Marc Chadbourn - The Queen of sinister

The cold, unnerving stares of the guards did not waver, but after a few seconds a slightly taller guard stepped forward from the group. Crowther was pleased to see a little more life in his eyes. 'Is that a Sister of Dragons I see before me?' His gaze was fixed on Caitlin.

Crowther followed his stare, unsure how to respond. 'If you say so.'

The chief guard nodded thoughtfully and motioned for them to enter. Matt began to step forward, but Crowther held him back with an arm across his chest. 'Do you accept us freely and without obligation?' Crowther asked again.

The chief guard eyed him slyly. 'We do. Now follow me.'

Caitlin/Amy buried her face in Matt's shoulder as they walked into the city and the gates boomed shut behind them. They were led through the steeply winding cobbled streets for nearly half an hour. Houses, inns and shops pressed oppressively on either side and leaned in over their heads so that only a thin sliver of sky was visible. Occasionally they would glimpse strange faces peering at them through bottle-glass windows that distorted the inner torchlight into starbursts. Sometimes they would hear whispered comments that they couldn't understand, but which disturbed them immensely. Finally they rounded a corner into a small cobbled square with a mildewed fountain, no longer working. The water in the stagnant pool around it was stained with green slime. On the far side stood a threatening building that towered over the surrounding rooftops. It echoed the construction of the city itself, monolithic walls soaring up into the darkness, devoid of ornamentation, like a slab of granite.

The leader of the guards turned to them with a strange smile. 'We bid you welcome to the Court of Soul's Ease.' Inside the enormous building — which they had decided was a palace or a city hall, though it contained none of the opulence one would have expected to find in either of those places — a chill exuded from the stone walls that penetrated deep into their bones. Impenetrable shadows lay all around and even the flickering torches that lighted their way did little to dispel them. The pervading atmosphere was one of waiting for a terrible event that could never be deflected.

The five travellers were led along interminable corridors, occasionally glimpsing vast vaulted halls through half-open doors where only the echoes of footsteps lived. But as they progressed deeper into the heart of the building, they saw more of the strange small people, flitting across their path carrying secretive bundles or gossiping conspiratorially in pairs, hidden in alcoves, hands raised to cover their mouths. They would watch the procession pass with intense speculation; Caitlin couldn't tell if they were fearful or threatening, or simply contemptuous. There was an overpowering sense of intelligence moving through the shadows, of plotting and waiting, of secret treaties and backroom murders.

'I don't think I've breathed since we crossed over,' Matt whispered, possibly to himself.

Caitlin came forward from the cold hiding place where she had been watching events through Amy's eyes, distanced and protected. 'We never dreamed,' she said. 'Or perhaps we did dream… but we never believed.' 'I wonder how differently we would have lived our lives if we had realised all these things existed just behind the scenery,' Matt continued. The whites of his eyes occasionally gleamed from the shadowy pools of their orbits. He noticed Mahalia was walking so close to him that her shoulder occasionally brushed his arm. 'Don't be scared,' he said.

'I'm not scared.' She glared at him scornfully and then ostentatiously dropped two steps back, but Caitlin saw her right hand sneak under her jacket, ready.

'What are they?' Caitlin asked uneasily.

Crowther glanced back, his entire face lost in the gloom beneath the brim of his hat. 'They're the source of all our myths and legends — they're our gods.' He laughed bitterly. 'Fairies. Elves. All the old stories and the abiding tales, from the campfire to the library. Everything that bursts from the wellspring of imagination. Crossing over into our world, darting back before we could really be sure we'd seen anything. Sometimes staying for a little simple torment. Jung was right, though I venture he never imagined it quite this way.'

'It's hard to see them as gods,' Matt said.

'They didn't always look this way. They've been… diminished,' Crowther replied.

Crowther's attention returned to the guards as they took a sharp left into a large room where the only light came from a blazing log fire in an enormous stone fireplace. As their eyes adjusted to the hellish glow, they saw shapes around the room, sitting in high-backed chairs talking in hushed tones, hunched over a map resting on a large oak table, more whispers, more plots, but in this room there was a feeling of sleeping power.

The chief guard stepped forward. 'My Lord,' he said into the half-light, 'here are Fragile Creatures, washed up at our door on this night. And a Sister of Dragons.'

The residents of the room stiffened as one. Goose- bumps ran up Caitlin's arms. What did that phrase mean? Was it linked to the vision Mary had, when the world had been a different place? And why did it haunt her so?

'Come closer.' The voice was the source of the power they had sensed. It came from a chair near the fire, where a small man with long black hair and beard and pointed ears glanced up from the flames. His eyes gleamed red in the firelight, red and thoughtful.

The others made to approach, but the guards raised short stubby swords to hold them back so that only Caitlin was allowed to move. The four presences squirmed at the back of her head, but she held them back; she would be brave.

'I'm Caitlin,' she said.

He looked her up and down. 'A Sister of Dragons.'

'I don't know what that means.'

'No. You never do.' He surveyed her intently, then said with a strange note to his voice, 'You are the Broken Woman.' Caitlin didn't know what to say to that, and after a moment's silence the lord returned his gaze to the fire. It may have been the way the light made the shadows fall on his face, but he appeared to be carrying a tremendous burden. 'In the days of the tribes, your kind would have known me as Lugh, though few from that time would now recognise me. On occasion, I fear the cycles are repeating, that I will grow smaller and smaller until…' He looked up sharply with a flash of anger, as if Caitlin had hurt him. 'Why have you come here?'

Caitlin's mouth was dry, but she forced the words out. 'My people are dying from a plague. We were told that the cure is here, on this world somewhere…'

'And you seek it?' He gave a dismissive shrug. 'Small battles fought by a small people. As always, you are unaware of the great sweep of events.'

'Can… can you help us?' she ventured nervously.

'Perhaps.'

'Please, we're in a hurry,' Caitlin pleaded. 'If we don't find a cure quickly…'

'Time has no meaning here,' Lugh interrupted. 'You are fortunate to have found your way to the Court of Soul's Ease. Other courts would not have been so welcoming.'

'Some would,' a bitter voice called from the back of the room. 'In some places, they would have been raised up on high.'

Cold laughter rustled through the shadows. Caitlin grew frightened.

'We remain neutral,' Lugh said. 'For now.'

'Are you waiting for something?' Caitlin changed the subject, worried that the conversation was going in a dangerous direction.

Lugh glanced her way briefly. 'Yes, we wait. We wait for war.' He waved her away morosely. 'You will be shown to quarters. Move freely through the court, but avoid the low-town. Some… undesirables outstay their welcome there. We will talk again.'

Before Caitlin could press her case further, the guards had ushered her and the others back out into the oppressive maze of corridors. They were shown to windowless rooms that offered little comfort apart from a wooden bed and hard mattress, a coarse blanket, a reed rug on the flags and a bedside table on which stood a stubby candle.