Henry blinked. Death seemed to have mellowed Mr Fogarty a bit, but probably best not to say so. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then discovered he didn’t have one. So all he said was, ‘Thank you. Yes, thank you. Yes, I will.’
Mr Fogarty said, ‘Everything started to go numb. Can’t say I liked that much, but to be honest with you I didn’t realise I was dying. But then I got cold and the room started to fade away. I couldn’t hear the noises outside any more. That’s when I knew I was in trouble, but – know something? – I didn’t really care. Some reason, nothing seemed to matter. After that. I couldn’t be bothered to breathe any more and I felt my heart stop.’
‘Wow!’ Henry exclaimed.
‘Didn’t matter,’ said Mr Fogarty and Henry could almost hear him shrug. ‘Strange that. You spend your whole life trying to keep going, and in the end it doesn’t matter.’ He paused thoughtfully for a moment, then went on. ‘Odd thing was, I was still there. Couldn’t see the room and I know I wasn’t thinking straight, but I was still me. Surrounded by a sort of … luminous darkness, I suppose you’d call it. All a bit drifty-dreamy. Then I passed out.’
He said it with such finality that Henry said tactlessly, ‘You were dead.’
‘Interesting thing was I didn’t stay dead,’ Mr Fogarty told him.
‘You didn’t?’
‘No. I was only out for a few seconds, felt like. Then I was in the dark, like I was half asleep with my eyes shut. Then it all started to lighten up and I was back in my hospital room at the Palace.’
Henry had stopped following this. ‘So you weren’t really dead?’
‘Oh, I was really dead all right, except I didn’t know it. Felt better than I had in years. All the arthritis gone, eyesight sharper, lot more energy. There were healers coming in and out – you know how the buggers hate to leave you alone – but when I tried to tell them I was better they ignored me. Took me a while to figure out what was going on, but when I walked through a wall, the penny dropped. I was a ghost. Funny thing was, I never noticed the old body on the bed before then. But there it was, eyes closed, pious expression, gone-to-meet-my-Maker look and far too pale to be healthy. I was really dead all right.’
‘So that’s what you are now?’ Henry asked. ‘A ghost?’ He wondered how Mr Fogarty’s ghost had found its way here, got itself into a Luchti ark. He wondered how Mr Fogarty was able to talk now when he couldn’t talk to the healers in the bedroom.
‘Not exactly,’ Mr Fogarty said. ‘This is hard to explain: I’m not sure you’ll get it until you’ve been through it yourself. The thing is … know how you go to sleep every night and dream?’
‘Yes …’ Henry said uncertainly.
‘After you’re dead, you dream while you’re awake.’
Mr Fogarty was right: Henry didn’t get it. ‘You mean you went to sleep?’
‘Listen to what I just told you,’ Mr Fogarty said with more than a hint of his old irritation. ‘You don’t go to sleep. But you dream while you’re awake. I even had a visit from Beleth, thought That’s it – I should never have robbed those banks.’ He gave a short, sharp laugh.
‘Beleth?’ Henry asked. ‘The Demon King? You mean there’s, like, a Hell?’
‘You know there’s a Hell,’ Mr Fogarty said impatiently. ‘You were the one got Pyrgus out of it. But you don’t go there after you die: that’s just something they make up to scare you.’
‘But you just said Beleth …’
Mr Fogarty sighed, ‘I just said Beleth came to visit. Made sense. After all, he was dead too after Blue slit his throat. But it wasn’t Beleth. I was dreaming. I dreamed Beleth turned up. The trouble is, it’s very hard to tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re not. Dreams feel real and reality feels peculiar. Took me a long time to figure out what was going on. But then Jesus arrived to take me to heaven and I thought Hold on, this isn’t right, not after everything you’ve done. So I figured I had to be dreaming. After that I watched what was happening more carefully and got to where I could tell when I was dreaming and when I wasn’t. At least most of the time. Sometimes I’m not sure – like now.’
‘You’re not dreaming now,’ Henry said at once.
‘No, I don’t think I am.’
