Faerie Wars 02 - The Purple Emperor (38 page)

Fogarty found Queen Cleopatra skinning a deer. Her green arms were bloodied to the elbow and there were spatters of blood on her bare legs.

'Don't you have people to do that for you?' Fogarty asked curiously.

She gave him a sidelong glance with those astounding golden eyes. 'That's not the way things are done in the forest, Gatekeeper.' Her hands wielded the knife deftly as she plunged deeper into the carcass. 'We all muck in.' She smiled slightly. 'Isn't this the way it's done in the Analogue World?'

'Can't imagine our own dear Queen with anything between her knees except a horse,' Fogarty muttered dourly. 'Your Majesty, I -'

'Cleopatra will do. Or Cleo. No one stands on ceremony in the forest once they've been introduced.'

Fogarty sat himself down on a tree stump, pleasantly surprised by the lack of stiffness as he bent. 'I think our little party may be in trouble,' he said bluntly.

Cleopatra set down the knife and turned to look at him. No questions: she just waited. Fogarty liked that. 'I don't think the Emperor was at the palace,' he said. 'I think Hairstreak may have taken him to his new mansion right here in the forest. I think our party may be trying to get into Hairstreak's mansion right now.' What he really thought was that the party was probably inside and under attack, but since he couldn't really justify anything he felt it better not to overstate his case.

Oddly enough, Queen Cleopatra didn't ask him why he thought any of it. Instead she said, 'My people would have reported to me if the status of their mission had changed.'

'Mightn't have had the chance,' Fogarty said.

'If they went to Hairstreak's mansion, they would have returned to the forest.'

The implication was clear enough. If they'd passed through the forest, they would have stopped and told her. Fogarty sighed audibly. 'Pyrgus was leading them,' he said. 'You can't tell what that boy would do.'

The trouble was it all sounded lame and Fogarty knew it. Besides which, he wasn't sure what he wanted the Queen to do, even if she believed him. But Cleopatra only said, 'You're worried about the boy.'

'Yes.'

'My daughter's in the party,' Cleopatra said.

Fogarty blinked. 'Your daughter?' He made a rapid calculation. There was only one person it could be. 'Nymphalis is your daughter?'

The Queen nodded. 'Yes.' She pushed herself erect. 'I think I trust your intuition, Gatekeeper.'

'So what are you going to do?'

'Lead my army to Lord Hairstreak's mansion,' the Queen told him soberly. 'If you're right, the time for concealment may have passed us by.'

'Tell him no!' screamed the wyrm desperately.

Chalkhill, who needed no urging, was already shrieking, 'No, I won't do it! Not now. Never. Leave me alone. Get your filthy hands off me. I won't, I won't, I absolutely, positively, simply won't! You can't make me.'

Hairstreak watched him with mild amusement. 'Actually I can,' he said. He nodded at two black-uniformed guards who fell in beside Chalkhill and seized him by the arms.

'Fight them! I'll help. Head-butt them in the face!'

'Will you be quiet! Chalkhill hissed mentally. 'I'll never get us out of this if you don't let me think.'

As the wyrm fell silent, Chalkhill raced through his options and found there weren't any. He could go like a sacrificial lamb and have the lethal operation or he could fight tooth and claw and get dragged away to have the lethal operation. Either way, he had the lethal operation.

'I don't know why you're making such a fuss,' Hairstreak said. 'It's a minor procedure.'

'Which will kill me!' Chalkhill snarled. He was still terrified of Hairstreak, but well beyond being polite to him any more.

Hairstreak raised an eyebrow. 'Who on earth told you that?'

Chalkhill stared at him. It was only Cyril who'd told him the operation was lethal and Cyril hadn't proven all that trustworthy in the past.

'I don't suppose I could persuade you -'

'Shut up!' Chalkhill growled.

Now he came to think of it, it didn't make a lot of sense for Hairstreak to have him killed - he'd proven himself very valuable in the past. So perhaps the operation wasn't dangerous. Perhaps -

'Oh, very well, Lord Hairstreak,' Chalkhill said decisively. 'I'd be delighted to have this operation if it can assist you in any way.' He stood off the restraining hands of the guards and marched smartly towards the open door.

'Nooooooooooo!' wailed Cyril inside his head.

It was irritating, but the sweeping exit was spoiled by the fact he didn't know where he was going. Chalkhill stopped at the door and waited until Hairstreak's goons caught up with him.

'Lead on, my good men,' he instructed them grandly.

The guards glanced at Hairstreak, who nodded slightly, then strolled across to join them. 'I'm glad you've seen sense, Jasper,' he said mildly. 'But it really is completely safe.'

To Chalkhill I' Surprise, there was not so much as a whimper from Cyril.

It was a part of Hairstreak's mansion he hadn't visited before, although he'd heard rumours about it. They marched through some sinister crypts, then down wide stone steps into what looked like a massive natural cavern. Chalkhill spotted the obsidian maze at once, then looked away quickly, pretenting he hadn't. People who learned Hairstreak's darker secrets had a habit of disappearing permanently. He glanced around ostentatiously, trying to find the operating theatre.

