Breaking the Lore

by Breaking the Lore (retail) (epub)

  ‘Bloody hell!’ he said.

  Cassandra leant against the back of the chair next to him.

  ‘You haven’t told me to go in there,’ she said. ‘Are you jealous of his muscles, or do you just want us to be alone?’

  Paris looked up at her mischievous smiling face. How could anyone think of flirting while Grarf was stomping around in the next room?

  ‘Somebody’s impressed,’ he said. ‘How come you’re not terrified like the rest of us?’

  ‘No time for that. Far too busy being stunned. He’s incredible!’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Paris. ‘But is he going to kill us all? He says he’s not Vanethria, even though he’s a demon. How do I find out if he’s telling the truth? You’re the magic expert – what do you think?’

  Cassandra pursed her lips. ‘Can’t help you there. I don’t know which side he’s on. But I can tell you he radiates energy. This is one of the most potent magical presences I’ve ever encountered.’

  Paris stared up at her as the questions piled into his brain. How many “magical presences” had she met? And how the hell could she be so calm about it?

  He opened his mouth to ask. A crash from the living room interrupted him, followed by Stone’s voice pleading with Grarf to stand still. Paris remembered his own house. And Rocky.

  He pulled out his mobile. As he switched it on, missed calls from Superintendent Thorpe flashed up on the screen. Paris pressed reply and waited while it rang.

  ‘Nick?’ said Thorpe’s voice. ‘You’ve had your phone turned off again. What were you doing?’

  ‘I've been a bit busy,’ replied Paris.

  ‘Indeed. Well, there’ve been a few developments.’

  Paris glanced towards the living room.

  ‘No kidding,’ he said. ‘Look, I’ve got to speak to Tergil. Matter of life and death. Probably mine. Can you whizz down to the cells and get him?’

  ‘No need,’ replied Thorpe. ‘He’s right here with me. He’s not alone either. I’ll put you on speaker.’

  There was a muffled click, then a cough.

  ‘Paris?’ said Malbus’s voice. ‘That you?’

  ‘Yeah. What’s up?’

  ‘I’ve talked to Tergil. You didn’t tell me the princess was here.’

  Paris pondered. He’d deliberately not told the elf about the crow, or vice versa. The intention had been to play them off against each other, if need be. Then they’d met in his living room and another great idea bit the dust.

  ‘Up until ten minutes ago,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t aware we had royalty here either. Why is it so important?’

  ‘It appears,’ said Tergil, ‘that I may have made an error of judgement.’

  ‘Damn right,’ said Malbus. ‘And if you’d told me that him and Rocky were in the human world, I would’ve helped sort it out.’

  ‘Really?’ replied Paris. ‘There’s things you pair haven’t told me as well. Things concerning the Vanethria and who’s part of them. You familiar with someone named Grarf?’

  There was a long silence at the other end of the phone.

  ‘Grarf?’ said Tergil eventually.

  ‘Yeah. Like what the queen calls something with X and Y co-ordinates. Who is he?’

  The elf sighed. ‘He is my oldest and most loyal friend.’

  Paris frowned at the phone. Tergil’s best friend was a demon? After everything he’d said?

  ‘He never mentioned you,’ said the inspector. ‘But he wants to see Rocky. So I’m bringing him into the station, because I want to see you two. I think it’s about time I finally found out what the hell’s going on.’

  23

  The station staffroom wasn’t one of Paris’s usual haunts. He very rarely found the time to relax or socialise in work. Besides, it didn’t have a bar. In fact, he thought, it didn’t have much at all: two rickety tables, a dozen mismatched chairs, a vending machine and a TV. On the other hand, it also had the highest ceiling in the building, which is why they were there. Tall enough for Grarf to stand almost upright – although several broken ceiling tiles meant the operative word was “almost”.

