The Purple Emperor

CHAPTER NINETY EIGHT

Pyrgus had slipped away from his royal bodyguards somewhere between Cheapside and Northgate. He entered the teeming warren of narrow alleys that led into Pushorn, a hand on his newly-purchased Halek blade. This was one of the roughest districts in the city and, while he'd never had much concern for his own safety, it would be a nuisance to lose his purse at this point. He'd a feeling he was going to need every scrap of gold he was carrying.

With the long dusk gathering into darkness, the torches were lit in Pushorn. No glow globe streetlamps here. The local council claimed poverty, but the truth was glowglobes never survived long, even with magical protections. The inhabitants were an opportunist mix of Nighters, the scum of Lighters, Violet Trinians, half-civilised Glaistigs, semi-feral endolgs and a sprinkling of addicted Halek wizards who found simbala music cheaper here than in the licensed parlours of Northgate. Every one of them preferred to hide in shadows than have their activities examined by the lawful authorities.

The smell was distinctive: a mix of sweat and pitchblende. Pyrgus felt his nose wrinkle as he pushed through the throng that emerged after dark in search of illegal entertainments.

"Oo do you think you're pushing?' growled a bruiser in a cracked leather jerkin.

'Sorry,' Pyrgus muttered, hurrying past. He kept his head down, but at least he hadn't been recognised. A minimal illusion spell distorted his features and changed his hair colouring.

He'd memorised directions, but the narrow streets were confusing and he dared not ask the way, so that it took him almost an hour to find Gruslut Alley. While the rest of Pushorn was dimly lit, Gruslut wasn't lit at all beyond the flickering light that seeped through cracks in shuttered windows. He stopped, allowing time for his eyes to adjust, and after a while was able to see reasonably well.

What he saw was not encouraging. Like much of Pushorn, the houses were three- and four-storey buildings that had seen better days. Now they were all cracked plaster and peeling paint. Some seemed to have shifted foundations: their walls bulged alarmingly as if threatening to fall into the street. He still wasn't absolutely sure he was in the right place – part of the sign-board had rotted so that the first three letters were missing – but he moved into the alley all the same.

Gruslut was known as a street where certain commodities and services might be bought, but there were no shops here. A few of the wooden doors had discreet nameplates, but nothing that gave a clue to what might be on offer. He had almost given up hope when he stumbled on the blue door he'd been told to look for.

Pyrgus licked his lips nervously. As he reached across to knock, he realised what he was about to do wasn't merely illegal, but hideously dangerous. Whatever – he still had to do it. Despite the brave front he put on with Blue and all the rest, Pyrgus knew he could never become Emperor. He wasn't suited and he didn't want the job. He'd never wanted the job. That was why he'd fought with his father so much when he was alive. His father had always insisted he should behave like an Emperor in Waiting when all he'd really wanted to do was lead an ordinary life. Pyrgus knocked.

For a long time nothing happened. He was reaching out to knock again when he heard the first footfalls inside. Someone was approaching at a slow, deliberate pace. Pyrgus withdrew his hand and waited, his heart suddenly pounding. The door swung partly open. Two glittering black eyes stared at him from the gloom.

Pyrgus swallowed. 'Are you -' he began. 'Are you… Pheosia Gnoma?'

The voice that answered was like the rustling of dead leaves. 'Come in, Your Majesty,' it said. 'We've been expecting you.'

The blue door opened into a narrow corridor that plunged almost at once down a flight of rickety wooden steps. Pyrgus followed the stooped figure into a poorly-lit basement room smelling of dust and mould. There were no glowglobes here either, just rushlights and a smoking, fly-specked lamp. Books of arcane lore lined the whole of one wall. An open cupboard displayed a collection of skulls. There was alchemical equipment on a bench in a corner. Beside it Pyrgus noticed a kangling trumpet carved from a human thigh bone.

'You know who I am?' he asked.

'Of course, Majesty. Your illusion spell has all but worn off.'

It was impossible to guess Gnoma's age. He had the eye folds and cat's pupils of a Faerie of the Night. His head was completely shaven and he seemed to have filed two of his front teeth into points, giving his face an odd, vampiric look. He was wearing a tattered brown monk's robe that looked a shade too small for him.

'Who else is here?' Pyrgus asked.

'No one, Majesty.' The soft dry voice scarcely rose above a whisper.

'You said "We've been expecting you." Who did you mean by we?'

'My spirit helpers,' Gnoma told him.

Gnoma was nothing like Pyrgus had expected. The man had a hungry look that was deeply disturbing. He never took his eyes off Pyrgus's face. Pyrgus pushed his nervousness aside. Best get down to business, then get out of here.

Pyrgus said, 'Pheosia Gnoma, I want you to raise my father from the dead.'

They sat facing one another across a lightweight wooden table. Gnoma placed a small glass before him and filled it with blue liquid from a swan-necked bottle. Pyrgus eyed it uncertainly.

Gnoma smiled, showing his weird serpents' teeth. 'Libatrix wine. A simple herbal tincture that prolongs life and clears the mind.' He produced a second glass, filled it and drank it down in a single swallow. 'See,' he said, 'quite harmless. I have no interest in poisoning my clients.'

Pyrgus watched him for a moment, then took a sip from his own glass. The liquid was cool, sharp and slightly sweet.

Gnoma placed both hands, palms down, on the table. 'Resurrecting your father may prove difficult.'

'I'll pay whatever you want.'

Gnoma smiled coolly. 'It's not a matter of money.'

Pyrgus didn't believe him. With Faeries of the Night it was always a matter of money. After a moment, he said, 'But you can resurrect him?'

'Oh yes,' Gnoma said. A drop had been forming on the tip of his nose and he sniffed suddenly to get rid of it. 'There are methods. Unfortunately…'

'What?' Pyrgus hissed. 'Unfortunately what?'

Silence stretched interminably. Eventually Gnoma said, 'The most reliable method is not lawful.'

'I am Emperor!' Pyrgus told him firmly. 'I'll say what's lawful!'

'You're Emperor Elect,' said Gnoma, 'but I take your point. However, I must warn you the method I have in mind runs contrary to spiritual law. That's quite beyond your ruling.'

Pyrgus pushed back his chair so quickly that it toppled over. 'I must speak with my father!' he shouted wildly. 'As your Emperor Elect I order you to raise him!'

Gnoma remained seated. He looked up at Pyrgus and smiled again, slowly. 'Then bring me your father's corpse,' he said.