Ruler of the Realm fw-3

by Herbie Brennan

  Underneath the hospital smell there was another smell that seemed strangely familiar. It was almost like the smell of the Lethe cones he used on his mother to make her forget when he -

  Henry stopped dead in a moment of rising excitement. He couldn’t be, could he?

  He didn’t want to try the door in case he met somebody with his bottom bare, but there was a wardrobe in the room and when he opened it, there were his clothes all freshly washed and neatly pressed and there were other clothes – his size! – like this cool green tunic and that meant he had to be, he just had to be back in the Realm, back in the Purple Palace, although he’d no idea how he got here.

  Henry threw away the silken robe and got dressed faster than he’d ever done in his life. Then he threw open the door and stared down the sumptuous corridor and knew, with absolute certainty, he was in the Purple Palace. This was so, so good.

  He thought he might see if he could find Blue.

  Seventy-eight

  ‘What do we do now?’ Pyrgus whispered. He felt really stupid having to admit it in front of Nymph, but he hadn’t an idea in his head. He’d been so thoroughly focused on finding the crystal flowers that it never occurred to him they might have been moved.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Nymph whispered back. They were lying side by side in tall grass staring at the remnants of the Ogyris glasshouse. The broken glass and flowers were gone, but the foundation wall and portions of the skeleton structure remained. Their men were sprawled out in various concealments behind them. ‘Do you think Mercer Ogyris may have stored them in the house?’

  Pyrgus didn’t know, but it occurred to him that if Merchant Ogyris had taken his flowers into the house, they’d need a lot more men to mount a successful attack. He decided suddenly that while commando raids were fun, he wasn’t really cut out to be a military leader. He turned on his side to look at Nymph and opened his mouth to say something when Nymph asked, ‘How did you find out about the flowers in the first place, Pyrgus?’

  He couldn’t have felt more chilled if Hairstreak’s whole army had marched over the horizon. To his hideous embarrassment, he felt himself suddenly blush crimson.

  ‘Happened to be visiting the estate,’ he muttered. Then added quickly, ‘Do you think it would be a good idea to -?’

  ‘Mercer Ogyris is a Faerie of the Night, isn’t he?’ Nymph interrupted.

  ‘Yes,’ Pyrgus said. ‘I was just thinking -’

  Nymph’s face was expressionless. ‘Why would a Prince of the Light just happen to be visiting a Nighter estate?’ she asked.

  Pyrgus gave up his attempt to divert the conversation and went back to muttering. ‘Bit of business,’ he said. He looked away, unable to hold her eye.

  Nymph wouldn’t leave it alone. ‘With Mercer Ogyris?’

  ‘If is orter,’ Pyrgus mumbled into a nearby bush.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Nymph said politely.

  ‘With his daughter,’ Pyrgus said, marginally more clearly.

  ‘Oh,’ said Nymph, ‘Mercer Ogyris has a daughter?’

  This was turning into a major disaster. First the time flowers were missing and now Nymph was on the point of finding out about Gela. He decided to brazen it out.

  ‘Oh, yes, I believe so. I mean, I know so. Met her. Once or twice. Not often. Plain little thing. Very plain. Quite young. Just a child, really.’

  Nymph said, ‘And what… business did you have with this very plain little young child thing?’

  ‘Oh, you know…’ Pyrgus shrugged.

  ‘No, I don’t know,’ Nymph said coolly. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

  To Pyrgus’s intense relief one of the soldiers wriggled through the grass and came to a halt beside them. He snapped off an awkward salute.

  ‘Channel, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Channel?’ Pyrgus echoed. It had been fun while it lasted, but he definitely wasn’t cut out to lead a military operation.

  ‘Yes, sir. Channel, sir,’ the soldier repeated. He was a small, wiry man with sunken eyes. He may have seen the blank look on Pyrgus’s face, for he added, ‘Incoming, sir.’

  Nymph must have seen the look as well. She leaned over to whisper in Pyrgus’s ear. ‘He’s a communications medium. There must be a message from the palace. Or possibly my mother. Tell him to go ahead.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘You call him CC. Official title. Stands for Communications Channel.’

  ‘Go ahead, CC,’ said Pyrgus briskly.

  ‘Have to sit up, sir – can’t do it lying down.’