  Paris glanced at him glowering in the corner, flakes of polystyrene panel stuck to his horns like demented dandruff. As with Rocky, they’d waited until night before moving him, and once again Bonetti’s brother-in-law supplied the transport. This time, however, the passenger proved somewhat less willing. Coaxing Grarf into the back of this strange metal box on wheels provoked much grunting, growling and clenching of enormous red fists. Cassandra calmed him down, somehow. Paris had no idea how, but he was very glad she’d managed to do it. Then they drove to the station, opened the van’s rear doors – and staggered back coughing, as sulphurous fumes billowed out around them. Noxious demonic breath, trapped in the cargo hold behind the cab. As the cloud dispersed, a mysterious sight took shape before their stinging eyes. The huge crimson creature sat cross-legged on the floor of the vehicle, hands resting on his knees with palms upright. The remaining smoke drifted around him gently. He looked like the evil twin who Buddha’s family kept locked in the attic.

  After that, sneaking through the station had been relatively easy. They’d got to the staffroom unseen, where Grarf made a beeline for Tergil. Paris watched as the pair hugged each other like the long-lost friends they obviously were. He listened as the demon bellowed, “We didst think thee dead,” adding a few more questions to his increasingly lengthy mental list. And now, when the introductions and the pleasantries were over, he wanted some answers.

  He surveyed the assembled motley crew. Grarf stood in the corner so he would be out of sight of the door. Even with Bonetti on guard outside, the inspector wasn’t taking any chances on him being spotted. Cassandra, Thorpe and Tergil were seated round one of the tables, with Malbus standing on its mottled plastic top. Paris folded his arms and sat back in his chair.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Where do we start?’

  It was an open question, although he stared pointedly at Tergil as he asked it. The elf took the hint.

  ‘I suppose I should begin. You see, I have not told you the whole story.’

  ‘No kidding. Go on then, tell me about you and Rocky. Or whatever her name actually is.’

  ‘Her real name is one you could never pronounce. However, that does not matter, as I never intended it to be spoken in the human world. “Rocky” is an alias.’

  ‘Because you’re in hiding,’ replied Paris. ‘I get it. So what about you?’

  ‘I have no need for an assumed name. My real one is common amongst my people. An elf called Tergil would attract no special attention.’

  It would in Manchester, thought Paris. He didn’t say it, though. He knew there was something else that he hadn’t been told.

  ‘What’s your full name?’ he asked.

  Tergil stared back at him, saying nothing for a moment.

  ‘I,’ he announced, ‘am Tergil Vos. Warrior of Bazon, Knight of the High Council, defender of the faith.’

  Paris nodded. Pretty much the answer he’d expected. Bloody typical as well: you go your whole life without meeting a knight, then two show up at once. He jerked a thumb towards the giant lump lurking in the corner.

  ‘Same as our friend over there,’ he said. ‘Except from a different place.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tergil answered. ‘Delostra is the realm of the demons. Bazon is the ancient homeland of my race.’

  ‘You know,’ said Cassandra, ‘it’s a pity it’s not called Booksh.’

  Tergil looked blankly at her. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’d all be Booksh Elves.’

  Paris attempted to shoot her a withering glance, but Cassandra remained resolutely un-withered. Surrounded by strange creatures and general weirdness, she was in her element. Probably one called insanium.

  This contrasted totally with Thorpe, sitting next to her. The superintendent still reeled from meeting Grarf, her face remaining pale with shock. The fairy had caused her to wobble; the demon had blown her apart. It was quite
understandable, thought Paris. Also amusing, in a slightly sadistic kind of way.

  ‘That’s two different countries,’ he said, fixing his gaze on Tergil again. ‘And some furniture. You haven’t told me how Rocky fits into this yet.’

  ‘I happened to be with the rock trolls when the Vanethria invaded,’ replied the elf. ‘I helped the king and queen to escape with their young daughter. However, we did not get very far. Rock trolls are large and strong, but do not move quickly. An enemy unit overtook us. They caused the landslide which wiped out most of our group. Only the princess and I survived.’

  ‘Just as well you did,’ interrupted Malbus. ‘See, rock trolls don’t give up. They’ll keep fighting as long as one of the royal family is alive.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Tergil. ‘The Vanethria doubtless believed us all crushed – although they could not prove it. Unless they can, the trolls will not surrender.’

