Danaus walked over to inspect the cabinet. He sniffed several of its surfaces and bent over to examine the interior closely. After long moments he straightened up. ‘Put His Highness inside,’ he said.
Nymph said quickly, ‘Chief Wizard Healer, is it true there is a risk with this procedure?’
Danaus glanced at her without affection. ‘Yes. Stasis is normally used to preserve dead bodies or inanimate objects. There is a negligible risk when it is applied to living systems.’
‘Negligible?’
‘Statistically measurable, but small.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Certainly your husband would be in far greater peril if we did not place him in stasis now. Were I smitten with the fever, it is what I would want for myself. The process of the disease must be stopped until we can find a cure.’
‘Good,’ Nymph said. ‘Proceed.’ She made a silent decision to kill Chief Wizard Surgeon Healer Danaus if any harm befell Pyrgus.
If he sensed her thought, Danaus didn’t show it. He nodded to his team and seconds later Pyrgus was sealed inside the cabinet. He looked disturbingly like a corpse now, although Nymph could see the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. But even that would stop when the cabinet was activated. Everything would stop. Pyrgus, who was being eaten by Time, would halt in Time.
Danaus took a tiny six-inch wand from a pocket of his robe and snapped it over the cabinet at the level of Pyrgus’s throat. The ark hummed for a brief second, then was silent. Pyrgus’s breathing stopped, it’s done,’ Danaus said.
Perhaps it was the sheer stillness of Pyrgus that Nymph found upsetting. His face began to blur, as if tears were clouding her eyes, yet strangely she did not cry – she never cried. There was a knot of nausea in her stomach that almost certainly came from worry. She turned away and felt herself sway.
‘Nymph deeah?’ Madame Cardui said.
There were too many people in the room. They appeared and disappeared and busied themselves in hordes that ebbed and swelled like some strange tide. There was something wrong with the light, for it flickered incessantly.
‘Nymph?’ Madame Cardui said again.
She needed to get back to the fresh air, away from the death smells. They would take Pyrgus away, now they had placed him in stasis. They would carry the cabinet to his Palace quarters and post guards to ensure he was not disturbed. They would continue their search for a cure. There was nothing more she could do here.
‘Nymph, what’s the matter?’ Madame Cardui asked in sudden alarm.
Nymph took a step forward and the world spun around her.
‘Nymph!’ It was close to a shout now.
Then came the plummy voice of Chief Wizard Healer Danaus, confident and firm. ‘Stand back, Madame Cardui,’ he said. ‘She has temporal fever.’
Seventy-Two
Blue came to a decision, ‘I’m going in,’ she said.
It occurred to her that she’d been caught up in a myth. She’d cast herself (or perhaps the Purlisa had subtly cast her) as a heroic figure off to slay the monster. Or else, she realised, as a tragic figure about to be captured by the monster. Until now, she’d never thought of looking beyond the two great mythic roles: conquering hero or captive princess. But the fact was she didn’t have to accept either of these roles. There was a third way. She could creep into the cavern, avoid the serpent if there really was a serpent and find out whether Henry was inside. If he wasn’t, she could then creep out again. If he was, she’d try to figure out a way to rescue him, preferably one that didn’t involve her slaying a great monster.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said the charno.
‘No need,’ Blue said. The charno might be working on the orders of the Abbot for all she knew. But it didn’t matter. Now she’d stopped thinking the way they wanted her to think, she was back in control.
‘Who’ll carry the hammer?’
The hammer was a joke. The only weapon that could kill the Midgard Serpent according to the Purlisa and it was too heavy for her to carry. So why had they bothered to send it? They must have known it was something she could never use.
‘The hammer doesn’t matter,’ Blue said.
She expected an argument, but the charno said nothing, simply watched her with his great brown eyes. Despite her suspicions, she felt sorry for him. Even if he was a creature of the Abbot and Purlisa, he was only doing his job.
‘You can go home now,’ she said. ‘I’ll be all right on my own.’
‘I’ll wait,’ said the charno. ‘I can carry you back afterwards. You and Henry.’
She had a sudden ridiculous picture of herself clinging to the back of this giant hare as it plodded through the wasteland. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how it would carry Henry as well. The charno was a pack animal, pure and simple, totally unsuited to carrying a passenger. Unless – despite everything she had to suppress a smile – he put them both in his backpack.
Blue shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ She turned and walked with great deliberation towards the entrance of the cavern.
