And poor old Tim, who went to discos now he was on his own, launched into an explanation so convoluted Henry couldn’t remember any of it. He’d probably still be explaining if Henry hadn’t said, ‘It’s OK, Dad,’ and something in his voice convinced Tim it really was OK: if he’d done anything terrible, been disloyal or whatever, he’d been forgiven. He didn’t seem all that worried about Laura, probably because it was clear from her grin she didn’t mind at all.
With the explanation bit over, Dad had suddenly come over all hearty and started to talk about Henry staying the afternoon so they could all go out for a meal later, as if Mum wouldn’t have gone ballistic if she’d ever discovered that cosy little arrangement. Henry just said no and muttered something about Mr Fogarty.
After that, it degenerated into one of those uncomfortable How the hell are you? conversations until Henry stood up and announced firmly he was leaving, which was probably a relief to everybody. Now he was at the head of Mr Fogarty’s street and in a serious worry.
Up to now, he thought he’d taken it for granted that his parents would divorce. They were living apart, his mum had a new partner, so what else were they going to do? But Dad finding another woman somehow made it really final. If there was just the slightest chance Mum and Dad might get back together, it was gone now. Or would be, once Mum found out. Didn’t matter Mum was the one who broke things up in the first place. Once she heard Dad was consoling himself with somebody – somebody young and pretty – she’d never forgive him. After that, it was just the legal formalities.
Including custody.
Henry wondered if he and Aisling would have to turn up in court. If they did, maybe the judge would ask them which parent they wanted to live with. Some nightmare that would be. Henry couldn’t very well ask to move in with his dad now he was honeymooning with Laura. Not in a tiny flat – you were bound to hear stuff. But if he said he’d stay with Mum, he knew his dad would be hurt. Besides, he didn’t want to stay with Mum. He hated Mum almost as much as he loved her and he was sure it was only a matter of time before Anaïs moved in.
But maybe the judge didn’t ask you. Maybe he just decided what should happen and you had no say about it. Henry shuddered.
‘Hello, Hodge,’ he said mournfully as the old tom emerged out of nowhere to polish his ankles. It was gloomy in Mr Fogarty’s kitchen so he flipped the light switch before taking a pouch of Whiskas from the cupboard. Then on impulse he took out a second. Mr Fogarty didn’t approve of pouch Whiskas, which he claimed was far too good for a cat, but Hodge was looking thin lately – probably needed worming – and Mr Fogarty wasn’t here. The story was that Mr Fogarty had gone to visit his daughter in New Zealand.
If that really was a story.
The thought struck Henry like a thunderbolt. He knew Mr Fogarty was Gatekeeper of the Faerie Realm. He knew Blue was crowned Faerie Empress. Henry had even visited the Realm himself. But standing here in Mr Fogarty’s kitchen, feeding Mr Fogarty’s cat, it all seemed … it all seemed …
The light went out as if the bulb had blown. Henry ignored it. It wasn’t really dark yet and he could change it later. He’d be out of here in a minute anyway.
… It all seemed mad, was what he wanted to say. He was a teenager, for God’s sake. How many teenagers did he know who believed in fairies? There were no such things as fairies, there was no such place as Fairyland. No such place as Fairyland. It echoed like a voice in his head.
The trouble was, he remembered Fairyland. Henry set the Whiskas pouches down beside Hodge’s plate on the counter-top. If he remembered Fairyland, there had to be something wrong. There had to be something wrong with his memory. He stared down at the cat, who was staring up at him in beady expectation. There had to be something wrong with his mind!
All of a sudden, Henry felt very much afraid.
To Hodge’s indignant howl, he walked out of the kitchen into Mr Fogarty’s back garden. There was a constriction in his chest and he needed air. The twilight outside had taken on a bluish tinge and there was a slight vibration in the ground as if there were some heavy lorries passing. Henry felt like throwing up.
No such place as Fairyland, the voice repeated in his head.
It had all started to make a ghastly sort of sense. He knew stress could make you ill – his father had had a grumbling ulcer for years, just because he was in a high-powered job – and a lot of stress could make you mentally ill. Everybody knew that. You just thought it could never happen to you.
