The Purple Emperor Page 5

  ‘It was like this when I arrived,’ Thorn said miserably.

  They stood staring at the empty bier. There was no sign of vandalism, no sign of damage, but the body was no longer there. Blue said, ‘Who conducted the last prayers? Before you?’

  ‘Brother Sinapis.’ Thorn hesitated. ‘Serenity, I spoke with him. All was in order when he withdrew.’

  ‘The guards?’ There were guards at the entrance to the crypt, ceremonially dressed to be sure, but they would still have noticed anyone trying to enter.

  ‘They saw nothing, Serenity.’

  Blue said crisply, ‘I want to talk to Brother Sinapis myself. And each of the guards. Please arrange to have them brought to my quarters, starting with Sinapis. They are to be isolated from each other before I speak to them—I don’t want any discussion between them until I hear each individual story. I want you to —’

  Pyrgus, who’d said nothing at all since Thorn had appeared before the Gatekeeper’s lodge, now said sharply, ‘Just a minute, Blue.’ She looked at him in surprise. There was a note of command in his tone she’d never heard before. And a stern, strained expression on his face. ‘We need to discuss this—’ he gave her a warning look, ‘—and other matters with Gatekeeper Fogarty.’

  ‘Mr Fogarty’s not back,’ Blue said unnecessarily.

  Pyrgus lowered his voice, as if this would somehow prevent his being heard by Thorn, who was standing beside him. ‘I don’t want to trust any of this to servants. Blue, I want you to translate to the Analogue World and bring Mr Fogarty back at once—his personal business will have to wait. I’ll speak to Sinapis and the guards myself.’ He turned and his voice sharpened. ‘You, Thorn, will personally organise a security search of the crypt. Tell the Captain of the Watch you have my full authority. I want the area swept for any clues, however small, to what has happened. Spare no expense—and that includes the cost of extracting impressions from the stonework, although I imagine whoever did this would have been cloaked.’

  Blue stared at him in astonishment. This was a Pyrgus she’d never seen before—decisive, in charge … imperial. He glanced round at her. ‘Are you still here, Blue? You really must make arrangements to translate at once—the situation is both serious and urgent.’

  ‘Yes, Pyrgus,’ Blue said meekly.

  Blue found Chief Portal Engineer Peacock bent over a basin in an anteroom of the chapel, scrubbing his hands with a stiff brush. ‘Something I can do for you, Serenity?’ he asked.

  Blue nodded, her lips suddenly dry. ‘Is the portal functioning?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Serenity.’

  ‘No, I mean is it functioning properly? You fixed it after the sabotage attempt -’ the successful sabotage attempt, carried out on Lord Hairstreak’s orders, although they’d never prove it , ‘—the, ah, business with my brother?’ She didn’t really want to spell it out, didn’t really want to remember. Pyrgus had almost died when he went through it then.

  Peacock looked bewildered. ‘Ages ago, Serenity.’

  ‘And it’s working … ? It’s working … well, properly … no problems now, are there?’

  ‘No, Serenity.’

  ‘How long does setting it take?’ Blue asked.

  ‘Setting the directional indicator? For where you want to go?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not long.’ He was staring at her now. ‘You just feed in the coordinates. Ten, fifteen seconds, say. Less. Less, probably. Do you want to use the portal, Serenity?’

  There it was, all laid out in a single question. Blue said tightly, ‘Yes.’

  They walked together into the main chapel. The place was full of uniformed guards armed with stun wands and there was a charged security fence surrounding the House Iris portal, both grim reminders of the sabotage that had nearly cost her brother his life. The portal itself had been reinforced—there were heavy metal casings on the pillars, while the nearby controls had been rehoused in impermeable obsidian. The whole chapel had a sombre, military-camp appearance. The blue flames between the pillars seemed like an inferno.

  Blue frowned. ‘It’s in use?’

  Peacock shook his head. ‘We keep it running permanently now.’ His face softened. ‘Orders of your poor father after … after the business with Prince Pyrgus. Makes it easier to detect any interference. Not that there could be any now,’ he added hurriedly.

