The Purple Emperor

CHAPTER THIRTY

He'd got all excited about his prospects for the future, wasted hours of effort, and endured the huge indignity of having a worm inside his bottom. All for nothing! Why had Hairstreak called off the mission? Chalk hill wondered furiously.

'I can help you there,' the wangaramas wyrm told him.

''Can you?' Chalkhill thought at it. He had managed to tune out some of the incessant chatter, but the wyrm was still capable of attracting his attention when it wanted to.

'Course I can,' the wyrm assured him. 'All1 have to do is poll the Network.'

'What's the Network?' Chalkhill asked, frowning.

'The wangarami are telepathic,' the wyrm explained inside his head. 'Amongst ourselves, that is, not with other species, except during an actual symbiosis, of course, such as we have now. I've always believed the characteristic speaks of a certain superiority, but that is, of course, a matter of philosophical discussion among wangarami wise wyrms, so that -'

'What's the Network?' Chalkhill repeated mentally to shut it up.

'The telepathic Web. Every wangaramas is plugged into it. Which means that any given wyrm – myself for example – has access to the knowledge, information, belief and memory structures of every other wyrm.'

'What they know, you know?' Chalkhill ventured uncertainly.

'Potentially, yes.'

'So if any other worm happens to know why Hairstreak called off my mission, you could tune in and find out?'

'As you say,' the wangaramas wyrm confirmed. 'And I would prefer you didn't use that word.'

'What word?' Chalkhill asked aloud, forgetting again.

'"Worm",' said the wyrm. 'The correct term is "wyrm." Or better yet, "wangaramas".'

Chalkhill couldn't hear much difference between 'worm' and 'wyrm' but he thought it best to humour the creature. 'Sorry,' he said. Then to make amends added, 'What should I call you? As an individual?'

'Cyril,' said the wangaramas wyrm inside his head.

Since the messenger had delivered his message, the Facemaster had disappeared to instruct some other unfortunate and Chalkhill had taken the opportunity to make himself scarce. He was now in the grounds of the Assassins' Academy, casually strolling towards the gate. He was far from certain whether the news the messenger had brought was good or bad. If Hairstreak no longer needed him, it could mean he was free to go his own way, do what he liked so long as he kept clear of the Imperial Authorities, which would be easy enough to do if he set himself up in Yammeth Cretch. On the other hand, it could mean that Hairstreak would have him killed, in which case he had to get out of Yammeth Cretch as fast as possible. It was a difficult dilemma. What he needed was more information.

'Would you do that for me… Cyril?' he asked ingratiatingly. ' Would you plug into your Network and find out what Lord Hairstreak is really up to?'

'Of course I would, Jasper,' the wyrm said warmly. 'If the data is there, I shall obtain it for you.'

Without warning, it was quiet in his head. Chalkhill experienced a wave of relief so extreme he felt quite faint. Then suddenly it was bedlam. A thousand voices, a hundred thousand voices were wittering full blast. The volume level rose until he thought his skull must burst. He felt his vision fading and sank to his knees, clutching his temples.

'Are you all right?' a voice asked from outside him somewhere, but he could not work out who it belonged to.

The inner voices stopped. In the blessed mental silence, he felt Cyril stir. 'Well, that didn't take too long,' the wangaramas said. 'And it's good news, Jasper. Lord Hairstreak no longer needs you to kill Prince Pyrgus while he's being crowned Purple Emperor because Prince Pyrgus will never be crowned Purple Emperor. Lord Hairstreak has pulled off an early coup. Prince Pyrgus and his supporters have been exiled. The Realm is now ruled by Lord Hairstreak acting as Regent for Prince Comma. It will all be public knowledge soon.'

For a long moment Chalkhill simply couldn't believe it. The entire Realm ruled by Hairstreak? That meant the Faeries of the Night had triumphed. It was incredible. It was wonderful. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. 'Are you sure about all this?' he asked.

'I got it from a wyrm named Wilhelm in the bottom of one of Hairstreak's PR advisors,' Cyril assured him.

'Are you all right?' the voice from outside asked again.

Chalkhill blinked. It was a young woman, one of the Academy servants by her uniform. He smiled at her. 'Never better,' he said warmly. 'Never better.'