And he had been under a lot of stress, hadn’t he? His mother was having an affair. His father had been thrown out of their home. (And had found himself a girlfriend, don’t forget.) His parents were definitely going to get divorced, even though neither of them would admit it. Which meant Henry might be put into some sort of orphan’s home until he was eighteen. Or he’d have to live with his mother and Aisling, which was worse. Of course he was under stress. He was under more stress right now than he’d ever been in his life. All he wanted was to get away, away from his rotten mother and his rotten sister and his stupid weak father and all the hassles at home …
And wasn’t that exactly what he’d done? Hadn’t he escaped from all of it? Hadn’t he created a fantasy world and simply …
No such place as Fairyland.
… lived in it?
The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. The Fairyland of his imagination was nothing like the Fairyland you read about in books. His was full of heroes – the sort of people Henry longed to be and never was. And teenagers were in charge. Pyrgus was a prince and could have been Emperor if he’d been interested. Blue was Queen now, absolute ruler of the Realm. She could do whatever she wanted. If you were a teenage boy and needed to create a fantasy world, wouldn’t you dream up one where teenagers were in charge?
The vibration underneath his feet seemed to be getting more pronounced. How many passing lorries could there be?
Henry stared at the buddleia bush where he’d first met Pyrgus. Where he thought he’d first met Pyrgus. It all seemed so real. But then dreams seemed real while you were dreaming them and hallucinations seemed real to a lunatic.
Blue seemed real. Henry remembered the first time he’d seen her. She was stepping into her bath at the time.
Suddenly he knew where that came from. He didn’t have a girlfriend. Well, he had Charlie Severs, but she was a friend who just happened to be a girl. They weren’t an item or anything like that. They didn’t … well, you know. All the boys at school had girlfriends. Or at least went out with lots of girls. Most of them claimed they were doing it. Henry sometimes pretended he’d done it too, but he hadn’t. He was a bit shy around girls when it came to that sort of thing. He couldn’t imagine ever asking one to … But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. You bet he wanted to! Every boy his age wanted to, whether they did it or not.
There was something else. Henry would have cut his thumbs off rather than admit it, but he was a bit of a romantic. He didn’t just want one-night stands. He wanted a girl he could, you know (even in his head he mumbled the word shamefacedly), love. Run through fields of corn together, and rescue when she needed rescuing and hold hands with and bring her flowers and write poetry to and … and …
And all that.
Except girls weren’t interested in that sort of thing any more. Start writing poetry and bringing flowers and girls took you for a stalker.
So he’d dreamed up a beautiful girl to fall in love with. An old-fashioned sort of girl, a fairy princess sort of girl. And Blue really was a faerie princess. At least until they crowned her Faerie Queen. And they’d done heroic things together, like rescuing her brother. And her brother was his best friend. And it all happened in Fairyland for cripe’s sake, so he didn’t have to deal with his rotten mother or his rotten sister or any of his real problems.
Henry was moving like a zombie as he left the blue light of Mr Fogarty’s garden and walked up the street to the bus stop. There were no passing lorries any more.
When he got home, he found – despite all his mother’s promises and protestations – that Anaïs had moved in.
Nine
‘Who are you?’ Blue whispered. She wanted to say, What are you? but it sounded rude and possibly dangerous. The creature at the centre of the spiral was no longer the Spicemaster. It loomed like a feathered giant and glared at her like a savage beast.
‘I am Yidam,’ the creature replied.
She’d never heard the word before and wasn’t sure whether it was a name or a description. Madame Cardui said Spicemaster Memnon was possessed by a god when he made his predictions, but it was one of the Old Gods who walked the world before the coming of the Light. As far as Blue could make out, the Old Gods were so fierce they might as well have been demons. This one looked it.
‘Lord Yidam,’ Blue said, just to be on the safe side, ‘can you see the future?’
‘I exist beyond time,’ the Yidam said.
Blue hesitated. She didn’t want to irritate the entity, but it was important to be clear. ‘Can you see my future?’
