Ruler of the Realm fw-3

by Herbie Brennan

  Fogarty glanced at her in surprise. ‘The portals are still closed, aren’t they?’

  Madame Cardui nodded. ‘All standard portals, yes. But -’

  Henry cut across them both. ‘Pyrgus and I will go after her,’ he said firmly.

  Twenty-nine

  Lord Hairstreak’s forest mansion – now razed to the ground, alas – had been noted for its tight security. The forest was full of haniels so anybody who wandered in was likely to be eaten. His new home had no such natural defences. Although the house was surrounded by several hundred acres, the previous owner had set the grounds to gardens and cleared out any wildlife that was more dangerous than decorative. As a result, the previous owner had proven almost ludicrously easy to murder, a fate Hairstreak had no intention of sharing.

  The new security system was state of the art. It was firmly centred on the mansion, spell-driven and globular. It cost a fortune to install and it looked like it would cost a fortune to run. But it had to be worth every penny.

  ‘Is it active?’ Hairstreak asked.

  ‘Active but not armed,’ Pelidne said.

  ‘How do I see what’s happening?’ There were no viewing globes, no screens, nothing but a small bank of controls and a custom-made joystick that adjusted to the shape and size of any hand.

  ‘The goggles, sir. On the table.’

  Lord Hairstreak took off his lenses and replaced them with the goggles, taking care not to disturb the parting in his hair. At once he seemed to be floating outside the mansion. The lighting was peculiar – rather like bright moonlight with a particularly bluish tinge – but everything was clearly visible. The three-dimensional effect was impressive.

  ‘How do I change viewpoint?’ he asked.

  ‘The joystick, sir.’

  Hairstreak glanced inadvertently in the direction of the joystick and discovered to his surprise he could still see it, despite the goggles. In fact, with a little effort, he could see everything in the cramped control room, including Pelidne. Yet at the same time he remained fully aware of the scene outside. It was an incredible piece of spell technology, one that clearly influenced the deepest levels of his mind. He reached out and gripped the joystick.

  At once he was spinning out of control, tumbling and gyrating in the pseudo-body floating outside. ‘Yark!’ he snapped violently.

  ‘Gently, sir – it takes a little practice.’

  There had to be a printed manual somewhere. In the interim he steadied the joystick (and found to his relief he was no longer spinning) then inched it forward a hair’s breadth.

  At once he swooped down to the ground with a commanding view along the main avenue. He edged the joystick back and flew high into the air with a vast swathe of his estate spread out below him. The sensation was exhilarating in the extreme. If this wasn’t a hideously expensive piece of equipment, it would make a great toy.

  Under Pelidne’s guidance, he worked the controls for a few minutes until he got the hang of them. It really was extraordinary. With the help of just goggles and joystick, he could patrol every corner of his estate, spy on his groundskeepers, sneak up invisibly on his guards, even examine an individual flower that took his fancy. It was an illusion, of course, but astonishingly realistic. You even got used to the peculiar light.

  ‘Are we set up for a test?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Pelidne assured him.

  Hairstreak hesitated. ‘What about our own people? Does it put them at risk?’

  ‘No, sir, they’re tagged.’

  ‘What about outsiders?’

  ‘It’s outsiders the system’s designed to attack.’

  Hairstreak glanced round at him and scowled. ‘It’s just possible I might wish to entertain guests at some point,’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘It can be trained to ignore specific individuals,’ Pelidne said. ‘Or certain groups. Like all Faeries of the Night. Or people above a certain age. Or all males wearing pirate costume. Very flexible. Useful if you ever wanted to hold a fancy dress ball or something of that sort, sir.’

  ‘But it hasn’t been trained yet?’ Hairstreak said. ‘It will attack anybody within range?’

  ‘Apart from our own people. After it’s armed, of course.’

  Hairstreak licked his lips. ‘How do I arm it?’ he asked.

  ‘The switch to the right of the panel,’ Pelidne said.

  With a thrill of anticipation, Lord Hairstreak reached across and flipped the switch. A bank of seven telltales illuminated smoothly, one after the other. He turned his attention back to the scene outside and discovered the blue light had changed to a much more realistic hue, but set at a comfortable level for a Faerie of the Night.

  ‘Release him now,’ he whispered, his voice suddenly dry.