  Pyrgus glanced around. Thanks to the cock-up about the crystal flowers, there wasn’t a guard in sight. They’d probably be safe doing a Circle Dance, let alone just sitting up.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Woodfordi, sir.’

  ‘Go ahead, Woodfordi.’

  The little CC sat up and crossed an ankle over each thigh in an impossible contortion. He placed his hands palm upwards on his lap and circled his second fingers to touch his thumbs. His eyes squinted alarmingly as he focused on the tip of his nose. He breathed deeply and his eyelids began to droop.

  After a moment he trembled, then announced in a deep, booming voice, ‘Military Guide Communications Headquarters here, acting as Spiritual Gatekeeper to this human vessel. Incoming message for His Royal Highness Prince Pyrgus Malvae.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Nymph instructed, apparently giving up on Pyrgus entirely.

  The CC trembled again and his features sagged. ‘Is that you, deeah?’ he asked.

  Pyrgus looked at Nymph who nodded encouragingly. ‘Yes,’ he said uncertainly.

  ‘Have you secured the flowers yet?’

  ‘Actually…’ A pained expression locked itself into Pyrgus’s features.

  ‘Never mind that for the moment, deeah,’ said Madame Cardui’s voice, deepened a little by the CC’s vocal cords. ‘There’s been a small change of plan. Are you alone?’

  ‘Nymph’s here,’ Pyrgus said. ‘And the CC, of course.’

  ‘The CC won’t remember anything,’ Madame Cardui said. ‘I’m glad Nymph’s there – how are you, deeah?’

  ‘Fine, thank you, Painted Lady,’ Nymph said easily.

  Even through the Channel, Madame Cardui’s tone turned crisp. ‘Now, Pyrgus, the situation has changed since you left the palace. The Faeries of the Night have launched a pre-emptive strike against our forces, and -’

  ‘What!?’ Pyrgus exclaimed; and even Nymph looked shocked. ‘We’re at war? A civil war?’

  ‘Believe me, I was taken as much by surprise as you are, deeah. I’m afraid fighting has already started. It’s a tragedy, but now we have to deal with it. What -’

  ‘Where’s Blue?’ Pyrgus interrupted.

  ‘She’s here beside me, deeah. She’s safe and completely -’

  ‘I want to talk to her,’ Pyrgus said.

  Blue’s voice came through immediately. She sounded brisk as well. ‘Pyrgus, I want you to -’

  ‘How are you?’ Pyrgus asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Blue said. ‘Henry was… look, that doesn’t matter now: I’ll tell you all about it when you get back. I want you to listen to Madame Cardui. We’ve spotted something that may be important to the war effort.’

  War effort, Pyrgus thought. It had happened. The greatest disaster in the history of the Realm and now they summed it up in two words.

  ‘Yes, OK,’ he said.

  Madame Cardui’s voice replaced Blue’s. ‘I take it you haven’t found the flowers?’

  ‘Not really,’ Pyrgus admitted, thinking it sounded a little better than Not at all.

  ‘That doesn’t matter for the moment. This is more important. Do you know how to get to the Eastern Desert?’

  ‘I do,’ Nymph whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ Pyrgus said loudly, glaring at her: he wasn’t a complete idiot.

  ‘How long will it take you to reach it from where you are now?’

  Pyrgus frowned. ‘Not very long – we’ve flyers inside the estate and we’re right inside Yammeth Ci
ty. Once we get back to the flyers, it’s only fifteen minutes to the wasteland.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Madame Cardui. ‘You’re the closest people we have. Now, this is what I want you to do: fly to the desert at once. You and Nymphalis and your CC. No one else. This mission is top-secret – above top-secret, really. I’d prefer it was just you and Nymphalis, but you must get word back to me as quickly as possible, so the CC goes too. The rest of your people will just have to find the time flowers on their own – appoint a temporary officer commanding and leave them to it.’

  ‘Madame Car-’ Pyrgus began, but Madame Cardui wasn’t listening.

  ‘Your triangulation is 38/17/105. Will you remember that?’

  ‘Yes, of -’

  ‘I will, Painted Lady,’ Nymph put in, interrupting him.

