The Faerie Lord (22 page)

‘En Ri!’ hissed the vaettir.

Henry blinked. ‘Lorquin! Is that you?’

‘We did it!’ Lorquin called excitedly. He was beside Henry now, grinning.

‘The draugr is dead?’ Henry frowned. He didn’t believe it.

‘I killed him!’ Lorquin said.

Her,
Henry thought. The draugr was the vaettir queen. But he stopped himself correcting the boy.

‘You were great, En Ri,’ Lorquin told him. ‘They will sing of you as a wonderful Companion. You lured away the vaettirs more skilfully than any Companion in the history of the world.’

It was probably an exaggeration, but all Henry could think of saying was, ‘The vaettirs are gone.’ Which was true, but he still had no idea why.

‘They must return when the draugr screams,’ Lorquin said. ‘It is always so.’ He grinned at Henry again. ‘I made him scream big, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, you did,’ Henry said. For the first time he noticed Lorquin was carrying a stone dagger. The blade showed a dark stain. The kid must have used it to kill the draugr. And he thought
Henry
would be sung about!

‘Now I am a man!’ exclaimed Lorquin proudly. ‘The gods celebrated my victory – did you feel the earth move?’ He seized Henry’s hand and squeezed it in a curious gesture of affection. Then he sobered. ‘We must go now, En Ri. The vaettirs will create a new draugr, but sometimes they wish to seek us out and take revenge.’

‘Where are we going?’ Henry asked.

‘To join my people,’ Lorquin told him happily.

The Abbot was a large, muscular man with a shaven head and drooping moustache. He looked more like a bandit leader than a monk and Blue liked him at once. But she found it difficult to tear her eyes away from his companion, a tiny, wrinkled individual in a grubby yellow robe. ‘This is the Purlisa,’ the Abbot said, using an archaic term that Blue vaguely remembered meant ‘Treasure’ or ‘Precious One’.

It was clearly an honorific of some sort, so she bowed. ‘I am Sluce Ragetus,’ she told him, choosing one of the old aliases she used when she travelled as a man.

‘We’ve been expecting you,’ the Purlisa said, his eyes twinkling. He glanced at the Abbot. ‘Haven’t we, Jamides?’

The Abbot snorted.

‘That’s very surprising,’ Blue told the Purlisa. She smiled slightly. (It was difficult not to smile at the little Treasure.) ‘Until just a very short while ago I’d no idea I was coming here myself.’

‘Strange are the workings of Fate,’ the Purlisa remarked cheerfully. ‘Isn’t that right, Jamides?’

Abbot Jamides snorted again. To Blue he said, ‘The Precious One forecast the coming of a hero who would rid us of a particular problem we face. I believed the omens were against it. Now he wants to crow.’

‘Ah, we can all make mistakes, Jamides.’ The twinkling eyes closed in a long, slow blink as the cheery grin widened. ‘Although some of us make more than others.’

The last thing she needed was to be drawn into the problems of the monastery. ‘I’m hardly a hero,’ Blue said quietly. They were in the Abbot’s personal quarters, a sparsely furnished cell that overlooked a patch of garden. She’d been offered food and drink, but it had yet to appear.

‘Sometimes people are not what they seem,’ the Purlisa remarked. ‘Or what they think they are.’ He smiled at her. ‘Perhaps you are not what you seem, Sluce Ragetus?’

There was something in his tone that rang warning bells. She forced an easy smile. ‘I can assure you, Purlisa -‘

But Jamides, the Abbot, interrupted her. ‘I grant it was clever of you to disguise yourself as a man,’ he said.

‘So much less trouble in a monastery,’ the Purlisa twinkled.

The Abbot looked through the window with an expression of distaste. ‘Difficult for the monks when there’s a woman about.’ He nodded sagely, then added, ‘The younger monks.’

‘They have erotic thoughts,’ the Purlisa explained.

The Abbot looked back at her sternly. ‘All the time.’

‘Distracting,’ said the Purlisa. He looked at her fondly and added, ‘From their religious duties.’

‘Lord Abbot -‘ Blue began, wondering what on earth she was going to say.

But the Abbot waved her words away unspoken and his expression softened. ‘You need have no worries about us, of course. As Abbot I am too disciplined for erotic thoughts and the Purlisa is too old.’

‘Almost,’ the Purlisa said.

The Abbot looked at him quickly and frowned.

The Purlisa blinked benignly. ‘She’s very pretty underneath the spells.’