To her astonishment, the Yidam smiled. ‘Come sit by me, Faerie Queen,’ it said.
There was no sound in the chamber except the beating of her heart. After a long moment, Blue decided on honesty before diplomacy.
‘The Spicemaster said you might kill me if I stepped into the spiral.’
‘The Spicemaster was mistaken.’
And there it was, laid out in front of her. Four flat simple words. Did she believe the Spicemaster? Or did she believe the Yidam? Could she risk approaching it?
It occurred to Blue suddenly that the only thing between the Yidam and herself was a spiral pattern marked out on the ground. It could have covered the space between them in a bound. Any safety she felt was an illusion. She swallowed her fear and walked into the spiral.
As she squatted down beside it, Blue realised the creature had utterly transformed the old Spicemaster. The thing towered above her and, close up, its eyes were consumed by inner fires. She fought not to shy away as it reached towards her with enormous, strangler’s hands.
But the hands gently placed themselves on the crown of her head. Blue felt the tingle of trapped lightning flowing down her spine and realised she’d received a blessing. ‘Thank you, Lord Yidam,’ she murmured. Any blessing was nice, but if the creature couldn’t see her future, then she was wasting her time.
The Yidam leaned forward slightly. ‘Thou art brave, Faerie Queen.’ It seemed incredible, but for a moment she thought the fierce eyes took on the barest hint of a twinkle. ‘But art thou brave enough to face what I may say?’
Blue blinked. The Yidam’s words were disturbing. They brought up something that had been niggling at the edges of her mind ever since she decided to consult the Spicemaster. Did she really want to know the future? A future that might include the details of her own death? Or, worse still, the deaths of Pyrgus and Henry? Could she live with that knowledge?
Did she even want to know the future of the Realm? What if the Yidam told her it would fall to enemies or demon hordes? What if it was destined for corruption and disintegration? How could she go on, knowing that all her efforts would be in vain?
But she was here and needed guidance. Which overrode everything.
‘Lord Yidam,’ Blue said, ‘what will happen if I start a war against the Faeries of the Night?’
Ten
‘Do you believe in fairies?’ Henry asked.
‘Sorry?’
Henry leaned forward. ‘Do you believe in fairies?’ he asked again, dropping his voice even further. They were sitting in a new coffee house called Ropo’s that was proving extremely popular with everyone from school. There were at least eight pupils at nearby tables (several of them dressed as Goths) and he certainly didn’t want them hearing.
‘Fairies?’ Charlie echoed, looking at him strangely. ‘Like on top of the Christmas tree?’
Henry nodded. ‘Except for real.’
‘Except for real?’ Charlie was obviously big into repeating everything he said tonight. ‘Like, little people with wings who flit among the bluebells?’
Henry gave up and said, ‘I thought I saw one once.’
‘You thought you –?’
‘Charlie,’ Henry hissed, ‘please don’t keep repeating everything I say. Yes, I said I thought I saw one once.’
‘You saw a little person with wings flitting among the bluebells?’
‘I was under a lot of strain,’ said Henry.
That caught her attention. Charlie knew all about the strain Henry had been under. She frowned. ‘Your mum’s not got you seeing things?’ She sounded outraged.
‘I think so. I mean, what else could it be?’ A thought occurred to him. ‘It wasn’t flitting among the bluebells: Hodge caught it.’
‘Mr Fogarty’s cat?’
Henry nodded. ‘Yes.’
The ghost of a suppressed smile twitched Charlie’s lips. ‘Mr Fogarty’s cat caught a fairy?’
‘Look,’ said Henry urgently, ‘until today, I thought all this was for real. Then I went to see Dad and he’s got a new girlfriend, and when I got home, Mum had moved Anaïs in.’
‘Oh my God!’ Charlie exclaimed, genuinely appalled. All hint of a smile vanished. ‘You mean you’ll have to live with your mum and Aisling and now this dreadful Anaïs woman as well?’
‘She’s not really dreadful. Quite nice, really. Like, she tries. But you know …’
‘Oh, I know all right,’ Charlie said fiercely. ‘They’re going to get divorced, aren’t they? If your dad’s got himself a girlfriend?’
