Ysabeau looked stricken. ‘Are you sure, Lord Hairstreak? I mean…’ She tailed off under his withering stare. ‘Of course, Lord Hairstreak.’
The girl in the room was Mella, all right. He knew it even as he closed the door behind him: he’d spent more than enough time in her company to be certain. She looked fit and healthy, despite whatever adventures she might have had with the Haleklinders, but there was a curious hint of blankness in her eyes. Ysabeau had had her confined in a small room, not exactly a cell, but certainly a sparsely furnished chamber with a single window too high up in one wall to provide an escape route. The guards outside the door completed the picture: no longer Princess Mella, but Prisoner Mella. Ah, well, no one had got her into this mess except herself.
She was seated on an uncomfortable little chair and did not bother to rise when he came in. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded in that sharp, feisty tone he admired so much.
There was no reason at all to lie to her. ‘I am your uncle, Lord Hairstreak.’
‘I don’t remember you.’
Hairstreak leaned his back against the door and looked down at her. ‘That’s because you have had your memory removed using a lethe spell. Do you know who you are?’
The blankness in her eyes was replaced by a look of uncertainty. ‘I’m not sure,’ she mumbled.
‘Don’t worry about it. Lethe is only a problem if you don’t know about it. Once I get you home, I can have the crystals removed quite easily. After that, you’ll remember everything perfectly.’ Actually, he wasn’t altogether sure of that. Conventional lethe was easy enough to remove if one had the fee for an elemental physician, but the wizards might well have used one of their secret, military-grade spells that could prove far more tricky. Not that it mattered. Lethe was hardly going to interfere with his plans.
‘We’re going home?’ she asked quickly. It was an interesting response. Most people would have demanded more details about their identity and the methods of restoring their memories.
‘Yes.’
Now she stood up. ‘When?’ Memory or no memory, she was still the little princess. Almost a shame what had to happen to her.
‘Soon,’ Hairstreak promised. He stared at her soberly. ‘There was someone with you when you arrived in Haleklind. Your aunt?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘There was,’ Hairstreak insisted. ‘I plan to talk to her now, after which I shall take you home.’
‘And fix my memory?’ Mella asked.
Hairstreak nodded. ‘And fix your memory.’ He reached behind to tap sharply on the door.
Ysabeau was still waiting outside. ‘Is this woman with Princess Mella really her aunt?’ he asked her.
‘She claims to be the sister of King Consort Henry.’
The emphasis laid on claims might mean doubt, or could just indicate caution. Hairstreak frowned. ‘I didn’t know Henry had a sister. At least not in the Faerie Realm.’
‘The Princess confirmed it. While she still had her memory.’
‘Does this creature have a name? I assume she’s human?’
‘She is definitely human. The name she gave us was the Lady Aisling.’ Ysabeau hesitated, then added, ‘She seems… self-assured.’
‘Do you mean self-centred?’ He glanced directly at Ysabeau and caught her checking out his new body. It was an interesting development. He was well aware that their brief affair when he was a cube had been entirely prompted on Ysabeau’s part by her desire to curry favour and extract some of his money for her cause. Now, her look said there was actual desire. Well, perhaps, when he had a little more time… It would be intriguing to experience the differences.
Ysabeau glanced away quickly, flushing a little. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I do mean self-centred.’
‘I shall see her now,’ Hairstreak said. Then, anticipating her next question, ‘For interrogation.’
‘Do you require spell cones?’
Hairstreak shook his head. ‘I shall be using…’ He blinked slowly, like a lizard, ‘… my own methods.’
Ysabeau licked her lips. ‘May I watch?’ she asked, a little breathlessly.
For the first time, Hairstreak favoured her with a smile. ‘Why, of course, my dear,’ he said.
The ‘Lady Aisling’, it transpired, had been no better treated than her niece (if indeed Mella was her niece.) Her door, like Mella’s, was under guard. Hairstreak turned to Ysabeau. ‘I shall need a little while alone with her. After that, I shall call for you to join me.’ Fun and games with Ysabeau would have to take second place to his own interests. Whatever information he extracted from Mella’s mysterious companion, he wanted to keep it to himself – at least for the moment. You never knew in advance what was useful and what wasn’t, what needed to be kept secret and what didn’t.
He pushed the door and strode into the room.
It was as if a thunderbolt had hit him.
Thirty-Five
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Brimstone asked curiously. Even George was staring.
‘Meep, meep!’ Henry said. His legs were pumping furiously, but since he was lying on his side they weren’t carrying him very far, although the motion did encourage him to move in a slow circle. There were strange pink lights in his eyes that spun in random spirals.
‘Looks like a Border Redcap got him,’ Chalkhill muttered. He was knelt beside the still body of Queen Holly Blue, his hands unusually gentle as he checked her pulse spots. He glanced back at Brimstone, caught his blank expression and added, ‘They’re a sentient fungus – you only ever find them in the Broads. Their spores induce hallucinations.’
‘Have at you, Coyote!’ Henry shouted suddenly.
‘What do you think he’s hallucinating?’ Brimstone stepped back quickly as one of Henry’s flailing feet came close to his leg.
‘Something from his childhood,’ Chalkhill ventured. ‘It’s often something like that. Something he saw or read in a book. He’s a human so it’s bound to be bizarre. Listen, Silas, I need your help.’
‘He looks as if he’s running,’ Brimstone said. ‘If he wasn’t lying down, he’d be halfway to Yammeth Cretch by now.’
‘ Whoosh! ’ Henry said.
There was an answering rumble from somewhere high above them. Brimstone looked up. Although his eyes weren’t what they used to be, even with his enhanced senses, he could make out distant shapes that might well have been personal flyers. He wondered vaguely if Chalkhill’s souped-up ouklo could outrun them.
‘Silas,’ Chalkhill snapped, more sharply this time, ‘get over here and help me put her in the recovery position.’
‘Recovery from what – she’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘ Meep, meep, eeee-yah!’ Henry murmured, waving both arms about in the manner of someone falling off a cliff. ‘ Thud! ’ he said and lay still. Then he looked up wide-eyed, grimaced and jerked as if an anvil had fallen on his head. But his movements were growing less violent and there was a dopey expression on his face as if he was sliding into sleep.
Chalkhill nodded thoughtfully. ‘Stung by the weed, I’m afraid. That’s what prickleweed does for you.’
Brimstone wondered whether he should alert Chalkhill to the approaching flyers, but curiosity got the better of him. ‘Doesn’t that mean she’s dead?’ he asked. ‘She looks dead to me.’
‘She’s dead, all right. But help me get her into the recovery position anyway. We need to be able to tell Hairstreak we did everything possible before admitting she snuffed it.’
‘I think it might be better if you got her into the ouklo,’ Brimstone said. ‘We’re about to have company.’
Chalkhill followed his gaze. ‘You stupid old tort, why didn’t you tell me?’ He stood up as the first flyer circled for a landing. ‘OK, don’t panic. Nobody knows we kidnapped them and they’re in no position to snitch about it. The story is we were flying to the city when we spotted them down below and landed to see if we could help.’