Faerie Lord Read online

  Dear God, but his arm was on fire.

  He had to get away.

  On the face of it, there was nothing to stop him. The wall was broken. The way lay open to the outside. But to reach the opening, he had to move a step or two towards the creature. And to escape, he had to climb a pile of rubble with the thing at his back.

  Henry took a tentative step forward. The creature spat again and lunged at him. Despite its humanoid appearance, it reminded him of a cat. Henry backed off which left him further from the opening than ever.

  He stood quite still, trying to think despite the growing pain. If he moved forward, the thing assumed he was attacking and fought back. If he stayed where he was … Well, he couldn’t stay where he was, could he? If he stayed where he was, he would bleed to death or starve to death or have the thing attack him anyway once night fell and the tomb returned to darkness.

  Henry ran for the pile of rubble. The creature howled and launched itself at him again. He feinted to one side and ran past. Then the thing was clinging to his leg, biting and scratching. Henry kicked back violently and shook it off. Then he was on the rubble, scrambling upwards. The thing was in a frenzy now, screaming, howling, jumping. But it avoided the pool of light.

  Henry was almost at the breach in the wall when the rubble crumbled beneath his feet, causing him to slide back down. The movement sent the creature berserk, but it still remained outside the pool of light. Without pause or thought, Henry ran back up the slope and this time he made it through the opening. He tripped as he emerged and fell heavily onto his injured arm. The jolt of pain was indescribable.

  He lay for a moment, feeling fire in his arm and a second fire in his leg. Both injuries were so extreme he wondered briefly if the creature might be poisonous. Or perhaps it just carried some heavy-duty bacteria, like a komodo dragon. Either way, the injuries it inflicted hurt like hell. But the good news was the thing hadn’t followed him out of the tomb.

  After a while, he dragged himself to his feet and looked around. The tomb was a sandstone ruin that must have been built centuries ago.

  A stony desert stretched around it as far as his eyes could see.

  Twenty-Eight

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Blue demanded sharply.

  ‘Nice to see you too,’ Pyrgus told her, and grinned.

  But Blue was in no mood to be charmed. She couldn’t believe what Madame Cardui had done, let alone understand it. Henry might be in a hundred sorts of danger, might be injured, might be dead. She had no idea at all what she should do. And Pyrgus picked this very moment to turn up, against everything she’d told him to do – dammit, against everything she’d ordered him to do. The awful thing was he looked so much like their father. She had to keep reminding herself and reminding herself and it was so difficult to be firm. She gritted her teeth. ‘You know you shouldn’t be here!’ she hissed at him fiercely. ‘You know you’re ill! You know it isn’t safe for you to leave the Analogue World!’

  He did that thing with his ear that their father used to do. ‘The situation’s changed, Blue,’ he told her soberly.

  They were in the Portal Chapel. Blue was going nowhere, but needed desperately to talk to Chief Portal Engineer Peacock, who was not here, could you believe it? Pyrgus had just stepped out of the blue fire, with Nymph behind him. ‘Changed?’ Blue said quickly. Something leaped inside her. Had somebody found a cure?

  Pyrgus said, ‘Henry needs me.’

  Blue blinked at him. ‘Henry …’ She didn’t know where to begin to tell him what had happened. Eventually she said, ‘Henry’s not here.’

  ‘I know,’ Pyrgus said.

  It was too much. ‘How do you know? How could you know – it’s only just happened! You’ve only just arrived!’ She looked at Nymph, who was hovering silently in the background. ‘What’s going on, Nymph?’

  When Nymph said nothing, Blue swung back to Pyrgus. ‘I can’t believe how old you look. You can’t risk another bout of fever.’

  ‘I don’t feel any different,’ Pyrgus said annoyingly. ‘I feel exactly the same inside.’

  There were portal priests gathered in a small, nervous huddle a discreet distance away, pretending not to listen. ‘Bring me Engineer Peacock!’ Blue shouted at them. ‘Find him and bring him here at once!’ The group broke apart as priests scuttled in various directions. To Pyrgus, she snapped, ‘I don’t care how you feel. We’ve had this conversation and I ordered you to stay in the Analogue World and –’

  ‘And you’re Queen,’ Pyrgus finished, I know. I know.’ He put his arm around her shoulder (the way their father used to do, dammit!) ‘I’m not just trying to be difficult. I have to be here for Henry.’