  Thirty

  The boy was a Faerie of the Light by the cut of his eyes, a raggedy lad little more than thirteen years of age. The servants had discovered him wandering on the edge of the Hairstreak Estate – quite safely since the security system hadn’t yet been armed. He claimed he’d got lost while collecting firewood for his mother, which might well have been true. There were several deprived Lighter families living on the edges of the estate and the nights were growing chill. But there’d been no fire in the cottage last night. Hairstreak’s guards had grabbed the boy and put him in a cage. It was now hanging from a tree on the main avenue as a warning to others.

  ‘It’s not an exact test, I suppose,’ Pelidne said quietly. ‘He’s hardly going to run towards the mansion.’

  Hairstreak was watching with fascination as two of his servants lowered the cage to the ground, withdrew the bolt, then melted away into the bushes. Although he was free now, the boy stayed where he was, staring after them suspiciously.

  ‘Going… coming,’ Hairstreak shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter so long as the system functions properly.’

  Eventually, cautiously, the boy moved to the edge of his cage and tried the door. It swung open. Still he didn’t get out. He looked up and down the main driveway as if expecting somebody to come along it and grab him.

  ‘Where’s the nearest node?’ Hairstreak asked curiously.

  ‘Less than thirty yards, sir.’

  ‘Which direction?’

  ‘Any direction. The grounds are peppered with them.’

  The boy was leaving the cage now. His most predictable action would be to race along the driveway towards the main gate, but he was clearly too wary for that. He waited a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. Crouching low, he ran across the driveway in the opposite direction to the servants and disappeared between two rhododendron bushes. Hairstreak eased back on the joystick and rose to follow him.

  From his new vantage point, Hairstreak could see the boy running full pelt over rough grass. As Pelidne predicted, he got less than thirty yards before a tracker emerged from its bunker and hurled itself after him.

  The child didn’t stand a chance. The tracker hit him full force from the side, knocked him heavily to the ground, then leaped on to his chest, growling savagely. The boy was game, Hairstreak had to give him that. He struck out wildly and twisted desperately in an attempt to break free, but the creature sank metal teeth into his shoulder and, seconds later, the boy’s eyes rolled upwards and he lay still.

  ‘What’s our alert status?’ Hairstreak asked curiously.

  ‘Level 1, sir, for the purpose of the test: seek, hold and immobilise. At Level 2, the tracker would chew his arm off: seek, hold, immobilise and cripple. At Level 3 it kills him: lethal force authorised.’ Pelidne hesitated. ‘Would you like me to raise the alert level, sir?’

  ‘No, let’s wait until I have more time to enjoy it,’ Hairstreak said.

  ‘What do you want me to do about the boy?’ Pelidne asked.

  ‘When he wakes up, let him go. It’ll do no harm at all if he talks about his experience – might discourage other trespassers.’ Hairstreak began to pull off his goggles, then stopped. ‘What’s that noise?’

  ‘Noise, sir?�
��

  ‘High-pitched whine.’

  Pelidne leaned across and made an adjustment on the control panel. A penetrating sound filled the little chamber. ‘Aircraft alert, sir.’

  A look of pleased surprise flitted across Hairstreak’s features. ‘How interesting. I hadn’t realised the system detected aerial approaches.’

  ‘The spell-field forms a sphere, centred on the house. It detects intrusion from the air and underground. This isn’t likely to be an attack, of course – more like a commercial coach line or something of that sort. It’s sensitive enough to pick up high-altitude disturbances.’ Pelidne made another adjustment. ‘If you relax your neck muscles, sir, the goggles will automatically turn your head in the direction of the intruder and simulate an image if it’s too far away for visual detection.’

  Hairstreak sat back in his chair and allowed his head to roll against the backrest. At once his perception was speeding through the air outside, zooming to a higher altitude than anything he’d so far achieved. He felt like a mountain haniel launching from a snow-covered peak.

  ‘It’s not a commercial coach line,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s a personal flyer.’

  The whining alarm suddenly began to pulse urgently. ‘And it’s just penetrated the detection sphere,’ Pelidne said. ‘Would you like to shoot it down, sir?’

  Hairstreak raised an eyebrow above his goggles. ‘Can I do that?’

  Pelidne gave a bleak little smile. ‘You can even do it legally, sir – the craft has now entered our airspace. Just press the red button on the top of your joystick. The system will do the rest.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ Hairstreak said.