‘Ah,’ Blue said. She had the feeling she was in serious trouble, but it was all she could do not to laugh. ‘About the spells …’

The Purlisa pursed his lips and waved a warning finger. ‘Forbidden here in Buthner. Absolutely, positively illegal. Hideously strict penalties: some might even say barbaric. And nowhere is magic more blasphemous than in a monastery.’ He smiled cheerfully again. ‘Still, I expect you didn’t know.’

The Abbot looked at her fondly. ‘And you
have
saved us so much trouble with the younger monks …’

‘I imagine we could overlook it,’ said the Purlisa.

‘I imagine we could overlook it,’ echoed the Abbot.

They both beamed at her.

‘How did you know?’ Blue asked. She’d taken a chance with the spells largely because Madame Cardui claimed they were espionage grade and entirely undetectable.

‘The Purlisa is a mystic,’ said the Abbot.

The Purlisa flickered his hands spookily. ‘I see beneath appearances,’ he said in a sepulchral voice. He smiled, then sobered. ‘For example, I see there is a worry in your heart.’

Blue stared at him. The desire to laugh had suddenly disappeared.

‘I expect it’s a lost love,’ said the Abbot. ‘With women it’s always a lost love.’

‘It
is
a lost love,’ the Treasure said crossly. ‘And there’s no need to mock just because you’re too
disciplined
-‘ he lowered his voice and mumbled ‘- or too

ugly -‘ the voice raised again ‘- to have a lost love of your own.’ He turned to Blue and said kindly, ‘It is a lost love, isn’t it?’

This little old man was incredible. Blue said, ‘Yes, it is.’

‘It is interlinked. It is interwoven. It is part of the tapestry of life.’

‘Everything is part of the tapestry of life,’ the Abbot grumbled. ‘That doesn’t solve our problem.’

‘It is part of the part of life’s tapestry that
involves
our problem,’ said the Purlisa impatiently. He glared briefly at the Abbot, then turned back to Blue and smiled. ‘What’s your birth name? I expect it’s something more melodious than Sluce Ragetus.’

For a moment Blue considered making up another name, then decided she simply couldn’t lie to the Precious One. ‘Blue,’ she said. ‘It’s Holly Blue.’

The Purlisa looked at the Abbot. ‘Why is that name familiar?’ he asked.

‘It’s the same name as the Realm’s Queen Empress, you old fool,’ the Abbot told him. To Blue he said, ‘You’re not related, by any chance?’

To her surprise, Blue felt herself blush.

The Abbot blinked. ‘You
are
the Queen Empress?’

Blue nodded.

‘You see, Jamides! A royal soul! Exactly as I predicted!’

The Abbot ignored him and frowned at Blue. ‘But what are you doing in the Buthner desert?’

The Purlisa began to pace and gesture wildly. ‘A royal soul!’ he said again, delightedly. ‘It’s just
precisely
what I predicted. Admit it, Jamides – go on, admit it!’ He swung round to grin at Blue. ‘It’s what I said, isn’t it? A lost love?’

‘I suppose it is,’ Blue said. ‘A lost love.’

‘You see! You see!’ He actually waved two fists in the air. ‘You must tell us of your lost love,’ he said. ‘Then the Abbot will tell you of our problem. Then it’s entirely possible that I shall tell you how one may form part of the other.’ He pulled out a chair and sat down suddenly, a smug expression on his face. The Abbot promptly took a seat beside him.

‘There’s not much to tell,’ Blue said. ‘My friend Henry -‘

‘Your
love
Henry,’ the Purlisa corrected her.

Blue hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, all right. My love, Henry, has disappeared and I think he may be in the Buthner desert and I came to look for him. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the main thing.’

The Abbot looked up at her sharply. ‘Just a minute. Did you say
Henry?
That’s a human name.’

Blue said warily, ‘Yes, it is. Henry is a human boy.’

‘You see?’ the Purlisa exclaimed. ‘Human! Didn’t I say human? Now will you take my visions seriously?’

‘I do take them seriously!’ the Abbot hissed. ‘I’ve always taken them seriously. But they’re not always right. And you must admit your last one was so far-fetched -‘

Blue suddenly realised she was the only one still standing and sat down. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘but Henry may be in danger. Can you help me find him?’

The Purlisa beamed at her. ‘You help us. We’ll help you!’

An acolyte appeared with a tray, which he set down before Blue, then silently withdrew.

The Purlisa pursed his lips and nodded. ‘See?’ he said. ‘A younger monk.’ He smiled triumphantly at Blue. ‘You did not disturb him in the slightest.’

