Go on!' he said impatiently. 'You know His Lordship hates to be kept waiting.' He gave Chalkhill a sidelong glance and smiled.

  Dingy favoured him with a sour look, but flipped the coin. It hung in the air for a moment, then moved away up the steps. Dingy and Chalkhill followed hurriedly.

  50

  The great oakwood doors swung open at their approach. As they stepped into the entrance hall, there was a surprised squawk behind them. The doors were closing again, but they just had time to see the footman carried off in the haniel's claws.

  Chalkhill looked at Dingy.

  Dingy frowned. 'Never saw that happen before,' he said.

  They followed the labyrinth coin through a warren of corridors until they reached an antechamber hung with silken drapes. The coin dropped to the ground with a muffled thud.

  Chalkhill found the room vulgar. The drapes were indigo with a narrow scarlet trim and the illusion of leering demons. Why people used demons as art was quite beyond him. Fearfully ugly creatures. If he'd been decorating this room, he'd have used cherubs. Sweet little naked cherubs, all pink and cuddly.

  'It's been a while since I saw His Lordship,' Chalkhill said by way of conversation.

  'Hasn't changed much,' Dingy grunted.

  Nor, when he arrived, had Cossus Cossus, Hairstreak's Gatekeeper. His head still looked too small for his body and he walked as if there was a ramrod up his back. 'Jasper,' he acknowledged, nodding briefly towards Chalkhill.

  'Cossus,' Chalkhill nodded back. Neither of them smiled.

  'I trust you're in good health?'

  'Mustn't complain,' said Chalkhill. He sniffed, then added, 'Despite the prison food.'

  'Not what you're used to, I suppose,' Cossus said sympathetically. He waved an airy hand at Dingy. 'Go away now, Harold - you've done your little bit.'

  Dingy gave him a glare that would have withered grass, but walked off mumbling just the same. Cossus took Chalkhill's arm in an unusually friendly gesture. 'Now, Jasper, His Lordship wants to see you privately. He's waiting in the little Briefing Room.'

  The little Briefing Room was a book-lined study with seven layers of permanent privacy spells that gave it the smell of old leather. Chalkhill had been there only twice before - once when he joined Lord Hairstreak's service, once when Hairstreak required him to kidnap Holly Blue, the Princess Royal.

  Cossus left him at the doorway. 'Your ears only,' he murmured cheerfully. Then, surprisingly, 'Good luck.'

  Lord Hairstreak was staring intently through the window, but turned the instant Chalkhill entered. 'Sit,' he said sharply. He was a small, slight man, dressed as always in black velvet.

  Chalkhill sat. Despite his claim that they were bosom friends, he was actually terrified of Black Hairstreak. The man oozed ruthlessness from every pore. Chalkhill folded his hands in his lap and waited. Beyond Hairstreak he could see through the window what His Lordship had been watching - his footman being devoured by the haniel.

  'You failed me, Jasper,' Hairstreak said quietly. 'You allowed that stupid child to beat you.'

  Chalkhill felt his body chill. The 'stupid child' was Princess Blue, of course, who'd certainly got the better of Chalkhill in the past. He opened his mouth to voice a few excuses, then closed it again. It was safer to let Lord Hairstreak do the talking.

  'I should have left you to rot in jail, you incompetent crud,' Hairstreak hissed furiously. 'Your bungling cost me much.'

  With an enormous effort of will, Chalkhill stopped himself from trembling. There was a chance Hairstreak had brought him here to torture him to death, but he was inclined to believe Dingy's reassurance that there was another job. Or was that just wishful thinking? Would Hairstreak trust him with another job when he'd failed in the last? Outside, the haniel took off from the lawn, carrying the remains of the footman's body. At a height of fifteen feet, the head dropped off and rolled under a rose bush.

  Black Hairstreak's demeanour changed suddenly. He straightened his back and glanced towards the bookshelves. Chalkhill followed his gaze. He seemed to be looking at the twenty-seven volumes of Maculinia's Dreams of Empire.

  Hairstreak said, 'I've decided to give you an opportunity to redeem yourself.'

  Chalkhill said, 'Thank you, Lord Hairstreak.'

  'Oh, don't thank me yet. It's a dangerous mission.'

  Chalkhill said, 'Yes, Lord Hairstreak.'

  'If you fail, you die.'

  Chalkhill said, 'Yes, Lord Hairstreak.'

  'But you won't fail this time, will you, Jasper?'

  Chalkhill said, 'No, Lord Hairstreak.'

  'Good, Jasper, good. Do you know anything about this mission I have for you?'

  Chalkhill licked his lips. 'Your -' He hesitated. What the hell was Dingy's title? He wracked his brains, but nothing came. 'Your, ah, man, mentioned you might not, ah, want young Pyrgus Malvae to become Purple Emperor.'

  Hairstreak rounded on him, eyes glittering. 'I want young Pyrgus Malvae dead - that's what I want! I want him assassinated. I want to make an example of him, Chalkhill. I want him killed publicly and horribly. I want it to happen at the moment of his greatest triumph, just before the Archimandrake crowns him at his Coronation. I want the world to know what happens to those who stand against Lord Hairstreak - and steal his valuable birds. That's what I want, Chalkhill. The question is, are you the man to give it to me?'

  He wanted Pyrgus killed in the middle of his Coronation? That was a suicide mission. Kill the Emperor Elect in the Cathedral with all his guards around him and ten thousand people watching? It might just be possible, but getting away afterwards certainly wasn't. The killer would have a score of swords thrust through him before he took three paces. No way! No way!

  Gripped by those glittering eyes, Chalkhill said, 'I'm your man, Lord Hairstreak!'

  'What's this, Your Lordship?' Chalkhill asked hesitantly. It looked like a bubble wand, but he didn't imagine it really could be. Black Hairstreak was a serious man, and a bubble wand was little more than a child's toy.

  'It's the weapon you will use to kill Prince Pyrgus,' Hairstreak told him grimly. 'It's called a blowpipe - I had it brought in specially from the Analogue World. Looks a little like a bubble wand, doesn't it?'

  'Yes, it does, Your Lordship.' Chalkhill handled the artifact cautiously. It seemed no more than a short, wooden tube with primitive poker-work designs along its surface, but he wasn't familiar with Analogue magic and didn't want to set the thing off accidentally.
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br />   'That's the point,' said Lord Hairstreak. 'We need something that will pass unnoticed through Cathedral security. What better than an innocent bubble wand? Sparkling spheres to celebrate the Coronation of a brand new Emperor. I expect quite a few members of the congregation will be carrying them.'

  Chalkhill looked at the tube. 'But this isn't a real bubble wand?'

  'No.'

  'It's a weapon of some sort?'

  'Yes.'

  It was terribly short and had absolutely no feel of a magical charge. Chalkhill said, 'How will I get close enough to the Emperor Elect to use it, Your Lordship?'

  For the first time Hairstreak actually smiled. 'Ah, Chalkhill, faithful Chalkhill, you actually think I'm sending you to your death, don't you? Some sort of suicide mission, is that what you suspect?'