Herbie Brennan - Ruler of the Realm

‘So heavy you can’t keep them open,’ said Mr Fogarty in his nice voice.

Henry gratefully allowed his eyes to close. It didn’t really matter that his eyes were closed. Mr Fogarty might be a nut, but he was a nice nut and Henry trusted him. Sort of. No, completely. He had such a nice restful voice. And besides which, Henry wasn’t putty yet. If he wanted, he could open his eyes at any time. It was just that he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to offend Mr Fogarty by opening his eyes.

‘Falling,’ said Mr Fogarty. ‘Falling backwards into darkness, safe, warm darkness. Safe and well. Happy and relaxed.’

Henry felt safe and well, happy and relaxed. He was floating through the darkness, a safe, warm darkness inside his head that came about when you closed your eyes and listened -

‘Listen to my voice,’ Mr Fogarty droned.

Henry wasn’t under, of course. He knew that. But he didn’t want to contradict Mr Fogarty because that would be rude. Much better to float in the safe, warm darkness and let Mr Fogarty think he was asleep when actually he was wide awake and knew everything that was going on and could open his eyes whenever he wanted, even though he didn’t want to just yet.

Mr Fogarty reached across and touched his right arm. ‘Heavy arm,’ remarked Mr Fogarty; and immediately Henry’s arm felt as heavy as lead. It was very peculiar. He tried to lift it, but it was too heavy to lift.

‘But now it’s growing light,’ said Mr Fogarty. ‘Lighter than the air. So light it’s floating in the air.’

Henry almost giggled. His arm really did feel light, like a gas-filled balloon. It was lighter than the air. It wanted to float in the air. Henry relaxed and watched, eyes closed, as his arm began to move of its own accord. First it twitched, then it shifted, then it lifted. Mr Fogarty was right – it was floating in the air! How cool was that?

‘Your arm will now float of its own accord until your hand touches your face. And when your hand touches your face, you will fall at once into a deep… dreamless… sleep.’

Henry knew he wasn’t gone, of course. He was absolutely wide awake and in complete control. He could do anything he wanted, say anything he wanted. He could jump up and do a tap dance if he wanted. But best not to mention that to Mr Fogarty, who was working hard to put him under. Besides, it was interesting to sit with your arm floating in the air.

‘Deep… dreamless… sleep,’ repeated Mr Fogarty. ‘When your hand touches your face.’

There was no way at all he was going to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. That was very obvious. Henry wasn’t sleepy, wasn’t remotely sleepy, just warm and safe and very, very relax Henry’s hand touched Henry’s face.

‘Open your eyes!’ commanded Mr Fogarty firmly.

Henry opened his eyes. Madame Cardui was standing behind Mr Fogarty – when did she come in? – and both of them were looking grave.

‘Didn’t work, eh?’ Henry remarked sympathetically.

Mr Fogarty said, ‘Beleth has implanted Blue.’

There was so much pressure in her skull that Blue’s head began to ache. The background sound in the chamber of brass had become a howling, like the cries of lost souls trapped in agony. The glow of the pentagram increased, reflecting in the ceiling and the walls. The immense porphyry altar began to shake.

‘ Od commemahe do pereje salabarotza kynutzire fabaonu, od zodumebi pereji od salabarotza…’ Blue read aloud from the book, her voice rising clear and true above the din. Although the language was unknown to her, it seemed she understood it: And I bind thee in the fire of sulphur mingled with poison and the seas of fire and sulphur…

The words were a blasphemy, drawn from the time of the Old Gods, but she did not care any more than she cared about her pain. What she was doing was important, vital for the welfare of the Realm. Nothing was more important than that.

‘ Niisa, eca, dorebesa na-e-el od zodameranu asapeta vaunesa komesalohe!’ she intoned. Come forth, therefore, obey my power and appear before this circle!

The howling rose to a crescendo and the brass plates of the chamber took up the resonance in a hideous vibration. The pain in Blue’s head was so intense now that she could scarcely focus on the words that writhed and crawled across the pages of the book.

‘ Niisa!’ she called again. Come forth! Come forth!

The brass plates in the ceiling shifted and a trickle of dust poured down. The whole chamber was shaking now, as if caught up in a violent earthquake. Her lantern flickered, then went out, but the chamber remained illuminated by its own reflections. Behind the howling there arose a deep subsonic drumbeat, then, incongruously, the music of a distant orchestra. The cacophony gripped body and brain, drawing her towards the point of madness, but she did not hesitate for an instant.

‘ Niisa! Niisa! Niisa!’ Come forth! Come forth! Come forth! she shrieked.

All noise and vibration stopped. There was an instant of deep silence. Then the massive altar cracked and shattered into rubble.

From its depths stepped Beleth, Prince of Darkness.

As the flyer swooped low over Yammeth City, Nymph said suddenly, ‘Look over to the east.’

Pyrgus glanced in the direction of her pointing finger. Below them tens of thousands of Nighter troops were streaming through the city, accompanied by heavy ordnance. He had never seen so many soldiers together at one time in his entire life. He felt his spirits sink.

‘I hope our men can hold back that lot.’

‘They’re moving in the wrong direction,’ Nymph said.

Pyrgus blinked. Woodfordi moved out of his seat and stood behind him to look over his shoulder. After a moment, Pyrgus said, ‘You’re right.’ The forces were pouring out of their city gate into the Eastern Desert. He turned round, frowning. ‘What’s that all about? Are they retreating from our troops?’

‘Does that look like a retreat?’ Nymph asked.

It didn’t look anything like a retreat. The men were marching in good order with no sign of casualties at all.

Pyrgus said thoughtfully, ‘Maybe Uncle Hairstreak’s joining up with Beleth’s army.’

‘Beleth’s army doesn’t exist,’ Nymph said.

‘He may not know that.’

‘Unlikely,’ Nymph said shortly.

Pyrgus glowered at her. ‘All right, what do you think’s happening, smart boots?’

Nymph shrugged annoyingly and turned away. ‘I don’t know.’

To Woodfordi, Pyrgus said, ‘I don’t suppose you’re back in contact with your network yet?’

‘Afraid not, sir. Should have been by now, but I’m not and that’s the fact of it. I think the Communications Angel must be sick.’ He craned round Pyrgus’s head to get a better view of the city below. Almost every street was full of men now, marching like ants towards the eastern gate. ‘Why do you ask, sir?’

‘Because the sooner the palace knows about this the better.’

‘Your people will already know about it,’ Nymph said. ‘From their Generals.’ She sat down and added, ‘Since Lord Hairstreak is obviously disengaging.’

‘Why would he be disengaging?’ Pyrgus asked belligerently.

‘I don’t know that either.’

‘The palace still needs to be told as soon as possible,’ Pyrgus muttered.

‘We’ll soon be back there anyway,’ Woodfordi said in a conciliatory tone.

Pyrgus wheeled the craft around and increased speed to maximum, ignoring the spell-driven voice that claimed it wasn’t safe.

Henry stared at him. ‘How do you know Blue’s been implanted?’

‘You just told me,’ Mr Fogarty said.