Faerie Wars 01 - Faerie Wars (15 page)

'That was even better than your potato crisps. What was it?'

'Baked beans,' Henry said.

'You're a super cook, Henry,' Pyrgus told him. 'How did you make that brilliant sauce?'

'Comes in a tin,' Henry muttered, embarrassed.

Fogarty said, 'See if there's a small box in the drawer, Henry. We need to make the speaker portable.' He pushed himself to his feet. 'Never mind, I'll get it -- I want to look for a different mike.' He rummaged in the drawer and came up with a rusting tin box that had contained tobacco sometime around 1918. 'This'll do. Ah -- ' From the jumble of wiring and components, he picked out a throat mike even smaller than the button mike currently linked to the speaker. 'Should make things easier.'

While Henry and Pyrgus watched curiously, he packed the various bits of the speaker into the tin box and replaced the button mike with the smaller throat mike, extending the wire as he did so. 'There,' he said when he'd finished. 'Portable. More or less.' He went back to the drawer and returned with two rubber bands, which he attached to the throat mike. 'OK, young Pyrgus, think you can carry something this size on your back?'

Pyrgus examined the throat mike. 'Think so,' he said cautiously. He folded his wings and slipped his arms through the rubber bands, pulling on the microphone like a knapsack. When he spread his wings again experimentally, it sat comfortably between them.

'Say something,' Fogarty instructed.

After a moment, Pyrgus said, 'What do you want me to say?' His voice emerged from the tin box, slightly muffled but still perfectly audible.

'Right,' Fogarty said briskly, 'you carry Pyrgus and the box, Henry. We've got some investigating to do!'

Henry held out his hand so Pyrgus could climb up his arm on to his shoulder. 'Where are we going, Mr Fogarty?'

'Just down to the end of the garden,' Fogarty said. 'If we're to find a way to send this little fella back, I want to see the spot where he arrived.'

Henry smiled to himself. It sounded as though Mr Fogarty had decided Pyrgus wasn't an alien invasion after all.

They walked together from the house. Pyrgus was seated on Henry's shoulder, casually holding on to his ear. The wire from his backpack microphone trailed down to the tin box which Henry had strapped to his wrist. 'Hope that cat's not still there,' came Pyrgus's tinny voice.

'Kick in the backside'll soon sort him out,' said Mr Fogarty, who liked to pretend he didn't share Henry's soft spot for animals.

As they reached the shed, Fogarty said, 'Somewhere round here, was it?'

'Over by the buddleia, I think,' Henry said.

'Actually it was a bit beyond it,' Pyrgus told them. 'I'm not exactly sure because I was confused. I mean, I didn't expect to end up here and I didn't expect to be a titch with wings, so I staggered around a bit. Then I got drawn towards the bush -- '

'The buddleia bush?' Fogarty asked.

'If that's what you call it. That one.' He pointed.

'What do you mean,
drawn towards
it?'

'It's just ... I don't know ... I sort of liked the feel of it. Or the smell or something. Felt as if I'd be safe there.'

Fogarty shook his head. 'Weird, that. Buddleias attract butterflies.'

As they moved towards the buddleia, Henry saw there were several butterflies on the bush and examined them carefully in case another one turned out to be a fairy. Pyrgus must have noticed what he was doing because he said quietly, 'I came through on my own.'

Henry nodded, but checked the rest of the butterflies anyway. He was beginning to realise just how weird this whole business was. Yesterday he hadn't believed in fairies. Today he actually
knew
one. And he knew there were others, generations descended from Landsman and his people who'd probably forgotten where they came from in the first place. A thought struck him and he asked Pyrgus, 'Landsman and Arana and those ... where did they come out in our world when they went through the portal on the island?'

'Don't know,' Pyrgus said.

'It's just that they spread all over the world,' Henry said. 'So it would have to be somewhere they could spread
from.
I mean, it couldn't have been another little island, for example -- they'd never have got off it.'

'Don't know,' Pyrgus repeated. 'I got taught this stuff when I was a kid, but I forget half of it. Anyway, nobody's sure where the first ones came through. Don't forget, it was hundreds of years before anybody else used a portal and hundreds of years after that before anybody made contact with the descendants of the originals. By then they'd nothing much in common with the people in my world and the stuff about the portal had turned into myths. Maybe it was England.'

'This is England!' Henry said excitedly.

'I know,' Pyrgus grinned. 'Mr Fogarty told me.'

'Just kidding me?' Henry said. He didn't mind. He liked Pyrgus.

'Sort of,' Pyrgus told him. 'But I'd actually heard of England. I mean before I came here. So it must have been mentioned in my lessons, although I can't remember why.'

They moved beyond the buddleia bush into a corner that was all shrub and weeds. Mr Fogarty had abandoned a couple of decaying oil drums and several rusting machine parts, including a car engine sump. They poked up out of the long grass like tombstones.

'It was here,' Pyrgus said at once.

'You sure?'

'Yes,' Pyrgus said. 'I thought I'd gone mad when I saw the junk.' He looked round at Henry apologetically. 'You have to remember I wasn't expecting to shrink. Took me a couple of minutes to figure out what had happened.'

'Remember exactly where?' asked Fogarty. He looked around as if expecting to be attacked.

'Not sure,' Pyrgus said. 'I think it might have been over there.'

They walked in the direction he was pointing. Even before they reached the spot, Henry could see a ring of discoloured, flattened grass. 'Is that a fairy ring?' he asked Mr Fogarty.