A horrid thought struck him. Perhaps all the talk of an operation was just to get him here. Perhaps he was going to be dropped into the maze to face the -

'That's it!' said Cyril suddenly. 'That's what he's planning! We have to get out of here. Knee him in the wambles! Stick a -'

But that couldn't be right. If Hairstreak simply wanted him down here he'd have said so, or had him dragged down by the guards. No need for some elaborate deception.

'Above your head,' said Hairstreak.

'Sorry?'

'You were looking for the operating theatre. It's above your head.'

Chalkhill looked upwards.

Darkness.

'Are you all right, Pyrgus?' Nymph's voice, concerned but steady. 'Is everybody all right.'

Somebody groaned.

'Blue? Is that you, Blue? What's happened? What's wrong?' Henry's voice, and he sounded on the verge of panic.

Pyrgus said quietly, 'I'm on top of something soft - I think it may be alive.'

'That's me,' said Comma crossly.

'Blue? Where are you?'

'It's all right, Henry - I've hit my head, that's all. Has anybody got a light?'

'I've got a sparker,' Comma said. 'If Pyrgus would get off me.'

But Nymphalis beat him to it. Her face suddenly emerged out of the darkness, illuminated by a portable glow globe about the size of a hen's egg. It floated gently upwards as she released it, then expanded and brightened until its light picked up them all.

They were in a wide corridor with gleaming metallic piping running down both walls. The heat was appalling and there was a rhythmic pounding in the floor.

Blue said softly, 'Nymph ...'

'I see him,' Nymph said.

Pyrgus turned in the direction of her gaze. Ochlodes was stretched out on the floor, still clutching the remnants of his shattered bow.

From the position of his head, it was clear his neck was broken.

Brimstone had a moment of funk - he hadn't bothered with a circle and now there were an awful lot of demons to control. He raised his hand and drew a series of command sigils with his finger. They should have appeared in the air, outlined in flame, but nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. Then, with a muttered curse, he remembered magic didn't work that way in the Analogue World. You had to earth every visualisation!

The demons were spreading out across the church, hopping across pews and climbing up the walls. One of them started grimly to beat up a statue of a saint. Brimstone grabbed a piece of parchment from his bag and savagely bit the end of his right thumb. As the blood welled up, he drew the sigils roughly on the paper:

' "Give unto this skin power to assume the signs that I have made upon it!"' he called through pursed lips. (Biting himself on the thumb had proved incredibly painful.) ' "Which signs are inscribed with my blood in order that such inscriptions may be endowed with power to do that which I desire."' Honorius the Great was so long-winded. ' "And make it so that it will also repel the devilment of demons who shall become afraid when they see these characters, and who will be able only to tremble as they behold them and approach."' That should do it.

He waved the parchment in the air, the inscribed side facing the approaching demons. 'See that?' he shouted. 'Now pull yourselves together and line up in orderly ranks!'

The demons ignored him. Several scampered through the broken window high up in the wall behind the altar and disappeared into the world outside. 'Come back!' Brimstone screamed. They were just a cab ride from New York City: demons could run that distance in no time. There'd be riots if they turned up in Times Square. He waved the paper again. 'If you don't behave, I'll stuff this parchment up -'

The demons stopped skittering abruptly and began to congregate to one side of the altar. Those on the walls slid down sheepishly. 'That's better,' Brimstone began, before realising their behaviour had nothing to do with his command sigils. An enormous horned figure was squeezing awkwardly through the portal.

'You might have made it bigger,' Beleth growled. 'You know I had to set up a special connection from the Faerie Realm.'

The demon prince was looking a lot more together than the last time Brimstone had seen him. His broken horn had regrown and his skin taken on a luminous red tinge that made him look as if his insides were on fire. He also seemed to have grown talons. Or had he always had them? Brimstone shook his head. He was sure he'd have noticed before.

'Honorius didn't know about resizing,' he explained. 'Or if he did, he didn't put it in his grimoire.' He watched Beleth warily, more aware than ever there was no circle of protection, but the prince only stretched luxuriously.

'No matter,' Beleth said. 'You've set up a working portal and that's the main thing.'

'So we're quits?' Brimstone asked quickly. 'I can go now?' He never liked to admit it, but he always felt a little uncomfortable in the Analogue World. Too much of his basic magic didn't work the way it should and a lot of the people here seemed deranged. He'd no idea why Beleth wanted portal access here, but now the demons were through, Brimstone was well content to leave them to get on with whatever damage they planned to inflict on New York.

'Quits?' Beleth echoed, his voice reverberating through the church. He smiled. 'Not quite, Brimstone. Not quite.'

They took Chalkhill up to the floating platform, where he was faced with the most terrifying sight he'd ever seen. Although it did have some reassuring aspects. It was clean for one thing. All the metal surfaces sparkled, the floor had been recently polished and there was fresh linen on the operating tables.

There were two tables, side by side. Apatura Iris, the Purple Emperor, was strapped naked to one of them. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, and, while his face had a flaccid, expressionless look, Chalkhill somehow didn't think he was under the influence of an anaesthetic spell. Although to be fair, Hairstreak would probably use one. He'd want the Emperor fit and well as soon as possible after the operation.