  Blue leaned towards him. ‘Henry isn’t here!’ she hissed angrily. ‘Madame Cardui used a transport spell on him!’

  ‘I know,’ Pyrgus said infuriatingly.

  Twenty-Nine

  They were in the place they always used to meet as children, the little conservatory behind the throne room where their father kept his orchids. The smell of magic almost overpowered the scent of flowers: nowhere in the entire Palace was more private, more secure.

  ‘She used a transport,’ Blue said angrily. ‘She just sent him off and she doesn’t know where or how far or anything! He could be anywhere – anywhere! He could be on the other side of the world. He could be eaten by a haniel. She won’t tell me why. I’ve demanded an explanation and she won’t tell me why. She just did it, right there and then in front of me. I couldn’t believe it. Why. Pyrgus? Why? Do you think she’s getting senile?’ It was a serious question. Madame Cardui was very old now. She’d always had a mind like a razor, but at her age she might be losing it. A sudden thought occurred to Blue. Perhaps the Gatekeeper’s death had unhinged her.

  Pyrgus said, ‘What have you done with her?’

  Blue stared at him, then said reluctantly, ‘Put her in detention.’ She couldn’t believe she’d done that either. Madame Cardui was her most trusted friend and advisor, head of the Imperial Secret Service. But this was Henry they were talking about. Using a transport like that was nearly the equivalent of murder. How many people ever found their way back?

  ‘I see,’ Pyrgus said. He turned away from her and began fiddling with one of the orchids.

  There was something about the place, or the way he looked and acted like their father, that calmed Blue down. Or at least allowed her anger to ebb a little so that she began to think more clearly. ‘Pyrgus, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I told you, Blue. I’m here for Henry.’

  ‘I know what you told me – it didn’t make sense. You know something about this business, don’t you?’

  ‘What business?’

  ‘Stop it, Pyrgus!’ Blue said sharply. ‘You know why Madame Cardui transported him, don’t you?’

  Without turning round, Pyrgus said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s why you kept saying I know. I thought you were just trying to be irritating or sympathetic or something.’

  Pyrgus nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Blue waited. When he said nothing more, she exploded. ‘Well, what? What’s happening?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ Pyrgus said softly. He sounded genuinely regretful.

  There was a knock on the door, muffled by the privacy spells. ‘Oh Light!’ Blue exclaimed, exasperated. She stomped to the door and threw it open. ‘What? What? Didn’t I say explicitly we weren’t –’

  Chief Wizard Engineer Peacock was standing on the doorstep, ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am. They said I was to come immediately.’

  Blue caught the sleeve of his robe and pulled him inside. She slammed the door, ‘Is it possible to trace a transport?’ she demanded. ‘Not a portal – a transport spell?’

  The Chief Engineer frowned. ‘Well …’

  ‘It’s the same technology, isn’t it?’

  Peacock looked at her uncomfortably. ‘Essentially, Your Majesty. But not exactly.’

  Blue glared at him. ‘Well, can you? Can you find out whe
re the spell has sent somebody? Even roughly?’

  ‘I would need to know where the spell was applied –’

  ‘In the kitchens,’ Blue said impatiently, ‘In the Palace kitchens.’

  ‘And I would need the casing of the spell cone.’

  ‘The burnt-out cone?’ What had Madame Cardui done with the spent cone? When it happened, the little shell was the last thing on Blue’s mind. Probably just dropped it. But she could order a search of the kitchens. And have Madame Cardui searched as well.

  Peacock was still frowning. ‘It’s sometimes possible to analyse the residues. But …’

  ‘But?’ Blue asked.

  ‘But only sometimes, Majesty.’

  ‘But sometimes you can and they will tell you where the spell sent the person?’

  ‘Sometimes, Majesty.’

  She caught his expression and asked, ‘What? What is it, Chief Engineer?’

  Peacock shrugged helplessly. ‘Majesty, a full analysis takes months.’

