Chalkhill leaped from the coffin and fell into a weird fighting stance, legs bent, one hand outstretched, palm flat, in a chopping motion. Avis ignored him and placed the tip of the dagger lightly against his chest. ‘Do you solemnly swear and attest you will truly, faithfully, honestly and diligently uphold the principles of this Unholy Order, preserve its secrets on pain of having your tongue removed, your eyes gouged out, your breast ripped open and your heart stopped by a magical current that taps the fundamental power of the universe?’ Avis muttered speedily. ‘Do you further agree, attest, swear and undertake to endow this sacred Brotherhood with all your worldly goods, hitherto and hereafter accumulated, limited only to the amount previously agreed with your Sponsor, so help you Darkness?’
Chalkhill looked at him.
‘Say I do,’ Brimstone prompted.
‘I do,’ Chalkhill said.
There was a scattering of applause among the congregated Brothers. Hairstreak said formally, ‘Welcome to our Order.’ Then he added in a bored voice, ‘Do you have any questions, Frater Chalkhill?’
‘When do I get to talk to God?’ asked Chalkhill promptly.
Eleven
The city was a lot different from the last time Henry had been here. The milling crowds of Cheapside had disappeared, leaving the streets eerily quiet. Highgrove was no better. Even the bustling commerce on the Loman Bridge had dwindled to a trickle. Although it was a warm enough day, Henry noticed Nymph kept the windows of the carriage tightly closed and was struck by a sudden frightening suspicion. ‘They’re not all dead, are they?’ he blurted.
Nymph looked at him in surprise. ‘Who?’
Henry’s head was filled with something he’d been reading for his History exams – an account of the Black Death in Europe. The disease had spread like wildfire in the fourteenth century, killing one-third of the population of the continent. A traveller at the time left vivid descriptions of empty city streets and the stench of death. ‘The people,’ Henry said.
Nymph continued to stare at him for a moment, then suddenly relaxed and shook her head. ‘No. No, the death rate isn’t very high yet. But people are frightened, so they don’t go out much any more.’ She glanced out the window of the carriage and added inconsequentially, ‘It hasn’t reached the forest yet.’
‘How -?’ Henry hesitated. He didn’t want to sound like a wuss, but he badly wanted to know. ‘How… contagious is it? I mean, how easy is it to get?’
‘Well, we’re not even sure how it spreads, but you don’t want to take stupid chances,’ Nymph said matter-of-factly, which didn’t tell him anything. He was wondering how he could pursue the topic further when Nymph asked a question of her own: ‘What happened between you and Blue, Henry?’
It drove the thoughts of disease from his head. What happened between you and Blue, Henry? He knew somebody was bound to ask him that eventually and Nymph had always been direct. He felt his brain falling back into its familiar defensive manoeuvres – Me and Blue? You think there was something between me and Blue? – then decided, with a massive effort, that it was time to break old patterns. He’d never survive the next few hours – meeting Blue again, which he was bound to do – if he didn’t get a grip on himself. Besides, he liked Nymph and had always found her easy to talk to. She didn’t tease you and she didn’t play games and she didn’t have an agenda. He took a deep breath, stared out the window again and said, ‘I blew it.’
After a moment, Nymph asked gently, ‘How?’
Henry turned back to look at her. ‘You won’t tell this to anybody, will you? I mean, I wouldn’t want – I mean, it might embarrass – ’ Nymph said nothing, just looked at him soberly. Henry said, ‘No, of course you won’t.’ He returned to staring through the window. ‘It’s old history now, anyway: I don’t suppose anybody really cares.’ He sighed. ‘Blue asked me to marry her.’
‘Really?’ Nymph sounded surprised.
‘Oh, yes,’ Henry said. ‘I don’t know what got into her. It was after that business with Beleth, of course, and the kidnap and everything and I suppose she was very upset and -’
‘What got into her was that she loved you,’ Nymph said quietly.
It shut Henry up completely. The carriage, a surface transport, rumbled over the great wooden bridge. He could see the broad sweep of the river winding lazily between the dockside warehouses on one bank and the ancient, overhanging residences of Highgrove on the other. After a while he said, ‘I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
Why not? There had been so many reasons and he wasn’t sure Nymph would understand a single one of them. She was a very uncomplicated girl. She’d fallen for Pyrgus and married him. Simple. At least that’s what he assumed had happened. What did he know? He said, ‘She was too young, for one thing.’
‘In the Realm some girls get married at thirteen,’ Nymph said. ‘It’s even younger in the forest – I could have got married at twelve if I wanted to. Blue was older than that two years ago.’
‘Yes, I think she was fifteen. Maybe just sixteen, I’m not sure. But that’s here. In my world you don’t get married that young. You just don’t!’ Actually there were some countries where you did, but he pushed the thought aside.
‘Was age the only reason?’ Nymph asked without a hint of judgement in her voice.
For just the barest moment, Henry thought he was going to cry. It would be terrible if he cried in front of Nymph, hideously embarrassing. Then the moment passed and a dam broke and he said with brutal honesty, ‘I was afraid.’
Nymph waited.
Henry said, ‘I just panicked. You’ve lived in the Realm all your life; you don’t know what it’s like for me. None of you do. I feel really out of place here. I’m not a hero or a prince or somebody that Blue deserves. I’m just a schoolboy. I have this awful mother and my father’s lovely, but he’s weak and everybody expects me to, you know, just do normal things. Like exams and becoming a teacher. If I married Blue I’d be a consort or a king or something and I’d have to rule the Realm with her, or help her out at least. I don’t know how to do that. I hardly even know how things work here. I could never make the changes.’
‘Mr Fogarty did,’ Nymph said.
Mr Fogarty was dying, Henry thought. The carriage rolled to a stop. It had reached the ferry that would take them to Imperial Island.
Twelve
Imperial Island looked the same as ever, but Henry’s heart began to pound the moment the ferry docked. He was very much afraid. He was afraid of meeting Blue, afraid of what she would say and what he should say. He was afraid of how Mr Fogarty might look now he’d lost most of what little future he had left. But, oddly, he wasn’t afraid that he’d fail to get Mr Fogarty to come back to the real world. He knew, in the depths of his being, Mr Fogarty wasn’t going to die yet. Henry could handle the old man. He’d always been able to handle the old man even in his most stubborn moods. Henry would get him to come home and the fever would stop and he could come back to the Realm when the wizards found a cure.
The guards at the ferry dock were all wearing surgical masks, but several had them pulled down around their necks so nobody seemed too worried about infection. Nymph was treated with huge deference, Henry noticed, and wondered why; then he realised she was married to the former Emperor. Pyrgus may have lasted only seconds in the job, but he was still a Prince of the Realm, which meant Nymph was probably a city princess now, as well as a forest princess in her own right. Henry himself was treated politely, but he had the strong feeling nobody actually remembered him. Which was fine – he’d never felt comfortable as Iron Prominent, Knight of the Grey Dagger, largely because he never thought he deserved it.
‘Shall we walk from here?’ Nymph said, cutting in on his thoughts. ‘Or would you like me to order a carriage?’