Faerie Wars 01 - Faerie Wars

by Brennan, Herbie

Henry looked at her for a moment, then nodded. 'Yes.' Henry the Truthsayer.

  'So you have no more obligations to Mr Fogarty?'

  Henry shook his head. 'No.' Which was true as well. He'd told Mr Fogarty he couldn't help him build the portal, but that didn't matter because he'd only have been handing him components anyway. Mr Fogarty, armed robber or not, was still the one who made things. And if he needed help, Pyrgus was there to give it.

  'In that case,' his mother said, 'you can no longer have any objection to the request your father and I made that you shouldn't see Mr Fogarty again. Can you?'

  'No, I can't,' he told his mother.

  'So you agree you will not see Mr Fogarty again?'

  Henry nodded. 'Yes.'

  'I want you to promise. Promise on your word of honour.'

  'I promise on my word of honour,' Henry told her miserably.

  'Good,' his mother said briskly. 'Now the only thing to be decided is your punishment.'

  His punishment turned out to be two weeks' grounding. (His mother wanted to make it a month, but his father intervened.) He couldn't leave the house unless accompanied by one of his parents or -- ultimate humiliation and Mum knew it -- his sister Aisling.

  But he made no protest, probably because he was feeling so guilty. He consoled himself with the thought that he'd played his part in helping Pyrgus get back to his own world.

  He lasted three days before he tried to ring Mr Fogarty. His mum had forbidden him even that form of contact, but it wasn't what he'd promised. What he'd promised was that he wouldn't see Mr Fogarty again. But that had its own problems since Mr Fogarty didn't answer his home phone (as usual) and, when Henry tried his mobile, it was switched off.

  He tried again the following day. By now, his parents had stopped watching him so closely. His dad was at work, of course, and his mum soon discovered that grounding somebody was one thing, but acting as his jailer was a real pain. Even Aisling stopped her little game of trailing around after him like some smug guard dog. Henry walked into the kitchen, helped himself to a doughnut, and dialled Mr Fogarty's mobile. It was still switched off.

  It was switched off on Friday as well, and on Saturday morning. By now, Henry was taking more and more chances, calling the number just as often as he could. Fogarty's mobile seemed to be permanently switched off. Henry tried to tell himself it was just out of order, but he didn't believe it. Every time he phoned without result, the feeling grew that something was wrong. He didn't know what, but his imagination supplied some weird possibilities.

  By Saturday afternoon he found it all so worrying he'd come to a horrible decision. He was going to break a promise made on his word of honour. He was going to go and see Mr Fogarty.

  Nineteen

  Alan Fogarty woke with a start. His bedroom was filled with a stark blue light and there was a high-pitched humming noise in his ears. They were coming to get him!

  He rolled over and reached underneath his bed for the shotgun, then remembered, dammit, the thing was in pieces on the kitchen table, cleaned, oiled but not reassembled because he was an old man now and he'd got tired and gone to bed thinking he'd put it together in the morning, thinking it wouldn't matter if he went to sleep just one night without an equaliser handy. But he forgot Murphy's Law: if it can go wrong, it will go wrong. The one night he left himself without a firearm was the night they picked to come and get him.

  He pushed himself upright. They weren't in the room yet, so he still had a chance. But he had to hurry, even though hurrying wasn't what he did well these days. Growing old was deadly. Thirty years ago he'd probably have fought them. Twenty years ago, he'd have been legging it down the road by now. But once you pass eighty, everything slows.

  He swung his feet out of the bed and placed them firmly on the wooden floorboards. He had to hurry, but if he did this too fast he was in trouble. Any time he stood up suddenly he passed out. After a moment he risked pushing himself to his feet. Not so much as a hint of dizziness -- great! He walked to the bedroom cupboard and took out a cricket bat.

  They could pass through walls. It made no sense, but it was in all the books. Trick was not to let yourself get impressed. And to make your move before they did. He fondled the cricket bat and walked to the window.