  His thumb stroked the red button.

  Thirty-one

  Blue’s personal flyer was a dart-shaped single-seater finished in a stylish, high-gloss black with crimson interior trim. Voice-activated controls gave a hair-trigger response and newly installed spell compression meant it hurtled through the airways like a comet. Normally Blue adored using it, but this trip was an exception.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, fine.’ Flapwazzle wriggled reassuringly against her back.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘I can’t tell lies.’

  The problem was she couldn’t get comfortable. Usually she lay back in the crimson seat, overrode the safeties and flew at top speed. But with Flapwazzle anchored to her spine, she didn’t want to lie back for fear of crushing him. And since she didn’t want acceleration to push her back, she ordered the craft to maintain a boringly sedate pace. Unfortunately the flyer wasn’t designed to be used in this way. It performed erratically, demanded constant attention. So she sat forward, frowning, and tried to coax it along while she developed a headache, sore back and a stiff neck.

  Flapwazzle said, ‘What’s our plan?’

  ‘What’s our plan what?’ Blue asked vaguely. The flyer was just beginning to pick up speed again, which was a relief, but looking down she discovered she’d lost track of where they were. The last thing she needed was a friendly chat with Flapwazzle.

  ‘Our plan when we get to Hairstreak’s place. What are you going to say to him? What’s the excuse for paying him a visit?’

  A good point, Blue thought, despite her problems. It was important Lord Hairstreak didn’t get suspicious. He might be her uncle, but they weren’t exactly on good terms, so she could hardly say she’d dropped in for a cup of ragwort.

  After a moment she said, ‘I’ll tell him I want more details of his offer.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you just send a minion for that?’

  Actually she probably would. Besides, what more details could he give her? It was an offer to negotiate. You either said yes or no.

  ‘Besides, what more details can he give you?’ Flapwazzle added, echoing her thought.

  ‘Have you any suggestions?’ Blue asked to shut him up. ‘Bank starboard, avoid cloud,’ she muttered to the flyer.

  ‘Why don’t you ask him how much backing he’s got for negotiations?’

  The flyer dropped below the level of the cloud and Blue realised two things. The first was that they were no longer over the city. The second was that they were definitely off-course. Lord Hairstreak’s new mansion was the former Tellervo Estate which lay outside the city walls to the north-west, but not far.

  You couldn’t mistake the Tellervo Estate, even from the air. Old Zoilus Tellervo was obsessed with building follies – imitations of ancient ruins mostly – and there were dozens of them strewn across the estate. Hairstreak wouldn’t have had time to demolish them yet. The ground below showed no sign of ruins, fake or otherwise, so clearly they weren’t over the property yet.

  The question was, what were they over?

  Blue leaned back (Flapwazzle was just going to have to take his chances) and twisted her head to get the long view. The mountains were still clearly visible to port, so they couldn’t be wildly off-course. But directly below seemed to be fairly featureless farmland. She could be anywhere.

  ‘Why don’t you ask him how much backing he’s got for negotiations?’ Flapwazzle asked again, his voice muffled now.

  Then she saw the ridgeway! The ancient earthwork meandered like a snake towards a body of water that had to be Ormo Lake. Which meant she wasn’t far from Hairstreak’s new estate after all.

  ‘Hard to starboard,’ she ordered the flyer with a sigh of relief. As the craft swung right, she relaxed and turned her attention away from the controls. ‘Why don’t I ask him how much backing he’s got for negotiations?’ she asked Flapwazzle rhetorically. ‘Yes, why don’t I? That’s a great idea.’

  It was too. She should have thought of asking Hairstreak that anyway. How much backing did he have? It was one thing for Hairstreak to say he was ready to negotiate, but even if he was genuine, what good was that if the Nighter Great Houses didn’t back him? Of course she’d have to ask him that. And it was sensitive enough for her to want to ask personally. Good old Flapwazzle!

  An alarm sounded in the confines of the flyer’s cabin and a red light began to pulse on the display in front of her.

  ‘What is it now?’ Blue asked tiredly. Probably another complaint that they were flying too slow or too low or too high.

  ‘We have been targeted by ground-based missiles,’ said the spell-driven voice of the flyer.

