‘Blue still doesn’t know?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Do you think she suspects?’ Pyrgus knew his sister very well. The slightest suspicion and she’d be on it like a terrier.
‘I doubt it,’ Nymph said. ‘I don’t see how she can. Now that Mr Fogarty is dead, you and I and Madame Cardui are the only ones who know.’
‘Blue’s smart,’ Pyrgus said. ‘We should never underestimate her.’ All the same, he was reassured. He watched the peacock wander off, then asked, is Henry very upset?’
‘Terribly,’ Nymph said, ‘I felt so sorry for him. I desperately wanted to tell him.’
Pyrgus glanced round at her. ‘But you didn’t?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Good,’ Pyrgus said.
After a moment Nymph stood up and walked across to join him at the window. ‘Were you watching the peacock?’
‘Yes.’ Pyrgus nodded, ‘I think he misses his mate.’
Nymph said, ‘Are you going back to the Realm?’
Pyrgus said, a little bleakly, ‘Yes.’
‘You don’t have to, you know.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Pyrgus told her.
Nymph licked her lips. ‘It’s dangerous. It’s very dangerous.’
‘I know.’
‘For everybody.’
‘I know.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Nymph said.
‘Yes,’ said Pyrgus.
Twenty-Two
It was peculiar: they kept off the streets, but congregated in the taverns, as if a stomach full of ale would protect them from the fever. The man sitting opposite Chalkhill had a lot of stomach and a lot of ale. His breath smelled like a brewery.
‘Are you sure it was him?’ Chalkhill asked.
‘Skinny little runt, looks a thousand years old, wears a demonologist’s shawl? Sounds like the description you put about. Mr Chalkhill.’
It was a very rough area and a very rough tavern. Chalkhill was aware his expensive clothing made him stand out like a jester at a funeral. But nobody took your money seriously unless you looked the part. Besides which, he was armed to the teeth.
‘So where did he go?’ he asked his informant.
The big man stared at him silently.
‘Oh, all right,’ Chalkhill exclaimed. Since he’d gone back to his camp act, he sighed explosively and added, ‘Whatever happened to trust, I wonder?’ He produced a small bag of coin and tossed it on the table. Conversations at the neighbouring tables stopped at once.
The big man’s big hand swallowed up the bag and the conversations started up again. ‘Mount Pleasant,’ he said.
Chalkhill frowned. ‘Mount Pleasant?’ It was among the wealthiest districts of the city, not one of Brimstone’s old haunts at all.
‘That’s what he said,’ the big man confirmed, with an expression that suggested he wasn’t going to give back the coins.
Well, perhaps Silas had come up in the world. Or perhaps Hairstreak was funding him. His Turdship may have fallen on hard times, but Hairstreak wouldn’t be Hairstreak if he didn’t have a little something stashed away. Or perhaps the Brotherhood had taken up a collection. Or perhaps Brimstone was just visiting a rich relative.
What did it matter? If Brimstone was headed for Mount Pleasant, that’s where Chalkhill had to go. The old hag had made it clear she wanted results and she wasn’t noted for her patience. Not that he was inclined to hang about himself.
Chalkhill felt more exposed on the waterfront than he had in the tavern and stood nervously while three water-taxis sailed right past ignoring his shouts and waves. But the fourth mercifully pulled in.
‘Mount Pleasant,’ he exclaimed grandly as he stepped aboard.
‘Double fare without your chitty,’ the driver told him conversationally.
Chalkhill had no idea what he was talking about, but he was well used to rip-offs. He drew a stimlus from his concealed armoury and pointed it at the man’s head.
‘Perhaps on second thoughts…’ the cabbie said. He took a spell cone from his bag and cracked it. ‘You sure you want Mount Pleasant, Guv?’
Chalkhill put the stimlus away. ‘Of course I’m sure. Do I look like a… like a… like an unsure person?’
‘Not even slightly, sir,’ the cabbie said, ‘It’s just that I had an old boy an hour or so ago told me Mount Pleasant and when he got in, he didn’t want to go there at all.’
Chalkhill blinked. ‘How old?’ he asked.
‘How old what, sir? The old boy? Very old, sir. Mind you, he looked like a retired demonologist to me – still wore the shawl. That sort of thing ages you, I always say.’
‘Where did he really want to go to?’ Chalkhill asked.
‘Whitewell. Remember it clearly ‘cause it didn’t sound at all like Mount Pleasant.’
‘Which Whitewell?’ There were two in the city, one north, the other to the west.
‘The one past Cripple’s Gate. Now, sir – ’ The cabbie actually managed a fake smile, ‘It’s Mount Pleasant for you, sir. Nothing unsure about that, eh?’
‘Take me to Whitewell,’ Chalkhill growled. ‘The one past Cripple’s Gate.’
Twenty-Three
There was a moment of confusion, then Henry opened his eyes to darkness. He couldn’t remember where he was, or how he got here. He couldn’t even remember where he’d been. There was something about coming to the Faerie Realm with Nymph, then… then…
No, it was gone. He knew he’d been doing something in the Realm, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what. Every time he tried, it was as if his mind went soggy and a white fog swirled across his memory.
The darkness was absolute.
He was on his knees, on a hard floor. He shouldn’t be on his knees (which hurt quite a lot now he thought of them). Surely he should be standing up? Surely he was standing up – or maybe sitting down, but certainly not on his knees – before he… before he…? Where the hell was he?
You didn’t often get darkness like this. In the dead of night there was always starlight or moonlight or reflections from street lights. Even in a curtained room, some light filtered through. But there was no light here at all. He thought he might be underground.
There was a dry smell of decay.
Still on his knees, Henry began to feel afraid. ‘Hello…?’ he whispered.
He felt the floor with one hand. It was hard, like rock, flat with a sandstone texture. It was cool, but not exactly cold, and dusty. The dust rose to catch in his throat and make him cough. For some reason he tried to suppress the cough, keep it as quiet as possible. So the cough turned into a little cough, hardly more than a clearing of the throat. He shouldn’t have said Hello, not even in whisper, not when he didn’t know where he was or who might be close by. He was in the Realm now and the Realm was different from his own world. The Realm was a lot more dangerous.
Henry climbed cautiously to his feet, very much aware of the thumping of his heart. He swallowed hard to get rid of the dust. Without moving from the spot, he reached out cautiously in front of him. His hands touched… nothing. He reached behind him with the same result.
The air was quite stuffy, as if he was in an enclosed space. He stretched out one foot. The floor in front of him seemed solid enough, but he really didn’t fancy walking forward in the darkness. He might be near the edge of a cliff or a pit or a crevasse.
What he needed – badly – was light.
He was still wearing his own clothes, the ones he’d been wearing when Pyrgus and Nymph turned up at Mr Fogarty’s house. (Pyrgus had looked old, Henry remembered, but couldn’t remember why.) Henry began to fish in his trouser pocket. Almost at once, with a surge of delighted relief, he found a Bic lighter.