  There were figures moving on his lawn!

  He let the curtain fall and scuttled from the bedroom. There was a good chance they weren't inside yet, which was to his advantage. A bit of him was wondering if he could get the gun assembled before they came in. There was a full box of cartridges in the table drawer.

  He reached the kitchen in short order. There was a humanoid shape at the back door, its outline distorted by the frosted glass. It knocked sharply. Fogarty walked over and unfastened the five bolts that secured it. Then he took the key from its hook, unlocked the deadlock and opened the door.

  As the figure entered, Fogarty hit it with the cricket bat.

  The character in the cloak and purple jerkin wasn't what you'd call tall and Fogarty had seen a lot more imposing men, but the second he walked through the door you knew he was in charge.

  'What's happened here?' he asked.

  Fogarty said nothing, partly because the arm around his throat was cutting off his air supply, partly because he was feeling a bit embarrassed. These clowns certainly weren't aliens. They didn't look like Men in Black or FBI either. Their clothes were all too colourful, too flashy in the cut. Besides, there was something about the man in purple that looked familiar.

  'Doubtless a misunderstanding, Majesty,' said the man Fogarty had hit with the cricket bat. The man's arm was encased in a tight, white rigid sleeve cast that had been sprayed on by one of his colleagues.

  'Why are you trying to strangle that man?' This was aimed at the soldier with his arm around Fogarty's throat. Fogarty knew he was a soldier from the cropped hair and the ramrod up his ass. They all looked the same wherever they came from and God alone knew where this one was from. If that was a uniform he was wearing, Fogarty had never seen the like of it before.

  'Danger to society, sire!' the soldier said, trying to snap to attention. The sudden movement came close to shutting off Fogarty's windpipe completely.

  'You or him?' the man in purple asked. 'I think perhaps you had better release him.'

  'Yes, Majesty!' the soldier said. He let Fogarty go, took a step backwards, stamped his feet and came to attention again, all in a single movement.

  Fogarty massaged his neck. That was the second time they'd called the purple character Majesty. Was he some sort of king? And why did he look so familiar? Fogarty blinked. 'My God,' he said, 'you're Pyrgus's father!'

  You'd have thought he'd dropped a nuke. Everybody froze in place. Eyes widened. Jaws dropped. The character in the purple jerkin recovered first. 'I am Apatura Iris, the Purple Emperor,' he said. 'What do you know of my son?'

  So they'd come for him. Pyrgus always said they would -- or at least that they'd try. Not that it had stopped him sorting out his own problems: sort of son you wanted, that. Fogarty said, 'You're too late -- he's gone back.'

  The Purple Emperor exchanged glances with the thin man Fogarty had assaulted. 'Gone back?'

  Fogarty nodded. 'Yes.' He looked from one to the other. There were five men in his kitchen and he was fairly sure there were more outside. 'What?' he asked the Purple Emperor. 'What's wrong?'

  Apatura glanced at the disassembled shotgun on the table. 'Is that a weapon?' he asked.

  Fogarty nodded. 'Yes.'

  'Your weapon?'

  'Yes.'

  'Can you put it together again?'

  Fogarty looked at him cautiously. 'I can.' He moved to the table and sat down without taking his eyes off the Purple Emperor. His hands reached out for the parts and began to reassemble them.

  'This is Gatekeeper Tithonus,' the Emperor said, nodding towards the slim man.

  'I'm sorry about that,' Fogarty muttered, glancing at the arm.

  'It's just a fracture,' Tithonus told him drily.


  Fogarty said, 'I'm Alan Fogarty.'

  'I fear we have somewhat forced ourselves on your hospitality, Mr Fogarty,' Apatura said. His voice was polite, but his face was like a rock. 'However, I should be grateful if we could speak about my son. Please tell me how you know of him and what has happened.'