Henry suddenly became aware of a hand on his elbow. He glanced up to find himself looking into the sober face of Euphrosyne. ‘There is not much time left, En Ri,’ she said.
‘She’s right,’ Mr Fogarty said. ‘That device you’re using is really interesting – hugely advanced psychotronics: God knows how these people got hold of it – but it runs on some sort of pulse battery I haven’t quite figured out yet. I think it may be linked to the position of the sun. Anyway, the point is we won’t be communicating much longer and there are things I have to tell you.’
‘Yes, okay,’ Henry said. For no reason at all, he found himself wondering why the Luchti thought Mr Fogarty was the god Charaxes. And what they’d done for a god before Mr Fogarty died. Come to think of it, that didn’t make sense. The first Euphrosyne was talking to Charaxes long before Mr Fogarty was even born.
‘Okay, Henry, pin back your ears,’ said Mr Fogarty briskly. ‘And if we get cut off, have them work the gizmo again the minute it comes back on – okay?’
‘Yes, okay,’ Henry said again. Now he was starting to feel nervous, but this time he knew the reason. When Mr Fogarty used that tone, it always meant trouble usually for Henry.
Mr Fogarty said, ‘When you’re dead, you can see into the future.’
‘Like when you had time fever?’ Henry asked brightly.
For some reason the question irritated Mr Fogarty. ‘No, not like the time fever. Now I get to see what you should do – what you have to do – to make things turn out right. Boy, what would I have given for that when I was a kid? Almost worth dying for, except for the catch.’
‘What’s the catch?’ Henry asked curiously.
‘Catch is when you’re dead you can’t do anything about your own future any more. I know what I should have done, but I didn’t, and now I can’t, it’s too late, so what’s the point of that? You’d think they’d organise things better over here.’
Henry wondered who they were. He wondered where over here was. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but he was worried about the business of the battery running down. It was probably his imagination, but he kept thinking Mr Fogarty’s voice was fading and he didn’t want it to go altogether before Mr Fogarty finished telling him what he wanted to tell him. ‘Yes,’ Henry murmured, nodding agreement that you’d think they would organise things better over there.
Mr Fogarty said, ‘But I know what you should do to make things turn out right, Henry. I know what you have to do. I know exactly what you have to do …’
It wasn’t his imagination. The voice was definitely fading. Henry swung round to Euphrosyne. ‘Can’t you turn the volume up or something?’
Euphrosyne shook her head. ‘Charaxes will leave soon.’
That was just his luck! That was just his bloody luck! He swung back to the ark. ‘What do I have to do?’ he shouted. ‘What do I have to do to make things come out all right?’
The voice from the ark was fading fast, but Henry could still hear the words quite clearly.
‘You have to rescue Blue,’ said Mr Fogarty.
Seventy-Four
‘Is she in isolation?’ asked Madame Cardui.
Chief Wizard Healer Danaus said a little tiredly, ‘Standard procedure in these cases now, but to be frank with you, I doubt it’s really needed. We’ve found no evidence whatsoever that the fever is contagious.’
‘She didn’t pick it up from Pyrgus?’
‘Prince Pyrgus should never have got it in the first place. When the epidemic began we put in place strict procedures for all the royals,’ Danaus said. ‘None of them should have picked up an infection.’
Assuming Pyrgus did what he was told, Madame Cardui thought. He was never very good at that.
But Danaus was goi
ng on: ‘Besides, he was in the Analogue World. According to everything we know, it is utterly impossible for the fever to manifest there.’
‘Yet it did,’ murmured Madame Cardui.
‘Yet clearly it did,’ Danaus agreed.
After a moment, Madame Cardui asked, ‘What treatment are you giving her?’
‘Nymphalis? At the moment none.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Well, that’s not true – palliative treatment. She’s comfortable, there are nurses round the clock, we use spells to keep her temperature within tolerable limits. But when it comes to anything that will make a real difference to the disease – ’ he shrugged ’ – we don’t have anything that will make a real difference to the disease.’
‘But you’re still working on a cure?’
‘Of course. Would you like to see?’
The offer took her by surprise, but it was welcome nonetheless. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, Chief Wizard Healer, yes I would.’
