Ruler of the Realm

Fifty-three

At almost four miles long, the winding driveway of the Ogyris Estate was clearly not meant for foot traffic. By the time Pyrgus and Kitterick arrived at the house, it was growing dark.

‘You OK, Kitterick?’ Pyrgus asked. His feet were sore and there was a knot in the muscle of one calf.

‘Never better, sir,’ said Kitterick annoyingly.

The Ogyris mansion was a relatively new building of curious construction. It combined the slim spires of a traditional Haleklind castle with a blocky underpinning – so fashionable across the Cretch these days – that seemed to have been inspired by a troll’s dungeon. The result was something that looked vaguely like a giant porcupine crouched to spring. In an ostentatious display of wealth, Zosine Ogyris had commissioned lavish spell coatings that transmuted the base material of the building into copper, into silver, into gold, into platinum, into orichalcum and back to copper again, endlessly, at seven-minute intervals. It was burnished copper at the moment and the reflected rays of the dying sun made it look as if it was on fire.

‘Well, here we go,’ said Pyrgus and stepped up to the massive door.

The woman who answered his knock – Pyrgus assumed she was a maid – was short and plump with something about her eyes that reminded him of Gela. She had the greenish skin tone and nose wrinkles of a Halek peasant, which may have been exactly what she was, since Ogyris could have brought her with him from his native land. She wore a crisp blue-striped apron and there was a dusting of flour on her hands.

‘Sorry to keep you,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Making scones.’

Pyrgus favoured her with an uncertain smile. ‘I’ve come to see Gela,’ he said. Time to find out whether Gela wanted to see him.

‘Not here,’ said the woman promptly. ‘Father sent her ’ome.’

Pyrgus blinked. This was Gela’s home.

‘To Creen,’ the woman said, using the native term for Haleklind. ‘Thought it would be safer.’ When Pyrgus looked at her blankly, she added, ‘The war.’

‘The war?’

‘The war what’s coming.’ She said it so matter-of-factly that Pyrgus chilled. But before he could react, she began to tilt her body at an alarming angle. It took him a moment to realise she was trying to look past him. ‘That you, Kitterick?’ she asked, her face suddenly beaming.

‘Yes, indeed, Genoveva,’ Kitterick said smiling, as he stepped from behind Pyrgus. ‘Nice to see you again.’

‘Well,’ said Genoveva, ‘this is a real bootiful surprise! Come in, come in and bring your ’andsome young friend. I’ll brew up some fume and you can try my scones, tell me if I’ve lost my touch.’ She smiled broadly at Pyrgus and added, ‘So Gela knows you – lucky girl!’

As they followed her along a flagstoned corridor towards the smell of baking, Pyrgus whispered urgently to Kitterick, ‘I didn’t know you knew Ogyris’s servants.’

‘Not his servant, sir,’ Kitterick whispered back. ‘That’s his wife.’

‘His wife?’ Pyrgus exclaimed loudly, then repeated in a whisper, ‘His wife? This is Gela’s mother?’

‘Yes, sir. Genoveva, sir. Very pleasant woman. Wonderful touch with scones, as I suspect we’re about to discover. Married when she was sixteen and he was twenty-five. That was before he left Haleklind and got rich. Happy as two clams in gravy, I’m led to understand. Halek marriages are often like that. Something to do with the composition of the soil, I believe.’

‘Why’s she doing her own baking?’ Pyrgus asked curiously.

He must have spoken too loudly, for Genoveva called over her shoulder, ‘Because there’s not a servant in the country can match my scones. So Zosine Typha says, anyway. I think it’s a plot to keep me in my place, myself.’ She chuckled.

‘How is it you know her?’ Pyrgus whispered to Kitterick.

‘I fear I’m not at liberty to say, sir.’

Pyrgus blinked at him, then said, ‘Oh. Some mission for Madame Cardui?’

‘Something of that sort, sir.’

‘But you know her well?’

Kitterick smiled a little, with his poison fangs retracted. ‘Very well, sir. Very well indeed.’

Pyrgus opened his mouth to push further, then decided better of it. Instead he said, ‘You don’t think you could get her to tell you about the crystal flowers, do you?’

‘Don’t be silly, sir,’ Kitterick said politely. ‘She’s extremely loyal to her husband. In certain matters. Besides, I doubt she’d know anything about them. Halek men are notoriously chauvinistic. They tell their wives nothing, nothing at all. I’ve often thought it a most admirable characteristic.’

‘You two can stop whispering about my bottom,’ Genoveva called cheerfully over her shoulder. ‘Can’t help it if I have a healthy appetite.’

‘I would suggest, sir,’ Kitterick said softly, ‘in relation to the crystal flowers, you tell Veva – Madame Ogyris – that you have an interest in Halek architecture and would like to see over the house. She will issue you with a pass that will permit you entry to any area you wish. If someone stops you, just produce it. I shall keep her chatting in the kitchen until you return.’

‘She won’t just let me wander through her home,’ Pyrgus protested. ‘She doesn’t know me from Firstman.’

‘Oh yes she will, sir,’ said Kitterick confidently. ‘It’s a tradition of Halek hospitality.’

‘What happens if she wants to go with me? Give me a guided tour?’

‘She won’t, sir. You can take my word on that.’ Kitterick smiled.

‘’Ere we are, boys,’ Genoveva said, opening the kitchen door. ‘Fume and scones, and if you’re very good I might find you a pot of my home-made squing preserve.’

‘Try not to take too long, sir,’ Kitterick whispered. ‘I don’t know how long I can distract her.’

Pyrgus followed them into the kitchen. The plan seemed insane, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of a better one.