  Fogarty had met the type once or twice before. You didn't mess with them unless you absolutely had to. Pyrgus would be the same in a year or two and you could see where he got it from -- even now he was a tough kid. Fortunately Fogarty had no quarrel with the Emperor. Quite the reverse: he liked Pyrgus and it was clear from everything Pyrgus had said that Pyrgus liked his dad. There were problems between them, of course, but that was just the age thing. Wasn't a kid anywhere didn't have problems with his father at that age. Something wrong if he didn't.

  Fogarty said, 'Not my business, but if I were you I'd tighten up my security. I think somebody tried to do your boy a mischief.'

  Apatura looked at him impassively. 'I came to much the same conclusion, Mr Fogarty. From the beginning, please.'

  Fogarty took a deep breath and told him everything.

  They were all watching him intently when he came to the part about sending Pyrgus back.

  'How did you propose to do so?' asked the Purple Emperor.

  Fogarty, who disliked being interrupted, said, 'Portal.'

  One of the Emperor's party, a man named Peacock with an ornate crown of the Purple Emperor embroidered on his jacket, said just as shortly, 'Portal was down.'

  'Not your portal,' Fogarty said. 'Mine.'

  He could sense the sudden excitement. The Purple Emperor leaned forward. 'You have a natural portal somewhere near here, Mr Fogarty?'

  Fogarty shook his head. 'I made one.'

  There was absolute, stunned silence. Fogarty looked from face to face. 'You got a problem with that?' he asked.

  The one called Tithonus, who'd generally kept quiet, probably because his arm was hurting, said, 'Do I understand that you made a portal from scratch, rather than modifying an existing one?'

  'Yes,' said Fogarty, irritated by something in his tone, 'that's what you understand.'

  'How can -- ' The Emperor intercepted a warning glance from Tithonus and changed tack. 'You must be a man of exceptional talents, Mr Fogarty.'

  A little mollified, but only a little, Fogarty muttered, 'Used to make things in my job.' Detonators, lock picks, alarm system jammers, but they didn't need to know that.

  'Even so,' Tithonus said smoothly, 'I was not aware this world was familiar with portal technology.'

  'Pyrgus told me the basics.'

  'So you worked it out from first principles?' asked Tithonus.

  'No big deal,' Fogarty said. 'Half the battle's knowing it can be done -- saves you looking in the wrong direction.'

  Tm sure it does,' Tithonus said.

  The man Peacock was leaning forward and, if Fogarty was reading him right, it was as much as he could do to stop himself shaking with excitement. 'Can I see it?' he asked.

  'Mr Peacock is our Chief Portal Engineer,' Tithonus said. 'He is interested in the technical aspect.'

  There was a directness about Peacock Fogarty liked. He opened the table drawer and took out a small brushed-aluminium cube.

  'What's this?' Peacock asked when he handed it across.

  'Portal,' Fogarty said.

  Peacock stared at the cube, turning it over in his hand. Eventually he looked up at Fogarty. 'This isn't a portal.'

  Fogarty grinned. 'Sure it is. Press the red button. Only take it outside -- can break things if you use it inside.'

  Peacock looked at his Emperor, who nodded briefly. In a moment they were all outside in the back garden. Fogarty noted he'd been right -- there had to be maybe another dozen men lurking in the shadows, most of them with a military look about them. The Emperor was clearly prepared for trouble. Fogarty liked that in a man.

  'Where ...?' Peacock asked.

  Fogarty shrugged. 'Anywhere here. Just so long as it's out of the house.'

  Peacock pressed the red button. There was a ripping sound as reality tore apart. Through the gap they could see a carpeted corridor lit by crystal chandeliers. After a moment of stunned silence, Apatura whispered, That's the palace!'

  'Thought it might be,' Fogarty remarked proudly. 'I was trying to home in on your own portal -- that's in some sort of chapel, Pyrgus told me. Thought the palace might be close enough for jazz.'

  'This isn't like our portals at all,' Peacock said, with something like awe in his voice.

  Fogarty fought to keep his stern expression. 'Might have made a few improvements,' he said casually.

