‘Me and Blue?’ Beleth turned him into a demon so he could have a baby with Blue and the baby would grow up to be the next Purple Emperor and Beleth would have a demon on the throne? Henry thought he was about to vomit, but it was as much embarrassment as disgust. He didn’t want to hear the details, but he had to hear them anyway. This was so bad it couldn’t get any worse. ‘And I actually asked Blue to… to… you know…’
‘Yeah, you did,’ said Mr Fogarty.
‘What did she say?’ Henry heard his mouth ask.
Mr Fogarty looked at him without expression. ‘She didn’t tell me.’
After a moment Henry said, ‘But we didn’t do anything?’ If they did anything, he would have to leave the Realm. He could never face Blue again. He could never face himself again. He’d have to join a monastery.
‘Did quite a lot from what I gather,’ Mr Fogarty told him. ‘You killed a demon, for one thing. Wrung its neck or something.’
That was so stupid he didn’t even bother questioning it. ‘We got away.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Mr Fogarty gave him a ridiculous nod and wink. ‘You’re a bit of a hero, Henry.’
But he wasn’t a bit of a hero. He wasn’t any sort of a hero. How could he ever face Blue again after what he’d done to her? Beleth had turned him into a monster.
Henry stopped. When had he turned back? ‘Mr Fogarty,’ he said, frowning, ‘if the implant turned me into a demon, how come I helped Blue escape?’
‘They deactivated it,’ Mr Fogarty said. ‘They reckoned Blue would know it wasn’t you when you tried to jump her bones, so they switched it off.’ His mouth twitched slightly as if he was trying to suppress a smile. ‘Beleth figured the two of you would get it on of your own accord if he just left you alone long enough. Do his dirty work for him.’ The smile actually appeared now. ‘That’s really something, Henry. People must be talking about you and Blue all the way to -’
But Henry was still frowning. ‘Wait a minute, Mr Fogarty.’
‘- Hell!’ Fogarty concluded.
Henry said, ‘There’s something wrong.’
Ninety-two
Pyrgus had never seen a Goblin Guard before. This contingent was the traditional grouping of five – four male, one female, all dressed alike in one-piece silver jumpsuits and thick-soled silver boots. They were demons in their original unshifted form, grey-skinned, large-headed and with enormous jet-black eyes. Not one of them stood much higher than his waist, but they were by far and away the most dangerous creatures on the surface of the planet. They gambolled forward on spindly legs like playful monkeys, chittering with the sound of clacking lobster claws.
‘Don’t look at their eyes!’ Pyrgus screamed. But it was already too late. Nymphalis had set down her weapons and was walking blank-faced towards the demons.
Pyrgus hurled himself forward and struck her at an angle with his shoulder. The blow was so severe it took her off her feet and she fell heavily on the stony ground.
‘Sorry,’ Pyrgus murmured, but the move had the desired effect: Nymph rolled and sprang to her feet again, eyes clear.
And weaponless.
Woodfordi, eyes firmly fixed on the ground, was scrabbling for something in his kit and emerged with a coated short sword, one of the few effective weapons against a Goblin Guard. The blade writhed with military grade offensive spells. As it appeared, the female goblin stopped dead and closed her enormous eyes. Woodfordi began to groan.
‘What’s wrong?’ Pyrgus shouted.
‘CCs… particularly… particularly susceptible,’ Woodfordi gasped. ‘Even without… eye contact. Take… take the sword. Halek…’ He shook his head.
‘Nagel!’ Pyrgus howled, then remembered the Trinians were running away from the planned explosions. They were probably already out of earshot.
The four male goblins were closing in on Nymph. They had tiny pouting mouths and slits for noses, but there was a look of triumph on their faces. Woodfordi was pouring sweat now. The sword in his hand was turning towards his own throat.
‘Help me,’ he said weakly.
But it was Nymph Pyrgus ran to help. He met the goblins and stabbed the nearest with his Halek knife. The blade swept upwards between the creature’s ribs to pierce its heart.
