‘What are they seeing?’ Blue asked.
‘Dragon, probably,’ Nymph said. ‘He likes to do dragons. Or a sea serpent, since it’s in the water. Or it could be naked mermaids—he’s got a bit of a naughty streak.’ She glanced fondly at Ziczac, then archly at Pyrgus.
‘Let’s go,’ Blue said tightly. She looked at Ziczac without the fondness. ‘Can he hum and run at the same time?’
Ziczac waved a dismissive hand in her direction.
It took them less than a minute to cross the narrow stretch of beach. Ziczac stopped humming once they reached the shelter of the cliff face. He grinned at Blue and Pyrgus. ‘Giant fireball,’ he said. ‘I made them see a giant fireball—very bright. Thing is, it leaves an impression on the retina, just like the real thing. I think those boys up there are Nighters, so they’re particularly light-sensitive. They’ll be seeing spots for the next five minutes. Keep them occupied. Give us time to get inside.’
Pyrgus looked at him gratefully. It meant a lot to have a skilled wizard along on a mission. He began to think they might have a real chance of reaching his father after all.
Fifty-Nine
‘There are those in the Realm,’ Peach Blossom said, ‘who will not rest until Prince Pyrgus is restored to his rightful place. Prince Comma might as well be a full-bred Nighter now. Everybody knows it’s Black Hairstreak who rules. The old Queen, Comma’s mother, is dangerous as a slith, but her brother is the one who holds the reins of power. It cannot be allowed to continue.’
From her expression and those of the women around her, Henry had no doubt at all that the Silken Sisterhood counted themselves among those who wanted Pyrgus back. He wondered briefly if they were doing anything about it. From the war movies he watched on television, resistance movements sprang up like mushrooms in times of trouble. ‘Do you know where they’ve gone?’ he asked. ‘Pyrgus and Blue—the Crown Prince and his sister? Is it true they’re in Haleklind?’
Peach Blossom nodded. ‘Yes.’
Henry blinked at her. ‘I don’t suppose you know where that is?’
‘It’s a bordering country, outside the Empire. That’s why Hairstreak sent them there.’
Henry felt his heart sink. ‘Is it far?’
‘You want to go to them?’
Henry didn’t answer at once. He was out of his depth here and had been since he arrived back in the Realm. He’d translated to help Blue—and Pyrgus—but he’d never expected to be involved in a crisis anything like this. Did he want to go to them, to join them in exile? Was there anything he could really do to help? There would probably be fighting sooner or later and he was no soldier. And everything was going to take far longer than he had thought. How long would the lethe spell continue to work on his mother and Aisling? All the same … He blinked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘We may be able to help you,’ Peach Blossom said. She glanced at him sideways. ‘And do something about that gash on your face.’ She frowned a little. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought it looked like a spinner slash.’
The women weren’t like any others Henry had ever known, although there was a ruthlessness about them that reminded him a little of his mother. He found himself being told what to do. There was no discussion about anything.
The bright clothes that had made him feel so good about himself were gone now, replaced by well-cut homespun of rough silk that he’d only just stopped the Sisters helping him to put on.
‘You don’t want to be noticed,’ Peach Blossom said. ‘But on the other hand, you don’t want to be dressed in rags either. You need to be taken seriously, especially in Haleklind. The wizards lay much store by appearances. Nothing flashy, but the proper cut will help get you access anywhere.’
‘Thank you,’ Henry said, wondering what on earth she was talking about.
‘You’ll need that to find the Crown Prince,’ Peach Blossom said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Now—’ She handed him a pouch made from thin, shiny material that looked both waterproof and tough. ‘This is your map and some gold.’
Henry blinked. ‘Gold?’
‘You can’t possibly set out for Haleklind on foot. Much too far. You’ll be little use to our royals if you take a month to reach them. The gold is to buy passage on public transports.’