They let her eat in peace (a bowl of cold soup, some wonderfully crumbly bread, a selection of home-made cheeses, sliced meat, fruit and, best of all, a jug of clear, cool water) although they watched every mouthful as if they were starving themselves. When she finished, the Abbot said, ‘There is something we would like you to see.’

From the outside, the monastery was deceptive. When she’d approached, it had appeared to be a single, rambling building. Now she realised it was more like a small community, a village of several buildings, some of which appeared to be dug into the mountainside itself. The structures surrounded a hidden garden, more lush and carefully tended than the agricultural strip Blue had seen as she arrived. They passed a shallow, worn stone basin elevated to shoulder height on a pedestal. Inside it the monks had planted a miniature replica of the garden embellished with a tiny brick-built pagoda.

‘The home of our last Abbot,’ the Purlisa remarked when he noticed her looking at it.

‘A model of his home?’ Blue inquired politely.

‘Oh, no, he lives there now. He has grown very small since he became immortal.’

She was still trying to work it out as they led her from the garden through an archway into one of the structures hewn into the mountainside. The corridor they entered seemed to descend and eventually led to a flight of narrow stone steps, illuminated by flickering torches: no glowglobes here, of course, in this anti-magical country.

‘This portion of the monastery was once a military fortress,’ the Abbot explained. He looked mildly pained. ‘I’m afraid below we will find the dungeons.’

‘Nonetheless,’ the Purlisa chipped in, ‘we must descend. Are you psychic, Queen Holly Blue?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Blue said hesitantly.

‘Ah good,’ said the Purlisa. ‘Psychics often find the atmosphere disturbing. So much suffering. We blessed the cells and torture chambers, but I’m not sure it’s made much difference.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘However, we will not be delayed long; then we can return to more cheering surroundings and discuss our plans.’

Blue noted the word
our.
It seemed she was being drawn into the monastery’s problems whether she wanted it or not. But she couldn’t see what else she might do. Without help, she could only go back to her aimless wandering in the desert.

‘Please be careful,’ the Abbot said. ‘The steps are rather steep.’

Psychic or not, Blue found the tunnels horrid. They were rough-cut in the bedrock, gloomy, claustrophobic and, surprisingly, dank: in one area water streamed down the walls. But perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. A monastery, as much as the ancient fortress before it, needed a reliable water source. This monastery was probably built on top of one.

The tunnel opened out suddenly into an underground plaza, leading in turn to what had clearly once been holding cells. Their doors all stood open so Blue could see some had been converted into austere, joyless bedrooms (only a monk on penance would elect to sleep here), but others remained in their original condition, with chains and fetters hanging from their walls.

‘Renovation programme,’ muttered the Abbot, as much to himself as anybody else. ‘Not much funds, so it will take a while.’

‘We just want you to look for a moment,’ said the Purlisa, without explaining at what.

‘To your left,’ said the Abbot and pointed.

The chamber was much larger than the miserable cells and seemed to have been used for torture. There was still some rusting equipment left in place – a metal chair with a fire drawer beneath its seat, a broken rack, a whipping post. In the centre of the room, a cage hung suspended by a chain from a hook in the ceiling. Inside it was the huddled figure of an old man, his head turned away from them.

‘What are you doing to him?’ Blue asked, appalled.

‘Look again,’ said the Purlisa quietly.

Blue looked again. The door of the cage, like that of the chamber itself, hung open.

‘Why does he stay in there?’ Blue whispered.

‘He won’t come out,’ the Abbot told her quietly. ‘We tried putting his food in the centre of the floor so he’d have to leave the cage, but he starved for three days rather than come out. So now we feed him there.’

Blue licked her lips. ‘But he must come out for … you know …’

The Abbot shook his head. ‘Not even for that. You can tell from the smell. Fortunately he eats very little.’

Blue’s stomach was knotted. She felt such a wave of pity for the creature in the cage that tears began to well up in her eyes. Then the crouched old man turned his head. ‘My gods,’ Blue gasped before she could stop herself, ‘it’s Brimstone!’

The Purlisa reacted at once. ‘You know this person?’

Blue knew him all right. Brimstone was the demonologist who’d once tried to sacrifice her brother to the demon Beleth, who’d helped the Prince of Darkness attack her Realm by way of the Analogue World. What was he doing here, on the edge of the Buthner Desert? What interest did the Abbot and his little Treasure have in him?