The energy discharge was astonishing. Blue fire enveloped the goblin in a writhing aura so that its body jerked and twitched like a beached fish. For just the barest moment its eyes clouded, then it reached down, gripped the blade and snapped it with a single movement.
Pyrgus had no time for surprise. The backlash of pure energy lifted him off his feet and threw him backwards for several yards. He hit the ground with mind-numbing violence, but at least the pain convinced him he was still alive. Perhaps it was the discharge of energy into the goblin that had saved him. Whatever the reason, he was still in the fight.
Like a flock of birds, all five demons whirled to run towards him.
Woodfordi’s body straightened, but he was trembling so violently that he dropped his sword. Now Nymph was beside him.
‘Take it!’ Woodfordi gasped. ‘I can’t use -’
Nymph swooped on the sword and spun round in a single movement. Moving with that superhuman speed Pyrgus remembered so well from the time he’d fought her himself, she lashed out at the nearest goblin and severed its arm at the shoulder.
The creature set up a howling that issued not just from its mouth but from its mind. Woodfordi slapped his hands over his ears and sank to his knees. Pyrgus, who was climbing to his feet, jerked uncontrollably and staggered. His body felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. His own shoulder was on fire. Only Nymph seemed unaffected. She was still on her feet, still moving swiftly as she attacked the remaining demons.
But fast as she was, the demons were faster. One ran towards her and, to Pyrgus’s astonishment, jumped like an insect right over her head. The move clearly took Nymph by surprise as well, for she hesitated. The goblin landed, bounced and turned. The other four fanned out. To his horror, Pyrgus saw that the one with the missing arm was still on his feet, moving as a greenish ooze solidified to close up his wound. In an eye blink, Nymph was surrounded.
With no weapon now, Pyrgus picked up a rock and threw it at the nearest goblin. It struck the creature violently on the back of her hairless head, causing her to stagger. She turned to look accusingly at Pyrgus, who jerked his head to avoid the mesmerising eyes. It was obvious the goblin was more surprised than injured, but it was all the opportunity Nymph needed. She jumped to push the creature to one side and broke free from the circle. She still had Woodfordi’s sword.
Pyrgus had picked up another rock and was running towards the goblins now. Even the shattered Woodfordi had straightened up and seemed to be searching his kit for another weapon. Pyrgus was now beside Nymph, who seemed less pleased to see him than he’d have hoped.
‘Stay away!’ she hissed. ‘Your blade is broken.’
The goblin who lost the arm opened its lipless mouth to reveal needle teeth. The others produced short swords. The weapons had polished obsidian blades. The demons’ eyes focused on Nymph and they moved towards her in a single unit. She lashed out with her blade, but this time the goblins parried easily.
‘Nagel!’ Pyrgus shouted again in desperation.
Woodfordi tossed Pyrgus a military dagger then rolled something along the ground into the midst of the goblins. ‘Clear!’ he shouted urgently. ‘Run clear!’
Nymph swung away from the goblins, grabbed Pyrgus and hauled him away at a run. Woodfordi was running too. There was a curious clicking sound, then the familiar scent of raw spell craft. Pyrgus glanced over his shoulder in time to see the multicoloured flash. Vast quantities of smoke and dust rose up.
It was a self-limiting explosion, military magic designed for mass destruction at close range. There was no noise, no shock wave, no rolling blast. Pyrgus, Nymph and Woodfordi all stopped and turned to watch. The devastation was incredible. Where the demons had stood was a huge, blackened crater with wi
sps of smoke still rising towards the relentless sky.
‘Well done, Woodfordi!’ Pyrgus exclaimed admiringly.
Then, at the edge of the crater, a goblin head emerged, reddened by the dust of the desert but otherwise intact. It was the creature Nymph had injured, pulling itself up with its one remaining arm. Another head appeared, then another. The liquid eyes were filled with hate.
Beyond the crater, a second group of rocks was morphing into another Goblin Guard. Then another appeared and another. The wasteland was filled with the clack of lobster claws.
