The Purple Emperor

by Herbie Brennan

  Eighty-Nine

  Harsh light flared, reducing Nymph’s glowglobe to sudden insignificance. Henry started and both Pyrgus and Nymph raised their weapons in alarm, but Comma only crowed, ‘I told you so!’

  They were in a control room—no doubt about it. The machinery was like nothing Henry had ever seen in his life, but it was definitely machinery. Much of it comprised tangles of transparent piping carrying different-coloured fluids and mists, but there were gleaming metal cabinets as well, some with switches and levers, and a massive semi-circular desk supporting banks of flashing lights. Above the desk was an illuminated plan of the maze flanked by screens showing segments of the structure itself. Henry noticed at once that one of them displayed the open staircase through which they’d fallen when he fiddled with the wall torch.

  ‘You’re right,’ Pyrgus said to Comma. ‘This has to be a service area.’

  ‘A control room,’ Blue said, half to herself. ‘We could sabotage Hairstreak’s whole set-up.’

  ‘Inadvisable,’ Nymph said shortly.

  Blue rounded on her furiously. ‘Why is it every time I say something you contradict me?’

  Nymph shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I do, but in this instance I don’t think your plan is advisable.’ She met Blue’s glare steadily.

  ‘I think there’s something in that corner,’ Henry whispered.

  There was a movement in the shadows between two cabinets. A hideous thought occurred to him. Supposing, despite all appearances, this wasn’t a service area? Suppose it was still part of the maze, a cunning, subtle secret level designed to throw people off their guard? The control panel could be booby-trapped. All sorts of monsters could be hiding in the cupboards. More than anything, anything at all, Henry wished he knew how to use the sword they’d given him.

  They turned to stare. For the barest embarrassing moment, Henry wondered if he might have imagined it—his nerves were strung out, after all—but then the movement came again.

  ‘There is something there!’ Blue hissed.

  ‘Yes,’ Nymph agreed, stepping a pace to the right so that she was between the dark corner and Pyrgus. Pyrgus quietly moved around her.

  ‘What is it?’ Comma asked. He didn’t seem the least frightened, but then he’d treated the entire maze as if it were an entertainment.

  ‘It’s probably a giant spider,’ Henry muttered sourly. It would be just his luck to meet another one.

  But the thing that hurled itself from the gloom was not a giant spider.

  Ninety

  This was fun, Brimstone thought. With Beleth here, the demons did exactly what they were told in order to construct the second portal.

  And what a portal it was! In his whole life, Brimstone had never seen anything remotely like it. For a start it was big. Most portals allowed people through one or two at a time. But already there was a vaulting archway in the nave that would allow perhaps ten abreast. Beleth was obviously planning a full-scale invasion.

  The demons were working like … well, like demons. Bizarre wooden structures went up in an eyeblink and were pulled down just as quickly. Brick thudded on brick, stone slammed on stone, metal discs were cemented home and copper wiring snaked through the entire structure. It was a new design. Beleth must have created the prototype in Hael and instructed his team exactly how to build it.

  Three demons dragged a cable from outside the church and attached it expertly to the new portal. They scampered across to prostrate themselves at Beleth’s feet.

  ‘Finished, Your Gloriousness,’ one said.

  Beleth reached out to throw a switch. A massive blue-white bolt of lightning crackled along the cable.

  As it reached the portal, the wire mesh flared and melted, leaving a shimmering green forcefield between the pillars.

  The ranks of armoured demons began to march towards it.

  Ninety-One

  Palaemon raised his lance and Nymph stepped forward with her bow.

  Henry gave a panic-stricken scream. ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!’ But it was already too late to shoot. Flapwazzle was clinging to him like a hairy chest and anything that hit Flapwazzle would hurt Henry too. ‘It’s Flapwazzle!’ Henry shouted, hugging the endolg. ‘It’s Flapwazzle!’

  ‘Relax,’ Pyrgus said. ‘It’s an endolg.’ He grinned. ‘Hi, fella!’

  Both Palaemon and Nymph reluctantly stood down.

  ‘It’s Flapwazzle,’ Henry said again, beaming. ‘I thought you were dead, Flapwazzle. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Saving your hide as usual,’ Flapwazzle told him sourly.