  Thirty-two

  It must be love, Pyrgus thought. That was the only thing could have changed Henry from the quiet, reserved boy Pyrgus knew to this take-charge character who snapped out crisp orders and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was Henry who organised the mission, Henry who drew up the plan, Henry who commandeered transport, Henry who led the three of them – Madame Cardui had insisted Kitterick go too – out of the Purple Palace.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Pyrgus asked.

  They were hidden in some bushes, staring at the gateway to Lord Hairstreak’s estate, which, surprisingly, was standing open and unguarded. Their transport, an unmarked delivery cart souped up with a turbo-charged spell drive, was parked around the corner looking innocent. A far cry from a personal flyer, Pyrgus thought sourly.

  ‘May I suggest, gentlemen,’ Kitterick put in, ‘that it might be prudent to spend a moment reviewing the situation.’

  Pyrgus glanced at the Trinian. It was probably good advice. ‘All right by me,’ he said, then glanced warily at Henry.

  Henry seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. His face had taken on that granite cast you saw in Mr Fogarty. ‘We know Blue was headed towards Lord Hairstreak’s mansion,’ he said quietly, ‘but we don’t know whether she’s got there.’

  ‘Although it would seem very likely,’ Pyrgus said, then added, ‘Especially since she’s travelling in a personal flyer.’

  ‘If I might express an opinion, Crown Prince, Iron Prominent,’ Kitterick said, ‘I think we may take it that Her Majesty has arrived, for good or ill, at Lord Hairstreak’s residence.’

  ‘Our job is to save her,’ Henry said.

  ‘Our job’s no
thing of the sort,’ Pyrgus said. ‘At least not yet.’ What was wrong with Henry? Blue – or anything to do with Blue – seemed to unhinge him completely. ‘Our job’s to make sure she’s all right, hopefully without causing a diplomatic incident. And if she’s all right, we leave her to it.’

  ‘Our job is to save her,’ Henry repeated as if Pyrgus hadn’t spoken.

  ‘Well, possibly,’ Pyrgus said irritably. He was all for saving his sister, but since his father died he was beginning to appreciate that life wasn’t all black and white. In the old days, he would have stormed in, just like the new, improved Henry. Now he could see that it wouldn’t do anybody any good if they stormed in and Hairstreak killed them. Or, maybe even worse for the Realm, captured them. But it wasn’t just a question of calling in the troops either – that would probably result in the civil war everybody was trying to avoid. On balance he favoured caution, combined with a sneaky approach.

  ‘I note, sirs, that the gate is wide open and the estate appears to be unguarded,’ Kitterick said.

  Pyrgus turned to him frowning. ‘What would you deduce from that, Kitterick?’

  ‘From our knowledge of Lord Hairstreak, I would say that appearances may be deceptive.’

  ‘There’ll be guards,’ Henry predicted grimly. ‘Just maybe not at the gate.’

  ‘So do we go in or what?’ asked Pyrgus.

  ‘We go in,’ said Henry firmly. ‘Cautiously and stealthily, hiding in the bushes. We creep up to the house and peer through the windows until we find Blue. If there’s the slightest hint of danger, we attack. We will succeed due to the element of surprise. Once we have her safe, you can flatten the whole place the way you flattened that glue factory. Spell bombs or whatever it was.’

  ‘Alternatively, sir, we could simply walk down the avenue.’

  They both turned to look at him.

  Kitterick said, ‘It might be argued that we are all here in a precautionary capacity. On the face of things, Her Majesty seems to have embarked on a diplomatic mission. We have – as yet – no reason to believe she is in any degree of personal peril. Should we approach covertly, and be discovered, Lord Hairstreak might appear justified in claiming we were engaged in espionage. On the other hand, an open approach has the benefit of complete transparency. If we are halted by guards – as I assume we will be at some point – we simply say we are a part of Her Majesty’s retinue. We will then be escorted to the mansion where we can easily determine Lord Hairstreak’s attitude towards the whole business. If we are not – halted by guards, that is – then we present ourselves at the front door and request audience with His Lordship and Her Majesty. Either way, we avoid all possibility of a diplomatic incident, show solidarity with Her Majesty, remain on hand to protect her physically, should that need arise, and simultaneously send a clear message to Lord Hairstreak that Her Majesty’s whereabouts are known and any action he might be tempted to take against her would have… consequences. Thus it would seem that walking down the avenue appears to be the most fruitful course of action.’