Fogarty was frowning. 'More like a crop circle. Small one. You also get marks like that in UFO landings.'

'Is it big enough for a UFO?' Henry asked. He found he was frowning now too.

'Naw, too small. Unless aliens drive compacts. But look at the colour of the grass. That's some sort of radiation.' To Pyrgus he said, 'How does this portal of yours work?'

'I'm not sure,' Pyrgus said.

'You're not sure?' Fogarty rounded on him. 'You use the thing to get you from one dimension to another and you don't even know how it
works?''

To make peace, Henry said, 'Maybe it's like television, Mr Fogarty. I mean, I know how to switch it on and that, but I don't know how it works, not really.'

'I do,' Fogarty said. 'I know exactly. Could build one if I had the parts.'

'Yes, but you know stuff like that,' Henry said. Not for the first time he wondered what sort of engineer Mr. Fogarty had been before he retired. He seemed to be able to build anything.

On Henry's shoulder, Pyrgus said, 'It's an energy thing. The portal is some sort of energy that goes with volcanic action -- ' He hesitated. 'Actually, I'm not sure of that. All the natural portals appear near volcanoes or at least places where there's volcanic activity -- hot springs, that sort of thing. But there hasn't been a volcano near the one I came through for five hundred years or more. The old one went extinct and they, I don't know, flattened it or something.'

'Maybe you just need the volcano to start it off,' Henry suggested helpfully. 'Maybe once it starts, it stays on of its own accord.'

They both ignored him. Pyrgus said, 'The filter works through trapped lightning.'

'Trapped lightning?' Fogarty frowned. 'You mean electricity?'

'I don't know.'

'Same stuff that drives your speaker.'

'I don't know,' Pyrgus said again.

'It has to be electric,' Fogarty muttered. 'And the portal must be some sort of field. The flames you see aren't hot at all, not even warm?'

'No.'

'Henry, poke around a bit. See if you notice anything odd. Pyrgus, try to remember anything, anything at all that might be useful.' He crouched down to examine the circle of discoloured grass more closely.

Henry made his way cautiously into the undergrowth, casting his eyes around for anything that might look unusual. It was tough going. The corner was full of stones as well as the junk Mr Fogarty had abandoned. On his shoulder, Pyrgus said, 'You've no idea how peculiar it is to be this size, Henry. Nothing looks right and you get lost every five yards. I think I came through where there's that circle on the grass, but I'm not sure.'

'Don't worry,' Henry said. 'We'll find some way to get you back.' He wished he felt as certain as he tried to sound.

They circled back to Mr Fogarty, who was still staring at the grass. Henry opened his mouth to say something when a loud ringing sound made him jump.

'Careful!' hissed Pyrgus.

Fogarty dragged a tiny mobile phone from his pocket, switched it on clumsily and placed it to his ear as if it were a bomb. 'What do you want?' After a moment he muttered, 'Right', and pushed the phone back into his pocket. 'Brain cancer if you use it too long.' He looked over at Henry. 'Your mother,' he said shortly. 'She wants you to get home. At once.'

Henry's heart sank to his boots. In all the excitement, he'd nearly managed to forget what was going on at home.

Her Serene Highness Princess Holly Blue thought something was amiss when she stepped from her bedchamber to find a priest running down the palace corridor outside. Priests never ran anywhere, even technician priests. They
processed
in a dignified fashion at a stately pace and, if you wanted one in a hurry, you damn well had to wait. But this one was running, the skirts of his ceremonial robes flying up to show his hairy shanks. He made a screeching turn around the corner and seconds later she heard his footfalls on the main staircase.

Blue stepped back into her chamber and walked over to the window. The running priest emerged from a doorway below, scattering a group of servants, and careered across the courtyard to disappear through an archway on the other side. He might be heading for the chapel or the kitchens or even the main entrance to the palace. But why was he running?

Blue chewed her lower lip. There was far too much going on she didn't know about just now. It had taken her days to find Pyrgus and heaven only knew what might have happened if someone else had found him first. Not that she entirely blamed herself -- Pyrgus was unbelievably stupid sometimes and this bee in his bonnet about living as a commoner was about as thick as it got. A
commoner.
She shuddered. It took lifetimes of self-sacrifice to get born a prince and Pyrgus was prepared to throw it all away. Besides, he wasn't just a prince. He was Crown Prince. He should be learning how to
rule
instead of mixing with hoi polloi. Luckily he'd have her to advise him when he became Emperor, but even so ...

Except it wasn't just Pyrgus. There was something going on between her father and the Faeries of the Night. Not just the recent discussions. There was something else. She could smell it. Too many comings and goings. Too many little chats in shadows. Too many strange faces at the palace. The other thing was that her father had stopped talking to her. Well, not stopped exactly. But if she tried to discuss politics, he changed the subject. If she so much as
mentioned
Faeries of the Night, he almost ran for cover. Even when she told him Black Hairstreak had it in for Pyrgus, he'd seemed more embarrassed than grateful. But at least he'd taken action, which was something.

Blue walked slowly back from the window and sat down at her dressing table. She stared at the ornate jewel case for a long moment. She'd never done this to her father before. But then she'd never had to. She reached out and fingered the clasp. Perhaps it was going a bit far. But then again, wasn't it going a bit far that her father had stopped confiding in her? What was a girl supposed to do? She flicked the clasp, but didn't open the lid.