‘You think it might be too late?’
‘Yes, Majesty.’
‘I want to see him,’ Blue said.
A pained expression crawled across Danaus’s fleshy features. ‘Majesty, his condition has deteriorated considerably since his second bout of temporal fever. I fear the sight of him might prove distressing to Your Majesty…’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Chief Wizard Surgeon Healer,’ Blue said shortly, ‘but I still want to see him.’ Before he could protest further, she swept past him to hurry up the steps of the Palace.
As they followed in her wake, one of her guardian demons, perhaps sensing her dislike of the man’s pomposity, turned round to bite him in the bottom.
There were flowers in the sickroom, but the place smelled of old age and decay. Mr Fogarty was sitting up in bed, propped by a mountain of pillows. Madame Cardui was seated in a chair beside him, holding his hand, but apparently asleep. Despite the Surgeon Healer’s warning, Blue was shocked by his appearance. He’d always been a thin man, but now he was cadaverous. His skin stretched parchment-thin across his skull, his lips were drawn back over discoloured teeth and his eyes looked huge, yet sunken. She could count no fewer than seven glass containers of healing elementals on the shelf above his head. The creatures swam down translucent tubes to enter his body at the top of his spine. She suspected they were the only things keeping him alive.
All the same, his voice sounded strong as he shook Madame Cardui’s hand and said, ‘Wake up, darling Queen Blue’s here.’
Madame Cardui’s eyes jerked open. After a moment of obvious disorientation, she scrambled to her feet. ‘Oh, forgive me, my deeah – I must have nodded off.’ She gestured to the chair she’d just vacated. ‘Please sit down, Your Majesty.’ Some of the spirit returned to her eyes and she added, ‘Perhaps you can talk some sense into this old fool.’
‘Do sit, Madame Cynthia,’ Blue said. Although her spymaster hadn’t contracted the temporal fever, she was looking almost as old as the Gatekeeper. She must be worried out of her mind about losing him. To Mr Fogarty, Blue said, ‘How are you, Gatekeeper?’
‘Remarkably well, considering I’m dying.’ Mr Fogarty’s voice sounded like dry leaves.
‘Blue, deeah, tell him he must go back to the Analogue World. Order him, if you have to.’
Mr Fogarty turned his head to look fondly at Madame Cardui. ‘You know she won’t, Cynthia. And if she did, you know I wouldn’t go. What’s she going to do then? Throw a sick old man through a portal?’
Madame Cardui glared at him. ‘Your last bout of fever nearly killed you. Your first bout of fever nearly killed you, come to that. You know you won’t survive another. Alan, we care about you. Nobody wants you dead. The minute you translate, it puts the disease on hold. Our healers are working hard to find a cure and when they do, you can come back.’
‘I know all the arguments, Cynthia,’ Fogarty said in a tone that dismissed them utterly.
Blue said, ‘She’s right, Gatekeeper. You know that too. What I can’t understand is why you won’t listen to her.’
‘I can’t tell you that.’ He stared into the middle distance, his face like granite.
‘Can you tell me why you can’t tell me?’
Fogarty glanced at her sideways and the smallest hint of a grin twitched at his lips. ‘You never give up, do you? Few more years’ experience and you’ll make a memorable Queen. They’ll sing about your exploits in the next millennium.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I can’t tell you why I can’t tell you. It’s important I stay here. Out of stasis, before you bring that up again. And believe me, I know the dangers. I know how ill I am, I know how close to death I am and, yes, Cynthia, I know another fever bout will kill me. And before you say it again, I do know another bout could hit me in the next five minutes.’
‘Then why -? ’ Madame Cardui began.
‘None of that matters,’ Mr Fogarty cut her off. ‘I won’t be going home to the Analogue World and that’s an end to it.’
Blue said, ‘Is there any way we can make you more comfortable, Gatekeeper?’
Fogarty said, ‘Get Henry here. I’m running out of time.’
Nine
‘Can you see anything?’ Brimstone asked.
‘Nothing,’ Chalkhill confirmed. ‘Not so much as a chink.’
‘Put your wrists behind your back.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Chalkhill asked at once.
‘Bind them!’ intoned the Praemonstrator. Outside the Brotherhood his name was Avis and he made a living hiring out ouklos, but the jackal mask gave him a certain gravitas.
‘Oooh!’ Chalkhill exclaimed and crossed his wrists behind his back at once.
Avis tied them expertly with a soft piece of silken rope. ‘Let the Initiation commence!’ he commanded.
Brimstone took Chalkhill by the elbow and began to lead him towards the Lodge Room door. As they reached it and stopped, Chalkhill leaned over to whisper, ‘Silas, he hasn’t tied me very tightly. I could get free if I wanted to.’
‘It’s symbolic!’ Brimstone hissed back impatiently. ‘I told you that before. It’s all symbolic. Death and resurrection. If it wasn’t symbolic, we’d have to kill you.’
‘Wouldn’t want that,’ said Chalkhill cheerfully. ‘What happens now?’
‘What happens now is you shut up and let me get on with it,’ Brimstone told him. But he relented enough to add, ‘I introduce you to the assembled Brothers and propose you for membership. You’re not allowed to see them until you’ve been accepted. That’s why you’re hoodwinked and Avis is wearing the mask.’
‘That’s not Callophrys Avis, is it?’ Chalkhill asked. ‘The one with the funny wife?’
At his own initiation, Brimstone swore an oath never to reveal the name of another Brother on pain of having his tongue removed, his eyes gouged out, his breast ripped open and his heart stopped by a magical current that tapped the fundamental power of the universe. ‘That’s him,’ he said.
From behind them, Weiskei said, ‘Are you two ready?’
‘Yes,’ Brimstone told him shortly.
‘Knock thrice on the door, Brother Sponsor,’ Callophrys Avis instructed. ‘In your own time.’
‘Here we go,’ Brimstone whispered to Chalkhill. ‘I want you to do what you’re told, keep your mouth shut unless you’re spoken to and, above all, don’t camp it up.’
‘Of course,’ Chalkhill whispered back in the shocked tones of one wrongly accused. ‘I’ll be good.’
Brimstone reached out and knocked thrice on the heavy oakwood door. The sound reverberated hollowly.
It was peculiar working blind. After an expectant second, Chalkhill heard the door open, and a waft of heady incense assailed his nostrils, overlaid by the distinctive scent of magic. Darkness knew what sort of spells were operating in the Lodge Room, although he expected he’d find out soon enough.
A strange voice asked sonorously, ‘Who knocks?’
‘One who stands without…’ Brimstone whispered in Chalkhill’s ear.
Chalkhill frowned under his hoodwink. ‘Stands without what?’ he asked softly.
‘Just repeat the words!’ hissed Brimstone. ‘One who stands without …’
‘One who stands without,’ said Chalkhill loudly. It occurred to him he couldn’t be looking his best with a bag over his head, but there was nothing he could do about that now.
‘And seeks entrance within,’ Brimstone prompted.
‘And seeks entrance within,’ Chalkhill echoed, wondering how an exchange as banal as this could form part of the ceremonial of the most feared Brotherhood of the Realm. Or what used to be the most feared. Whether his new friends could reclaim that position remained to be seen.
‘Child of Earth, arise and enter the Path of Darkness,’ said the strange voice. There was another firm knock; then the voice called, ‘Very Honoured Hierophant, is it your pleasure that the Candidate be admitted?’