The Purple Emperor fw-2

by Herbie Brennan

  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!'

  CHAPTER 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 some 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 Hair streak sees me?'

  The wangaramas gave the mental equivalent of an impatient grunt. 'What do you think happens if Lord Hair streak 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.'

  T 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.'

  T 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 -

  Chalkhill felt worn out, as he always did by this stage of the mental conversation. 'All right,' he said aloud. 'You win.'

  If a haniel ate him on his way across the lawn, it would be a blessed relief.

  CHAPTER SIXTY TWO

  Henry's head hurt, but not half as much as hi
s hands and chest. He had trouble focusing his eyes, but even so he could see his upturned palms had turned to raw meat. He tried to move and his body protested with a howl of agony.

  Henry groaned but no sound came.

  There were people around him, but he couldn't remember who they were. They swam into his field of vision, then out again, their voices rising and falling, approaching and fading. One of them looked like Blue. He hoped it was Blue because that would mean she wasn't dead in the forest. He couldn't see whether she was cross with him for being late.

  'He's still alive. I think he's still alive.'

  'Can you see breathing?'

  'No.'

  T thought I saw him open his eyes.'

  'Reflex. You often get that with a fireball.'

  'The body reacts for hours after the heart stops. Energies keep working on the nerves.'

  T saw one walk five paces once, dead as a coffin nail'

  'He's alive, you stupid cow!' This from Blue. He was sure he recognised her voice.

  Henry tried to say 'Hello, Blue', but no sound came. His eyes were closing again, all of their own accord, so that he lay in the red, pain-filled darkness. It occurred to him that he was dying and he didn't care.

  'He's alive!' Blue said again. 'He's breathing!'

  'I can't see him breathing.'

  Somebody was taking his shirt off, the one the Silk Mistresses had given him. He heard a gasp of shock.

  'It always does that,' said a cool female voice. 'If he hadn't been wearing spinner silk it would have burned through to remove his heart.'

  'It's bubbling… Yuk, it's oozing blood.'

  'Blisters. The skin is just blistering.'

  'It's bubbling!'

  'I don't like the look of this.'

  Henry felt something inside him relax. The pain seemed far away as he sank softly into darkness.

  'Do something!' Blue hissed fiercely. She felt a terror welling up inside her. Her father had died like this. One day he was healthy and hearty, the next he was dead; and now it was happening again with Henry.

  Nymph frowned. 'He needs new skin. It's the only thing, really.'

  'Then get it for him!' Pyrgus ordered.

  'We don't have it. We're not equipped.'

  Blue rounded on Ziczac. 'You did this!' she shouted. 'Can't you fix it?'

  The little wizard looked genuinely desolate. He started to shake his head.

  'Blue…' Pyrgus said.

  'You threw the damn thing! You must be able to do something. Reverse the spell. Heal -'

  'Blue…'

  'I'm not a healer,' Ziczac said. 'I don't even know much about military spells.'

  'Blue,' Pyrgus said gently. 'I think he's gone.'

  CHAPTER SIXTY THREE

  It was great to be back in the city. The countryside was too empty for Brimstone, too silent at night, even though he'd only been away for a short period of time. He waved cheerily at the guards on Cripple's Gate and walked on a few steps before he realised they were Faeries of the Night. Well, well, well. Black Hairstreak was moving fast. There hadn't been a Nighter guarding any of the city's gates for the past five hundred years.

  He stopped and breathed deeply. He'd always liked the smell of the city – a mix of sweat and dirty laundry with a delicate counterpoint of sewage. Three hundred and twenty-two thousand seven hundred souls packed in a delightful labyrinth of alleyways and slums. There was nowhere like it in the whole world.

  A dancing procession wound sinuously past and he stopped to look at the jugglers. With a shock of delight he realised it was a celebration of the Night. Processions like this never used to take place outside of Nighter districts. Extraordinary how things had changed.

  The warren of alleyways that was Sailor's Haven led him to the river. He walked slowly along the towpath, examining each set of wooden steps that reached down to the water. Eventually he found one with a hireboat at the end of it. The poleman was an unshaven ruffian, but Brimstone was wearing his demonologist's shawl with the horned insignia, so he expected no trouble.

  'Twenty-seven groats,' said the man, trying it on, but pushed the craft off without complaint when Brimstone handed him six.

  The river had always been the easiest way to get around the city. Brimstone took a seat in the prow and watched contentedly as the rows of warehouses gave way to office buildings, then looming residential houses. He was feeling… how was he feeling?… he was feeling good. He'd made his peace (and his new bargain!) with Beleth. Pyrgus was no longer headed for the throne. Hairstreak had taken over. The Faeries of the Night were now in charge. Life was sweet. The future, once so confined to Widow Mormo's grubby lodgings, opened up to panoramic vistas.