‘Wait!’
She sighed and turned again. ‘What is it now?’ she asked the charno.
‘That wasn’t me,’ the charno said.
Blue started violently as something moved behind the charno. The man was so dusty, battered, tattered and thin that for a moment she failed to recognise him. There was dried blood on his face. ‘Chalkhill?’ Blue gasped. What on earth was Chalkhill doing here? She narrowed her eyes. Was it really Chalkhill?
Chalkhill took a step forward, then sat down abruptly on the ground. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured. Then, more loudly, ‘Forgive me. Your Majesty.’
Blue stared, completely at a loss. Chalkhill was an old enemy – he’d once tried to kill her and his involvement in various plots against the Realm was well known – but she’d heard nothing of him for more than a year. Now here he was in the Buthner wilderness, halfway up the Mountains of Madness, beside the entrance to a cavern that supposedly contained the Midgard Serpent. This could not be a coincidence, But for the life of her she could not imagine what it meant.
It was the charno who made the next move. ‘Water?’ he asked, handing Chalkhill a flask from his backpack.
Chalkhill drank greedily and the water seemed to revive him. He struggled to his feet. ‘Excuse my appearance,’ he said, still with difficulty, as if his appearance made any difference about anything. ‘But you must not go in there.’
Blue found her voice, if only just. ‘Really?’ she said coldly. She half turned back towards the cavern entrance.
‘You don’t know what’s in there!’ Chalkhill shouted in something close to panic.
The last time she faced Chalkhill directly, she’d had a company of Palace commandoes at her back. She doubted she would need them now. Chalkhill looked as weak as a kitten. In truth he looked half dead. She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again. Brimstone in the cage at the monastery! Chalkhill and Brimstone, the two old partners! They’d been working together again. They had to be. And now Brimstone was mad.
‘The Midgard Serpent?’ Blue asked innocently, staring directly at Chalkhill.
Chalkhill’s mouth dropped open. ‘How did you know?’
This was getting her nowhere. Or perhaps it was getting her somewhere, but she just didn’t know how. What did it matter if Chalkhill and Brimstone were up to their old tricks? What did it matter whether or not she could trust the Purlisa? What did it even matter if they were all telling the truth and there really was some sort of monster in there? The only thing that mattered was Henry. She made another move towards the entrance.
‘Please…’ Chalkhill said.
Something in his voice stopped her short. She looked at him again. ‘Why don’t you want me to go in there?’
‘You’ll be killed,’ Chalkhill whispered.
‘Why would you care?’ Blue asked him coldly.
‘I’m working for Madame Cardui,’ said Chalkhill.
It was so utterly outlandish that it might actually be true. Blue
felt her own jaw drop and quickly closed her mouth. Chalkhill was tricky enough without letting him see he’d surprised her. She needed time to think. Madame Cardui had never mentioned Chalkhill, but that was completely in character. As the Realm’s Spy-master she engaged in all sorts of activities she told no one about. Not even her Queen. Sometimes, Blue had long noted, especially not her Queen. And Chalkhill had a background in espionage. He’d spied for Lord Hairstreak. Dammit, he was Lord Hairstreak’s Spymaster in the bad old days when her uncle was a real threat to the Realm. So it could be that Chalkhill was now working for Madame Cardui. He wouldn’t be the first of Hairstreak’s agents she’d turned for her own advantage. The question was, in what capacity?
‘She asked you to look out for me?’ Blue ventured, frowning. It was by way of a testing question. If Chalkhill was lying – and Blue very much suspected he might bethen he would seize the suggestion, unaware that until just days ago, Madame Cardui had accompanied Blue personally and only left her due to a wholly unexpected development. In such circumstances, Madame Cynthia would never have allocated an agent to follow Blue.
But Chalkhill shook his head. ‘She asked me to spy on Silas Brimstone.’
That made sense, some sort of sense at least. As an old partner, Chalkhill would be a logical choice to spy on Brimstone. So Chalkhill might be telling the truth. Time to push him. ‘Was it Brimstone who called up the serpent in this cave?’
‘Yes.’
Which was what the Purlisa claimed. ‘That’s what the Purlisa said,’ Blue murmured, echoing her thought.
‘Who?’ asked Chalkhill.
The question sounded genuine, which meant he didn’t know the Purlisa. Or the Abbot presumably. Blue said, ‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why did Brimstone call up the serpent?’