They were already in the medical wing of the Palace. Now they walked together through the long white corridors that led to the research unit. Danaus stopped her before a large observation window. ‘Best you go no further, Madame Cardui.’ He gave a very small, wry smile, ‘In case I am mistaken about the contagion.’
The window was spell coated to give them an overhead view of an entire ward with both alchemical and ritual laboratories set side by side at one end. To scrutinise any bedroom or the activities of the laboratories themselves, all one had to do was concentrate. But even without specific concentration, the place was obviously a hive of activity.
‘We have two types of patient here,’ Danaus said in a lecturing-to-students voice. ‘Nobility, Palace staff and now our first royal-in-residence, Prince Pyrgus, in stasis –’
‘Royals-in-residence,’ Madame Cardui corrected him mildly. ‘Plural. Now you are looking after Nymphalis.’
‘Ah, yes, a forest royal is she not?’ His tone told what he thought of Forest Faeries. He turned back to the window. ‘As I was saying – the first type of patients are those who are here for care. Then we have the hoi polloi who are here for experimentation.’
Madame Cardui smiled slightly to herself. ‘A little cynical, perhaps, Chief Wizard Healer?’
‘Not in the least,’ said Danaus easily. ‘They are a great deal better off in my unit than they would be dying in the streets. And since we only attempt treatments we believe have a chance of succeeding, there is even the possibility they might be cured before the very highest in the land.’
‘But the treatments are dangerous? Some of them at least?’
‘The situation is grave. Some of the spells are extreme. Would you rather we tried them out on our royal family first?’
‘No,’ said Madame Cardui honestly. In fact, Danaus was doing exactly what she would have done in his position, what any realist would do. She suddenly noticed Nymph lying in one of the beds and concentrated to bring her room into clearer focus. The girl looked asleep, but there were subtle signs that she was actually still in a fever coma. Her face was still a long way from the grey aging Pyrgus was now showing, but it already seemed to exhibit a disturbing maturity in place of her fresh-faced youth.
Madame Cardui turned to look at the Chief Wizard Healer. He was a big man, tall, overweight, with soft, fleshy features. For the first time she realised how tired he looked. His face was drawn, his complexion was pale and his eyes were suffering from far too little sleep. She still disliked the man, but decided now she had been far too hard on him. He was, after all, carrying the weight of a crisis, ultimately responsible for the lives of all those in his care, incessantly pressured to find a cure for a terrifying and hitherto unknown disease. What’s more, while he had been careful to halt Madame Cardui in this observation chamber, she knew that he spent all of his days now, and most of his nights, down there in the wards. The man might be a pompous ass, but he did not lack courage. Nor did he spare himself in doing his job. She said, ‘Why did you not have Nymphalis placed in stasis?’ But it was purely a question, not a challenge.
Danaus clearly accepted it as such. ‘She’s young. This is her first bout of the fever. At this stage, she may lose a few days of her future, but hopefully nothing significant. As I said before, there is a small risk involved in stasis. With Prince Pyrgus we really had no option, but Nymphalis is a different case. Besides – ’ He stopped.
‘Besides what?’ asked Madame Cardui.
‘I was going to say we are hopeful that when we find a cure, we can reverse the premature aging. But frankly I have no idea at all whether that’s true. Most of the time we just try to keep up a brave front.’
It was something she’d had to do herself in past crises and she sympathised. ‘What progress have you made with a cure?’ she asked.
Danaus sighed. ‘Very little, if I’m honest. The main problem is the fever shows none of the characteristics of any conventional infection. In many ways, it doesn’t behave like a disease at all. Approaches that have delivered good results in the past simply don’t seem relevant here.’ He squared his shoulders slightly. ‘But we try. And we will continue trying.’ He glanced back towards the observation window and added, ‘Obviously if the fever progresses in Nymphalis as it has done in Prince Pyrgus we will place her in stasis long before her situation becomes critical.’
‘Thank you,’ Madame Cardui murmured. Her mind returned to an earlier point and she said, ‘Chief Wizard Healer, you mentioned that in your opinion the disease is not contagious …?’
