Faerie Wars 03 - Ruler of the Realm (44 page)

'My job,' volunteered Woodfordi. 'I was trained in espionage.'

Pyrgus looked at him in surprise. 'Were you?'

Woodfordi shook his head. 'Not really, sir. But the lady's right - can't have a prince taking that sort of risk.'

They bandied it back and forth for a while, then reluctantly agreed they'd all go, but only on the strict understanding there would be no heroics.

In the event, none were needed. Beleth's entire army proved to be as insubstantial as a moonbeam.

Woodfordi passed his hand right through a patrolling sentry. 'What's going on here?' he whispered, half to himself.

'I don't know,' Pyrgus told him. 'But I do know we need to tell the palace about this. Are you still out of communications range, Woodfordi?'

'Afraid so, sir.'

'Then we have to get back to the flier right away.'

Henry said, 'I don't think I can be hypnotised, Mr Fogarty.'

Fogarty was scrabbling about in one of his tin boxes. 'What makes you say that?' he asked.

'I went up on stage once when I was a little kid. The Illustrious Svengali couldn't put me under.'

'The Illustrious
what?'
Fogarty snorted.

'I don't think it was his real name,' Henry said.

'Ah!' Fogarty exclaimed. He dragged an old pocket watch out of the box and began to free its chain from a tangle of electrical wiring. To Henry he said, 'Little kids aren't all that easy - attention spans of goldfish. Might do better with you now.'

Henry watched with trepidation as Mr Fogarty liberated his watch. Despite his negative experience with the Illustrious Svengali, he had a nervous feeling Mr Fogarty might just manage it. 'You won't ... make me
do
things?' he asked.

'Christ sake, Henry!' Fogarty exclaimed impatiently. 'We've a war on, the demons are invading, you got implanted by the Prince of Darkness and you're worried I'll make you stick your finger up your bum and bark like a dog? This is serious.'

'Sorry, Mr Fogarty,' Henry said. It didn't matter. It probably wouldn't work. 'What do you want me to do?'

'Just sit there and watch the watch.' Fogarty began to swing the ancient timepiece on the end of its chain. 'Let your eyes follow the watch.'

The Illustrious Svengali hadn't used a watch. He'd just stared into people's eyes and made peculiar hand movements. Henry hoped Mr Fogarty knew what he was doing. What happened if he
did
put Henry under, but couldn't wake him up again? All the same, he did let his eyes follow the watch, which was swinging like a long, slow pendulum.

'Heavy,' Mr Fogarty remarked. 'Your eyes are getting heavy ...'

Henry's eyes actually
were
getting heavy, but that wasn't exactly surprising. If you kept swinging your eyes back and forth, they got tired and when they got tired, they felt heavy. Didn't mean you were being hypnotised.

'So heavy you can hardly keep them open,' Mr Fogarty intoned.

Henry found his eyes were sliding shut and jerked them open wide. He knew if he let his eyes close he was in trouble. He'd watched Paul McKenna on television. They didn't show you how he did it - probably to stop people at home getting hypnotised by accident - but his subjects always ended up with their eyes shut doing stupid stuff. When you had your eyes shut you were putty in Paul McKenna's hands. He wasn't sure he wanted to be putty in Mr Fogarty's hands.

Then he remembered why they were doing this in the first place. It was important to find out what Beleth and his demons were really up to. Because there was definitely something wrong with the story they'd told Blue.

'Heavy,' Mr Fogarty repeated in a heavy sort of voice.

Heavy, Henry thought as his eyelids slid south again. He felt really comfortable. He'd always thought of hypnosis as a battle of wills, but it wasn't like that with Mr Fogarty. Interesting that he'd never noticed Mr Fogarty had such a nice voice before.

'So heavy you can't keep them open,' said Mr Fogarty in his nice voice.

Henry gratefully allowed his eyes to close. It didn't really matter that his eyes were closed. Mr Fogarty might be a nut, but he was a nice nut and Henry trusted him. Sort of. No, completely. He had such a nice restful voice. And besides which, Henry wasn't putty yet. If he wanted, he could open his eyes at any time. It was just that he didn't want to. He didn't want to offend Mr Fogarty by opening his eyes.

'Falling,' said Mr Fogarty. 'Falling backwards into darkness, safe, warm darkness. Safe and well. Happy and relaxed.'

Henry felt safe and well, happy and relaxed. He was floating through the darkness, a safe, warm darkness inside his head that came about when you closed your eyes and listened -

'Listen to my voice,' Mr Fogarty droned.

Henry wasn't under, of course. He knew that. But he didn't want to contradict Mr Fogarty because that would be rude. Much better to float in the safe, warm darkness and let Mr Fogarty think he was asleep when actually he was wide awake and knew everything that was going on and could open his eyes whenever he wanted, even though he didn't want to just yet.

Mr Fogarty reached across and touched his right arm. 'Heavy arm,' remarked Mr Fogarty; and immediately Henry's arm felt as heavy as lead. It was very peculiar.

He tried to lift it, but it was too heavy to lift.

'But now it's growing light,' said Mr Fogarty. 'Lighter than the air. So light it's floating in the air.'

