Some of his early prototypes had been a bit tricky. They couldn’t be used indoors, for one thing, on account of an intermittent flaw that caused buildings to collapse. They were also node-based like the Great House portals. But they still represented a big improvement: the controllers were small enough to carry in your pocket, so you could open up a portal anywhere, even if you were limited in where it would send you. And they were cheap.
It was the cheapness that caused the spread of portable portals. Even while Mr Fogarty was still alive, everybody wanted one, and while House Iris never authorised their mass production, black market engineers ripped off the design and churned out copies by the thousand. But the real problems didn’t start until after he died – a year or two after he died, to be exact. That was when a trainee engineer called Angelia Electrostrymon appeared on the scene.
Brimstone had a sneaking regard for Angelia as well, mainly because of her amazing name. Would she have invented her version of the portable portal if she’d been called Angelia Puddingbaker? He thought not. Any more than he would have become a demonologist if he hadn’t been called Brimstone. Or Chalkhill would have turned into a great pale heap if he’d been called Goldenspheres. Names had a profound influence, Brimstone thought philosophically. But whatever about that, Angelia created a version of the Fogarty portal that made Fogarty’s design look like it was nailed together from bits of wood. The great thing about it was that it didn’t need reception nodes. You could persuade an Electroportal to take you anywhere in the Analogue World just by setting the relevant coordinates. The other great thing was that it was even cheaper to manufacture than the old Fogarty controllers. Angelia licensed her patent to Consolidated Magical Services and had been counting her money ever since.
The new style Electroportals might have sparked a travel revolution in the Faerie Realm if the authorities hadn’t been quick to institute a clampdown. Couldn’t have people trolling off to the Analogue World any time they felt like it. Would have given them ideas above their station, as too much freedom always did. So, however easy it was to get there, travel to the Analogue World became illegal – on penalty of having bits cut off you – unless you had the relevant documentation, which was both difficult and costly to procure in a procedure that typically took so long you missed the best days of your holiday anyway. At the same time, the Empire’s State Public Relations Office, Propaganda Division, mounted a campaign designed to discourage spontaneous pleasure visits to the Analogue World, and the Royal Family set a good example by voluntarily using only their old-style node-based Family Iris portal with all its expense and well-known inconveniences.
‘You can see why anybody sensible just buys false documents,’ Brimstone told George, who sometimes listened in to his thoughts. He stored the last of his own forged documents in the various pockets of his travel suit. ‘Now, I want you to stay close behind me and move through as soon as I do: there’s only a small window of opportunity before the portal closes.’
George nodded.
Brimstone checked the coordinates. He’d taken them from an old Analogue World Ordnance Survey map and was by no means confident of their accuracy, but if he was off by a few yards, or even a few miles, he could still find his way to the exact location without too much difficulty: there was a sort of compass thing built into the Electroportal control that gave whispered instructions to the destination when needed.
‘You ready?’ he asked George.
George nodded again.
Brimstone squeezed the control and stepped through the portal.
Somebody’s house had fallen down. He was standing behind a small ornamental hedge, but could see the ruin quite clearly on the other side of the road. George arrived behind him, pushing him a step forward, an action that automatically closed the portal. There were people about. He recognised police uniforms. His instinct was to hide, but he fought it down: he’d done nothing wrong. This time. So far. The coppers had nothing on him. In fact, he’d actually taken a step towards them when he saw the two retreating figures. Brimstone stared until the man glanced back, then stepped swiftly behind a bush.
The man was Consort Majesty King Henry Atherton. The woman was Queen Holly Blue.
Twenty
Somebody’s house had fallen down. Chalkhill suppressed a giggle, but sobered quickly. This was no time to rejoice in someone else’s misfortune. He drew his shadow cloak around him and stepped into the shade of a nearby tree to evaluate the situation.
First off, there’d obviously been an accident, and a big one. His guess was that somebody in the ruined house had been running an illegal explosives factory. That sort of thing happened all the time in the Analogue World: since they couldn’t do anything by magic, they were obsessed about doing it by explosives. It was obviously an illegal factory, since there were policemen crawling all over the rubble looking for clues.
Next, why had Brimstone come here? Brimstone definitely had come here, since Chalkhill could see the old fool skulking behind a bush across the road. The answer had to be that Brimstone knew Mella was running an illegal explosives factory in the Analogue World. The question was, had Mella perished in the blast? It seemed entirely likely. Teenagers were notoriously careless, and teenagers who went into the explosives business frequently blew themselves to bits. The second question was, could Chalkhill turn this to his advantage?
The simplest course of action would be to take credit for her death, report back and tell Lord Hairstreak he’d blown her up. A simple body part, such as he might find in the rubble, would be sufficient proof. Then Chalkhill could claim his fee without having had to earn it, which would be extremely gratifying. The only drawback he could see was that Hairstreak had insisted the girl be assassinated in Hairstreak’s own castle. Was that stipulation negotiable? Hairstreak was not well known for his willingness to negotiate, but it was such a stupid thing to specify that he might. Especially if – reluctantly – Chalkhill dropped his fee a little.
But all this assumed Mella really was dead. And likely though that might be, it wasn’t absolutely certain.
A policeman strode past just a few feet from where he was standing, but the shadow cloak did its work so that Chalkhill remained unseen. He allowed his gaze to drift back to Brimstone. With his expanded senses, Brimstone probably knew whether the girl was alive or dead. The trick would be persuading him to tell… and tell the truth. Brimstone was no longer looking at the rubble: he was staring at something a little way along the road. Chalkhill followed his gaze and discovered a couple of Analogue worlders hurrying towards the police cordon. The woman was too old to be Mella and he almost lost interest at once. But there was something familiar about her. Something familiar about the man too…
Chalkhill almost choked. The woman was Queen Blue! He looked again. Impossible, yet there she was. Furthermore, now he had his eye in, he could see the man with her was Henry Atherton, her human Consort. And maybe that wasn’t impossible. They were Mella’s parents, after all. Nothing more natural than for parents to go looking for their little girl, even if they were King Consort and Queen. He frowned thoughtfully. If Brimstone was here and Mella’s parents were here, then it confirmed he was on the right track. Mella had to be here as well, somewhere close by, if she wasn’t dead, of course. All he had to do was find her, snatch her, portal swiftly back to Hairstreak’s Keep and slit her throat while His Lordship watched. Mission accomplished, payment received and on to the next job. Hey-ho the holly!
Another thought occurred to him, a dreadful, scary, hideously exciting thought. What sort of ransom could be raised for kidnapping Queen Blue? How much more would it be worth if you kidnapped King Consort Henry as well? Oh, what a thought that was! Riches beyond the dreams of avarice, but not beyond his dreams of avarice. On top of what he’d get from Lord Hairstreak for killing their daughter, it would make him the richest man in the entire Realm.