Herbie Brennan - The Faeman Quest

The mirrored complex at the heart of the labyrinth made him feel faintly ill, and one zombie laid a friendly hand on his arm to steady him. Henry closed his eyes briefly to shut out the multiple reflections and waited to be announced. ‘Consort Majesty King Henry, Your Ladyship,’ whispered the zombie in a voice that crackled like dried leaves. Henry waited for a moment, then opened his eyes. The reflections were gone, as were the zombies, and he was standing in a roomy, antique-furnished chamber. Madame Cardui, dressed in something multicoloured and diaphanous, floated towards him, beaming.

‘Henry, deeah!’ she exclaimed as she embraced him. She’d had a recent head peel that left her raven-haired with the face of a twenty-five-year-old, but the body beneath the robe was slight and delicate as the bones of a bird. He kissed her gently, then released her.

‘Culmella has gone missing,’ he said without preliminary.

The zombie’s hand was still clinging unnoticed to his arm. Madame Cardui brushed it off and it fell to the floor in an explosion of dust. ‘So I heard – it’s the talk of the Palace,’ she said. ‘My agents are already working on it as their top priority.’ She glanced behind him. ‘Is Queen Blue with you?’

Henry moved over to one of the easy chairs. ‘She’s upset. Obviously. Actually she’s very upset. The Palace physician has given her a sedative. I promised I would look after things.’ He looked around him vaguely. ‘Until she decides otherwise, of course, which probably means this afternoon.’

‘Actually later this morning,’ Madame Cardui smiled slightly. ‘I received a summons from her first thing.’

It was typical of Blue, who never trusted the important matters to anybody except herself. Henry had long since stopped taking it personally. ‘Well, meanwhile we can get the ball rolling,’ he said easily.

Madame Cardui reclined gracefully on a floater cloud and propped herself on one elbow. ‘Poor Blue. Children can be such a burden at times.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘As well as a blessing.’ The smile faded. ‘I’m afraid Mella takes after her mother. Blue used to get up to the most terrifying escapades in her younger days. Before you met her, of course: you’ve proven a very steadying influence.’

Henry was far from sure about that, but he wanted to focus on the most pressing matter. ‘You think that’s what it is? An escapade?’

‘I think it’s the most likely thing, given what we know about Mella. It’s not the first time she’s run away.’

‘It’s the first time she’s used lethe on us,’ Henry told her sourly. That was the one thing that worried him. Lethe cones were powerful magic, powerful and expensive, especially the sophisticated selective-memory types that had been used on Blue and himself. If Mella really had used them, then it had to be for something extremely important, not just some spontaneous prank. But suppose it hadn’t been Mella who used them? Suppose it was somebody else? ‘Can we rule out a kidnap?’

‘One can rule out nothing,’ Madame Cardui told him soberly. ‘I think it’s most likely that she ran away, but a skilful kidnap could be tailored to ensure that’s exactly what one would think.’

‘There’s been no ransom demand,’ Henry said. ‘I would have expected one by now in a kidnap.’

‘Assuming a financial motive.’

Henry frowned. ‘What other motive would there be?’

Madame Cardui gave him a hard stare. ‘Political.’

‘Ahhh,’ Henry said. He glanced away and chewed his lip. ‘You’re thinking about the birthday.’

‘I am indeed. If Mella is not present here in the Palace for her formal coming of age, she forfeits her succession to the throne.’

‘Well, she does and she doesn’t,’ Henry said. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. She forfeits her legal right to demand the throne when Blue dies, of course. But faeries have always been very practical about things like that. If there’s nobody else in line, she’ll get the throne anyway.’

‘Only if you and Blue have no more children.’

‘We don’t plan to have any more,’ Henry said.

Madame Cardui’s old eyes gazed at him out of her youthful face. ‘You’re a vigorous man, Henry. Blue is a warm-hearted woman. Who knows what might happen after midnight when the moon is full?’

Henry flushed. To cover his embarrassment he said, ‘But there are no other children now. So who would have a motive to kidnap her? Who would it benefit?’

‘Comma?’ Madame Cardui asked.

Henry looked at her in surprise. Comma was his brother-in-law, Blue’s half-brother. He’d been an obnoxious child, but somehow managed to grow into a handsome, brave and caring man. ‘Does Comma have a claim to the throne?’

‘Only obliquely, I must admit. If Mella forfeits and Blue abdicates and there are no other children and Blue neglects to make a fiat then Comma might argue sanguinageniture – the principle of blood before marriage – to argue precedence over you, for example.’

He’s welcome to argue anything he likes, Henry thought: his own ambitions for the throne hung in a limbo somewhere less than zero. But Comma couldn’t have kidnapped Mella unless he somehow managed it by proxy. He’d been away for the last three years clearing up an infestation of pirates in the Galiston Triangle.

‘Comma’s at sea,’ Henry said.

‘In that case, the only other real prospect is you.’

He gave her a quick, affectionate glance. Madame Cardui was almost as paranoid as Mr Fogarty: it went with the job and enabled her to do it very, very efficiently. ‘I expect you’ve already checked out every move I’ve made for the past six months.’

Madame Cardui sighed. ‘You must forgive me, Henry – it’s not personal.’

‘I know that,’ Henry said. ‘I assume you found nothing suspicious?’ He knew she’d found nothing suspicious, otherwise he’d be rotting in a dungeon now, Consort Majesty or not.

‘Nor did I expect to,’ Madame Cardui told him.

To lighten the mood, Henry said, ‘Well, at least we don’t have to worry about our old friend Lord Hairstreak any more.’

Madame Cardui smiled. ‘That is a blessing, deeah. That is definitely a blessing.’

The Review Board was headed by Dr Philenor, who sat behind his black moustache on a raised dais at the end of a consultant’s table. Five of his colleagues had grown similar moustaches with greater or lesser degrees of success. The sixth, a woman, was wearing a stick-on version made from horsehair. The crest of the Double Luck Mountain Lunatic Asylum – crossed hypodermic syringes surmounting a lobotomy scalpel – was fixed to the wall directly above Dr Philenor’s head. By his right foot was a briefcase which, Brimstone realised, must be filled with giant germs. Or evil elementals. Or both.

Brimstone himself was strapped into a treatment chair bolted to the floor in front of the table. An orderly – not Orderly Nastes, but a skinny colleague who smelled of sour beer – had bolted an Endolg Skin Copper helmet to the top of his head. As a result, etheric tentacles were already crawling into his brain, making it itch. The helmet’s controls were set into the arm of Dr Philenor’s seat.

‘Good morning, Dr Brimstone,’ Dr Philenor said politely. Philenor’s doctorate was in psychiatric medicine, of course. Brimstone’s was in demonology, an obsolete discipline since Blue became Queen of Hael. Brimstone had never used the title even when he practised professionally, but Philenor was a stickler for formalities, especially when dealing with his patients. He’d once published a learned paper entitled Raving Loonies: The Importance of Courtesy in their Care and Treatment.

‘Good morning, Dr Philenor.’ Brimstone smiled benignly. The trick with Review Boards was to keep calm, simulate submission, pretend the treatment had worked and hide all symptoms.