Faerie Wars 03 - Ruler of the Realm (17 page)

'The spell-field forms a sphere, centred on the house. It detects intrusion from the air and underground. This isn't likely to be an attack, of course - more like a commercial coach line or something of that sort. It's sensitive enough to pick up high-altitude disturbances.' Pelidne made another adjustment. 'If you relax your neck muscles, sir, the goggles will automatically turn your head in the direction of the intruder and simulate an image if it's too far away for visual detection.'

Hairstreak sat back in his chair and allowed his head to roll against the backrest. At once his perception was speeding through the air outside, zooming to a higher altitude than anything he'd so far achieved. He felt like a mountain haniel launching from a snow-covered peak.

'It's not a commercial coach line,' he said quietly. 'It's a personal flyer.'

The whining alarm suddenly began to pulse urgently. 'And it's just penetrated the detection sphere,' Pelidne said. 'Would you like to shoot it down, sir?'

Hairstreak raised an eyebrow above his goggles. 'Can I do that?'

Pelidne gave a bleak little smile. 'You can even do it
legally,
sir - the craft has now entered our airspace. Just press the red button on the top of your joystick. The system will do the rest.'

'Fascinating,' Hairstreak said.

His thumb stroked the red button.

Blue's personal flyer was a dart-shaped single-seater finished in a stylish, high-gloss black with crimson interior trim. Voice-activated controls gave a hair-trigger response and newly installed spell compression meant it hurtled through the airways like a comet. Normally Blue adored using it, but this trip was an exception.

'Are you OK?' she asked.

'Yes, fine.' Flapwazzle wriggled reassuringly against her back. 'Sure?'

'I can't tell lies.'

The problem was she couldn't get comfortable. Usually she lay back in the crimson seat, overrode the safeties and flew at top speed. But with Flapwazzle anchored to her spine, she didn't want to lie back for fear of crushing him. And since she didn't want acceleration to
push
her back, she ordered the craft to maintain a boringly sedate pace. Unfortunately the flyer wasn't designed to be used in this way. It performed erratically, demanded constant attention. So she sat forward, frowning, and tried to coax it along while she developed a headache, sore back and a stiff neck.

Flapwazzle said, 'What's our plan?'

'What's our plan what?' Blue asked vaguely. The flyer was just beginning to pick up speed again, which was a relief, but looking down she discovered she'd lost track of where they were. The last thing she needed was a friendly chat with Flapwazzle.

'Our plan when we get to Hairstreak's place. What are you going to say to him? What's the excuse for paying him a visit?'

A good point, Blue thought, despite her problems. It was important Lord Hairstreak didn't get suspicious. He might be her uncle, but they weren't exactly on good terms, so she could hardly say she'd dropped in for a cup of ragwort.

After a moment she said, 'I'll tell him I want more details of his offer.'

'Wouldn't you just send a minion for that?'

Actually she probably would. Besides, what more details could he give her? It was an offer to negotiate. You either said yes or no.

'Besides, what more details can he give you?' Flapwazzle added, echoing her thought.

'Have you any suggestions?' Blue asked to shut him up. 'Bank starboard, avoid cloud,' she muttered to the flyer.

'Why don't you ask him how much backing he's got for negotiations?'

The flyer dropped below the level of the cloud and Blue realised two things. The first was that they were no longer over the city. The second was that they were definitely off-course. Lord Hairstreak's new mansion was the former Tellervo Estate which lay outside the city walls to the north-west, but not far.

You couldn't mistake the Tellervo Estate, even from the air. Old Zoilus Tellervo was obsessed with building follies - imitations of ancient ruins mostly - and there were dozens of them strewn across the estate. Hairstreak wouldn't have had time to demolish them yet. The ground below showed no sign of ruins, fake or otherwise, so clearly they weren't over the property yet.

The question was, what were they over?

Blue leaned back (Flapwazzle was just going to have to take his chances) and twisted her head to get the long view. The mountains were still clearly visible to port, so they couldn't be wildly off-course. But directly below seemed to be fairly featureless farmland. She could be anywhere.

'Why don't you ask him how much backing he's got for negotiations?' Flapwazzle asked again, his voice muffled now.

Then she saw the ridgeway! The ancient earthwork meandered like a snake towards a body of water that had to be Ormo Lake. Which meant she wasn't far from Hairstreak's new estate after all.

'Hard to starboard,' she ordered the flyer with a sigh of relief. As the craft swung right, she relaxed and turned her attention away from the controls. 'Why don't I ask him how much backing he's got for negotiations?' she asked Flapwazzle rhetorically. 'Yes, why don't I? That's a great idea.'

It was too. She should have thought of asking Hairstreak that anyway. How much backing
did
he have? It was one thing for Hairstreak to say he was ready to negotiate, but even if he was genuine, what good was that if the Nighter Great Houses didn't back him? Of course she'd have to ask him that. And it was sensitive enough for her to want to ask personally. Good old Flapwazzle!

An alarm sounded in the confines of the flyer's cabin and a red light began to pulse on the display in front of her.

'What is it now?' Blue asked tiredly. Probably another complaint that they were flying too slow or too low or too high.

'We have been targeted by ground-based missiles,' said the spell-driven voice of the flyer.

It must be love, Pyrgus thought. That was the only thing could have changed Henry from the quiet, reserved boy Pyrgus knew to this take-charge character who snapped out crisp orders and wouldn't take no for an answer. It was Henry who organised the mission, Henry who drew up the plan, Henry who commandeered transport, Henry who led the three of them - Madame Cardui had insisted Kitterick go too - out of the Purple Palace.

'What do we do now?' Pyrgus asked.

They were hidden in some bushes, staring at the gateway to Lord Hairstreak's estate, which, surprisingly, was standing open and unguarded. Their transport, an unmarked delivery cart souped up with a turbo-charged spell drive, was parked around the corner looking innocent. A far cry from a personal flyer, Pyrgus thought sourly.

'May I suggest, gentlemen,' Kitterick put in, 'that it might be prudent to spend a moment reviewing the situation.'

Pyrgus glanced at the Trinian. It was probably good advice. 'All right by me,' he said, then glanced warily at Henry.

Henry seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. His face had taken on that granite cast you saw in Mr Fogarty. 'We know Blue was headed towards Lord Hairstreak's mansion,' he said quietly, 'but we don't know whether she's got there.'

'Although it would seem very likely,' Pyrgus said, then added, 'Especially since she's travelling in a
personal flyer.'

'If I might express an opinion, Crown Prince, Iron Prominent,' Kitterick said, 'I think we may take it that Her Majesty has arrived, for good or ill, at Lord Hairstreak's residence.'

'Our job is to save her,' Henry said.

'Our job's nothing of the sort,' Pyrgus said. 'At least not yet.' What was
wrong
with Henry? Blue - or anything to do with Blue - seemed to unhinge him completely. 'Our job's to make sure she's all right, hopefully without causing a diplomatic incident. And if she's all right, we leave her to it.'

'Our job is to save her,' Henry repeated as if Pyrgus hadn't spoken.

'Well, possibly,' Pyrgus said irritably. He was all for saving his sister, but since his father died he was beginning to appreciate that life wasn't all black and white. In the old days, he would have stormed in, just like the new, improved Henry. Now he could see that it wouldn't do anybody any good if they stormed in and Hairstreak killed them. Or, maybe even worse for the Realm, captured them. But it wasn't just a question of calling in the troops either - that would probably result in the civil war everybody was trying to avoid. On balance he favoured caution, combined with a sneaky approach.

'I note, sirs, that the gate is wide open and the estate appears to be unguarded,' Kitterick said.

Pyrgus turned to him frowning. 'What would you deduce from that, Kitterick?'

'From our knowledge of Lord Hairstreak, I would say that appearances may be deceptive.'

'There'll be guards,' Henry predicted grimly. 'Just maybe not at the gate.'

'So do we go in or what?' asked Pyrgus.

'We go in,' said Henry firmly. 'Cautiously and stealthily, hiding in the bushes. We creep up to the house and peer through the windows until we find Blue. If there's the slightest hint of danger, we attack. We will succeed due to the element of surprise. Once we have her safe, you can flatten the whole place the way you flattened that glue factory. Spell bombs or whatever it was.'

'Alternatively, sir, we could simply walk down the avenue.'

They both turned to look at him.

Kitterick said, 'It might be argued that we are all here in a precautionary capacity. On the face of things, Her Majesty seems to have embarked on a diplomatic mission. We have - as yet - no reason to believe she is in any degree of personal peril. Should we approach covertly,
and be discovered,
Lord Hairstreak might appear justified in claiming we were engaged in espionage. On the other hand, an open approach has the benefit of complete transparency. If we are halted by guards - as I assume we will be at some point - we simply say we are a part of Her Majesty's retinue. We will then be escorted to the mansion where we can easily determine Lord Hairstreak's attitude towards the whole business. If we are not - halted by guards, that is - then we present ourselves at the front door and request audience with His Lordship and Her Majesty. Either way, we avoid all possibility of a diplomatic incident, show solidarity with Her Majesty, remain on hand to protect her physically, should that need arise, and simultaneously send a clear message to Lord Hairstreak that Her Majesty's whereabouts are known and any action he might be tempted to take against her would have ... consequences. Thus it would seem that walking down the avenue appears to be the most fruitful course of action.'

After a moment, Pyrgus shook his head. 'Oh, no, that's rubbish.'

Henry said, 'Complete nonsense. Wouldn't entertain it.'

They were creeping through the bushes when the first of Hairstreak's trackers took out Pyrgus.

Hairstreak eased his thumb back off the red button. 'That flyer is showing the royal crest,' he murmured, as much to himself as Pelidne.

'Are we expecting an emissary from the palace?' Pelidne asked.

'No, but that doesn't mean they haven't sent one.'

'What are your orders, sir?'

Hairstreak pulled off his goggles. There was a thoughtful expression on his face. 'Standard procedure, Pelidne. Have our visitor escorted to the landing pad and treated with every courtesy. Alert me once his identity is established. If he has legitimate palace credentials, try to find out the purpose of the visit.'

'Then stall him?'

'Yes, exactly,' Hairstreak said. 'Offer him refreshment, get him drunk - whatever. Report back to me at once with any information. I shall be in my office.'