Herbie Brennan - The Purple Emperor

'Royal family or royal household?'

Blue hesitated. After a moment she said, 'Household.'

'Are you sure?'

Blue nodded. 'Yes. You're right – she said household. I'm certain.'

Pyrgus dragged his eyes away from the forest. 'You see, if it's royal family, that means you and me and Comma and – well, you know: limited options. But if it's royal household, that includes the noble families in service and dignitaries like Mr Fogarty.'

'I know,' Blue said soberly. She stared at Pyrgus. 'You don't really think -'

She stopped. There was a priest running towards them from the direction of the palace. Running priests spelled trouble, as she knew from long experience. From the corner of her eye she saw small movements in the bushes near the forest's edge – Pyrgus had remembered the heightened security alert all right – but the hidden guards must have recognised the priest since they did not emerge.

Blue recognised him herself now. His name was Thorn, a member of the Dentaria, the Realm's most ancient Funereal Order. He was in charge of the vigil on the body of her father and would pray daily for the late Emperor's soul until Pyrgus was crowned. To her astonishment, he flung himself to his knees before Pyrgus and herself.

Thorn was not a young man and it was a moment before he caught his breath. 'Majesty,' he gasped finally, 'Serene Highness, your father – your father – the Emperor, your father – Majesty, your father's body has disappeared.'

Brimstone rose early on his wedding day and pulled back the bedroom curtains with a flourish. Things were looking up already. The narrow street and open sewer outside his old lodgings had been replaced by flower beds and a well-manicured lawn. Widow Mormo was a superstitious woman. She believed it would be bad luck for bride and groom to sleep under the same roof the night before their marriage, so she'd arranged for Brimstone to stop over with her brother, who certainly kept a far more comfortable establishment than his smelly sister.

Brimstone stretched luxuriously. With a well-stocked cabin in the forest, he could hide from Beleth for months. He walked to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, then popped them into his mouth. The magical residue locked them in place with an audible squelch.

By the time he'd finished in the bathroom, some silent servant had slipped into his quarters and laid out his wedding suit. Brimstone put it on, admired himself in the mirror, then, humming a catchy little tune, went down to breakfast.

Widow Mormo's brother was already at the table.

'Morning, Graminis,' Brimstone said cheerfully.

'There's eggs,' Graminis grunted. 'Poached, fried or scrambled.' He had the same tattered look as his sister, but nicer eyes.

'Poached eggs would be just dandy,' Brimstone said. Hell of a lot better than bone gruel, anyway. 'Two please – one hard, one soft.'

Graminis signalled to some half-visible servant lurking in the gloom of an archway and she scuttled off to fill Brimstone's order. 'Public prints?' asked Graminis, pushing the newspapers towards Brimstone. 'Find out what else is happening in the world this morning?'

This was the life all right. Brimstone tilted his chair back and unfolded the paper. It was full of the forthcoming Coronation, just two weeks away now, give or take. Public holiday had been declared, processional route was being painted, invitations had gone out. There was a special feature on the dress chosen by the Female Companion, the Princess Royal. Little brat had splashed out on spinner silk, sort of thing you did when you were funded by the public purse. The Male Companion was somebody called Iron Prominent, a name new to Brimstone – probably some hideous Hooray Henry with a receding chin. Emperor Elect Pyrgus was described as Hooking forward to being of service to all the peoples of the Realm, irrespective of creed or race', a sentiment so sugary it made Brimstone want to puke.

He started to turn to the section that gave news of Faeries of the Night when another Coronation paragraph caught his eye. It was no more than a passing mention of security arrangements at the ceremony. 'Since the new Emperor wishes to maintain contact with the common people, security provisions are to be kept to a minimum, a situation made possible by the continuing closure of all Hael Realm portals.'

The continuing closure of all Hael Realm portals… Brimstone frowned. 'Graminis, it says something here about Hael portals being closed.'

Graminis glanced up from his porridge. 'Didn't you know? Old news now. Hasn't been a functioning Hael portal for… oh, must be… must be weeks now.'

'You mean we can't evoke demons?' He could tell from Graminis's eyes that he was a Faerie of the Night like himself. Nighters had cat's eyes – very light-sensitive. That was why they kept their cities gloomy and most of them wore trendy shades. It also gave them an affinity with demons that the Lighters never had. Demons liked the dark as well.

'Not so much as an imp,' Graminis said. 'Plays hell with the servant problem.' He giggled suddenly. 'Get it, Silas? Portals closed plays hell with the servant problem.'

'Very droll, Graminis,' Brimstone acknowledged. 'How did the Lighters close them?'

'They didn't, not as far as I know. Just happened. Talk is Hael's collapsed.'

'What, all of it?'

'So they say. Seems their Prince of Darkness made a doomsday bomb and the damn thing went off in his face.'

Brimstone felt a rising excitement. If the Hael portals were down, he was free. Without the portals, there was no way Beleth could get to him, except by making the trip the hard way, in a vimana, and that would take years! And if Graminis was right, Beleth might actually be dead. It was incredible.

'Are you sure all the portals are closed?' he asked.

'Course I'm sure. Talk of the Realm just after it happened. And believe me, there've been a lot of sorcerers tried opening them again, but…' He shrugged. 'Take it from me – anybody gets one working and you'll read about it. Headline news, I'd say.'

Graminis was right. It would be headline news. So Brimstone could come out of hiding now. He could go anywhere he liked and Beleth couldn't touch him even if he were still alive. All he had to do was keep an eye to the public prints for any announcement that the portals might be reopened. If that happened, he could hide again until somebody confirmed whether Beleth had been killed. Meanwhile – his heart leaped at the thought! – it was business as usual. He could cancel the wedding and go back to his glue factory. He could contact Chalkhill again. He could return to his comfortable lodgings in Seething Lane. More importantly, he could go back to his spell books and his gold. He could -

A thought occurred to Brimstone like a dousing of cold water. He'd tried to sacrifice the young Emperor Elect Pyrgus to Beleth. That wasn't the sort of thing the boy was likely to forget. Now he was going to be Emperor, he might just want a little vengeance. Emperors were notoriously vindictive. Maybe it would be better if he didn't return to Chalkhill and the factory just yet. Maybe it would be better if he kept a low profile and scouted things out before making any public moves. Maybe it would be better to let the marriage go ahead, kill the Widow Mormo as planned, and use her cabin as a base. It was perfect!

Brimstone found he had actually begun to smile.

'You're looking happy for a man who's about to get married,' Graminis remarked cynically.

Lord Hairstreak had two main residences in the Realm. One was on the edge of the capital, where he'd housed his golden phoenix until Pyrgus Malvae had stolen it. The other, newer and much grander, was surrounded by three thousand wooded acres in the heart of Yammeth Cretch. The forest was full of haniels and sliths, so unwelcome visitors seldom got half a mile before being eaten or poisoned. There was a haniel crouched on a branch overlooking the sweep of formal lawn, its wings half furled as if about to leap and glide. Chalkhill eyed it nervously.