Breaking the Lore

by Breaking the Lore (retail) (epub)

  ‘Because I don’t want to. Not yet. Tergil seemed to know Malbus, except he thinks he’s dead. Malbus hasn’t brought up Tergil. He doesn’t know him and his daughter came here. I’m trying to work out if I can play their stories off against each other – if I need to.’

  Paris wasn’t sure about the crow and he had no reason to trust Tergil at all. Especially since the elf apparently assumed he’d be the only mystical creature asking for asylum, then hadn’t been bothered in the slightest when a load of dwarves arrived. In this particular poker game, Paris intended to keep some cards up his sleeve.

  Bonetti smiled and looked relieved.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I thought you forgot.’

  The inspector wondered, not for the first time, how his sergeant ever got beyond constable. Bonetti was big, strong, loyal – and terminally dumb. He might as well be a dog. He considered asking Cassandra if she really could shift shapes.

  ‘You wait here,’ he said. ‘I’m going up to the bathroom.’

  Paris made his way upstairs, ideas swirling round his head. As usual. He wanted to be able to drink and smoke – and think. He still hadn’t had the chance to make sense of everything and the tools of his contemplating trade were being denied him. He needed quiet. And a bottle of whisky. At this rate he’d soon be suing the magic world for ruining his job, while forcing him to remain healthy at the same time. He sighed. The notion couldn’t be any sillier than everything else happening around him.

  The bathroom door was open and conversation drifted out with the steam. Paris paused on the landing.

  ‘Why do the magical creatures have to go back?’ he heard Cassandra ask. ‘I’d imagine a dead fairy makes you run in the opposite direction.’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Malbus. ‘But it means you’ve been given fair warning. So if you don’t go back, you’re gonna get hunted down and killed. It ain’t gonna be pleasant neither. It’ll be slow and painful and horrible. We’re talking demons, right? Proper nasty. Height of this room, built like trucks. Plus they’re just like you fancy they should be: horns, tail, clawed feet, bad breath, lousy dress sense.’

  That explains a bit more, thought Paris. And at least the description lay in the same ballpark as Tergil’s. He allowed himself a quiet smile of satisfaction.

  ‘Do they know how many of you there are in the human world?’ asked Cassandra.

  ‘Probably haven’t got a clue,’ said Malbus. ‘When they reckon they’ve rounded up enough, they’ll clear off.’

  Paris’s smile changed to a frown. This was something he wasn’t aware of. He stepped through the open doorway.

  Cassandra was kneeling on the floor next to the bath, the sleeves of her black robe folded up past her elbows and her hair tied behind her. Her back was to the door as she wafted the shower head about. Evidently on low power, or Malbus would be splattered against the walls. Instead he stood in the tub, wings outstretched as the water splashed over him. It was altogether a very peculiar sight. Then again, thought Paris, these two would look peculiar wherever they were.

  Malbus peered up at him.

  ‘There you are,’ said the crow. ‘You don’t go in for colour much, do you? Plain white tiles everywhere. You can get ones with pictures on these days.’

  Paris ignored the comment as he walked across the room.

  ‘I overheard,’ he said. ‘The Vanethria don’t know how many magical creatures are here?’

  ‘How can they? Don’t know how long we’ve been coming, do they?’

  Paris pondered. Reports of strange animals and mystical beings persisted in human folklore for hundreds of years. So had they been coming from the magic world all that time? And the demons had only found out now?

  Cassandra glanced up at him.

  ‘Bit disappointed in your chief constable,’ she said. ‘I assumed we were going to talk about magic, what sort of weapons goblins use, that kind of thing. We didn’t do anything like that.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Paris. ‘He’s not interested in the details. Just overview stuff.’

  ‘He knew what he was doing though, didn’t he? Put you in charge and kept the rest of the force away, as you wanted. But that means if it all goes wrong, it’s your fault.’

  Paris was already aware of this fact. Acutely. He hadn’t realised Cassandra would pick up on it too. Definitely not stupid.

  He moved closer to the bath.