  ‘I see,’ Blue said. She licked her lips again. ‘How long will it take to set it to translate me to the Analogue home of Gatekeeper Fogarty?’

  ‘Known coordinates,’ Peacock said. ‘Can have it ready for you any time you want to go, Serenity.’

  Blue said, ‘I’d like to go now, Mr Peacock.’

  He looked around, clearly searching for her entourage. When he didn’t find one, he said, ‘You’re not going alone, are you, Serenity?’

  The trouble was—she was. Mr Fogarty would want to know what was happening and she had no intention of talking in front of servants. Best to find him, brief him, bring him back, tell no one else anything they didn’t need to know.

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  Peacock said uncertainly, ‘This is your first time, isn’t it, Ma’am? Your first translation to the Analogue World?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you like me to go with you?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Blue said firmly. She moved towards the security fence and one of the guards hurried to unlock the gate and let her through. ‘I take it I simply step between the pillars, Mr Peacock?’

  Peacock had entered the enclosure immediately behind her. Now he walked quickly towards the controls. ‘Once I’ve made the settings, Serenity,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you when.’

  Blue waited, a step away from the pillars. Her heart was thumping wildly, but she held her face impassive. It would never do to let anyone see how a princess of House Iris felt about something as simple as translating. It was perfectly safe—everyone knew that. She couldn’t feel so much as a hint of heat, which was what it said in all the reference books: cold flame.

  ‘The portal’s ready now, Serenity,’ Chief Engineer Peacock told her.

  Sweating with fear, Blue stepped between the pillars without a moment’s hesitation.

  Thirteen

  Brimstone hoped Graminis would get him to the church in time. ‘Can’t we go any faster?’ he asked testily.

  They were travelling in a clapped-out ouklo that looked older than God. It was an open carriage in funereal black with upholstery that smelled of grave mould, probably because Graminis was too mean to hire a proper wedding carriage. The spell charge was almost gone, so that instead of floating at a respectable height, the ouklo kept sinking lower and lower until it scraped on the road; at which point it shot up again like a startled rabbit to begin the sinking process all over again. The movement was making Brimstone positively seasick.

  But at least the traditional wedding notice was displayed prominently across the back:

  This Man Is Getting Married.

  Pray for Him.

  Graminis giggled. ‘Don’t you go upsetting yourself, Silas—Maura will wait. Waited for the last five, didn’t she?’

  Brimstone blinked. His bride-to-be had gone through five previous husbands? He knew she was a widow woman, but five was ridiculous. Perhaps she ate them after mating, like a spider. Or murdered them for the insurance money. He’d have to watch that. Watch what he ate or drank in particular. Chances were she’d poisoned them.

  The ouklo scraped and bobbed its way through narrow streets until the church spire hove into sight. The vehicle reached the graveyard and stopped. ‘Have to walk the rest of the way,’ Graminis said. ‘Sorry about that—it’s set for funerals.’

  The church was as small as he’d expected—wedding hire was costed by the square foot—and built to the traditional squaring-the-circle design. Tiers of pews looked down on the altar. The carpeting was moth-eaten and threadbare.

  There was a scattering of down-and-outs in the pews, doubtless hoping for a witness hand-
out, and the central fire was already lit. As he and Graminis entered, half a dozen skinny nymphs began to dance listlessly around it.

  The priest emerged from a trapdoor in the floor, which suggested things might get underway before too long. He was a squat, toad-like Faerie of the Night wearing the elemental yellow robes called for by the occasion. He favoured Brimstone with a bleak smile and Brimstone favoured him with a bleak smile back.

  ‘The bride’s here!’ Graminis hissed.

  Brimstone looked up towards the entrance arch that now framed the scrawny figure of his bride-to-be. She was wearing a tight black mini-dress split up one side and carrying a cactus.

  Her legs looked like second-hand pipe cleaners.