  ‘Aye,’ boomed Grarf. ‘Though the first attack didst hurt them sorely, they hath fought back valiantly. The war in their land doth still rage.’

  Paris looked around the three of them. The elf, the demon and the crow. It sounded like a bad joke. One where the punchline was a baffled policeman.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You wandered round for a while. Eventually you reached the portal and came through into our world. Then you laid low. Right?’

  ‘Damn right,’ said Malbus. ‘You snuck in, didn’t you? Got past my lookouts on this side of the gateway, stayed out of sight ever since.’

  Tergil nodded. ‘I did not know who we could trust, so I avoided contact with any magical creatures who were already here. And, of course, the humans, unless I required something from them. What little gold I brought with me plus the rudimentary spells I had mastered were sufficient to ensure we remained unknown to them. So it has been for the past eighteen years.’

  Paris stared at him.

  ‘Eighteen years?’ he repeated. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously. How do you think I have learnt so many of your languages?’

  ‘You’ve spent all this time travelling?’

  Tergil narrowed his eyes. ‘I live in a cave with a rock troll. I do a lot of reading.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Grarf. ‘A good plan. I hath also learnt human speech from a book.’ He paused. ‘Although methinks ’twas quite an old one.’

  Paris took no notice. He continued to gape at Tergil. His expression turned gradually into a frown as he thought through what he’d been told.

  ‘Hang on. You said Rocky is ten.’

  ‘No,’ replied Tergil. ‘I told you that she is the equivalent of a ten-year-old, in your terms. You must consider how slowly rock trolls grow. In fact, they age at the rate of, well, rocks.’

  Paris pondered. At least this explained how Rocky got past the garage at Stone’s house. It hadn’t been built yet.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘all the time the fighting was going on, you’ve been quite happy in your little hideaway. Until the Vanethria came here. Then you needed our help. So why didn’t you tell me what was happening in the first place? Why didn’t you tell me they aren’t all demons?’

  ‘I confess to having misled you,’ replied Tergil. ‘I apologise. I thought I would receive more sympathy if I mentioned only that particular race.’

  Paris frowned a little deeper, ignoring Cassandra’s tutting. He couldn’t dispute the logic: hiding from demons certainly sounded more dangerous than being threatened by pixies. But he still wasn’t happy with what he was hearing.

  ‘I don’t buy it,’ he said. ‘You told me you wanted asylum in isolation, then you didn’t complain when the dwarves turned up. And you drove Olian the centaur to my house.’

  Tergil adopted his standard impassive face.

  ‘The centaurs issued a request for aid. I am a Knight of the High Council, hence I could not refuse. As for the dwarves, I could hardly send them away once you had taken them in. Besides, they are my people’s oldest allies.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ said Malbus. ‘Normally.’

  Paris turned his frown towards the crow. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That’s the problem I told you about on the phone. See, the dwarves who live in this world are fine. But while Tergil’s been here, some of the ones back home have joined the V. And these little folk talk to each other, y’know?’

  ‘For crying out loud!’ said Paris. ‘You’ve got dwarves on the demons’ side and demons on the elf side. When you have battles, do you use a scorecard?’

  He’d heard enough for now. And, of course, it made no sense. Maybe the joke was on him, after all.

  ‘I need some fresh air,’ he said, standing up.

  Paris went out of the room. Bonetti gave him a puzzled look as he passed.

  ‘What’s up, Boss?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  Paris trudged off down the corridor. He felt tired, his brain was worn out and his senses were dulled. God, he needed a drink. He made his way to the back door and out into the car park. He needed a smoke too, so by God he was going to have one.

  Paris put the cigarette to his lips, readied his lighter – and paused. The last time he’d done this he’d been ambushed by a horde of dwarves. He looked around. No sign of anyone. The hint of a smile played on his lips. Thankfully, déjà vu wasn’t what it used to be. The inspector lit up, puffing the fag into life. He took a long, slow drag, then exhaled happily. Paris closed his eyes as he drew the fumes into his nostrils. He revelled in the aroma of tobacco. And nicotine. And sulphur?