  Henry hung on every word as Flapwazzle told them what happened. The tidal wash in the sewers had carried the endolg past Henry’s refuge and along the main pipework until the system took a right-hand bend. At that point, Flapwazzle was smashed into the brickwork. When he regained consciousness, he was floating in the river.

  ‘Endolgs are quite difficult to drown,’ he told them seriously. ‘We don’t use much air at the best of times and we can actually extract a little oxygen out of water, like fish. We die underwater eventually, but it takes a while.’

  ‘What did you do then?’ Henry asked excitedly. ‘After you woke up in the river?’

  ‘Swam for shore,’ Flapwazzle told him. ‘What do you think I did?’

  But the nearest shore, as it happened, was Palace Island. Flapwazzle dried himself out in the sun endolgs are slow movers when waterlogged—then returned to the palace in the hope of finding Henry.

  ‘That was very brave of you,’ Henry said, smiling at Flapwazzle. ‘Considering Quercusia wants to lock you up.’

  Flapwazzle made the rippling movement Henry took for a shrug. ‘She has the attention span of a lettuce. Besides, she’s locked up again herself now.’

  Comma said, ‘Mother’s been locked up again?’ He looked, if anything, relieved.

  ‘What happened?’ Henry asked.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Flapwazzle had slid down from Henry now and was talking to them from the floor. ‘Somebody said the order came from Cossus Cossus, Lord Hairstreak’s Gatekeeper.’

  Pyrgus looked at Blue. ‘Hairstreak must have found her more trouble than she was worth.’

  ‘She’s mad. She’s been mad for years. You can’t have a mad woman on the loose, giving orders. I can’t believe Comma let her out in the first place,’ Blue said.

  ‘She’s not mad,’ Comma said. ‘You’ve always had it in for her.’ He sounded sulky, but not altogether convinced.

  ‘Well,’ Pyrgus said, ‘one less thing to worry about.’

  ‘What happened, Flapwazzle?’ Henry asked quickly. ‘When you went into the palace to look for me?’

  ‘The Sisters of the Silk Guild told me what had happened to you. I knew you wouldn’t find the Purple Emperor in the palace ’

  ‘How did you know?’ Pyrgus interrupted Flapwazzle.

  ‘Overheard some guards talking. They’d taken the Emperor to Hairstreak’s mansion. I figured you’d find out eventually, so I came here.’

  ‘Yes, but how did you know we were in the maze?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Flapwazzle said. ‘I got lost and ended up in the ventilation ducts. I was trying to back out again when I saw you on one of the viewscreens.’

  Henry couldn’t stop grinning. ‘That was clever of you, Flapwazzle.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Flapwazzle said, ‘once I got here and figured out the controls, I tracked you and switched off traps wherever I could.’

  Nymph said, ‘I don’t suppose you know a way out, do you, Flapwazzle?’

  And Flapwazzle said, ‘Oh, yes—that door there.’

  Ninety-Two

  ‘Now we’re quits,’ said Beleth.

  Brimstone watched the marching soldiers disappear ten abreast through the gigantic portal. This was no commando raid: it was a full-scale demonic invasion. It occurred to him he needed to get back to the Realm as quickly as possible. Apart from anything else, he wanted to watch the fun.

  ‘Can I go now?’ he as
ked Beleth sharply.

  Beleth stretched and metamorphosed into his huge, red, muscular, horned form. Presumably he planned to join the fun himself. ‘Your work for me is done. Go!’

  ‘Use that?’ Brimstone asked, nodding towards the portal.

  ‘If you wish.’

  Brimstone gathered his belongings and joined the next rank of marching soldiers. As he reached the portal, he wondered suddenly where it opened in the Faerie Realm.

  ‘This is what I call style,’ said Fogarty, grinning like a ten-year-old. He was being carried in a sedan chair by two burly Forest Faeries, who must have been using spell assistance to judge from the cracking pace they kept up.

  The entire forest floor throbbed beneath the feet of Forest Faerie, thousands upon thousands of them dressed in military green. Every face seemed to hold a look of calm determination. ‘I think it’s more of an extermination,’ Fogarty said.