  Fourteen

  Bright sunlight caught Blue unawares, so that it took moments for her eyes to adjust. She seemed to be in an enclosed space, a cramped little garden of some sort. Quickly she reached around and felt between her shoulder-blades. No wings! At least the filter had worked properly. She gave a sigh of relief. All the safety texts told you to check for wings. If you shrank, you grew wings—that always happened. It’s what happened to Pyrgus when the House Iris portal was sabotaged. And while it was sometimes difficult to decide on your size in a strange environment—the question of scale was always relative, the texts insisted—you either had wings or you hadn’t. She hadn’t, therefore she hadn’t shrunk either. One hurdle crossed.

  The next hurdle was whether or not the portal had remained open. She glanced behind her and there it was, a smaller area of flame at this side and no sign of the pillars, but definitely there. She didn’t want to think about going back through that blue inferno, but at least the way was open.

  Now, was she in the right place? Everybody said the portals never varied. You set the Analogue coordinates and that’s where they took you. But there was always the possibility of sabotage or human error. She didn’t think there was much chance of sabotage now, not with all the security in place, but human error could happen any time. So was she at Gatekeeper Fogarty’s Analogue World home?

  The shrivelled little lawn was a far cry from the lush gardens that surrounded his lodge at the Purple Palace, and the house beyond looked mean and gloomy somebody had actually stuck brown paper to the lower windows. But she remembered both her father and Pyrgus remarking on the peculiarities of Mr Fogarty’s Analogue lifestyle.

  Blue gave a strangled squawk. Something warm and hairy had just rubbed against her leg. She looked down and saw an overweight tomcat polishing her ankles. He stared at her with luminous eyes and gave a little whirr.

  Blue relaxed at once. Of course it was Mr Fogarty’s home—this had to be the famous Hodge. ‘Hello, Hodge,’ she said quietly, and he whirred again. ‘Are you going to show me where Gatekeeper Fogarty is hiding?’ As if he understood, Hodge trotted off in the direction of the back door. Blue followed him with a little smile on her face.

  ‘Mr Fogarty!’ she called as she pushed the door open.

  There was somebody inside, but it wasn’t Mr Fogarty.

  ‘Henry!’ Blue exclaimed.

  Henry jumped visibly. He’d been staring at something in his hand, a funny little black device with rows of numbered buttons on it. Now he glanced at her in surprise and what might have been delight.

  ‘Blue,’ he said breathlessly. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking for Gatekeeper Fogarty,’ Blue told him simply.

  Henry’s eyes went back to the device in his hand. ‘They’ve put him in jail,’ he said in a small, astonished voice. ‘He’s just called me.’

  Blue blinked. ‘Who’s put him in jail?’

  Henry looked at her blankly. ‘The police. He went out to make some arrangements about his house and now they’ve put him in jail.’

  ‘They can’t put him in jail,’ Blue said imperiously. ‘He’s a Gatekeeper of the Realm.’

  ‘Over here he’s just an old-age pensioner who used to rob banks. They can put him in jail all right. He’s in a cell at Nutgrove Police Station.’

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ Blue snapped. ‘We’ll have to get him out.’

  Fifteen

  Henry stared around him miserably.

  ‘Well, where is it?’ Blue demanded.

  ‘It must be round here somewhere,’ Henry said. They were in Nutgrove Street, for heaven’s sake. Nutgrove Police Station had to be in Nutgrove Street.

  ‘Henry,’ Blue hissed. ‘I have to find Mr Fogarty. I have to get him back to the Realm.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Henry said.

  What he didn’t know was what they were going to do when they found Nutgrove Station. Blue seemed to have the idea they would just march in and demand Mr Fogarty’s release.

  ‘Let’s try down there,’ he suggested.

  ‘We’ve already been down there,’ Blue said. But she followed him as he moved off.

  ‘Blue,’ Henry said, ‘what’s happened?’

  Blue’s tone softened. ‘I don’t really know yet. But something’s going on. My father’s body has disappeared and I think there’s a plot to kill Pyrgus. Pyrgus sent me to find Mr Fogarty—we need him.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘It would be nice to have you as well.’

