Herbie Brennan - Faerie Lord

‘A subtle one,’ said Madame Cardui. ‘This is not a direct attack on the Faeries of the Light; it is something designed to undermine the very foundations of the Empire, to create a crisis that will prepare the State for revolution – a bloody revolution led by you, Lord Hairstreak, in an attempt to regain the power you have lost.’

Rather a nice idea, Hairstreak thought. But considerably less efficient than the plan he really had in play. Clearly she had no idea about that as yet. So all that remained was for him to extricate himself from this little meeting and get back to more important matters. ‘An interesting notion, Madame, but one without the slightest foundation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must – ’ He stopped. He had been about to turn on his heel and leave – she could not hold him without proof positive and he knew now she had no proof at all. But when he tried to move, nothing happened. He felt perfectly normal, yet his entire body was paralysed.

‘Lord Hairstreak,’ Madame Cardui sighed, ‘I don’t have time for this. None of us has time for this. The plague is increasing exponentially. Let me be frank with you. I have no idea about the details of your plan. I do not know how you started the plague. I do not know how to stop it. That’s why you’re here. Normally I would wait patiently for my agents to find out, but I no longer have that luxury. I need to know at once. And you will tell me.’

There was no scent of a cone, no indication of a magical field, so it had to be one of the newly developed techniques of mind magic. Who’d have thought Cardui could have mastered the disciplines at her age? He could possibly fight his way free, if he could muster sufficient concentration, but it might be easier to use the element of surprise. So best pick his time. Pretend he was unaware of the paralysis as yet, distract her, lull her into a feeling of false security, then jerk free. Once he’d broken the spell, it would take her minutes to lay it on him again. More than enough time to use his stiletto.

He smiled easily and shook his head, ‘I cannot tell you what I do not know. I assure you, Madame Cardui -’

She made a small hand gesture. The curtain at the end of the room swung back and Hairstreak felt his blood run cold. He was looking at an Aladdin mind machine. The chair was prepared, restraints at the ready. The helmet was already flashing green. The viewscreen was blank, but would not remain that way for long. Worst of all, he could see the dangling lead with its metallic card.

‘I told you we had run out of time,’ said Madame Cardui.

His paralysis broke, but not her power over him. He felt his right leg rise awkwardly then push outwards to set one foot flatly on the floor. He teetered, regained his balance, then felt his left leg follow suit. Jerkily he began to walk towards the Aladdin, manipulated like a puppet on strings.

‘You can’t do this!’ Hairstreak screamed. The device was normally used on Trinians – the metal card slid into their skull slots – where it was a relatively harmless way to recover memories. But for a Faerie of the Night, or a Faerie of the Light for that matter, it drained the entire mind, leaving the victim in a vegetative state. Inserting the card was notoriously tricky too. The metal was phase-shifted for ease of insertion and the brain had no pain receptors, but even a slight misplacement resulted in disaster. He had to break her hold on him and break it fast.

‘I’m afraid I can,’ Madame Cardui told him soberly. ‘When the future of the Empire is at stake.’

His legs jerked again and he took another staggering step forward. Once she placed him in the chair he was finished. The restraints would hold him automatically and from that point on she was freed to work the machine itself. His plan, his real plan, was near the surface of his memories. She would have everything on screen and recorded within minutes – half an hour at most. Not that it mattered. By then he’d be a vegetable or a lunatic, beyond caring.

Hairstreak lashed out at the mento-magical controls that held him. The weakness in the system was that it relied entirely on the mental discipline of the person using it. Surely an old hag like Cardui would be no match for a man like him.

But the old hag forced him to take another step forward, then another. Her control actually seemed to be strengthening. He was only feet from the chair now.

He stopped trying to fight the magic and concentrated instead on taking back control of his own body, forcing it to go elsewhere. The manoeuvre must have caught her by surprise, for he spun round so he was no longer facing the Aladdin and even managed a faltering step in the other direction. But then she had him again and he was headed back towards the chair. Should he tell her everything? Abandoning his plan was almost unthinkable at this stage, but at least it was better than ending up a mindless husk.

Hairstreak stopped. Would she believe him, even if he made a full confession? What he’d done seemed impossible, even to him. And it could not be undone, not now, with Brimstone gods-knew-where and Chalkhill useless as ever. There was a dull thud behind him. She would never believe he was powerless to halt the process now, not without confirmation from her cursed machine. Which left him back where he’d started.

He realised suddenly that he had stopped moving. He was no longer lurching towards the Aladdin chair. He moved one arm experimentally and discovered it was back in his control.

Hairstreak spun round. Madame Cardui was lying huddled on the floor.

His mind raced. With luck she might have broken her neck. But her eyes were open and she was still breathing. What had happened here? The suspensor cloud was still in place, although no longer floating. Presumably it had cushioned her fall. But what caused the fall? Her eyes were glazed and beads of sweat had broken out on her forehead. She was no longer in control of the cloud or, more importantly, of him.

It didn’t matter. She was helpless. Hairstreak reached for his stiletto.

‘What kept you?’ demanded the charno.

‘You can talk!’ Henry said breathlessly. Despite his surprise, he found it comforting. Somehow a creature that could talk seemed a bit less likely to attack him.

‘Think so,’ said the charno. ‘Are you going to answer my question?’

‘You mean you were expecting us?’ Henry asked. He found himself wondering if life could get any stranger. He was in fairyland, halfway up a mountain with a little blue boy, talking to a giant hare.

‘Not him,’ said the charno, nodding towards Lorquin. ‘Just you.’

‘Why?’ Henry asked, bewildered. ‘Why were you expecting me?’ Or how? How could this creature be expecting him?

‘Purlisa told me to keep an eye out.’

Henry stared at it. After a moment, he said, ‘Who’s Purlisa?’

‘Holy man,’ said Lorquin. ‘He lives with the monks in the monastery.’

What monastery? Henry thought. But that could wait. He’d opened his mouth to ask something more relevant, without quite knowing what it would be, when the charno said, ‘Blue’s inside.’

‘Ah,’ Lorquin said.

For some reason it hit Henry like a thunderbolt. Although they’d been following what Lorquin believed to be Blue’s tracks, the confirmation brought a stark reality. Blue was inside and in need of rescue. He felt sudden, overpowering fear mixed with an almost overwhelming excitement. Above it all was a sensation he’d never experienced before. It was as if he’d become the focus of the universe. His entire life had coalesced into a single point.

Without a word he turned and began to walk towards the cave.

‘Serpent in there,’ said the charno.

Henry stopped. ‘Sorry?’