The Faeman Quest fw-5 Page 12

  ‘So our invasion of the Empire may proceed as planned?’

  Mella’s throat tightened abruptly. Invasion of the Empire? There was only one Empire in the Faerie Realm, the Empire ruled by her mother.

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ the man confirmed.

  Twenty-Three

  Henry had the taxi drop them off at Mr Fogarty’s old house. It was as good a base as any for their operations in the Analogue World; and better than most. Clearly nobody was using it and, situated as it was at the end of a cul-de-sac, it was not overlooked and there were no casual passers-by – all reasons, no doubt, why Mr Fogarty had bought it in the first place. After his experience with D. I. Tyneside, what Henry wanted, quite desperately now, was somewhere quiet where he could think and talk to Blue in private without interruption.

  As they closed the kitchen door behind them, Blue asked, ‘Did he have some sort of living room? I find it a bit creepy in here.’

  So, in fact, did Henry, although that was mainly old memories. ‘Yes, he did. It’s a bit cluttered – at least it used to be.’

  It still was, mainly with piles of Mr Fogarty’s abandoned books, but there was room on the couch for them to sit down side by side. Henry reached for Blue’s hand. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You know what I think: I told you at the site. I suppose Mella came to visit your mother.’

  Henry pursed his lips. ‘You think she used a portal indoors and that’s what happened to the house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You think she’s all right?’ Henry took a deep breath and said it: ‘Still alive?’

  Blue looked sober, but certain. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Any ideas about where she may have gone now?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Blue told him. ‘Obviously, the Realm. ‘

  ‘Yes, but the Realm’s a big place.’ It was, in fact, a whole planet.

  ‘I think we might be able to narrow it down a little,’ Blue said. ‘Where a portal opens up depends on how the controls are set. Well, you know I said she must have got hold of an old control?’

  Henry nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Didn’t you wonder where she might have found one?’

  ‘Well, yes, I did, but I thought…’ He waved his hands vaguely in the air.

  Blue waited a polite second for him to explain. When he didn’t, she said, ‘I thought she might have found one here.’

  ‘ Here here?’ Henry asked. ‘Here in this place? Mr Fogarty’s house?’

  ‘Unless you left one at your old home, there is nowhere else.’

  ‘No,’ Henry said thoughtfully, ‘I didn’t leave one at home.’ He’d managed to lose one at home years ago, but that was a different matter. If he couldn’t find it, Mella wasn’t going to stumble on it either. What Blue said was making sense. Where else would Mella get hold of a portal control in the Analogue World except at Mr Fogarty’s house? Their daughter must have come here first, before she went off to visit her grandmother. Which would make sense as well: he’d told her so much about Mr Fogarty the old boy must have felt like a hero to her. Besides, if she’d used any of the old node-to-node portals there was a node behind Mr Fogarty’s buddleia bush.

  ‘If it was a control that belonged to Mr Fogarty, it would probably be set to the Purple Palace,’ Blue said. ‘Or his old lodge in the grounds.’

  Henry looked at her in admiration. She was absolutely right. Mr Fogarty only ever used portals to move from his home to the Palace and back again. A thought occurred to him. ‘She might have reset it.’

  ‘I don’t think she did,’ Blue said. ‘I don’t think she meant to use a portal at all. Why would she? She’s only just arrived in the Analogue World. She wants to meet your mother, and probably your mother’s girlfriend if I know our daughter. She wants to explore and see strange Analogue sights. She doesn’t want to go home yet. Besides, Mella knew how dangerous it was to use those old controls indoors. I think she triggered the control by accident and managed to blow up your mother’s home in the process. Fortunately there didn’t seem to be anybody else in there at the time.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Henry exclaimed. How was he going to explain this to his mother? Then it suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t have to. He felt a delicious twinge of wicked guilt. He pulled his mind back to the important thing, which certainly wasn’t his mother. ‘You’re quite sure Mella wasn’t hurt when the house collapsed?’

  ‘I’m quite sure she wasn’t there when the house collapsed. The follower found no sign of bodies – I told you that. What it did find was Mella’s energy trace. So Mella had been there, but obviously wasn’t there when the house came down.’

  ‘I’m not getting this,’ Henry said. ‘What do you think happened?’