  ‘What happens,’ he asked Malbus, ‘if someone decides they don’t want to go back to your world? Suppose one of your mob comes to me, sometime in the future, and asks us to help them hide. What should we do?’

  The crow gargled with the shower spray, then spat it out into the bath.

  ‘Up to you,’ he said. ‘The V don’t take kindly to anyone helping runaways in our world and I bet they’re the same here. So if you wanna take the risk, good on you. If you reckon you can keep a magic creature safe, then thanks.’

  Paris sat down on the edge of the tub. ‘I’ll bear that in mind. But what do I do if there’s a big group of them? They’d be a lot harder to hide.’

  Malbus lowered his wings and looked as contemplative as a soggy bird could manage. Cassandra moved the shower head away, allowing him to drip while he deliberated.

  ‘Never really figured on it happening,’ he replied. ‘I guess they’d be pretty hard to cover up. You wouldn’t be able to keep them hidden if there was too many of them. Suppose you’d have to ship ’em all hundreds of miles away till the Vanethria have gone.’

  I’ll be damned, thought Paris. That’s why Tergil wasn’t worried about the dwarves turning up. He’d presumed it would help him.

  Cassandra let out a low whistle. ‘So this might get even more exciting? Murders, mysterious bad guys, now hiding people away. Fantastic! I always wanted to be in a film noir.’

  ‘What stopped you?’ asked Malbus.

  ‘Well, I’m not exactly a willowy blonde, am I?’ She looked up at Paris. ‘What do you think?’

  Paris didn’t know what to think. He searched frantically for something to say as Cassandra lowered her gaze down his torso.

  ‘There’s something buzzing in your pocket,’ she said. ‘I do hope it’s your phone.’

  Paris stood up.

  ‘I’d better take this,’ he said. ‘You… carry on washing.’

  He went onto the landing, pulling his mobile out as he walked. Doc Williams’s name flashed on the screen.

  ‘Jack? What’s up?’

  ‘Some information,’ replied the pathologist. ‘Regarding your friend Tergil.’

  Paris pursed his lips. Speak of the devil.

  ‘You recall when he came to the lab,’ continued Williams. ‘We got him to give us a blood sample before he left. Well, I’ve got the results back.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Just like the fairy. Human DNA.’

  Paris frowned at the phone. Had they come from the magic world hundreds of years ago? Or were they in the right world all the time?

  ‘Thanks, Jack,’ he said.

  Paris put the phone back in his pocket and considered what he’d been told. He really needed peace and quiet. Plus probably three bottles of whisky.

  Raising his head, he looked downstairs. Bonetti stood in the hallway. His face was pale, his eyes wide.

  Paris started walking down towards him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘In the living room,’ mumbled Bonetti. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’

  Paris stopped walking. ‘Is it a demon?’

  ‘No,’ said the sergeant slowly.

  Paris resumed his descent. ‘So who is it then? Is it a willowy blonde?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Paris gave Bonetti a puzzled look as he passed him. He pushed open the living room door – and stopped, speechless, in the doorway.

  17

  Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky, her lips full and sensual. A golden-brown tan enhanced her immaculate complexion. She wore a white halter-neck top, which stret
ched tightly over perfectly formed breasts. Flowing blonde hair cascaded around her bare shoulders. She was, thought Paris, very nearly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Such a pity that, from the waist down, she was a horse.

  Where her hips should have been stood a firm, equine body. Her long, chestnut-coloured legs came in a set of four, and were of the type that should only be considered shapely by a vet.

  Paris raised his gaze back up again. He found her eyes burning into his.

  ‘Are you Inspector Paris?’ she asked.

  The cop nodded, transfixed. Seeing one of these mythical beings dead had almost knocked him sideways. Seeing one standing alive in his house was something else altogether. Especially since her human half looked so sensationally attractive – and her bottom half was so completely naked. He wondered if normal standards of modesty could be applied to someone like this.

  Paris was vaguely aware Bonetti had followed him into the room, though he took no notice. His sole interest right now lay straight ahead.

  The horse-woman took a step forward, moving away from the shattered French windows and the tarpaulin covering them. She trod carefully, making sure her hooves avoided the broken glass and rubble which littered the floor.