‘I don’t know,’ Chalkhill said. ‘But if you go in there, you’re dead. I only just managed to escape.’
He was lying about something. Blue was sure of it. But what? ‘You were in the cavern?’
‘When he called it up? Yes. It was the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t go in there without an army backing me and even then I’d think twice.’ He looked at her pleadingly, as if willing her to stay out of the cavern.
Blue said, ‘Is Henry in there?’
Chalkhill blinked. ‘Henry?’ He shook his head. ‘No…’ She could almost hear him thinking, Who’s Henry? as if Henry was the last thing on his mind.
This time he sounded genuine, but she was far from sure. All the same, if Henry wasn’t in the cave, there was no need for her to face the serpent. (If there was a serpent.) There was no need for her to go in there at all.
Which was what Chalkhill wanted.
How could you trust Chalkhill? The man was a toad and always had been. Why would he want her to stay out of the cave? The idea that he was concerned about her safety was nonsense, even if he was working for Madame Cardui.
Blue decided to stop speculating and concentrate on simple facts.
Fact one: she had no idea whether Henry was in the cave or not.
Fact two: the Purlisa and his Abbot both wanted her to go into the cave.
Fact three: Chalkhill clearly didn’t.
She looked at the charno, but couldn’t think of any facts about him, except he had big feet.
Blue turned on her heel, ‘I’m going in,’ she said a second time.
Seventy-Three
Henry felt as if Euphrosyne had ceased to exist, as if the Luchti had ceased to exist, as if the entire city had ceased to exist.
‘But you’re dead,’ Henry croaked, his voice scarcely above a whisper.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Mr Fogarty impatiently.
‘What happened?’ Henry asked.
‘Old age happened,’ Mr Fogarty told him. ‘My time ran out, I suppose. I’m not sure – death’s not as clear-cut as you’d think.’
‘No,’ Henry said. ‘No, I didn’t mean that.’ He was having trouble believing what was going on. But the voice was definitely the voice of Mr Fogarty. And it was talking to him, talking properly, not like some old recording. He couldn’t see how Euphrosyne could have faked that. Or anybody else. He took a long, shuddering breath, ‘I mean, where are you?’
‘Good question. Not sitting on a cloud playing a harp, that’s for sure.’
After a minute, Henry realised that was the only answer he was going to get and said, ‘No, I mean – ’ He stopped himself. He knew he was falling into one of his famous waffles and that was really, really stupid. If he was talking to Mr Fogarty, if he was talking to somebody who had died and was still dead and was somehow talking back, then he was in a position to find out stuff, important stuff, nobody in the whole world knew about. It was incredible, but it was happening. He started again, his voice firmer this time. ‘Can you remember exactly what happened when… when it happened? When you – ’ he coughed discreetly ’ – passed on.’
‘Of course I can,’ said Mr Fogarty. ‘I’m dead, not senile.’
‘Will you tell me?’
‘Look, Henry, there are other things I need to talk to you about right n-’
For once in his life, Henry found the courage to interrupt him. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘This is really important.’ On inspiration he added, ‘It might, you know, help us sort of… communicate properly. Better. Or something.’
It sounded fairly feeble, but it seemed to touch a chord. Mr Fogarty said, ‘Okay. We have time. It was like this: I woke up in the bed -’
‘So you didn’t actually have fever? You weren’t in a coma or anything?’
‘No, I was awake.’
‘And no fever?’
‘Look here,’ said Mr Fogarty, ‘if you’re going to keep interrupting me -’
‘Sorry. Sorry. No, please, go on.’
Mr Fogarty sighed, ‘I woke up in the bed and everything was fine for a couple of minutes, but then I had the odd sensation of being under water. I -’
‘This wasn’t a relapse, was it?’
‘No, nothing to do with the fever. Nothing like the fever. Why do you keep asking about the bloody fever? I -’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Henry!’
‘Sorry. Sorry. Go on. I won’t – I won’t say -’
‘It was more of a sinking feeling. I was weak, but that was no surprise. You ever get the fever you’ll know it weakens you. But this was different. It felt as if my body was shrivelling. I’ve never had that sensation before. Then my eyesight got blurred: that’s when it felt like being under water.’ To Henry’s surprise he hesitated, then said, ‘Sorry I snapped at you. It’s only natural you’re curious. You can ask questions if you like.’
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.
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