Public transports? What public transports? Henry was as lost in the Realm as if he’d been dumped in the middle of the Sahara Desert. How could he take a public transport if he didn’t know where to find one, didn’t even know what they looked like? But despite his deepening confusion, he said, ‘Gold? I really can’t accept —’
‘You don’t have any option,’ Peach Blossom cut him off. ‘Believe me, you will not survive without coin. If it makes you feel any better, consider yourself in the employ of the Sisterhood. We wish you to carry a message to Prince Pyrgus and Princess Blue.’
‘Is that in the pouch as well?’ Henry asked.
Peach Blossom shook her head. ‘Not that sort of message,’ she said. ‘We wish you only to tell them that the Sisters of the Silk Guild remain loyal to their rightful ruler and will fight to the death to restore him to the throne.’ She hesitated. ‘And correct the abomination of Lord Hairstreak in what he has done to the former Emperor.’
Henry murmured, ‘I’ll tell them.’ He felt real admiration for these women. Even from the little he’d seen of the Realm since his return, he was sure they were risking their lives.
‘One of the Sisters will take you into the city,’ Peach Blossom said. ‘Hairstreak does not yet suspect the Guild. But you must—’ She broke off. ‘What was that?’
That’s trouble, Henry thought. There were sounds in the corridor outside and a woman’s scream. Then the door of the chamber slammed open. Henry caught the barest glimpse of soldiers in black uniforms and dark shades before a ball of flame roared across the room to catch him in the chest. The impact was so violent it lifted him completely off his feet and slammed him back against one wall. His head struck stone in a sunburst of agony. He felt himself sliding down the wall and clung desperately to consciousness.
But by the time he reached the floor his limbs were folding like a rag doll and everything had turned to black.
Sixty
The last time Pyrgus had been in the Keep he was only four years old. The experience had frightened him so much he’d burst into tears and wailed until his father picked him up. Afterwards, when Apatura Iris asked him why he’d been so scared, little Pyrgus told him firmly there were ghosts in the Keep.
The place still felt haunted. Pyrgus found himself in the middle of a stone-flagged floor waiting for the others to materialise. The chambers of the Keep were enormous—so enormous they dwarfed the stacks of storage crates pushed against the walls. They were also gloomy. Light filtered through slit windows, but was absorbed by the grey stone walls. The architecture was like nothing in the rest of the palace—there were levels upon levels, joined by wide, short flights of shallow steps. It gave the whole place the look of a three-dimensional maze.
Blue appeared, stepping out of a solid wall. She looked around and shivered.
‘Have you been in here before?’ Pyrgus asked.
She shook her head. ‘Never. Do you know the way out?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s a long time since I’ve been here.’ He decided not to tell her quite how long.
Nymph and her soldiers came through in a bunch. The two others were tough, silent men whose eyes darted round habitually as if watching for the possibility of an attack. Then Ziczac appeared, a bemused expression on his face. He stared at the multi-level chamber.
‘Archaic engineering,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’
Nymph said to Pyrgus, ‘Can you lead us into the main palace, or should Ziczac ...?’
Pyrgus was looking from one level to the other, trying to remember. ‘I think so. I mean I think so. These are stores now, so the doors will be locked, but they should all recognise me—or Blue, come to t
hat. With luck it’ll be too early for Hairstreak to have changed the spell, even if he thought we might come back.’ He hesitated. ‘If we are in problems, can Ziczac get us in anywhere?’
He asked the question of Nymph, but Ziczac answered directly. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What do you mean, not exactly?’ Blue demanded.
The wizard grinned benignly. ‘We can only penetrate thick surfaces. A thin wall or door will stop us dead.’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Pyrgus frowned.
‘No, it doesn’t, does it?’ Ziczac agreed. ‘I’ve never really followed it myself, but that’s the way the magic works. You need to move inside something that’s bigger than you are. The outer walls are enormous: the old cultures always built that way. But inside walls could be a different matter. I suppose we might risk it in an emergency, but ...’
‘There’s a chance of getting stuck,’ Nymph said.
‘Which usually proves lethal,’ Ziczac frowned. ‘In fact, I’ve never heard of anyone who survived it.’
In the event, they managed quite well. The different levels were confusing and there were times when Pyrgus was a lot less certain than he tried to appear, but the lock spells recognised him without a problem so that they passed quickly through door after door. They reached an archway that looked decidedly familiar.