  ‘Good. Thank you, Nymphalis: it’s such a relief to have someone mature and experienced on this mission – I did clear it with your mother, of course.’ Even from the CC’s mouth it was possible to hear the change of tone as a worried note crept in. ‘You can land at that triangulation, deeahs, but I’m afraid you’ll have to make the rest of your way on foot. I would have preferred you to stay in the flyer, but the volcanic thermals make it quite impossible for you to travel further by air. But this is a dangerous mission and I want you to be extremely careful.’

  ‘I’ll look after him,’ Nymph promised, to Pyrgus’s fury.

  ‘Thank you, deeah. Now, from your landing coordinates, you should proceed north-east – directly north-east. The good news is it isn’t far – an hour’s march, two at most, and you may get some help from the nomads, although I wouldn’t count on it. The worst will be the hills: there’s a range of low, volcanic hills. But once you top that, you should have a clear view of what is happening.’

  ‘But what is ha-?’ Pyrgus tried to ask.

  ‘I want no heroics, Pyrgus. No guerrilla tactics, nothing like that. In fact, I want you to make sure you aren’t even seen. Just use the CC to report back to me at once.’

  ‘What am I reporting on?’ Pyrgus blurted desperately.

  ‘It looks as if Lord Hairstreak may have found some allies,’ said Madame Cardui.

  Seventy-nine

  Unexpectedly, Madame Cardui stood on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the cheek. ‘I need to see you in my office, Alan,’ she whispered. ‘Door on your right – I’ll join you in a moment.’

  You learned a little every day, Fogarty thought. An office in the palace upstairs and now an office off the Situation Room. A remarkable woman by any measure. Sometimes he got luckier than he’d any right to ask for. All he needed now was time to enjoy it.

  He looked around. Madame Cardui’s office was small, but remarkably well-appointed. She had a desk and one of those expensive new-fangled chairs that moulded itself to your bottom and squeezed it every so often to remind you you were still alive. A biological storage unit oozed and bubbled in a cauldron in the corner. A spell-driven food butler stood ready in case she wanted a snack. There was even a reproducing chair for visitors, lurking on the floor ready to clone itself indefinitely depending on how many visitors there were – you could tell its talent from the creepy black material that covered it.

  But the thing that caught his attention was the miniaturised view globe sunk into the desk. That was a levitator for sure, hence state-of-the-art. It had to be linked with the view globes in the Situation Room, but there wasn’t a wire or cable in sight. Little gizmos like that were always hideously expensive, but the taxpayers were probably paying for it.

  He was reaching for the reproducing chair when Madame Cardui bustled in and closed the door carefully. She pressed a thumb on the built-in spell cone and the leathery smell of privacy enchantments filled the room. Well-oiled locks slid into place.

  ‘I thought it best we talk on our own, dahling,’ she told him as she walked across the room. ‘The Generals are fine men in their way, but you can never be sure how they’ll interpret the concept of loyalty. And with so much bustle, you never know who might listen in. Besides, I suspect Hairstreak has a spy eye in there despite our sweeps.’

  ‘Trust nobody,’ Fogarty growled. The chair had sensed his singularity and inhibited its tendency to reproduce. He parked his bottom with a scowl. The surface felt dank and unappealing, an effect he suspected was deliberate. Cynthia was exactly like himself. She did nothing to encourage visitors to outstay their welcome. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

  She walked across the room to take her own seat. ‘There’s something I want you to look at…’ She set both hands on her desk and the globe levitated to eye level. As it began to glow, she said, ‘Pull your chair over, Alan: this isn’t awfully easy to see, even close up.’

  Fogarty set his jaw and pulled the chair across. He leaned forward. A scene began to form as the globe heated and suddenly he was staring into a scorched wasteland of barren rocks and smoky fume.

  ‘You haven’t managed to get a spy eye into Hael?’ he asked, using the Realm pronunciation. If she had, he was impressed.

  But Madame Cardui was shaking her head. ‘No, deeah. That’s not Hael. It’s a segment of the desert to the east of Yammeth Cretch. Fumaroles… gas vents… lava flows… boiling mud springs – they tell me it’s the most volcanically active area on the face of the planet. Nobody lives there except a few nomadic Trinians and even they find life hard going. The Nighters look on it as a protection for that flank of their city – try to march men across that and you’d lose nine-tenths of them before you met a single enemy. But look…’

  After a moment, Fogarty asked, ‘What am I looking for?’

