Herbie Brennan - Ruler of the Realm

Pelidne nodded back, so subtly that no one else in the room could have noticed it. ‘Of course, sir.’

He must have had a tray ready waiting, for he returned to the room at once. Croceus looked quickly – there were rumours he was a simbala addict – but selected a small tankard of ale when Pelidne reached him. Hamearis took one of the simbalas and tossed it down, then sat back, smiling as the music took hold. Both Colias twins drank wine, as did Fuscus.

When the guests had all been served, Pelidne offered the tray to Hairstreak. He was reaching for his tamarind juice when Fuscus began to cough. The discussion had already started up again, so most of them ignored him at first. But then he toppled his chair with a clatter, half stood and jack-knifed across the table. Lesbia Colias gave a little shriek and pulled away from him. Fuscus convulsed and vomited on the polished wood. The other twin, Hecla, stood up abruptly and watched him, her eyes huge. She gave a small moan that sounded suspiciously like pleasure.

‘What’s the matter with the fella?’ demanded Duke Electo impatiently.

Something very unpleasant began to happen to Fuscus. Starting at the mouth, his head slowly split open. In a moment there was blood and brains all over the table.

The chamber exploded into uproar, although Hairstreak noticed Burgundy hadn’t moved and was now staring at him intently. On cue, Zosine Ogyris climbed to his feet.

‘Someone get a doctor,’ he said in a curiously resonant voice. ‘This man obviously has refinia.’ Refinia was a disease of the tropics, but it was clear to anyone that Fuscus was far beyond the help of a doctor. All the same, the diagnosis had the required effect. Refinia was contagious. In seconds, the chamber was empty except for Hairstreak, Pelidne and the rapidly disintegrating corpse of Fuscus.

‘Something in the drink?’ Hairstreak asked quietly.

Pelidne shook his head and uncurled his left hand. A glistening needle point emerged from the band of his signet ring.

‘Well done,’ Hairstreak said. He felt a modest surge of satisfaction. Burgundy would not believe the refinia story for a moment. By now he must have realised his new friend had just been brutally and publicly murdered. Several of the others would soon reach the same conclusion.

It was an important message to send out. Before long, every Great House would realise Hairstreak was still a man to be reckoned with. Given time, the new policies would begin to be rethought. All he needed now was Blue to give him that time.

All he needed was Blue’s refusal to negotiate.

‘Do you think she’s going to negotiate?’ Pyrgus asked. There was a time when he’d have known the answer – he and Blue had always been close – but things had changed since she became Queen. She still looked like his little sister (most of the time) but there was something in her that had suddenly grown up. She’d become serious and a little hard. He wasn’t sure he liked it. He certainly didn’t understand it.

‘I don’t know,’ said Gatekeeper Fogarty.

‘Do you think she should?’ Pyrgus pressed.

‘Yes,’ Fogarty said without hesitation.

‘I thought you said you wanted to attack the Nighters, deeah,’ Madame Cardui put it.

They were walking together in the grounds of the Purple Palace, along with Madame Cardui’s orange dwarf Kitterick, who had long proved himself the soul of discretion; and was, in any case, their best security in troubled times.

‘Not sure I do,’ Fogarty said. ‘I was just making a point about oracles.’ He walked in silence for a moment, then said, ‘I know you sent her to the Spicemaster, Cynthia, but Blue’s impressionable. Hasn’t learned to take things with a pinch of salt yet. And, of course, she hears what she wants to hear. Things are tricky in the Realm just now. I don’t want her making decisions on the advice of some spook.’ He scowled. ‘What are you grinning at?’

‘ Take things with a pinch of salt. It’s such a colourful expression, deeah.’

‘Common enough in my world,’ Fogarty said shortly, but his expression softened. Pyrgus watched the exchange with interest. Fogarty said, ‘Even if your oracle told you plainly You’ll squash Hairstreak like a bug, that still isn’t a green light. You have to remember what Blue asked. “What will happen if.” Telling you what will happen if doesn’t mean you should do it. Maybe we will win if we attack the Nighters, but maybe we’ll still win if we negotiate; and with a lot less loss of life.’

‘You were impressed by General Vanelke,’ said Madame Cardui, not unkindly.

‘Yes, I was,’ Fogarty admitted. ‘I lived through one war in my own world. That’s where I got the scar and lost the toe. Damn lucky to keep the leg at all. Knocks the nonsense out of you, that. War’s not noble, not “an extension of diplomacy by other means”.’ His voice reeked with scorn. ‘War’s a mess. Usually started by some idiot who doesn’t have to fight. It’s the poor grunts on the ground who pay the price.’

‘I didn’t know you’d been a warrior,’ said Madame Cardui.

‘Warrior my arse!’ Fogarty sniffed. ‘I was just a miserable Tommy. Wouldn’t have joined up if they hadn’t made me.’ He glanced away from them both and glared into the middle distance.

Pyrgus asked, ‘Did you tell her she should negotiate?’

‘Yes,’ Fogarty said. ‘I had a word just before we left.’ He was still lost in his memories, for he added incomprehensibly, ‘Churchill said jaw-jaw was better than war-war.’

‘Do you think she will?’

Fogarty glared at him. ‘You asked me that.’

‘Yes, I know. But maybe we should be, you know, trying to make her.’

Fogarty gave him the benefit of a cynical look. ‘Did you ever manage to make your sister do anything?’

In point of fact he hadn’t, not even when she was little. He’d no doubt Blue loved him, but obedience wasn’t in her vocabulary. All the same, he didn’t like the way things were going.

In answer to Mr Fogarty’s question he said, ‘No, I didn’t. But I think I know somebody who could persuade her.’

‘Henry?’ said Madame Cardui, and smiled. Pyrgus nodded. Madame Cardui said, ‘Does he know she’s in love with him?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Pyrgus grinned. He’d been feeling good about Blue and Henry for a while now. He liked Henry.

Mr Fogarty stopped to stare at the distant horizon. ‘Glands,’ he muttered.

‘Don’t be so cynical, Alan,’ Madame Cardui told him crossly. ‘If you can’t fall in love at their age, when can you?’

For some reason it warmed Mr Fogarty enough to make him grin a little. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

Pyrgus said quickly, ‘Do you want to send for him, Mr Fogarty? Or should I translate and get him?’ He quite fancied another trip to the Analogue World, even if he couldn’t spend much time there.

But Mr Fogarty said, ‘Mightn’t need to.’ He glanced from Pyrgus to Madame Cardui. ‘You two got a minute?’

Since he’d translated permanently to the Faerie Realm, Mr Fogarty had moved into Saram na Roinen, the House of the Gatekeeper, an official residence that comprised a large lodge and some outbuildings on the edge of the Purple Palace gardens. As Fogarty opened the door, Pyrgus noted he’d wasted no time in turning it into a tip, but he led them straight through and out the back, then down a short path to one of the outbuildings.

The stone structure had once been an ornitherium, but the high latticed windows had been boarded up and all the external perches removed. Even the antique listening booth had been taken away. On the inside, only the vaulted ceiling remained of the original fittings. The rest had been gutted out and replaced by… replaced by…