Pyrgus released a sigh of relief. ‘That’s it,’ he said, pointing to the corridor beyond. ‘That will take us into the lower reaches of the palace.’ He stepped through the arch and Hairstreak’s guards fell on him like an avalanche.
Stupidly, all he could think of was that he didn’t have a weapon ready. He was armed with a short sword and fire wand supplied by the Forest Queen and his own Halek blade, overlooked by Hairstreak’s men when they set him on the ouklo into exile. But the sword was in its scabbard, the wand in his belt and the Halek blade hidden in his boot. In short, he was helpless as an idiot. He spun and drove his elbow into the stomach of the nearest attacker and had the satisfaction of seeing the man double up and drop his sword. But there were others grinning evilly and they hadn’t forgotten their weapons. He would be dead in seconds.
Then Nymph was at his side and she was utterly amazing. She moved faster than he would have believed possible, sometimes even blurring. She was carrying some sort of forest weapon, a triangular blade that was too short for a sword, too long for a dagger and left a silver energy-trail much like a Halek knife. She kicked the guard nearest him and killed him when he doubled up. Then she moved protectively in front of Pyrgus and launched herself savagely at two of the dead man’s companions.
Pyrgus drew his own sword and spun to face another of their attackers. From the corner of his eye, he could see the forest soldiers hurl themselves into the fray. They had abandoned their bows for hand weapons, presumably to avoid injuring their own people in the close-pressed combat, but they moved almost as quickly as Nymph. As he parried a thrust from his opponent, Pyrgus realised suddenly how lucky he had been when he faced Nymph himself. The kick to the groin was obviously a favourite move, but at least in his case she’d not followed it up by cutting his throat.
It was over in minutes. Two of the guards were dead, the remaining three dying from multiple wounds. Now the heat of battle was over and he had a chance to remove the guards’ dark glasses, Pyrgus could see from their eyes they were all Nighters—Hairstreak’s men without a doubt. Even the black uniforms carried the House Hairstreak crest. Clearly Hairstreak did not trust the existing palace military, however firmly Comma was under his thumb; he had lost no time in moving in his own people.
‘A thought occurs to me,’ said Ziczac, staring at the bodies. ‘If we wore black uniforms and glasses, we may find ourselves less liable to attack. At least if you wore black uniforms—most of these are too big for me.’
For a moment Pyrgus didn’t follow, then it hit him. ‘Great idea, Ziczac! Doesn’t matter about your uniform. If anybody asks we’ll just say... well ...’
‘Say I’m your prisoner. Say I’m personal wizard to Lord Hairstreak. Say—’
But Pyrgus was already stripping the nearest body.
Ziczac’s ruse worked well. As a disciplined party of House Hairstreak guards, they entered the main body of the palace and passed two black-uniformed sentry posts unchallenged. As they marched along a gloomy corridor, Pyrgus took the opportunity to say quietly to Nymph, ‘I think you saved my life back there.’
‘I think perhaps you were not ready for the attack.’
Pyrgus suppressed a grin. ‘Definitely not.’ He stared into her eyes. ‘I want to thank you.’
To his surprise she blushed, then covered her embarrassment by shrugging. ‘It is nothing.’
It was the first sign of weakness he’d seen in her. ‘You think saving my life is nothing?’ He let the tease show in his voice.
Her colour rose another notch. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I—’
But he never found out what she did mean because suddenly they were under attack again. An arm circled his neck and a slim, stiletto blade plunged towards his heart. Before he had time to react, the blade stopped short of his skin and his assailant gasped. He twisted and found he had been seized by a woman. She stared at him open-mouthed. Pyrgus hesitated for a fraction of a second, then kicked out to sweep her feet from under her. She went down badly and struck her head against the wall. Her eyes rolled back, then slowly closed.
There were others attacking, all of them women and two of them almost as fast in their movements as Nymph and her companions. But their weapons were no match for those of Pyrgus’s party. The Forest Faeries pointed fire wands.
‘No!’ Pyrgus shouted.