Danaus looked more tired than ever. ‘Confidentially, Madame Cardui, we have tried to pass the infection from one patient to another in a controlled experimental group. We did not succeed. Even mixing blood from a diseased patient with blood from a healthy one will not do it. Frankly, we have no idea at all how the disease spreads.’
‘But it is spreading?’ Madame Cardui said. She realised suddenly that with her various concerns, she had not been taking as careful note of the epidemic as she should have.
‘Oh yes,’ Danaus said grimly. ‘More than a thousand new cases reported every day now.’
Madame Cardui went chill. ‘More than a thousand?’
‘Worse than that,’ Danaus said. ‘Latest analysis suggests we may be into a geometrical progression. The number of reported cases have doubled every few weeks. The figures have to be rechecked, of course, but if the trend continues, it may be only a matter of weeks before the entire Realm is infected.’
‘Weeks?’ Madame Cardui exploded. ‘Why did you not tell me this sooner?’
Danaus gave a small, fatalistic shrug. ‘What could you do to prevent it? Really, what can any of us do?’
She stared at him and forced herself to relax. He was right, of course. Everyone was doing everything they could. To tell her of every development in the progress of the plague would simply add to her worries without making the slightest difference to anything. Suddenly she felt very, very tired. In less troubled times she would have headed for her quarters, locked the door and slept. As it was …
‘Thank you, Danaus,’ she said quietly, ‘I shall leave you to your work and try to get on with mine.’
But as she swept off down the corridor, exhaustion overcame her.
Seventy-Five
Blue waited until she was inside the cave before she swallowed the first catsite crystal. Catsite was toxic. One or two crystals wouldn’t kill you, but the effect was cumulative and once the build-up reached a critical point, death followed quickly, with no advance warning. But what option had she? If she was to search these caverns without alerting the serpent, she could hardly stomp about waving a flaming torch or levitate a glow globe. Not that she’d smuggled any glowglobes into this gods-forsaken country. Or levitation spells, for that matter.
Catsite had no magical charge, but its base structure was alchemical so that the crystal tingled in her throat and stomach. Deceptively, the sensation was rather pleasant. For a moment, nothing more happened; then the chemical seized her nervous system a
nd her surroundings sprang suddenly into stark relief. The colour tones were peculiar – everything had a greenish tinge – but that apart, she could now see in the dark.
The cave entrance sloped downwards, narrowing almost at once to a passageway that quickly curved out of sight. Disturbingly, there was a scattering of bones on the floor, as if an animal had recently eaten something here … although exactly what she had no way of knowing. She listened, fervently wishing the alchemists had found a way of giving her better hearing. There was no sound that she could detect, so she moved forward cautiously down the slope.
The passage way continued to descend after it curved, but as she followed it, the right-hand wall fell away so that she was looking down into a broad underground gallery that acted as a terminus for further passageways. The slope on which she was standing clung to the open wall like a mountain road, but meandered eventually into the gallery itself. To her left was another opening, whether to a cave or a further passageway she had no way of telling; besides which, it was too high for her to reach without a difficult climb. She decided on the gallery and followed the slope cautiously downwards.
By the time she reached the bottom, it was obvious this was no simple cavern. There were passageways branching everywhere and while some of them might be dead ends, she had a strong suspicion she was entering a warren. If so, the prime danger was not some mythic serpent – which she was still not sure actually existed but the possibility of getting lost.
Blue slipped the backpack from her shoulders and opened it on the floor. She’d never learned to pack tidily, so she had to rummage, but she found what she was looking for eventually. She took out a smallish cylinder, pointed at one end like a stubby pencil, and pressed the base to activate it. The cylinder hummed briefly. Experimentally, Blue took three steps forward, then glanced behind her. Nothing. She blinked her eyes twice in quick succession. Now she could see a luminous filament that trailed through the air from the device in her hand to the exact point where she had switched it on. Another blink and the filament disappeared. Perfect. She dropped the activated cylinder into her pocket. Now wherever she went she left a trail. When she wanted to return, she had only to follow it. Best of all, the trail was visible to no one except her.
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