The Faeman Quest

Thirty-Four

It was nice to get out of the house. Lord Hairstreak stepped down from his gold-plated ouklo shortly after sunrise and stared up at Kremlin Karcist, the Creen citadel and Table of Seven administration centre for the whole of Haleklind. The place looked a lot less flamboyant than he remembered from the days before the revolution. No flags, no pennants, no decorative spells. In their place was a dun-brown military camouflage security coating and a series of stark notices warning about the use of lethal force. The gently winding serpentine of the entrance avenue had been replaced by a dead-straight road, aimed like an arrow at the entrance steps. Fearfully poor feng shui, but so much easier to defend since you could see an approaching enemy some half a mile away. Even the ornamental shrubs and flowerbeds had been rooted out to make way for a series of stark sentry posts. Interestingly, they were manned by heavily armed warrior guards: for all of Haleklind’s world-famous reliance on magic, the Seven clearly did not altogether trust automatic spells. Paranoia was a wonderful thing, Lord Hairstreak thought: it made people so very easy to manipulate.

His own military entourage fell into place, four soldiers to secure the ouklo – would never do to have anybody discover what was hidden inside – the rest surrounding Hairstreak himself. He had little practical need of personal protection now he was equipped with a body that might as well have been armour-plated, but the psychological need for an impressive escort remained. It would never be enough that he had financed the Seven’s coup, never be enough that he knew all their dirty little secrets. For total control, he needed to cut an impressive figure and that meant putting on a show. Not easy to do when you were confined to your Keep and wheeled round in a barrow. But now he had a whole new body, he could strut his stuff with the best of them; and Mella’s capture was the perfect excuse. He smiled a little, took a deep breath and strode towards the steps.

Companion Ysabeau emerged to greet him, flanked by Marshal Houndstooth – a good sign since it suggested the military preparations were well underway. The Marshal saluted smartly, another good sign, but it was Ysabeau who skipped down the steps like a four-year-old, delivered a curtsy and an obsequious smile, then gushed, ‘This is such an honour, Lord Hairstreak. I never thought I should have the pleasure of seeing you here in Haleklind, in person.’ Her eyes swept over him as lightly as a feather duster. ‘And looking so well.’

She couldn’t hide her surprise, which pleased Hairstreak enormously. He’d been in two minds about this trip. On the one hand, Ysabeau could easily have transported Mella directly to his Keep and he’d had a long-term policy of maintaining a low profile. On the other hand, times were changing. He had his new body now and the manticore invasion was only days away. He no longer had to hide his connections with Haleklind: even if Cardui discovered the full extent of them, it would give her no clue to what was coming. And this trip had a wonderful cover story: he’d come to negotiate the return of Princess Culmella. What a comeback that would make to the political stage. What a preparation for the real comeback to follow.

‘Thank you,’ he said to Ysabeau, then added sharply, ‘I should like to see the Princess immediately.’ A part of him still wondered if they really did have Mella. It was beyond him to imagine how – or why – she had found herself in Haleklind. It was not at all beyond him to imagine the Table of Seven had made a mistake and captured some poor deluded child who perhaps looked like his great-niece.

‘Of course,’ Ysabeau nodded. ‘We have her ready and waiting for you.’ She hesitated. ‘There’s one thing…’

Hairstreak eyed her suspiciously. ‘What?’

‘We had to wipe her memory. As a precaution, you appreciate.’

‘A precaution against what?’

‘She overheard our invasion plan: at least she may have.’

Hairstreak frowned. ‘How was that possible?’ The manticore invasion plan was the most closely guarded secret in the whole of Haleklind. It was incredible that a teenage girl might stumble on it.

Ysabeau set her lips in a firm, hard line. ‘That is something we are investigating at the moment. The girl was not alone. It will not be long before we have some answers.’

Hairstreak could well believe it. Haleklind interrogation spells were legendary. The Table of Seven would, quite rightly, be reluctant to apply them to a member of the royal house – they sometimes resulted in death and often in brain damage – but if she was accompanied…‘Who was with her?’

‘A woman claiming to be her aunt.’

Hairstreak frowned. He didn’t think Mella had any aunts. ‘Has her interrogation begun?’

‘Not yet, but -’

‘Take no action until I see her.’ For all their skills, he trusted no interrogation methods but his own and preferred to apply them to someone who was neither brain damaged nor a corpse.

‘As you wish, Lord Hairstreak, but -’

‘That is as I wish,’ he said, cutting her short again. He and Ysabeau had briefly been lovers before he financed her revolution, a tricky arrangement when one’s body was a featureless cube. She had talked too much even then.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, a little sulkily.

He decided to leave any further details for later. For now, his priority was to make sure they had the right girl. ‘Very well,’ he said tightly. ‘Now, take me to the Princess.’

The interior of Kremlin Karcist was even more depressing than its new facade. The building had been a Grand Palace – a Winter Palace he believed – for the long line of Staretz Tsars who had once ruled Haleklind. The family specialised in high spirit contact and had a tradition of excellent artistic taste, so that the place had once been a veritable showcase of master paintings, stunning sculptures and magical installations that reached out to touch your very soul with their sheer and delicate beauty. All gone now. Rooted out to make way for featureless but functional corridors with automatic security checks every twenty yards. He sighed, inwardly. Perhaps it had been a mistake to back the Table of Seven’s revolution, however successful it had been. But once the invasion was completed and he had direct control of both Haleklind and the Realm, he might remedy that. The Seven were useful enough at the moment, but they were essentially small fry, too unstable in their paranoia to hold power indefinitely. Once he became Supreme Ruler – once he openly became Supreme Ruler – he could execute the lot of them and replace them with interior designers. That would perk the palace up a bit, if nothing else.