  ‘The house didn’t collapse when the portal opened – it collapsed when it closed. That’s the way it worked with the old controls. I think Mella must have opened it accidentally, then realised there was the danger of an explosion when it closed again. So she went through so she’d be on the right side if there was an explosion: she’s quite clever, our Mella. At least she knows how to look after herself.’

  ‘So she went back to the Realm, probably the Purple Palace?’

  ‘That would be my guess,’ Blue said.

  ‘So we go home now, find her and ground her for the next ten years?’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Wait a minute: if she only went through to be safe, wouldn’t she come right back again? Your follower devil said there was nobody in the wreckage, so she probably hasn’t met my mother the way she planned, so -’

  ‘There’s somebody at the back of the house.’ Blue looked up. ‘I saw them passing the window.’

  ‘It’ll be kids,’ Henry said dismissively. Kids sometimes came nosing round the place – he remembered from the old days when he’d come here to feed Hodge. ‘What do you think? Wouldn’t she come straight back? Anyway, she’d want to see if the place really had exploded – it didn’t always happen with the old controls.’

  ‘She might want to come straight back, but she mightn’t be able to,’ Blue said. ‘Sometimes closing the portal actually broke those old controls. She wouldn’t be able to come back until she got a new one. Or at least reached the House Iris portal. Except she won’t be able to use it because I’ve told Chief Portal Engineer Peacock not to let her.’

  ‘So,’ said Henry, ‘if the old control didn’t break she’s probably skulking somewhere near Mother’s house, what’s left of it. But if it did, she’s probably back home in the Purple Palace trying to get hold of another control.’ He frowned. ‘And we’re here, miles away from both.’ He turned to look at Blue. ‘Should we try portalling back to the Palace or -’

  There was a loud, firm knock on the back door. The sound reverberated through the empty house. Henry felt Blue stiffen beside him. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘It’ll be an insurance salesman,’ Henry said. Insurance salesmen sometimes tried their luck door-to-door in this area. He remembered that too from his days feeding Hodge. ‘I’ll tell him to go away.’ He stood up and headed for the door, then stopped. ‘I’m not sure we should go back to the Palace. I mean, if that’s where she went, she could well have come back again by now and even if she is there, she’d certainly be headed back here again by the time we found her.’

  The knocking came again. ‘Coming! Coming!’ Henry shouted. To Blue he said, ‘The other possibility if she has gone back is that Madame Cardui will catch her, but if that happens, Cynthia will let us know. So when you take everything into consideration, the sensible thing has to be for us to go back to my mother’s house, what’s left of it, and search for her there: you might even send your follower demon out again. And if she’s not there, we wait, because it most likely means she’s not there yet and will turn up eventually. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you have the most extraordinary mind,’ Blue said.

  ‘Do you really?’ Henry said, pleased.

  ‘Perhaps you’d better deal with the salesman,�
� Blue said as the knocking repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ Henry said. ‘Yes.’ As he walked towards the kitchen, he called back over his shoulder, ‘At least we know what we have to do now. At least we have a plan of action. ’ He entered the kitchen and saw the outline of the salesman silhouetted through the frosted glass of the back door. ‘Coming!’ he called again, cheerfully. He twisted the Yale lock. ‘If it’s insurance, I’m afraid -’

  The door smashed in, hurling him backwards off balance. ‘Get the Queen!’ someone snapped. Then a figure hurtled towards him and, surprised though he was, Henry punched it in the face.

  ‘Where is she?’ someone asked querulously.

  ‘Yipes!’ gasped the man Henry had hit. He was dressed in black and masked, like somebody who’d gone to a fancy-dress party as a ninja. Henry kicked him between the legs and he jackknifed forward, then fell heavily to his knees.

  ‘Come on, George.’ An old man stepped through the open doorway. Even at a glance Henry recognised him as Silas Brimstone. But Brimstone was locked up in some lunatic asylum, eating flies. Henry aimed another kick, at the idiot ninja’s head this time. The old man – Brimstone – raised a spell cone.

  ‘Get down!’ Blue’s voice called. Henry glanced behind him to find her wielding a modified stimlus, the type that didn’t need contact. It had an effective range of about twelve feet and he was directly in the line of fire. He dropped to the floor and rolled, but for some reason Blue was having difficulty firing.

  ‘He sucker-punched me!’ gasped the ninja and though his voice was overlaid with astonishment, Henry recognised it immediately. The voice belonged to Jasper Chalkhill.