Nymph glanced at him in surprise.
‘No killing!’ Pyrgus screamed. These were Faeries of the Light—his own people. They’d attacked what they thought to be a party of Hairstreak’s guards. There was resistance in the palace, maybe even an early revolt. These women were on his side! ‘Don’t you know me?’ he called to them.
But the women had seen the wands now and were already running down the corridor. ‘Leave them!’ Blue shouted, having obviously reached the same conclusion as Pyrgus. Both calls came too late. The Forest Faeries were already racing after them. Even Ziczac joined the chase. ‘Your new girlfriend is a menace!’ Blue hissed as she ran to follow.
Pyrgus thundered after her, screaming ‘Stop!’ The women went through a doorway. Ziczac hurled some sort of fireball after them. Then Pyrgus caught up and fought his way through his own party. ‘Leave them! Leave them!’ He grabbed Nymph’s arm as she was about to stab —
To one side came Blue’s shocked whisper: ‘My God, it’s the Silk Mistresses!’ Then she shouted, ‘Stop it, all of you!’
Nymph pulled back, but in the general melee Pyrgus couldn’t see what was happening with the others. He pushed forward frantically. They mustn’t harm their own people.
Beyond the group of women, there was a body crumpled on the floor. Blue was right behind him now and she saw it a split second after he did. He heard her gasp, then she pushed him aside and ran forward wailing, ‘Henry! Noooo!’
Sixty-One
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ Chalkhill asked nervously. He was back at Hairstreak’s mansion in the forest after an even more nerve-wracking trip than the last time. Cyril had guided him through an ill-marked winding trail that smelled of sliths and now they’d emerged between seme densely-planted rose bushes on the edge of that palatial lawn.
Chalkhill stared across the vast expanse of green, very well aware that crossing it would leave him totally exposed every inch of the way. He looked round for haniels in the surrounding trees, but his real worry was Hairstreak’s guards, who had a well-deserved reputation of shooting first and asking questions afterwards. He could be a pin-cushion of arrows before he took three steps.
‘Of course I know what I’m doing,’ the wyrm said testily. ‘Cossus Cossus is expecting you.’
‘Yes, you said that
. But what happens if Hairstreak sees me?’
The wangaramas gave the mental equivalent of an impatient grunt. ‘What do you think happens if Lord Hairstreak sees you? He doesn’t know what we’re planning, does he? As far as he’s concerned, you’re still a loyal servant. If you do bump into him—which you won’t—you can simply say you came back for fresh instructions.’
It made sense, but Chalkhill was still terrified of Lord Hairstreak. In desperation he went back to an argument he’d already lost several times. ‘Why can’t we just go somewhere else? All I have to do is wait until Comma’s Coronation.’
Cyril gave the mental equivalent of an exhausted sigh. ‘That isn’t all you have to do. I’ve told you ten thousand times already: you have to be able to pass for Lord Hairstreak. You weren’t exactly a star pupil when he sent you to the Facemaster, were you?’
‘It was just the walk,’ said Chalkhill testily. ‘But I’ve got you to help me with that now. That’s why we were introduced in the first place.’
‘I can only help you with the walk,’ Cyril said. ‘There are all sorts of other things. You have to know the people he knows, greet them by name. This isn’t like it was before. Hairstreak attending Pyrgus’s Coronation could have got away with being introverted and grumpy — people would expect that since he didn’t like Pyrgus. But everybody knows Comma is just a figurehead. They’ll expect Lord Hairstreak to be strutting round like a turkey-cock. And don’t forget you’ll still be playing Hairstreak afterwards. This isn’t a few hours with a Facemaster—you’re going to need every minute we have left to prepare you for the part. Cossus himself will be coaching you. You’ll need practice. Ordering servants around, that sort of thing.’
‘I know how to order servants around,’ Chalkhill said sourly.
‘And you’ll be dealing with high-class demons,’ the wyrm said, ignoring him. ‘I know the portals are shut just now, but Hairstreak has his demon pits so you can get used to whipping the silly creatures before the portals open again. Then there’s the question of —’
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