Henry nodded miserably. ‘I suppose so.’
Charlie reached out and took his hand. ‘It’s not as bad as you think, Henry. It’s pretty awful, but it’s not as bad as you think. And when it’s over, it’s over.’
Charlie’s parents had divorced and Charlie’s mum was married again to a man Charlie adored. Henry said uncertainly, ‘Do you know what happens to the children? Like, me and Aisling? I mean do we have to go to court? And who says who lives where?’ He swallowed. ‘I mean, I don’t want to live with Mum and Anaïs – that would be just too awful for Dad – but I can’t very well move in with him if he’s got a new girl: did I mention she was young? Just a few years older than we are. I couldn’t move in there, not that he’d want me anyway, so do I have to go to an orphanage or something until I’m eighteen?’
Charlie said, ‘I don’t know, Henry. I was too young to remember much of it. Anyway, I think my mum and dad agreed everything between them and I was happy living with my mum – I hated my real dad. It wasn’t like your situation at all.’ She stared thoughtfully into the middle distance for a moment, then pulled her gaze back to Henry. ‘What’s the thing about fairies?’
Henry sighed. ‘Oh, it’s stupid.’ He shook his head and tried to smile. ‘It was after all this business started – Mum and Anaïs. Or at least after I heard about it. I suppose I just couldn’t cope with it. I mean, how often do you find out your mum’s a lesbian? I think I wanted to get away: you know, just get away from … everything. And since there was no way I could get away, I suppose I … I … started to make up stuff. In my head. I suppose I made up a whole other stupid world in my head –’ the weak smile again, ‘– and just, sort of … went there.’ The look on Charlie’s face made him want to cry.
‘But … what actually happened?’ she asked with a curious mixture of bewilderment and sympathy.
He’d gone too far to start backing off now. Besides, he trusted Charlie. He’d always talked to her, right since they were little kids. He took a deep breath and somehow managed to inject a note of briskness into his voice.
‘I had this … thing … I don’t know, hallucination or something, or dream, or false memory or –’
‘Henry, just tell me what happened.’
Henry shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, after it came out about Mum, I went to Mr Fogarty’s. I had to clean out his shed. And while I was there, Hodge appea
red and he had a thing in his mouth. Like a butterfly. You know the way cats are. He’d caught it, but it wasn’t dead so I tried to take if off him.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘That’s when I saw it was a fairy.’
‘You thought it was a fairy?’
‘Yes.’
After a bit, Charlie said, ‘Go on.’
‘I suppose it was just a butterfly,’ Henry said. ‘But I made up this fantasy about the butterfly being a fairy prince called Pyrgus –’
‘Pyrgus?’ Charlie echoed.
Henry nodded.
‘Did he have some other name?’
‘Pyrgus Malvae,’ Henry said.
‘That’s a butterfly name,’ Charlie said. ‘That’s the Latin name for the grizzled skipper butterfly.’
‘Is it?’ Henry said, surprised. After a while he added, ‘I suppose I must have known that. Subconsciously. Does a grizzled skipper have little brown spotty wings?’
Charlie nodded. ‘Yes.’
Henry shook his head in wonder. ‘I must have made it part of my fantasy. Grizzled skipper butterfly turns into a fairy and I give him his butterfly name.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m in a lot of trouble, Charlie.’
Charlie said quietly, ‘I think maybe you are.’
Eleven
Henry missed his last bus home.
He lived nearly four miles outside town and when he called his mum in the hope she might collect him, all he got was the answering machine (Dad’s voice still on it, which was a real bummer). So now he was walking in the rain. Not that he noticed it much. All he could think of was five words out of Charlie’s mouth: ‘I think maybe you are.’
Charlie was the sweetest, kindest girl he knew. If there was any way of letting him down gently, she’d have found it. But Charlie thought he was in trouble. Charlie thought – she’d put it very diplomatically – that he might need ‘help’. By which she meant psychiatric help, although she never actually said psychiatrist: she said ‘therapist’.
Ruler of the Realm Page 4