  ‘My name is Olian,’ she said. ‘I am a centaur. And, since yesterday, I am also a widow.’

  The last statement snapped Paris back to life, watching her eyes flash with anger as she said it. Anger, he assumed, to hide her sadness. Malbus had told him they were a proud race. But what could you say to comfort somebody whose husband had been sliced in half by a magic cheese wire?

  He moved further into the room, stepping between the armchair and the sofa.

  ‘I’m going to sit down,’ he said. ‘So you can tell me all about it. I would offer you a seat too, but…’

  ‘I’ll stand.’

  Paris lowered himself slowly onto the sofa as he studied the strange figure in front of him. Part fashion model, part warrior, part Grand National entrant. It wasn’t a combination you would expect to go unnoticed on the streets of south Manchester. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

  ‘How did you get here?’ he asked.

  Bonetti leant down towards him.

  ‘I went to put the kettle on,’ whispered the sergeant ‘When I came back, there she was.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Paris. ‘There’s a hole in the wall big enough for a troll to come through. I think I can work out how she got in.’

  He turned back towards Olian. ‘I meant, how did you find me? And surely you haven’t been walking round town letting everyone see you?’

  ‘No,’ said a voice from the tarpaulin. ‘She has not.’

  A hand lifted up the grey plastic sheet and Tergil entered the living room.

  Paris suppressed a groan. If they were going to let him stay at the station, why didn’t they lock him in? The inspector frowned.

  ‘Last night,’ he said. ‘You didn’t tell me you knew the centaurs.’

  ‘And I do not,’ replied Tergil. ‘I had never met Olian until this morning. But they issued a request for assistance. I was able to help, so I did.’

  ‘What “assistance”?’

  ‘They wanted to ascertain which human they should talk to. Obviously, that person is you. However, you were not in the station when I received the call. I assumed you would be here eventually.’

  Paris gritted his teeth. Obviously “request for assistance” actually meant “ringing round everyone you can think of, hoping for the best”. Maybe he was starting to figure out these magic creatures. He still wished he’d confiscated Tergil’s mobile.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Very helpful. So what did you do? Put on spells of concealment all the way here?’

  The elf and the centaur both looked slightly confused.

  ‘No,’ replied Tergil. ‘We could not do that. Spells of concealment to your house from the pavement, yes. But we had to use another way of getting here. You did not notice the large car parked two doors away? The one towing a horsebox?’

  Paris had seen it, although not paid it any attention. He hadn’t expected to be interviewing the occupant. He glared at the elf.

  ‘You stole a car? And a trailer? Plus I’m betting you haven’t got a licence, or insurance. And how do you know how to drive anyway?’

  Tergil smiled. ‘Observation. Reading. Super Mario Kart.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Olian. ‘We broke a few rules. It’s not the most comfortable way to travel either. But I needed to meet you.’

  Paris kept his eyes fixed on Tergil. He had even more to hold against the elf now, only this wasn’t the time to push it. There was a grieving widow to console. That would require calmness and dignity. He took a deep breath as he turned to face her.

  ‘Oh wow!’ said a voice behind him.

  Paris looked round. Cassandra stood in the doorway, with Malbus perched on her shoulder. It seemed like the room had welcomed the world’s worst pirate impersonation. As they came in, dignity took a flying leap out the window. Calmness tried to follow it, but Paris just about held on.

  The crow’s head jerked towards the back of the house.

  ‘Tergil?’ said Malbus.

  ‘Malbus?’ said Tergil.

  ‘I thought you were dead!’ they chorused.

  I wish you were, thought Paris. He saw his poker hand changing into a house of cards, then dissolve into the usual tissue of lies. When it came to magic, paper wasn’t really much use.

  Malbus nodded a greeting to the centaur.

  ‘Olian,’ he said. ‘I heard about Yazzar. Nasty way to go.’

  Paris stared at him. ‘Is that the best you can do? You wouldn’t like to be a little more sympathetic?’

  ‘Why do I need sympathy?’ asked Olian. ‘My husband was a warrior. He died a warrior’s death.’