A hidden security check emitted a delicate peep to indicate he was unarmed (as if he needed weapons now he had his super-body) and Ysabeau stopped before a doorway flanked by two dour guards. ‘The Princess is inside,’ she said. ‘I take it you will wish to interrogate her?’

Interrogate. It was the way these people thought. All he really wanted to do was make sure it really was the Princess Mella in there, then get her out of the Kremlin so he could set the remainder of his plans in motion. But he only nodded. ‘Yes.’

Ysabeau looked at him soberly. ‘Alone, or would you prefer one or more guards to accompany you for your protection?’

Hairstreak almost laughed aloud. Even when he was only a head on a cube, he hardly needed much protection from a fifteen-year-old girl. He kept his face straight with an effort. ‘Alone.’

Ysabeau looked stricken. ‘Are you sure, Lord Hairstreak? I mean…’ She tailed off under his withering stare. ‘Of course, Lord Hairstreak.’

The girl in the room was Mella, all right. He knew it even as he closed the door behind him: he’d spent more than enough time in her company to be certain. She looked fit and healthy, despite whatever adventures she might have had with the Haleklinders, but there was a curious hint of blankness in her eyes. Ysabeau had had her confined in a small room, not exactly a cell, but certainly a sparsely furnished chamber with a single window too high up in one wall to provide an escape route. The guards outside the door completed the picture: no longer Princess Mella, but Prisoner Mella. Ah, well, no one had got her into this mess except herself.

She was seated on an uncomfortable little chair and did not bother to rise when he came in. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded in that sharp, feisty tone he admired so much.

There was no reason at all to lie to her. ‘I am your uncle, Lord Hairstreak.’

‘I don’t remember you.’

Hairstreak leaned his back against the door and looked down at her. ‘That’s because you have had your memory removed using a lethe spell. Do you know who you are?’

The blankness in her eyes was replaced by a look of uncertainty. ‘I’m not sure,’ she mumbled.

‘Don’t worry about it. Lethe is only a problem if you don’t know about it. Once I get you home, I can have the crystals removed quite easily. After that, you’ll remember everything perfectly.’ Actually, he wasn’t altogether sure of that. Conventional lethe was easy enough to remove if one had the fee for an elemental physician, but the wizards might well have used one of their secret, military-grade spells that could prove far more tricky. Not that it mattered. Lethe was hardly going to interfere with his plans.

‘We’re going home?’ she asked quickly. It was an interesting response. Most people would have demanded more details about their identity and the methods of restoring their memories.

‘Yes.’

Now she stood up. ‘When?’ Memory or no memory, she was still the little princess. Almost a shame what had to happen to her.

‘Soon,’ Hairstreak promised. He stared at her soberly. ‘There was someone with you when you arrived in Haleklind. Your aunt?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘There was,’ Hairstreak insisted. ‘I plan to talk to her now, after which I shall take you home.’

‘And fix my memory?’ Mella asked.

Hairstreak nodded. ‘And fix your memory.’ He reached behind to tap sharply on the door.

Ysabeau was still waiting outside. ‘Is this woman with Princess Mella really her aunt?’ he asked her.

‘She claims to be the sister of King Consort Henry.’

The emphasis laid on claims might mean doubt, or could just indicate caution. Hairstreak frowned. ‘I didn’t know Henry had a sister. At least not in the Faerie Realm.’

‘The Princess confirmed it. While she still had her memory.’

‘Does this creature have a name? I assume she’s human?’

‘She is definitely human. The name she gave us was the Lady Aisling.’ Ysabeau hesitated, then added, ‘She seems… self-assured.’

‘Do you mean self-centred?’ He glanced directly at Ysabeau and caught her checking out his new body. It was an interesting development. He was well aware that their brief affair when he was a cube had been entirely prompted on Ysabeau’s part by her desire to curry favour and extract some of his money for her cause. Now, her look said there was actual desire. Well, perhaps, when he had a little more time… It would be intriguing to experience the differences.

Ysabeau glanced away quickly, flushing a little. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I do mean self-centred.’

‘I shall see her now,’ Hairstreak said. Then, anticipating her next question, ‘For interrogation.’

‘Do you require spell cones?’

Hairstreak shook his head. ‘I shall be using…’ He blinked slowly, like a lizard, ‘… my own methods.’

Ysabeau licked her lips. ‘May I watch?’ she asked, a little breathlessly.

For the first time, Hairstreak favoured her with a smile. ‘Why, of course, my dear,’ he said.

The ‘Lady Aisling’, it transpired, had been no better treated than her niece (if indeed Mella was her niece.) Her door, like Mella’s, was under guard. Hairstreak turned to Ysabeau. ‘I shall need a little while alone with her. After that, I shall call for you to join me.’ Fun and games with Ysabeau would have to take second place to his own interests. Whatever information he extracted from Mella’s mysterious companion, he wanted to keep it to himself – at least for the moment. You never knew in advance what was useful and what wasn’t, what needed to be kept secret and what didn’t.

He pushed the door and strode into the room.

It was as if a thunderbolt had hit him.