The Faeman Quest

Nineteen

It wasn’t like the old days.

‘It isn’t like the old days,’ Brimstone told George conversationally. In the oldest of the old days, when Brimstone was a boy, portals to the Analogue World were natural phenomena, generally caused by volcanic stresses, and only about five of them were known across the entire planet. Portals to Hael were a different matter: the magical techniques used for calling demons had been familiar – and used, despite their dangers – for centuries. It was only a matter of time before somebody thought of combining the natural phenomena with the magical techniques, and the result was the elaborate artificial Analogue World portals, so expensive to install and so costly to run that only the Great Houses of the Empire could afford them. These portals were directional… at least up to a point. You could only send somebody to a part of the Analogue World where a suitable node existed naturally or had been secretly established.

Then along came Alan Fogarty.

Brimstone had a sneaking regard for Alan Fogarty. He had a lot going for him when he first arrived in the Faerie Realm: he was old, he was bad-tempered, he was ruthless, he was paranoid, he was cunning. Now, of course, he had the additional advantage of being dead. But before that, he’d created the most revolutionary invention the Faerie Realm had seen in generations: the portable portal.

Some of his early prototypes had been a bit tricky. They couldn’t be used indoors, for one thing, on account of an intermittent flaw that caused buildings to collapse. They were also node-based like the Great House portals. But they still represented a big improvement: the controllers were small enough to carry in your pocket, so you could open up a portal anywhere, even if you were limited in where it would send you. And they were cheap.

It was the cheapness that caused the spread of portable portals. Even while Mr Fogarty was still alive, everybody wanted one, and while House Iris never authorised their mass production, black market engineers ripped off the design and churned out copies by the thousand. But the real problems didn’t start until after he died – a year or two after he died, to be exact. That was when a trainee engineer called Angelia Electrostrymon appeared on the scene.

Brimstone had a sneaking regard for Angelia as well, mainly because of her amazing name. Would she have invented her version of the portable portal if she’d been called Angelia Puddingbaker? He thought not. Any more than he would have become a demonologist if he hadn’t been called Brimstone. Or Chalkhill would have turned into a great pale heap if he’d been called Goldenspheres. Names had a profound influence, Brimstone thought philosophically. But whatever about that, Angelia created a version of the Fogarty portal that made Fogarty’s design look like it was nailed together from bits of wood. The great thing about it was that it didn’t need reception nodes. You could persuade an Electroportal to take you anywhere in the Analogue World just by setting the relevant coordinates. The other great thing was that it was even cheaper to manufacture than the old Fogarty controllers. Angelia licensed her patent to Consolidated Magical Services and had been counting her money ever since.

The new style Electroportals might have sparked a travel revolution in the Faerie Realm if the authorities hadn’t been quick to institute a clampdown. Couldn’t have people trolling off to the Analogue World any time they felt like it. Would have given them ideas above their station, as too much freedom always did. So, however easy it was to get there, travel to the Analogue World became illegal – on penalty of having bits cut off you – unless you had the relevant documentation, which was both difficult and costly to procure in a procedure that typically took so long you missed the best days of your holiday anyway. At the same time, the Empire’s State Public Relations Office, Propaganda Division, mounted a campaign designed to discourage spontaneous pleasure visits to the Analogue World, and the Royal Family set a good example by voluntarily using only their old-style node-based Family Iris portal with all its expense and well-known inconveniences.

‘You can see why anybody sensible just buys false documents,’ Brimstone told George, who sometimes listened in to his thoughts. He stored the last of his own forged documents in the various pockets of his travel suit. ‘Now, I want you to stay close behind me and move through as soon as I do: there’s only a small window of opportunity before the portal closes.’

George nodded.

Brimstone checked the coordinates. He’d taken them from an old Analogue World Ordnance Survey map and was by no means confident of their accuracy, but if he was off by a few yards, or even a few miles, he could still find his way to the exact location without too much difficulty: there was a sort of compass thing built into the Electroportal control that gave whispered instructions to the destination when needed.

‘You ready?’ he asked George.

George nodded again.

Brimstone squeezed the control and stepped through the portal.

Somebody’s house had fallen down. He was standing behind a small ornamental hedge, but could see the ruin quite clearly on the other side of the road. George arrived behind him, pushing him a step forward, an action that automatically closed the portal. There were people about. He recognised police uniforms. His instinct was to hide, but he fought it down: he’d done nothing wrong. This time. So far. The coppers had nothing on him. In fact, he’d actually taken a step towards them when he saw the two retreating figures. Brimstone stared until the man glanced back, then stepped swiftly behind a bush.

The man was Consort Majesty King Henry Atherton. The woman was Queen Holly Blue.