  His eyes snapped open. Had Grarf come out to join him? He whirled round, looking for a huge red shape blocking the doorway. Nothing. Paris sniffed again. The smell, he realised with horror, wasn’t the demon’s foul breath. It was the scent from outside his house, left by Vanethria soldiers.

  He turned, cautiously scanning the gloom and wishing Grarf was there after all. His mind raced. Malbus said if they wanted him dead he’d already be dead. So what were they after?

  ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Is anybody there?’

  Silence. He sniffed once more. The repulsive pong still hung in the air. Something skulked out there in the darkness, unseen. No idea where it might be. The perimeter fence should keep it away – except for the dwarves cutting a handy gap in the wire. Paris swallowed hard.

  ‘I know you’re there. What do you want?’

  He heard the sound of running feet, disappearing off into the night. He listened as the noise faded away. Had he somehow scared them off? Or they’d just gone for reinforcements? Paris walked slowly backwards until he found the station door and went in as quickly as possible.

  24

  ‘Good morning,’ said Cassandra. ‘Time to rise and make an attempt at shining.’

  Paris groaned and peered at his watch. Quarter past nine. After four hours of fitful sleep on his office couch, he certainly wasn’t shiny. Crumpled, crinkled and slightly battered, yes. He felt like a chip-shop haddock.

  ‘What have I missed?’ he asked.

  ‘Not a lot. There’s absolutely nothing happened since your first sighting – or should I say smelling. And Tergil’s got everything in hand. So we thought you deserved a lie-in.’

  Paris didn’t complain. It had been a long and fruitless night watching out for more Vanethria soldiers, although he was actually quite glad they hadn’t spotted any. Besides, there was no doubt about Tergil being on top of things. He’d leapt into action as soon as Paris got back to the staffroom, sending Grarf to guard Rocky and rounding up the dwarves to check outside. The elf took charge in a very impressive manner. Of course, it would have been even better if he’d given Grarf some directions. Or told him to keep out of sight rather than get there as fast as possible. But then, maybe a princess’s safety was worth three broken doors, a load of people scared witless and a stray cat dying of a heart attack.

  The inspector clambered to his feet, stretching and moaning as he did so. Cassandra studied him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

  ‘Still don’t
see why you insisted on sleeping in your office. Why didn’t you do what I did?’

  ‘I told you. Cops don’t sleep in cells. And definitely not in their own station.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be so fussy. Look at you, you’re a wreck. But I’m fine.’

  ‘That’s probably practice. You must’ve spent the night in a cell before.’

  The witch grinned. ‘Once or twice.’

  Yes, thought Paris, I bet you have. He didn’t ask for any details, though. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear them.

  They went out into the corridor, where a constable stood to attention.

  ‘Fairclough?’ said Paris. ‘Did you want something?’

  ‘Adam here escorted me through the building,’ said Cassandra. ‘Do you know he’s a Scorpio?’

  Paris glanced at her.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Funnily enough, it’s never come up in conversation.’

  Then again, neither had the officer’s first name. A five-minute stroll through the station and Cassandra knew more about the young cop than he did. And if it was anything like when she met him and Bonetti, she’d probably worked out the poor lad’s life story before he opened his mouth.

  Paris nodded to him. ‘You can go now, Constable Scorpio.’

  Fairclough saluted and set off down the passageway. Paris observed in silence as he walked away. Silence, he decided, would be the important thing right now. Thorpe had told all the staff to keep quiet, and she’d had to try again after Grarf’s midnight antics. She’d even gone so far as wheeling him out to show them how friendly he was. And it more or less went okay until he smiled. But could she manage to convince everyone? Would they keep all this under wraps? Paris grimaced. He really didn’t need the press or anyone else nosing around. Especially not now, with demonic killers lurking about.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Cassandra.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Paris. ‘How long can we keep the magical creatures here hushed up? How do we stop someone blabbing, even by accident? And what the hell do we do when it does get out?’