But she still hadn't discovered anything about Pyrgus.
Twenty-two
Pyrgus stepped into choking darkness. For an instant he thought he'd somehow wandered into one of the portals that opened at the bottom of the sea. Then he realised he was breathing air, not water, although it was air mixed with something sulphureous that caught violently in the back of his throat. He stumbled forward, arms outstretched, until his hands touched rough rock, then fumbled his way along, coughing furiously, in a desperate attempt to find fresher air.
It seemed an eternity, but eventually he reached a place where the worst of the choking fumes were behind him and a dim light appeared far ahead. He slowed down and made his way cautiously towards it. He'd already bruised a knee and grazed his ankle and it was still so dark in here (wherever here was) that he could easily fall to his death down some subterranean pit. So he edged forward, one hand still on the rock wall, testing each step before he took it. This was always the problem when you used a portal for the first time: you could never be really sure where it would come out. Mr Fogarty had reckoned he should emerge in the palace chapel – something to do with locking on to ion trails – but even he'd admitted there was a margin of error. Besides which, Pyrgus knew he'd been just the tiniest bit impatient. He'd used the control before Mr Fogarty had adjusted it completely.
The light ahead grew brighter and eventually resolved itself into an opening. As Pyrgus approached it, he was able to confirm what he already knew. He was in some sort of underground passageway. It seemed to be a natural formation, possibly part of a cave system. As the light level increased, he could see rock walls and floor. At one point where the passage widened, there was a single stalactite.
Now he could see the source of the light, he realised it was an opening to daylight high up in a rock wall. It wasn't very large, but he thought he should be able to squeeze through. The problem was reaching it.
Pyrgus examined the rockface. It was sheer, but rough, which meant there might be enough handholds for a climb but also meant that if he fell he would be dead. For the first time, he missed his wings. He stared up at the opening for a long moment, then wiped his palms on his breeches to dry off any excess sweat and tackled the wall.
It wasn't as hard as it looked, but he climbed slowly all the same, taking great care to establish firm footholds before reaching for the next handhold. By the time he reached the narrow ledge in front of the opening, his muscles were aching and he was breathing heavily. He sat on the ledge for a moment, allowing himself to recover, then turned to tackle the opening. It looked like a fissure in the rock and up close there was no doubt it was wide enough for him to squeeze through. He could see sky beyond, but nothing else, so he had no idea whether he was going to come out at ground level or high up on some cliff face. But no sense worrying until he found out. He wiggled through the crack.
Pyrgus tumbled out on to a rocky hillside and knew at once something was wrong. He wasn't near the palace portal, of course, or near the palace at all for that matter. In fact, he didn't even seem to be near the city. But it wasn't that. The air tasted foul. It still had a hint of the metallic sulphur that had nearly choked him underground. And the sky, now he was outside, looked the wrong colour. It had the dirty yellowish tint you sometimes got before a storm, except no storm was approaching – there was not a cloud in sight.
Pyrgus frowned. He still felt nauseous and wondered if there might be sulphur fumes venting from some volcanic source nearby. But now he was in the open air, fumes were no longer the first of his worries. He needed to find out exactly where he was; and then take the fastest route back to the palace. Although he'd been gone only a short time he was afraid of what might have happened. He'd never taken much interest in politics, but he wasn't a fool. Somebody had tried to kill him and for all he knew his father might be next. This latest attempt on his life was a political act and his father needed to know about it as soon as possible.
He climbed to his feet and looked around. The landscape was hilly, rocky and generally barren except for a few clumps of pod-like plants he didn't recognise. He was beginning to wonder if he was even within walking distance of the city – he knew the surrounding area well and none of this looked familiar.
The sun was low in the sky and the sulphur fumes, or whatever they were, had given it an angry, fiery hue. If he was to reach anywhere familiar before nightfall, he needed to get started. He made a brief check of his possessions, glad he'd taken up Mr Fogarty on his offer of a knife. The old man kept going on about how you never knew when you might need a weapon, and while Pyrgus hadn't expected to end up in the middle of nowhere, he knew from past experience his own world could be a dangerous place. The knife was no Halek blade – Mr Fogarty had found it in his kitchen – but it was better than nothing.
He also had a knapsack – Mr Fogarty called it a 'kit-bag' – with food. He hadn't thought he'd need that at all, but he liked the stuff you got to eat in the Analogue World and had packed the bag with crisps, Mars bars and a tin of baked beans. Things could be a lot worse. If he had a few miles to walk, it was no further than he'd walked before. Even if he was forced to sleep in the open for a night or two, it hardly mattered. He'd done that before as well.
He slung the knapsack over his shoulder and started down the hill.
He reckoned he'd walked for an hour before deciding something else was wrong. The landscape hadn't varied and the angry sun still hadn't set. By his calculation, it should be growing dusk by now, yet the sun hardly seemed to have moved from its original place in the sky. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced it hadn't moved at all. That wasn't possible, so he had to be mistaken about how long he'd been walking.
Pyrgus stopped. His surroundings still looked much the same as they'd done when he'd reached the surface. Were they actually the same surroundings? Was he wandering around in circles? He pushed the thought aside. It couldn't be that simple. The sun hadn't moved. Which meant no time had passed. He felt a little tired, as you might expect after walking for an hour. He remembered walking for about an hour. But if the sun hadn't moved, he couldn't have been walking for about an hour. He wondered if the fumes had affected his mind. It was a scary thought, but could he be hallucinating?
He started to move again, very much aware of placing one foot in front of the other. He was walking. Of course he was walking! He slipped his knapsack off his back and dropped it on the ground, then watched it as he took half a dozen backward paces. The knapsack stayed put and he moved away from it, exactly as he should. He walked back and retrieved the knapsack. He was walking. Of course he was walking! He'd been walking for an hour or more. So why hadn't the sun moved?
He walked on, westwards, in the direction he'd been walking before. What else was there to do? But the mystery disturbed him. It was like the smell of sulphur – he still had that in his nostrils -and the yellow sky. Something was wrong, yet he couldn't figure out exactly what.
He topped a rise and found himself looking down on a ruined city.
The ancient buildings rose up out of the barren plain like rotten teeth. Collapsed walls left heaps of rubble, but enough remained standing to show this had once been a busy metropolis. He could see the remnants of a pylon gate and the foundations of stone towers. There was a central plaza, its paving split and cracked. Old roadways and streets were half hidden by patches of the same strange vegetation he'd seen earlier. Even in ruins, the city was impressive. The wall stones were enormous. Several must have weighed tons.