Faerie Lord

Twenty

It was like his very first visit to the Realm when he’d ended up in the Palace kitchens, fussed over by matronly women. Now Blue brought him here again and sat him at a scrubbed pine table amidst the bustle and the cooking smells. Someone plump in an apron brought them steaming mugs of what turned out to be tea – a kind thought because tea was expensive in the Realm, but they all knew where he came from and wanted to make him feel at home.

Henry stared down into the amber liquid – they didn’t know about adding milk here – and watched ripples spread across its surface as a teardrop struck it. For some reason he couldn’t stop crying, even though it was unmanly and embarrassing.

Blue sat on the bench beside him, so close that her thigh touched his. She curled her hands around her own mug as if to warm them. She had very long, slender fingers. He loved her fingers. She seemed more feminine than he remembered, probably because of the dress. He loved her dress.

‘What are you going to do?’ Blue asked softly.

Henry looked at a point somewhere beyond her shoulder. He should write and tell Mr Fogarty’s daughter that Mr Fogarty was dead, except Mr Fogarty’s daughter already believed Mr Fogarty was dead because Henry had lied to her on Mr Fogarty’s instructions. So he couldn’t write to her now. But he would have to go back and tell Hodge. Hodge would want to know.

Henry’s body began shaking uncontrollably and he felt Blue’s arm around his shoulders. ‘Hush,’ she said into his ear. ‘It’s all right, Henry. It’s all right.’

But it wasn’t all right. Everything had changed. Everything had… stopped.

‘I think I’d better go home,’ Henry said.

‘Will you stay for his funeral?’

He turned his head slightly and focused on her face. After a moment he said, ‘Yes. Yes, I should stay for the funeral, shouldn’t I?’

‘He would have liked that.’

They stared into their mugs together, but neither of them drank.

‘It will be a proper funeral,’ Blue said. ‘A State funeral, with full honours. He was our Gatekeeper.’

It didn’t make any difference. Mr Fogarty had always been impatient with ceremony, but he was dead now so it wouldn’t matter to him what they did. But to please Blue, Henry said, ‘That’s good. That’s very good.’

‘I’ll have your old room made up,’ Blue said.

Pyrgus didn’t know. He would have to go back and tell Pyrgus. ‘I have to go back and tell Pyrgus,’ he said.

‘It’s all right,’ Blue said. ‘We’ve sent Nymph already.’

That was the right thing to do. Nymph was Pyrgus’s wife now. He wondered if Pyrgus would come back for the funeral and risk another bout of time fever. ‘When will it be?’

‘The funeral? In three days.’

The same as funerals at home, he thought.

‘Henry?’ Blue said. ‘After the funeral… Will you go home straightaway?’

Everything had changed, but nothing had changed. He didn’t want to go home. He was miserable at home, had been for the past two years. He didn’t want to live with his mother any more, didn’t want to go to university and then teach in some mouldy old school until he died. But somehow he had to. There simply wasn’t any choice. He looked at Blue and nodded. ‘Yes, I think that would be best. I’ll go home straightaway.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, deeah,’ said a familiar voice behind him.