Henry almost giggled. His arm really did feel light, like a gas-filled balloon. It was lighter than the air. It wanted to float in the air. Henry relaxed and watched, eyes closed, as his arm began to move of its own accord. First it twitched, then it shifted, then it lifted. Mr Fogarty was right - it was floating in the air! How cool was that?

'Your arm will now float of its own accord until your hand touches your face. And when your hand touches your face, you will fall at once into a deep ... dreamless ... sleep.'

Henry knew he wasn't gone, of course. He was absolutely wide awake and in complete control. He could do anything he wanted, say anything he wanted. He could jump up and do a tap dance if he wanted. But best not to mention that to Mr Fogarty, who was working hard to put him under. Besides, it was interesting to sit with your arm floating in the air.

'Deep ... dreamless ... sleep,' repeated Mr Fogarty. 'When your hand touches your face.'

There was no way at all he was going to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. That was very obvious. Henry wasn't sleepy, wasn't remotely sleepy, just warm and safe and very, very relax--

Henry's hand touched Henry's face.

'Open your eyes!' commanded Mr Fogarty firmly.

Henry opened his eyes. Madame Cardui was standing behind Mr Fogarty - when did she come in? - and both of them were looking grave.

'Didn't work, eh?' Henry remarked sympathetically.

Mr Fogarty said, 'Beleth has implanted Blue.'

There was so much pressure in her skull that Blue's head began to ache. The background sound in the chamber of brass had become a howling, like the cries of lost souls trapped in agony. The glow of the pentagram increased, reflecting in the ceiling and the walls. The immense porphyry altar began to shake.

'Od commemahe do pereje salabarotza kynutzire fabaonu, od zodumebi pereji od salabarotza
Blue read aloud from the book, her voice rising clear and true above the din. Although the language was unknown to her, it seemed she understood it:
And I bind thee in the fire of sulphur mingled with poison and the seas of fire and sulphur ...

The words were a blasphemy, drawn from the time of the Old Gods, but she did not care any more than she cared about her pain. What she was doing was important, vital for the welfare of the Realm. Nothing was more important than that.

'Niisa, eca, dorebesa na-e-el od zodameranu asapeta vaunesa komesalohe!'
she intoned.
Come forth, therefore, obey my power and appear before this circle!

The howling rose to a crescendo and the brass plates of the chamber took up the resonance in a hideous vibration. The pain in Blue's head was so intense now that she could scarcely focus on the words that writhed and crawled across the pages of the book.

'Niisa!'
she called again.
Come forth! Come forth!

The brass plates in the ceiling shifted and a trickle of dust poured down. The whole chamber was shaking now, as if caught up in a violent earthquake. Her lantern flickered, then went out, but the chamber remained illuminated by its own reflections. Behind the howling there arose a deep subsonic drumbeat, then, incongruously, the music of a distant orchestra. The cacophony gripped body and brain, drawing her towards the point of madness, but she did not hesitate for an instant.

'Niisa! Niisa! Niisa!' Come forth! Come forth! Come forth!
she shrieked.

All noise and vibration stopped. There was an instant of deep silence. Then the massive altar cracked and shattered into rubble.

From its depths stepped Beleth, Prince of Darkness.

As the flyer swooped low over Yammeth City, Nymph said suddenly, 'Look over to the east.'

Pyrgus glanced in the direction of her pointing finger. Below them tens of thousands of Nighter troops were streaming through the city, accompanied by heavy ordnance. He had never seen so many soldiers together at one time in his entire life. He felt his spirits sink.

'I hope our men can hold back that lot.'

'They're moving in the wrong direction,' Nymph said.

Pyrgus blinked. Woodfordi moved out of his seat and stood behind him to look over his shoulder. After a moment, Pyrgus said, 'You're right.' The forces were pouring out of their city gate into the Eastern Desert. He turned round, frowning. 'What's that all about? Are they retreating from our troops?'

'Does that look like a retreat?' Nymph asked.

It didn't look anything like a retreat. The men were marching in good order with no sign of casualties at all.

Pyrgus said thoughtfully, 'Maybe Uncle Hairstreak's joining up with Beleth's army.'

'Beleth's army doesn't exist,' Nymph said. 'He may not know that.'

'Unlikely,' Nymph said shortly.

Pyrgus glowered at her. 'All right, what do
you
think's happening, smart boots?'

Nymph shrugged annoyingly and turned away. 'I don't know.'

To Woodfordi, Pyrgus said, 'I don't suppose you're back in contact with your network yet?'

'Afraid not, sir. Should have been by now, but I'm not and that's the fact of it. I think the Communications Angel must be sick.' He craned round Pyrgus's head to get a better view of the city below. Almost every street was full of men now, marching like ants towards the eastern gate. 'Why do you ask, sir?'

'Because the sooner the palace knows about this the better.'

'Your people will already know about it,' Nymph said. 'From their Generals.' She sat down and added, 'Since Lord Hairstreak is obviously disengaging.'

'Why would he be disengaging?' Pyrgus asked belligerently.

'I don't know that either.'

'The palace still needs to be told as soon as possible,' Pyrgus muttered.