‘Good grief!’ Nymph exclaimed, eyes wide.
‘Run!’ Pyrgus shouted.
But Nymph failed to move. ‘Run where?’ she asked.
Pyrgus looked around him desperately. Behind them towered the Great Cliff, sheer, unclimbable, impassable. Before them Goblin Guards approached. Beyond them, more Guards morphed out of their disguises. The creatures were walking towards them with a terrifying, slow deliberation. This time there was no escape.
Pyrgus moved beyond all thought of consequence. He grabbed the arms of his two companions and, dragging them behind him, plunged into the nearest Hael portal.
A tightly knit three-man Goblin Guard was on their heels.
Ninety-three
There was a discreet knock on the bedroom door before it opened silently. Madame Cardui, who suffered most fearfully from insomnia, was propped up in her bed, resplendent in a flowing peignoir, reading some State papers. She glanced up over the top of her spectacles at the figure who slipped in.
‘Ah, Kitterick, you’re back.’
‘Indeed, Madame,’ Kitterick confirmed.
‘We are at war, Kitterick.’
‘So I understand from your guards, Madame.’
‘You saw nothing of it?’
‘I was fortunate in the route I took to return.’ He began to tidy the room, a routine that came easily to him.
‘You’ve been away a long time. Mrs Ogyris, I presume?’
‘I fear so, Madame. Did Pyrgus not inform you directly?’
Madame Cardui sighed. ‘He was the soul of discretion. Were your efforts fruitful?’
‘In a manner of speaking, Madame.’
‘Information on the war?’
Kitterick shook his head. ‘I fear not, Madame. It was not a development I anticipated, so I concentrated on the time flowers.’
Madame Cardui removed her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘It was not a development any of us anticipated, Kitterick. Will the time flowers prove our undoing?’
Lanceline, Madame Cardui’s translucent cat, appeared from underneath a table and wound herself around Kitterick’s ankles. He reached down and absently fondled her ears.
‘No, Madame, they will not,’ he said emphatically.
‘Ah,’ said Madame Cardui and waited.
‘Pyrgus appears to have destroyed them,’ Kitterick said.
She frowned. ‘Pyrgus told me they had been removed.’
Kitterick shook his head. ‘Not then – on his previous visit. When he shattered the glasshouse.’ He moved deferentially towards the bed, produced a single crystal bloom from the pocket of his jerkin and presented it almost gallantly to Madame Cardui.
‘Why, thank you, Kitterick. This is one of the actual flowers?’ The thing was exquisite, like some wonderful artwork.
‘Yes, Madame. But it no longer functions to control time. None of them do. For that one needs a living flower and this one, like the others, is now dead. They require a special atmosphere to grow. When picked they can be preserved for several hours by means of a sealant spray. After that they become inert. The glass was supposed to be impervious – Merchant Ogyris never imagined anyone would be idiot enough to attack it with a Halek knife. When Pyrgus broke it, there was no one to spray the preservative. The entire harvest died within minutes.’
‘I see,’ said Madame Cardui. She felt a small wellspring of relief. One less problem for the morrow. Lanceline jumped on to the bed, curled herself into a question mark and fell asleep.
‘There is one thing, Madame…’
Something in his tone alerted her at once. ‘Yes, Kitterick?’
‘The flowers were not grown for the Faeries of the Night, as Pyrgus believed. They were to be exported to Hael.’
The relief was replaced by a sudden chill. This was what she had feared. ‘For Beleth to use against us?’
‘It would seem the Realm owes Prince Pyrgus a considerable debt of gratitude, even if he didn’t know what he was doing. Madame Ogyris was not privy to the details, but it appears the demons have been considering a strike against the Faeries of the Light and believed the time flowers would tip the military balance. They approached Merchant Ogyris some time ago, before the portals closed.’
Madame Cardui leaned forward slightly. ‘So this was a long-term plan?’