  'What happens if I press the green button?' Peacock asked.

  'Closes the thing down.'

  Peacock pressed the green button. The portal disappeared without a sound. 'Where's the power source? You can't have packed it in this cube.'

  Fogarty found himself grinning and didn't care. Peacock was a fellow engineer. 'Cube's just a control. Actual portal draws power from the planet.'

  'Volcanic?' Peacock asked.

  'Not round here.'

  'Ours are volcanic.' Peacock ignored -- or didn't even notice -- warning glances from Tithonus and his Emperor. 'Ours are all volcanic.'

  'Planetary resonance,' Fogarty told him. 'We had a man called Tesla worked it once. Dead now. Pumped electricity -- Pyrgus says you call it trapped lightning. I used a psychotronic trigger.'

  'Psychotronic trigger -- wow!' Peacock exclaimed. 'We tinkered with the idea of planetary resonance, but I'd never have thought of using a psychotronic trigger.'

  'Won't work without it, no matter how much electricity is pumped.'

  'I know,' Peacock said. He looked delighted and amazed, both at the same time.

  'Perhaps you could continue this conversation at another time,' Apatura suggested drily. He waved aside Peacock's hasty apologies and said to Fogarty, 'You tell me you used this portal to send Pyrgus home?'

  'Ah,' said Fogarty uncomfortably. 'Not exactly ...'

  'Not ... exactly'}' Tithonus asked.

  'Impatient lad, your son,' Fogarty told the Purple Emperor, who nodded sourly. 'He used the portal himself the night I finished it. Took off while I was asleep the night before last. Left me a note. I was a bit worried when I found he'd gone. I hadn't made the final adjustments or tested it or anything. But when I tried the thing myself, it was working fine.'

  'You tried it yourself?'

  'Oh, yes. Wouldn't rest easy until I was sure Pyrgus was OK.'

  'And what happened when you tried it yourself?' the Emperor asked cautiously.

  'What you saw,' Fogarty said. 'I stepped through into your palace. I recognised it from what Pyrgus told me.'

  'There were no reports of your visit,' Tithonus said.

  'Wasn't exactly a visit. Stepped through, looked around, then stepped back again. Got things to do here. I was just glad your boy got home.'

  'That's the problem, Mr Fogarty,' the Purple Emperor told him soberly. 'My boy didn't get home.'

  Twenty

  The mirror showed a slim boy with close-cropped hair and open features. His clothes were homespun and entirely drab: a muddy green jacket inexpertly repaired and itchy brown breeches tucked into cracking, down-at-heel, leather boots. He might have been a factory worker or a badly paid apprentice. Holly Blue examined her reflection with some satisfaction. Real disguise was always better than some erratic illusion spell that could be probed by counter-magic or fail completely when you least expected.

  She was worried about her skin. Many boys her age were spotty, and apprentices spottier than most, but there wasn't a lot she could do about that. Besides, she'd used the disguise before and nobody seemed to notice. Although those missions hadn't been as dangerous as this one. She thought about it, then compromised by rubbing in a light stain to give a weather-beaten look. It helped a little.

  Blue checked her armaments. They were pitifully scant. The trouble was everything had to be in character
. No factory worker or apprentice could afford magical weapons, or even a simple sword. Most of them just carried a defensive cosh, if they carried anything at all. She settled for a small dagger and a screamer built into a copper coin. The dagger was just about acceptable -- it looked a lot cheaper than it was -- and if the screamer was discovered, she could always say she stole it. As an afterthought, she dropped a pickspell in her pocket. It looked much like a banana if you didn't examine it too closely.

  She took a last glance in the mirror, then walked to her bookshelves and tapped a slim volume of Crudman's Essays. A section of the shelving slid back on silent runners. As Blue stepped into the hidden passageway beyond, glowglobes illuminated gently and the shelving slid back into place. In less than half an hour, she was mingling with the teeming crowds of Northgate.