  ‘A lot of troops … ‘ Madame Cardui said, looking around again.

  ‘I think,’ said Fogarty, ‘the idea is to raze Hairstreak’s mansion to the ground.’

  ‘Yes, I know. He has guards, of course, but I’m not sure I understand why we need quite so many soldiers. We must outnumber his people several hundred to one.’

  Fogarty wrinkled his nose. ‘As I understand it, Queen Cleo wants to strike hard and fast, win in as short a time as possible. Then the mansion is demolished brick by brick—she can’t burn it down because of the trees—demolished, maybe even buried. Now you see it, now you don’t. After that her people melt back into the trees, leaving behind a mystery. She’s hoping a disappearing mansion will discourage anybody else from building in her forest.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Madame Cardui. ‘Perhaps.’

  Fogarty glanced at her sideways. ‘What’s worrying you, Cynthia?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not exactly worried, deeah. Perhaps … a little concerned. It’s just that in my experience, once one sets a force this size marching, one always finds some reason to keep it going.’

  Fogarty peered through the trees ahead. ‘Well, we’ll soon find out,’ he said. ‘I think we’re nearly at the mansion now.’

  Colias, the anaesthetic wizard, dropped two cones and broke a third before he managed the spell. God alone knew what was wrong with the man. Anaesthetics weren’t exactly rocket science. You cracked a cone the damn things were self-starting—and aimed it in the right direction. That was it. A trained monkey could do it.

  Chalkhill watched the sparkling cloud wind sinuously across the room to descend first upon the Purple Emperor, then on himself. He sighed deeply as the tiny pinpricks of light penetrated his body. In a moment the anaesthetic would kick in, carrying him out of his body on clouds of bliss while the surgery was carried out. Soon it would all be over. He’d be rid of the garrulous Cyril —

  ‘This will kill you, mark my words,’ Cyril murmured, but without much force or conviction.

  — and Hairstreak would once again be in his debt. There were worse places to be in. Much worse. He waited.

  He was still in his body.

  He waited.

  Still no clouds of bliss. But of course time always crawled when you were in a state of anticipation.

  He waited.

  An errant thought occurred to him. That old idiot, who ruined three spell cones before he even managed to crack one, had probably made the cones in the first place.

  ‘That should do,’ said Hairstreak abruptly. He nodded to Mountain Clouded Yellow. ‘You can start the operation now.’

  Chalkhill pinched himself. It hurt like hell. He tried to sit up, but the straps restrained him easily. He tried to shout, to warn the surgeon he was nowhere nearly ready, but a sunburst of fear caused the words to gurgle in his throat.

  The psychic surgeon, Mountain Clouded Yellow, moved with terrifying speed to plunge his hands into the abdomen of the Purple Emperor and rip the bloody opening that would become the new home of the wyrm.

  The Purple Emperor screamed.

  They were in the vast natural cavern, but outside the obsidian maze. Pyrgus looked around him with a curious tightness in his stomach. Above him, huge rafts, hung by sensor technology, floated below the ceiling, each accessed by a branching suspensor shaft. One of them supported a vast room with transparent walls: obviously an observation chamber where spectators could watch death stalk the maze. Beside it —

  ‘There’s something moving up there,’ Blue said quietly.

  Pyrgus suddenly realised how vulnerable they were. When the party emerged there had been a general flood of relief that they had escaped from the obsidian maze at last, but now they were exposed—a small, tightly-bunched group on the featureless sweep of the cavern floor. If they were discovered, Hairstreak’s men could pick them off in minutes.

  Nymph must have had the same thought, for she said, ‘Crown Prince, we need cover.’

  Pyrgus said, ‘We need to get out of here. Hairstreak won’t be holding my father underground. It’s dangerous to talk to—’ He stopped abruptly, licked his lips. ‘Can any of you see a way out?’

  ‘I think that’s a staircase over there,’ Henry said.

  He was right. ‘Keep low and keep moving!’ Pyrgus said. ‘Henry, grab Comma’s hand. All of you—quietly as possible.’

  As a party they made a run for the cut-stone staircase. They had almost reached it when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the cavern.

  ‘That’s Daddy!’ Blue exclaimed at once.