  When the Chief Engineer left, Blue rounded on Pyrgus again. ‘You won’t tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Pyrgus shook his head, ‘I said I can’t tell you. It’s not the same thing.’

  ‘Why can’t you tell me?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that either.’ Pyrgus seemed genuinely uncomfortable. He stopped fiddling with the flowers to come across and take her by both hands. ‘Look, Blue, I would if I could – you know that. I know what Henry means to you. He means a lot to me too. I certainly wouldn’t be risking another fever bout if he didn’t. But I can’t tell you what it’s all about – not yet, at any rate. What I can tell you is that we’re going to do everything we can to make sure Henry is all right.’

  Blue glanced at him sharply. ‘We? Who’s we?’

  ‘Well … me,’ Pyrgus said. ‘Or me and Nymph. Although she – ’ He stopped, as if he’d been about to say too much and said instead, ‘Look, Blue, I can tell you this – I can promise you this: I’m going to go off and look for Henry. Now. I’m going to go off and look for him now, without any delay. I have …’ He hesitated. He knew Blue was going to forbid it, lecture him on the dangers of staying in the Realm while he was carrying the time plague.

  Blue said, ‘You have an idea where he might be.’ It was as much a statement as a question.

  Pyrgus glanced away, glanced back. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Blue said firmly.

  Thirty

  The door was cunningly concealed behind a sliding panel and the trigger was a piece of peeling wallpaper. Chalkhill would never have found it on his own, never in a thousand years. He stared suspiciously at the steep stone steps leading downwards. ‘After you,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, go on!’ Brimstone snapped impatiently. ‘What do you think – I’m going to push you? Break your neck?’ He gave a dry, cackling laugh. ‘You think I went to all this trouble to get you here just to murder you? I could have done that in the Lodge Room if I’d wanted to.’

  ‘Went to all what trouble?’ Chalkhill stepped back from the doorway. ‘What trouble? What?’

  ‘You don’t think you’d have found this place if I’d really wanted to keep it quiet?’ Brimstone snorted, ‘I left more clues than a paperchase. I knew you’d be following me.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  Brimstone ignored him. ‘But with luck, anybody following you would miss them.’

  ‘Why should anybody be following me?’ Chalkhill asked. He’d known Brimstone for a million years, but the creature always made him paranoid. He smelt so dreadfully of sulphur.

  ‘There’s more at stake here than you could possibly suspect,’ Brimstone said mysteriously. ‘More people involved than Madame Cardui.’

  ‘How did you know about Madame Cardui?’ Chalkhill gasped, then bit his tongue. If Brimstone didn’t really know, Chalkhill had just confirmed it. Amateur mistake. Naughty, naughty Chalkhill.

  ‘Oh, all right, I’ll go first,’ Brimstone said impatiently. He gripped the handrail and began to negotiate the steps like an elderly crab. Light spells flared from the walls as he did so.

  After a moment, Chalkhill followed, ‘Is this the cellar?’

  ‘Catacombs,’ Brimstone said over one bony shoulder. ‘Nearly two miles of them, packed together like a maze.’

  ‘Catacombs?’ Chalkhill echoed. ‘You built catacombs?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ Brimstone told him. He stopped abruptly and clung to the balustrade, hissing. After a moment he went on breathlessly. ‘They date back to the Great Persecution. Red priests of the Raddled Faction used to hide their corpses down here so they wouldn’t be eaten. Hid themselves as well, so they wouldn’t be turned into corpses. It’s crude engineering, but very well concealed. The owner of the house doesn’t even know the catacombs are here: I made sure of that when I rented. Not that I thought he would. I only found out about them myself through a rare old manuscript.’ He started down the steps again.

  A thought occurred to Chalkhill and he asked, ‘Are you living down here, Silas?’

  ‘You bet your life I’m living down here,’ Brimstone said. ‘You think I’d let something this important out of my sight for longer than I had to?’

  ‘Something what important, Silas? What something?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Brimstone reached the bottom of the steps and stopped again, breathing heavily. God alone knew how the old fool expected to get back up them again. ‘Are you all right, Silas?’ Chalkhill asked with feigned concern.