  Paris turned his head slowly, still staring. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘He died in battle,’ said Olian flatly. ‘The spirits will welcome him.’

  Paris struggled to come up with a reply. The grieving widow wasn’t grieving? Then it hit him, like a slap in the face from a magic sword. No matter what their appearance, centaurs weren’t human. It wasn’t only standards of modesty which couldn’t be used here; no human standards of behaviour could be applied to someone – something – like this. He realised he hadn’t figured out magical creatures at all.

  ‘But,’ he said, ‘I thought you came to see me about the demons?’

  Anger flashed in Olian’s eyes again.

  ‘I did,’ she replied. ‘They prevented us from going through the portal. It’s your country, I want you to sort it out.’

  Paris sat dumbfounded for a moment. He looked up at his sergeant. ‘Bonetti, go and make the tea. Then go in the cupboard above the kettle.’

  ‘Is that where you keep the biscuits, Boss?’

  ‘No. That’s where I keep the whisky.’

  Peace and quiet or not, Paris needed a drink.

  Bonetti left the room. Paris looked back at Olian.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You’d better tell me exactly what happened.’

  Cassandra moved round to sit in the armchair. Her hand brushed against Paris’s as she passed and it felt reassuringly normal. Although, he thought, glancing at the black make-up and the purple hair, she probably wouldn’t thank him for saying so.

  Olian stared intently at the inspector.

  ‘We got the message,’ she said. ‘Regarding the fairy. We didn’t have to go, they would never be able to find us. But your world is too crowded. You spread out everywhere. The wild places are shrinking. So we decided to return. We came into your city, heading towards the portal. A group of Vanethria soldiers intercepted us and wouldn’t let us get to it. They have no right to do that!’

  Paris pondered. The rights and wrongs of access to the mystical gateway needed some serious thinking.

  ‘You must’ve been frightened,’ said Cassandra.

  ‘We have fought the Vanethria many
times,’ replied Olian. ‘We don’t scare.’

  ‘But you ran off,’ said the witch. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘We were outnumbered. They chased us away, further into your streets and houses. When we reached a place with no lights, they attacked us. We fought, bravely. Their mage killed Yazzar. A strange noise came from that car and we fled.’

  Paris sat back in his seat, his brow furrowed in concentration. Cassandra sat forward in hers.

  ‘Wow!’ she said. ‘I know about centaurs. I know what fantastic warriors you are. Is that why they wouldn’t let you go back? Are they worried you’ll join in the war?’

  ‘Probably,’ replied Olian, without a hint of arrogance. ‘They should fear us.’

  ‘I am not so sure,’ said Tergil. ‘Their army is very strong.’

  ‘Oh, I dunno,’ said Malbus. ‘Several tons of hoofed maniac could make a difference.’

  ‘No,’ said Paris quietly. ‘That’s not it.’

  Everyone looked at him as if they’d forgotten he was there. Paris leant forward.

  ‘Think,’ he said. ‘The Vanethria pick the strongest opponents they can find, send them into Manchester, then start a fight with them. On purpose.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Malbus. ‘So?’

  ‘So it’s not about centaurs at all,’ said Paris. ‘It’s about us. The demons are already conquering the magic world. Now they want ours.’

  18

  Paris looked up at his visitors as they all stared back at him. Olian the centaur, Tergil the elf, Malbus the talking crow and Cassandra the goth witch. He felt like an exhibit in an inverted freak show. Or possibly a talent show. His talent was solving problems, and he’d been putting it to use.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘This is how it goes. The Vanethria come here to chase runaways back to your world, right? They set up the dead fairy as a signal. While they’re doing it, they have a nose around. They think: there’s lots of stuff here we could use. I know magic creatures are wary round humans, because we don’t have a very good track record in dealing with you. But that doesn’t put them off. They see cars and planes and things, and it gets them interested. Greed overcomes fear. Then they think: there’s a lot of mystical beings here too, who’ve been here a while, and might be attached to the place. So they pick the most powerful opponents they can find, the centaurs, and attack them as a show of strength. They don’t want anybody interfering with their plans. Their plans to invade the human world.’