Faerie Wars 01 - Faerie Wars (26 page)

'You
knew
we were going for a picnic,' his mother said. 'It's so late now it's hardly worth the trouble.'

'You aren't even ready yet,' Henry said, perhaps unwisely.

'That's because we didn't know where you w
ere!'
his mother told him. 'Honestly, Henry, you've been behaving so strangely lately we hardly know what to think.'

He'd
been behaving strangely? Henry looked at his parents, but decided not to get drawn down that particular road. 'I was just walking,' he said. Then, in the wicked hope of making his mother feel guilty, he added, 'I needed time to think.'

'He wasn't just walking.' Aisling's voice came from behind him. 'He went to see Mr Fogarty, even though you told him not to. I heard him making the arrangements on the phone last night.'

Henry spun round. Aisling was smiling smugly all over her stupid face. She'd known since last night, but she'd waited until now to tell their parents so he'd get into maximum trouble.

'Is this true?' his mother asked. The tone of her voice said she'd take a lot of convincing that it wasn't.

As he fought down a surge of guilt, a hideous thought slid into Henry's mind. Had he mentioned breaking into his school last night on the phone? He didn't think so, but he couldn't remember for sure. Was Aisling waiting to drop that little bombshell as well? He took a deep breath. There was only one way to find out.

Henry lowered his eyes. 'Yes,' he said, 'it's true.' He looked up again and added more forcefully, 'There was a job I had to do for him. I couldn't let him down.' His gaze flickered towards Aisling. If she did know what he'd been up to this morning, now was the time she'd tell. He could hear her triumphant voice:
And do you know what that job was, Mum? Breaking and entering and stealing!

If Aisling knew about it, she kept quiet.

'Let him down?' his mother echoed. 'We told you -your father and I
both
told you -- that you weren't to work for him again. As of now. Not some time next month or next week. Henry, this is for your own good. That man is wholly unsuitable company for a boy your age. But that isn't the point any more, is it? The point is, we can't even trust you--'

To his surprise, his father murmured, 'He may have had obligations, Martha.'

'All right,' his mother said. 'All right, we'll find out about his
obligations,
shall we?' She turned to Henry. 'Did you finish this job you had to do for your friend Mr Fogarty?'

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.

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.'