  'Few changes lately,' he ventured smugly.

  The poleman looked like one of the few products of Lighter-Nighter interbreeding. But even without that, his occupation meant his loyalties lay with the highest bidder. 'Reckon,' he said laconically.

  Brimstone looked around him. There were changes on the river too. General traffic seemed heavier and several of the boats were sporting pennants, indicating a tendency towards piracy. Time was when the water police would have sunk them without trace (sensibly only asking questions afterwards) but there they were, bold as brass. There was even a big pleasure vessel – or at least something he thought had to be a pleasure vessel: there was a multicoloured walrus on its flag. If he was right, it was the first time the trulls had taken to the water in four decades.

  The houses on the river bank opened up on to a broad, stone-paved piazza leading to the ancient Church of Saint Batwits. Batwits was a Lighter saint, much venerated for eating wasps, but now there was a bustling market right outside the church door! A small group of white-robed pilgrims was trying to push through the throng, bemused looks on their faces. They were halted by a fire-eater who declined to stop his act to let them past. In the old days, the Churchwardens would have swarmed out to beat him with their sticks, but today nothing happened. The new dispensation was taking hold everywhere.

  The boat pulled in at the Cheapside docks. 'This do?' asked the poleman, reaching for a rope.

  'Admirably,' said Brimstone cheerily. He even considered giving the man a small tip, but decided that would be pushing a good mood too far.

  Cheapside was busy as ever and there seemed to be even more low-life about than usual – especially fizz-heads for some reason. Brimstone drew the shawl a little closer round his shoulders and stepped into the throng, immediately and immensely pleased with the way people gave him space. The insignia did it, of course. Even with the Hael portals closed, people respected anyone who commanded the infernal hierarchies. Most of them probably suspected the portals would not stay closed for ever.

  By the time he reached Seething Lane, Brimstone's mood was bordering on the ecstatic. There was no reason why he should not take up his old lodgings. The old Emperor was dead, Prince Pyrgus was in exile, Beleth was placated – what had Brimstone got to fear? He could move back in and start some very pleasant wheels in motion. Like selling off his late wife's property. Milking some more money out of Chalkhill. Taking up his old position at the glue factory. Searching for -

  There was something wrong. Seething Lane didn't smell right.

  Silas Brimstone stopped, appalled. Chalkhill and Brimstone's Miracle Glue Factory had disappeared! The end of Seething Lane was no more than a pile of rubble: he could see the twisted iron gates from here. An errant breeze from Wildmoor Broads carried in the citrus scent of prickleweed.

  Brimstone glared down Seething Lane. Somebody had destroyed one of the most profitable businesses he'd ever had.

  And that meant somebody would pay.

  CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

  Peach Blossom said, 'We might be able to use silk.'

  Pyrgus was leaning over Henry's body, his fingers gently probing one side of his neck. He looked stunned. 'I think it's too late,' he said. 'I can't find any pulse.'

  Blue said, 'How can we use silk?'

  'It's too
late,' Pyrgus said again. He looked round at Blue, then Nymph, his eyes brimming.

  T think he's right, Blue,' Nymph said.

  Blue said, 'Shut up, both of you.' To Peach Blossom she repeated, 'How can we use silk?'

  Peach Blossom licked her lips thoughtfully. 'We can fuse it to living tissue. We do it sometimes over a small area to make a garment hang properly. Temporarily, of course, but there's no reason why it shouldn't be permanent. Or cover his entire chest,' she added as an afterthought.

  'Living tissue,' Nymph emphasised quietly. She looked compassionately at Blue.

  'Do it!' Blue said.

  Peach Blossom was staring down at Henry's ruined body. 'If he does survive, he's going to look strange… '

  'How strange?'

  Peach Blossom frowned. 'Fusion silk is multicoloured. You can never tell the exact hue or pattern until the process is finished. We'd have to wrap his entire torso. Thank heavens his face hasn't been burned, but if he ever takes his shirt off his chest will be like a rainbow tattoo. And look at his hands. We'll have to make him fusion gloves. The silk becomes his new skin. He'll have hands that reflect the sun like oil. They won't be covered. Everyone will see them.'

  'Oh, for God's sake!' Blue snapped testily. 'If you don't do it, he's going to die’

  'If he isn't dead already,' Nymph murmured, staring at the body.

  Blue rounded on her in a fury. 'Another word and you'll be dead! It was your wizard who did this – don't think I'm going to forget that. Now shut your mouth and see if you can help.'

  Nymph said nothing. When Blue turned back, two Sisters of the Silk Guild were bending over Henry unwrapping a bolt of silk so fine it floated towards him like thistledown.

  CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE