Faerie Lord

Eighteen

Brimstone still wore his demonologist’s shawl when weather permitted. The horned symbol kept people at a distance – that or his body odour – even though the demons were tamed now. It suggested, he often thought philosophically, that once people were conditioned to a particular response, most of them were too lazy to rid themselves of it when it was no longer necessary.

He was wearing the shawl now. It permitted him to move unmolested through one of the roughest districts of the docks, a favourite ploy when he wanted to avoid being followed. The ruffians might leave him alone, but anyone who tried to follow risked their gold, their limbs and possibly their life. Not that there were many ruffians about at the moment. They seemed to be just as nervous of the plague as everybody else. All the same, he didn’t think he was being followed.

In fact he was sure of it. Brimstone stepped to the river’s edge and flagged down a passing water-taxi. The driver pulled in warily. ‘Where to, Guv?’

‘Mount Pleasant,’ Brimstone told him loudly, which was nowhere near where he wanted to go, but he could change the destination once he was aboard. Meanwhile, anyone who might be listening would be sent off in the wrong direction. Couldn’t be too careful, even with the streets half empty. He made to step on the boat.

‘Got your cert?’ asked the driver.

Brimstone glared at him. ‘Cert?’

‘Your chitty, Guv. Signed by a healer. Certifying you’re disease-free.’

For a minute Brimstone didn’t believe it. He ratcheted the glare up a notch. ‘What are you talking about, you cretin?’

‘Can’t get on a public vehicle without your cert,’ the cabbie explained patiently. ‘New regulation. Proposed by the Mayor, passed by the Queen, God bless her.’

‘When did this happen?’ Brimstone asked, appalled. Every time he turned around, that royal trollop enacted something else that took away your freedom. No bear-baiting, no cock fights, no duels. You weren’t even allowed to poison someone in a vendetta any more. Now it was freedom of movement.

‘Hour ago,’ the driver told him.

‘An hour ago?’ Brimstone repeated. ‘With no public announcement?’

The driver shook his head. ‘Oh, there’s been a public announcement all right, Guv. They posted a notice on the door of the cathedral.’

‘And how,’ asked Brimstone sarcastically, ‘do they expect somebody to arrange for a healer’s certificate if he’s a Faerie of the Night who isn’t allowed into the Lighter cathedral?’

‘Dreadful, ain’t it?’ agreed the cabbie sympathetically. ‘All the same, sir, that’s the law. I don’t make it, but I can’t break it, as the saying goes. I’m only following orders. I just work here. I’m not paid to think.’

‘Double fare?’ Brimstone suggested.

‘Hop in, Guv.’

Brimstone climbed into the boat. It was nice to know some things hadn’t changed.

He settled himself into the rear of the cab and pulled across the tattered sunshade. Not that there was any sun, but it protected him from prying eyes. The cabbie struck a spell cone, which spluttered for a moment, then flared into life. ‘Mount Pleasant, was it, Guv? The posh end, I suppose?’

‘Whitewell,’ Brimstone told him shortly. ‘The one past Cripple’s Gate.’

‘Could have sworn you said Mount Pleasant,’ the cabbie muttered. ‘I must be getting senile.’

Brimstone closed his eyes as the boat began to gather momentum. Queen Blue’s latest law was disturbing as well as inconvenient. Any imbecile could see it would be wildly unpopular, especially with those who didn’t have Brimstone’s access to funds for bribes. The Queen was answerable to nobody, but the Mayor was running for re-election next year. The fact he’d proposed it showed how bad the time plague had become.

If he wasn’t careful, it would be completely out of control before he could exploit it properly.

Brimstone opened his eyes and leaned forward. ‘There’s an extra seven groats for you if you ignore the speed limit,’ he told the cabbie.