  Henry felt a flush begin to crawl along the back of his neck. ‘Do what I can,’ he mumbled, wondering just what he might mean by that. He looked about him in a moment of confusion and saw the police station down a side street. ‘Oh, there it is!’ he said brightly; and the words were swiftly followed by the thought, What are we going to do now?

  ‘Henry,’ Blue said, ‘what exactly is a police station?’

  Henry looked at her, then realised there was no way she could know. ‘It’s … it’s sort of, like police headquarters. I mean, not the overall police headquarters that’s in Scotland Yard or somewhere. It’s sort of headquarters for a district.’

  ‘And all the police live there?’

  ‘I don’t think they actually live there. It’s more like an office they come into.’

  ‘And your police are like our police in the Realm?’ Blue said. ‘They flog you if you do something wrong and cut off your hand if you’re caught stealing? Unless you’re a noble, of course.’

  ‘No, I don’t think they do that,’ Henry said uncertainly.

  ‘Why not? It’s pretty silly not to, isn’t it?’ Blue said. She set off down the side street.

  Henry realised he was standing on his own and ran down the side street after her. He caught Blue by the elbow. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked urgently. ‘You can’t just swan in and order them to let Mr Fogarty go.’ He caught the expression on her face and stopped himself adding, You’re not Princess Royal here, you know.

  ‘I wasn’t planning to swan anywhere,’ Blue said coldly. She looked into his face and relented, giving a little smile. ‘It’s all right, Henry—I have some cones with me.’

  ‘Cones?’ All he could think of was ice cream, but somehow he didn’t believe that was what she meant.

  ‘Spell cones,’ Blue said.

  Henry felt his jaw drop. ‘You’re not going to … you’re not going to … ?’

  ‘Use magic?’ Blue prompted. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘You can’t!’

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not? Why not? Henry cast around for a reason and couldn’t think of one, except that using magic in a police station was probably illegal. Or would be if the police believed in it. Magic was all very well in the Realm where everybody used it, but using magic here on anybody, let alone a policeman — was just something you didn’t —

  ‘What sort of magic?’ he asked in a small voice.

  Sixteen

  Henry felt peculiar. In fact he thought he might be going to be sick. Everything around him looked swimmy and when he moved it was like trying to push against treacle.

  ‘I don’t feel so good,’ he said. His voice echoed in his head like a hollow gong.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Blue told him briskly. ‘Just follow me.�
�� She moved to the front door of the police station and pushed it firmly. When nothing happened, she turned to look accusingly at Henry. ‘This door’s locked.’

  Henry was trying to remember the last thing he’d eaten. He had an idea he might be about to see it again quite soon. ‘They do that now,’ he said, ‘because of terrorists or something. You can’t just walk in. You have to ring the bell and speak into that grille thing when they answer.’

  ‘But if I speak into the grille thing won’t they know somebody’s here?’

  Henry looked at her, wondering if he was going to be able to stand upright much longer. ‘That’s the whole point,’ he said. ‘So they can let you in.’

  ‘But I don’t want them to know I’m here,’ Blue said. It was all getting too much. Henry’s brain described a slow, liquid circle inside his skull. ‘Then how are we going to get in?’ he managed.

  The door opened and a man walked through without glancing at either Blue or Henry. Blue stuck out her foot to stop the door. ‘Come on!’ she hissed and slipped inside. Henry stared after her stupidly for a moment, then followed as the door began to close.

  They were in a waiting area with lino on the floor, chairs at one end and a counter at the other. A uniformed sergeant was standing behind the counter. Behind him a young woman with very short black hair was typing at a desk. Three of the chairs were occupied—two by an elderly couple, the third by a middle-aged man trying unsuccessfully to look like Elvis Presley. Nobody paid the slightest attention to Blue or Henry.

  ‘Right,’ Blue said briskly. ‘We’d better try to find Mr Fogarty.’

  ‘We can ask the Desk Sergeant,’ Henry suggested. All he really wanted was to get out, go home and—hopefully — die.

  Blue looked at him strangely through the fog that was swirling round him. ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

  Henry shook his head. ‘No. Why?’ He reached out and gripped the back of a chair. The head shake had been a big mistake.