  ‘You must have pissed off Hairstreak,’ Brimstone said. ‘He wants me to murder you.’

  The staircase ended in an arched corridor roughhewn out of bedrock. There were niches in the walls every few yards, housing bits of tibias and skulls. It was crude engineering, as Brimstone had said, but effective enough. Chalkhill reckoned they had to be under the river here, yet everything was bone dry. He wondered if he should run back up the steps – the chances of Silas ever catching up with him had to be close to zero. But instead, he asked curiously, ‘Are you going to?’

  Brimstone sniffed. ‘Not likely. I can trust you more than I trust him for this little bit of business.’

  ‘What little bit of business?’ Chalkhill frowned.

  ‘That’s what I want to show you,’ Brimstone said. He caught his breath at last and started down the corridor. He must have set up light spells here as well, for it lit up as he went. ‘Stick close,’ he called back. ‘This place can be confusing if you’re not used to it.’

  Chalkhill hesitated for a fraction of a second, then started after him.

  It was, as Brimstone said, confusing. The arched corridor turned quickly into a maze of cramped tunnels, which bulged into smallish chambers from time to time and occasionally opened out into charnel galleries. There were bones and skulls everywhere. The whole place smelled of must.

  Now he’d left the stairs behind, Brimstone had regained his old sprightly self and scuttled along without apparent discomfort. ‘Nearly there,’ he called over his shoulder.

  They reached a chamber that clearly had been modified in recent years. There was a heavy metal-clad door set into the wall at one end.

  Brimstone produced a massive key. ‘Put on your lenses,’ he instructed. He dragged a heavy pair of darkened goggles from his pocket and fitted them carefully around his ears.

  Like Brimstone, Chalkhill was a Faerie of the Night. He produced his own dark glasses – rimmed with ormolu worked into an impressively baroque design but hesitated. ‘There’s not much light down here.’

  ‘Just do it,’ Brimstone said. He inserted the key in the lock and turned it with some difficulty. Then he grabbed the handle and pulled back the massive door.

  Chalkhill’s jaw dropped as he stared inside the room.

  Thirty-One

  Blue hesitated in the doorway. Comma had been such an odious child, sneaky, pompous, sly. She’d loved him, of course – he was her half-brother after all – but she cou
ld never bring herself to like him. It almost seemed as if the change had occurred overnight, temperament and looks together. He lost weight, gained height and suddenly he was a good-looking young man, full of new-found courtesy, sensitivity and understanding. The odious child was Comma then. Comma now was … Comma now was …

  Comma now was levitating gracefully close to the ceiling of the practice hall. The tight-fitting suit accentuated the sleek muscularity of his body as he swooped and soared in complex, graceful patterns. He would have a devastating effect on girls one of these days. Blue shook her head. Who was she fooling? He already had a devastating effect on girls. There were eight of them in the practice hall, members of the Royal Ballet, and every one was watching him with adoration.

  As Blue herself watched, one of the girls took off with expert skill and soared to join him. She had long, dark hair tied in a tight bun and the sort of body that comes with years of training. Her eyes were glazed with concentration as she induced the levitation trance.

  Comma reached for her and took her hand. Blue stared, enraptured, as the two floated, light as thistledown, into the dance steps of a classic pas de deux. They moved gently at first, then faster, but always gracefully, parting, soaring, reaching, closing for a brief embrace, then onwards, heavenwards. Blue recognised a movement from Februa’s Heliconius, one of her personal favourites. She wondered briefly if the dancers would end it at the kiss; and when they did, she noted the envious looks on the faces of the other girls.

  The dark-haired girl sank slowly back down to the ground, unable to maintain her trance, but Comma stayed easily aloft. Clearly he had a talent that would take him far. Blue stepped into the hall and at once the ballet girls ran to greet her with elaborate, elegant curtsies. Blue returned their smiles, then said softly, ‘Leave us.’ The girls scattered like doves, taking their exits in small, swift steps. Above her head, Comma sank gently towards her.

  ‘Security?’ Blue asked without preliminary as he landed. She noticed that despite the efforts of the levitation he had scarcely broken a sweat.