  Both Chalkhill and Henry climbed to their feet. Blue twisted her body violently and her stimlus, at long last, discharged a bolt of energy. It caught Chalkhill on the shoulder as he was reaching for Henry and spun him round, ripping off his mask. Brimstone cracked the spell cone and giggled as a filament net emerged like a plume of smoke. The thing enmeshed Blue at once, causing her to drop the stimlus, then reached for Henry. He jerked backwards, but it had his arm. His old allergy to magic cut in, so that he threw up on the floor. ‘Oh, Henry!’ he heard Blue say, whether in exasperation or sympathy he couldn’t be sure. Then the filaments drew them closer together so that he was pressed against Blue, which was nice but didn’t last long because he was having trouble breathing, then couldn’t breathe at all, then he was sliding, sliding into darkness…

  … darkness, silent darkness.

  Twenty-Four

  The automated security system guided Pyrgus’s flyer gently down to the reserved area of Creen International Airport, then, Prince Royal or no Prince Royal, disarmed his ship, confiscated several of his personal belongings, sprayed him to remove all microorganisms, conducted an internal examination to check for the presence of a wangaramus worm in his bottom, examined his identifications, photographed his tattoos and required him to answer a lengthy list of questions, the first of which was, ‘Do you plan to engage in any action purposely designed or likely to lead to the overthrow of the lawfully constituted government of Haleklind?’ Pyrgus resisted the temptation to respond ‘Sole purpose of visit’ and was eventually rewarded by a tone that told him the controls of his vehicle had been unlocked and he could now disembark without danger of being vapourised.

  He changed unhurriedly into the standard blue-grey pilot’s uniform, selected an enormous pair of darkened glasses that would mark him as a Faerie of the Night, pulled on a curly black wig, then ordered his elementals to provide a suitable ramp, opened the cabin door, and walked out to meet the inevitable reception committee.

  The reception committee was an exercise in applied hypocrisy. They must have known Crown Prince Pyrgus Malvae had stolen their manticore – a hanging offence if he’d been caught – but with his flyer bedecked in royal insignia, they were forced by protocol to ignore the crime and treat him like the visiting dignitary he was. Not that it mattered, since they weren’t about to meet with Crown Prince Pyrgus Malvae anyway, whatever they expected.

  The head of the delegation was the local mayor, to judge from his imposing chain of office. In his pressed new uniform, Pyrgus marched briskly across to him and saluted sharply. ‘His Royal Highness is not to be disturbed,’ he told the Mayor. ‘He is currently sleeping.’ He held the man’s eye and added in a voice so low that only the Mayor could hear him. ‘Sleeping it off, Your Honour.’ He gave a slight nod and the hint of a wink.

  The Mayor leaned over. ‘Sleeping it off, pilot?’ he repeated in a shocked whisper.

  ‘The old problem.’ Pyrgus nodded. He waited.

  ‘Drink?’ asked the Mayor. ‘You’re not trying to tell me His Highness -’ He gulped, ‘- imbibes? ’

  ‘Like a fish,’ Pyrgus said. ‘Did no one warn you?’

  The Mayor shook his head. ‘No one.’

  Pyrgus gave an ostentatious sigh. ‘Diplomats. You wonder what we pay them for. You should have been told at the time they arranged this visit. You really had no idea?’

  ‘None. Absolutely none.’

  Pyrgus moved a little closer. ‘Look, I feel sorry for you, I really do. Typical behaviour, does it all the time. Started -’ He glanced around to make sure no one else could hear him, ‘- you know -’ He made a glugging sound in his throat, ‘- shortly after we left the capital. I’m supposed to stop him, but what can I do? He is a Prince of the Realm, after all, and he hides his supplies. By the time he reached Creen airspace, he was singing the national anthem and falling into his soup. Then he decided he was going to declare war on Haleklind. Fortunately he passed out just before we landed, so we’re spared an international incident at least.’

  ‘Yes, but what do we do?’ the Mayor asked. He looked and sounded panic-stricken.

  Pyrgus glanced around again, moved even closer to the Mayor and aimed his words into the waiting ear. ‘In my experience he’ll be out cold for the rest of the day and most of the night. I’d suggest you reconvene the reception committee late tomorrow afternoon to be on the safe side. He should be fit to make the visit then.’