  Ninety-Three

  It was hideously dangerous, but they crowded into the suspensor shaft. (Henry spotted the entrance to that one as well: Henry was getting very good at spotting things.) Standard suspensor spells were set to lift a maximum of three people with a ten per cent margin of error, besides which there was the probability of meeting Hairstreak’s guards either in the shaft itself or when they stepped out.

  But after the single scream no one hesitated. For an instant the spell strained, lifted, trembled, then shot them upwards abruptly. Comma squeaked in alarm, but only seconds later they reached a floating platform that fanned out a network of walkways. One led to an empty observation chamber. Another wound towards an open archway, through which appeared a horrifying scene.

  Blue’s father lay naked on an operating table, his abdomen open and bloody. A strange, squat Nighter was bent over him, splattered with the Emperor’s blood. Beside them, a second man was strapped to another table. With a start Blue recognised him as Jasper Chalkhill, her old nemesis, who was supposed to be in jail. Behind them was an old man in shabby wizard robes, an expression of bewilderment on his face. Watching it all was the familiar slim figure of Lord Hairstreak himself.

  There were no guards! There were no guards at all!

  ‘Get Hairstreak!’ Pyrgus shouted. ‘I’ll look after Father!’

  A murderous rage descended on Blue like a scarlet mist as she launched herself at Hairstreak.

  Nymph drew her bow and calmly shot the man bending over the Purple Emperor. The arrow caught him in the throat and he collapsed with a strangled gurgle, tearing at the shaft. She put two further arrows in his back, but by the time the second hit he was already dead.

  Nymph turned to kill Lord Hairstreak, but Princess Blue was in the way.

  Henry stood on the edge of the action, his emotions churning. He had no weapon he could actually use! Why had no one given him something sensible like an Ouzi? Why did he have to stand like a wimp while the others got stuck in?

  Pyrgus threw himself across the room. He had almost reached his father when, to his astonishment, the elderly wizard in the tatty robe hurled a massive firebolt in his direction.

  Pyrgus flung himself to the floor. The flaming mass singed his hair, then struck Palaemon squarely in the chest.

  Palaemon fell backwards, his body a smoking crater. He trembled twice on the floor, then lay still, his dead eyes open, staring at the cavern ceiling high above.

  The old wizard looked down at Pyrgus on the floor and grinned. ‘I won’t mi
ss this time,’ he cackled.

  Nymph put an arrow in his chest and he died with the grin still on his face.

  Hairstreak ran.

  Blue hared after him, her short sword at the ready. She was going to kill him, once and for all, and hang the political consequences. The man was a slug, a smear of slime on the face of the Realm.

  Henry hesitated for no more than half a heartbeat, then ran after Blue. Nymph switched her bow for a vicious-looking knife and ran to join them both.

  Hairstreak raced from the operating theatre on to the walkway that led to the observation chamber. He was moving quickly, but Nymph was already ahead of the others and gaining on him.

  ‘Leave him to me!’ Blue hissed angrily and increased her pace. But they had him. There was no other walkway from the observation chamber. There was nowhere he could go. Then she saw the suspensor shaft. Unlike the one that had carried them up, this shaft descended direct from the observation chamber. ‘Suspensor shaft!’ Blue screamed.

  ‘I see it!’ Nymph called. She seemed to be running flat out, but somehow increased her pace and reached the observation chamber no more than a pace or two behind Hairstreak. She hurled herself forward and managed, miraculously, to get between Hairstreak and the shaft.

  Hairstreak made a sweeping movement with one hand and Nymph staggered backwards, clutching her arm. Blood oozed between her fingers. Hairstreak jumped. Nymph grabbed for him and missed.

  Blue and Henry raced into the room. ‘Where is he?’ Blue gasped, looking around wildly. ‘Where’s the shaft?’

  Nymph turned. ‘It’s—’ Then stopped, bewildered.

  ‘He’s cloaked it!’ Blue howled.

  ‘Where is he?’ Henry asked.

  ‘He’s cloaked the shaft!’ Blue shouted in frustration. ‘He’s cloaked the shaft! There must have been an automatic trigger. We can’t use it. We can’t even see it.’