  Madame Cardui’s slim hand floated forward to point. ‘See that ridge? There’s a break – some sort of opening, quite a large one, deeah, except that it’s partly hidden by the dust that’s venting. The view varies, but keep your eye on… here, just here. It’ll clear in a moment, then you should catch a glimpse…’

  ‘Can’t you get a close-up?’ Fogarty asked. ‘Zoom the lens or whatever it is you do here?’

  Madame Cardui shook her head again. ‘We don’t actually have a spy eye in the desert – there’s so much sulphur venting that any moisture turns to acid. The eyes are moist, of course, so it eats through their spell coating in a matter of hours. Simply isn’t worth installing them. And for what, usually? A few wandering Trinians? No, the eye you’re looking through is on the eastern gate of Yammeth City. It’s normally turned on the city itself: there are a few spell factories in that quarter we like to keep an eye on, forgive the bad pun. But one of them blew up last week – some sort of industrial accident involving sprites, I believe. In any case, the energy discharge turned the eye around. No damage, just turned it so it was looking out across the desert. What with everything that’s been going on, we didn’t get round to sending an agent to correct it. Then earlier today, a monitor noticed this -’

  ‘Noticed what?’ Fogarty asked.

  ‘Just keep watching where my – there, see the dust is clearing. Watch there. There’s a break in the ridge. When you see it, look through it.’

  Fogarty watched. The dust plume did seem to be thinning a little, but he still couldn’t see the break in the ridge. And then suddenly he could. For scarcely more than a second he was glimpsing what seemed to be a plain covered in black dots. The trouble was, you couldn’t work out the perspective. You didn’t know if you were looking at ants or armoured cars.

  ‘Did you see that?’ Madame Cardui asked.

  ‘Think so. Not sure.’

  ‘What do you think it is?

  Fogarty shrugged. ‘I don’t know. What do you think it is?’

  ‘I think it’s Beleth,’ Madame Cardui said.

  Eighty

  ‘Beleth?’ Fogarty echoed. ‘The King of Hell?’

  ‘Well, technically his title is Prince of Darkness, deeah, but yes, that Beleth.’

  Fogarty shook his head, frowning. ‘The Hell portals are closed.’

  ‘There may be new ones. Blue says t
he demons have been planning an invasion.’

  ‘How does Blue know what the demons are planning?’ Fogarty asked.

  Madame Cardui stared at him, then shook her head impatiently. ‘I’m sorry, deeah. I forgot you were with the Forest Faerie when Blue came round. Blue was kidnapped by the demons using Henry as their agent.’

  ‘Good God!’ Fogarty exclaimed. He did a double take. ‘Using Henry ?’

  ‘They implanted him. We’ve just had it removed. I’ll tell you the whole story when we have more time,’ Madame Cardui promised. ‘Just now, the important thing is Blue has information about a possible demon invasion. I’m worried this might be it. If Beleth’s troops join up with the Faeries of the Night, we’re finished.’

  ‘I take your point,’ Fogarty said. He leaned forward to peer into the crystal ball again. ‘But are you sure those dots are demons?’

  ‘No, of course not. That’s why I’ve sent Pyrgus to find out.’

  ‘You sent Pyrgus?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Fogarty blinked. ‘Bit dangerous if you happen to be right.’

  ‘He was close and I can trust him. This is no time for niceties – we’re at war and I need to know what we’re facing. Besides, Nymphalis is with him: next to Kitterick I don’t know anyone who could protect him better.’

  Fogarty tore his eyes away from the scene in the globe. ‘Does Blue know?’

  Madame Cardui withdrew her hands and the globe sank back down into the recess in her desk. ‘About Pyrgus? Yes, she was with me when I sent him.’

  ‘Where is Blue anyway? Shouldn’t the Queen be running her own war?’

  ‘She certainly agrees with you on that,’ Madame Cardui said. ‘She was in the Situation Room until she came close to collapse. I finally bullied her into taking a rest – she’s still recovering from the effects of demon poisoning. But I expect she’ll be back before long.’

  ‘But she knows about these demons, does she?’ Fogarty waved his hand towards the globe.

  ‘Assuming they really are the demons,’ Madame Cardui sighed, ‘and not a figment of an old woman’s imagination. No, she doesn’t and I don’t plan to worry her until we know for sure.’