‘Very much so. The flowers themselves are a Hael plant. In their natural state they control time for no more than a second or so – a defence against insects, I believe. The hybrids Merchant Ogyris was growing could only be produced in the Realm. The light spectrum makes it impossible for them to grow in Hael. So the demons did a deal.’
Madame Cardui shuddered. Beleth was proving an implacable enemy, one far more dangerous than Lord Hairstreak could ever be. If the Realm survived the current crisis, the Intelligence Service would have to pay far more attention to the demons than it had done in the past. If the Realm survived…
She said drily, ‘Madame Ogyris seems to have been most forthcoming, Kitterick.’
Kitterick lowered his eyes modestly. ‘ Most forthcoming, Madame,’ he agreed.
Ninety-four
Blue climbed out of bed.
The strange thing was she’d actually been sleeping, but she was wide awake now and excited. The glow-globes responded to her movement, but she switched them off with a whispered command. Best to alert no one just yet. She walked to the window and silently drew back the curtains. The twin moons of the Realm hung low on the horizon and bathed the room in a soft glow, enough light for her to get dressed.
She moved to the wardrobe, pulling her nightgown over her head. Most of her outfits were severely functional. She’d long preferred boys’ clothes and even now she was Queen her taste hadn’t really changed. But tonight was a special occasion and she had to look her best, so she selected the dress of spider silk she’d commissioned for Pyrgus’s coronation. It was formal, but well suited. Her only regret was that it wasn’t new, but she’d yet to commission another and until she did, the Silk Mistress’s creation was by far the most fetching thing in her wardrobe.
As the slick material flowed over her body, she felt the familiar enchantment. Even without the aid of a mirror she knew she looked superb. She certainly felt elegant and confident. Exactly how she should feel on such an important night. She wondered briefly about make-up, but decided she really needed no illusion spells. She was young, she was fresh, and in the spider silk she knew she was attractive. Nobody needed more than that.
As she left her quarters, her personal guard moved to accompany her, but she waved them away with a gesture. They’d talk, of course. They’d speculate about her midnight wanderings. But that didn’t matter. In an hour or two, everyone would know anyway.
The Purple Palace was a building so gigantic that new servants often disappeared for days while they wandered its passages and corridors. Ten years ago, one unfortunate actually starved to death in a disused wing, unable to find a food store. When the emaciated body was discovered, Blue’s father, then the Purple Emperor, ordered maps placed at strategic locations with spell coatings that would locate the individual and plot a course to any major spoken destination. Blue, who had wandered the labyrinth since the time she learned to walk, had no need of them. Besides which, none of the spell coatings contained her destination.
In the carpeted corridors with their heavy curtains, night staff flattened themselves against walls, bowed and curtsied as she passed. But she soo
n passed into the old quarter of the palace where carpeting gave way to stone flags and the velvet curtains turned to cotton pennants, then nothing at all. The air grew noticeably chill away from the central furnaces. There was condensation on the walls. She’d need to do something about that later. No part of the palace should be cold. But for the moment she had other things on her mind.
She turned a corner, hesitated for a moment – even she was not familiar with much of this wing – then saw what she was looking for. The doorway was oak, banded in iron and so small a grown man would have had to bend almost double to pass through it. The wood smelled of ancient spells. The lock looked rusted and disused.
Blue produced a heavy key, but knew better than to use it. The protections might be ancient, but they were still lethal. She was dealing with something crafted in the olden times, long before any faerie acceded to the Peacock Throne. This entrance was forbidden even to a Queen. She would never have dared to use it without help.
From the same pocket as the key, Blue fished out a scrap of parchment and squinted at the runes that squirmed across its surface. The light here was not good. The old quarter of the palace drew its illumination from the stonework of the walls, which contained a residual luminosity nobody quite understood. It was cheaper than glowglobes and perfectly adequate for an area that had been disused for generations, but it was an irritation now when she wanted to be certain of the shapes she was seeing. To help, she traced them with the tip of her finger, feeling the warm tingle of the magic they contained. She whispered the words beneath her breath and almost caught their meaning.
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