  ‘But what happens if he wakes up early? Won’t he be insulted if there’s no one here to greet him?’

  ‘You have a point there,’ said Pyrgus. ‘Tell you what: I’ll lock the flyer. He’ll be quite safe inside. I’ll do a little sightseeing, look up some old friends, and I’ll be back in time for the official reception tomorrow afternoon. If he does wake up early – I don’t think he will, but if he does – I’m the one with the key, no one else can let him out. It’s entirely my responsibility, then, and since I haven’t told you specifically where I’m going, there is no way you can trace me.’ Pyrgus gave him the benefit of a broad smile. ‘You’re completely off the hook, Your Worship.’

  The Mayor was frowning. ‘But won’t you get into trouble then? If he wakes early, I mean?’

  Pyrgus shook his head vigorously. ‘We pilots have a very strong guild,’ he said. ‘Besides, he won’t want any accusations of prejudice against a Faerie of the Night – it’s still a very sensitive issue in the Empire.’ He shrugged. ‘But he won’t wake early, if my experience is anything to go by. He takes it by the gallon.’

  ‘Right,’ said the Mayor decisively, ‘you lock up the flyer, I’ll reconvene the committee for five tomorrow afternoon. That suit you OK?’

  Pyrgus twiddled his Nighter spectacles. ‘Admirably,’ he said.

  Although he was fairly sure he’d not be followed after the nonsense he’d spoon-fed the Mayor, Pyrgus left the airport by way of the visiting pilots’ restrooms, where he hired a private cubicle. Once the securities were set, he stripped off his uniform, wig and glasses and stored them in an invisible locker. Then he unzipped the filament suitcase in the waistband of his undershorts and drew out the plainest of the suits stored there. Without the glasses and wig, he reverted back automatically to a Faerie of the Light, but the suit transformed him into a nondescript one. He looked, if anything, like a travelling salesman, one of the horde who flocked thr
ough Haleklind each year peddling parts for wands and reconditioned spells. He rummaged in the filament suitcase again and slid the Halek knife into the back of his belt where it was hidden by the jacket of the suit. He wasn’t expecting trouble, but it was always best to come prepared. Hael, who was he trying to fool? He was expecting trouble. Trouble always seemed to find him on a mission like this. But that was an even better reason to come prepared.

  Creen City was a curious mixture. The district immediately surrounding the airport was arguably the most spectacular on the planet. Here the wizards had built to impress, using some of the most ingenious spells ever created. The result was, to say the least, magnificent. There were buildings floating on clouds. There were galloping herds of fantastical beasts that appeared and disappeared at random. There were advertising hoardings that tugged your arm as you went past and hypnotised you into buying stuff you didn’t want. Most noticeably of all, there were the gigantic ghost-like sculptures of the ruling Table of Seven that smiled down benignly from beyond the rooftops, dominating everything, instantly obvious, yet so insubstantial that they interfered with nothing. It was all very garish, very tasteless, very much what one might expect from wizards with more power than sense.

  But beyond the airport district, beyond the tourist havens and the glittering illusion palaces, there was a different Creen. Pyrgus, who’d been visiting the country since before the revolution that brought the Seven into power, took one of the least-known walkways from the airport, a narrow, dingy, ill-lit track that held out the promise of threatening alleyways, simbala dens, dope deals, muggings and cut-purses. But the promise was deceptive, for, after a short rooftop walk, a humming distortion created a Mobius shape that bent the path back to the instant it began, allowing Pyrgus fresh entry; and now the walkway was an open avenue that led into the Old City.

  The Old City dated back to the foundation of Creen, close to a thousand years ago, and Pyrgus loved it. The streets were narrow, but the timber-inlaid buildings that overhung them were enormous – structures that defied the laws of engineering with the help of spells so ancient no one now knew how they worked. At the precise geographical centre of the Old City lay its suk, a vast, open maze of market stalls, bathed in perpetual sunshine, that offered magical artifacts, ingredients, spare parts, potions, powders, clothing, weapons and machinery unlike anything found elsewhere in the Realm. Haleklind was the magical capital of the planet, known to its citizens by its traditional name, Creen. Creen City was Haleklind’s capital, Creen Suk its beating heart. It was in the suk that Pyrgus once bought a prized possession, his first Halek knife. It was to the suk that he was going now.