Faerie Lord

Eighty-Two

Madame Cardui stared at the pathetic creature, utterly appalled. ‘You allowed your Queen to enter mountain caverns guarded by the Midgard Serpent?’

Chalkhill looked at his feet and mumbled.

‘Speak up, you wobbling cretin!’ Madame Cardui snapped.

Chalkhill jumped. ‘Yes,’ he said more loudly.

‘And when she entered these mountains, you simply… ran away?’

‘I came here to tell you, Madame Spymaster,’ Chalkhill protested, ‘I came as quickly as I could. I even hired a flyer at my own expense, a highly dangerous flyer in a poor state of repair so that I risked life and li -’

‘Oh, shut up, Chalkhill,’ Madame Cardui told him tiredly. ‘I suppose one can expect nothing from a pig but a grunt.’ She shifted her position on the suspensor cloud so she could glare at him more fiercely. ‘How did the Midgard Serpent find itself in these caverns, Mr Chalkhill? How did the Midgard Serpent happen to enter our reality at all?’

‘Called up,’ muttered Chalkhill. He wondered how she made him feel so ridiculously guilty when none of this was his fault!

‘Called up, Mr Chalkhill? Who could possibly be stupid enough to call up the Midgard Serpent?’

‘Brimstone,’ Chalkhill said without meeting her eyes.

Madame Cardui smiled bleakly. ‘Your old partner,’ she hissed.

‘Yes, well, you can’t hold that against me.’

‘Can’t I?’ asked Madame Cardui. ‘If Queen Blue has been harmed in any way, you’d be surprised what I could hold against you. Mr Chalkhill. So you’d better tell me what else you know.’

Chalkhill licked his lips, wondering how far he should go with the old witch. The situation was grave, very grave, and might easily get worse. But in every crisis there were always men who played clever and refreshed their status, men who kept their nerve and came out on the winning side. The trouble was, it was difficult to decide on the winning side just now. The imbecile girl Queen was probably dead by now, which would normally swing the balance far in favour of Lord Hairstreak, despite his diminished fortunes. But Hairstreak was heavily dependant on Brimstone in this enterprise – solely dependant on Brimstone in fact and Brimstone was mad. He’d been fairly mad to call up the Midgard Serpent in the first place but – Chalkhill swallowed – that rotten stroke of luck in meeting up with a cloud dancer had finished him completely. Where did that leave Lord Hairstreak now?

Chalkhill came to a decision. Wherever the balance of power lay, certain things remained constant. One was that information was valuable. The other was that timing was everything. The trick now would be to tell her Raddled Witchship enough to keep her satisfied, while keeping enough back as a bargaining chip for later. When it was clearer who would eventually come out on top.

He composed his features into an expression of sublime innocence and delivered a concise report.