'Well, someone did,' Blue said dismissively. She lost interest in breaking wind and asked, 'Where will they be holding Mr Fogarty?'
'I don't know,' Henry said a little crossly. The only other time he'd ever been inside a police station was because of a missing tail-light on his bike.
'Well, would it be in the back, or through that door? Or do they have a separate building?' Blue asked.
'I don't know!' Henry said.
Behind them the door opened and two constables came in gripping the arms of a surly youth in a cracked leather jacket. The sergeant opened up the counter-top without a word and the constables escorted the boy through a door in the back.
'That was a prisoner,' Blue said. 'I'm sure that was a prisoner. They must have cells through that door.'
She might be right, but Henry couldn't see what good it would do them. The sergeant had closed the counter back down, and even if he hadn't done, the two constables had shut the door behind them. Invisibility sounded great, but you couldn't actually go anywhere without making it look as if doors kept opening of their own accord. He started to say something, then stopped as his stomach churned.
Blue said, 'Come on!'
To his utter horror, she skipped forward and vaulted over the counter, landing nimbly – and silently – to one side of the sergeant. He didn't so much as cast a glance in her direction. 'Come on,' she said again, waving encouragingly to Henry.
Henry's heart sank. He'd never been much of an athletic type, even when he was feeling well. If he tried to do what Blue'd just done, he was sure to trip up and fall in a heap.
'Henry -' Blue called impatiently.
Henry trudged shamefully over to the counter. Nothing ever seemed to go smoothly. He couldn't vault, but it was unthinkable to let Blue rescue Mr Fogarty on her own. He looked away so he wouldn't have to meet her eye and cautiously climbed up on to the counter, holding his breath so as to make as little noise as possible. There wasn't much room and he knew he was going to knock the mug of tea over and he knew Blue must think he was a complete wimp compared to all the athletic boys she fancied, but he didn't know of any other way to do it safely.
He was straddling the counter when the sergeant reached out for his tea. Henry flattened himself against the surface and prayed. The phone rang and the sergeant set his mug down to pick it up. The flex trailed over Henry's invisible bottom, forming a delicate curve, but for the moment the sergeant didn't seem to notice.
'No, that's Rosewood Street, isn't it?' he said into the phone.
Henry started to wriggle out from under the flex, but before he could complete the manoeuvre, the sergeant cradled the phone again. Henry slid gratefully over the counter to stand beside Blue, who was looking at him curiously. The woman typing was only a few feet away, the sergeant closer still. Was it really safe to say anything? He decided he'd have to risk it and whispered, 'What do we do now?'
'Wait and watch,' Blue said. 'We'll slip through the door when everybody's distracted.'
It sounded a straightforward game plan, except that the two constables emerged from the back (closing the door firmly behind them). A three-way conversation started about somebody called Jackie Knox. Then the typist said, 'You boys want a coffee? I'm making one for myself.' She got up from her desk and suddenly everybody was milling about behind the counter.
Out of the corner of his eye, Henry could see Blue moving gracefully in what looked like a sinuous dance as she skilfully avoided body contact: she was obviously well used to being invisible. But Henry wasn't. He dodged and ducked like a rhino and every movement increased the sickness in his stomach.
The woman finished handing out coffee, thank God, and went back to her desk. A door opened in the waiting area and Mr Fogarty came in with a young uniformed policeman by his side. They walked together to the front door.
'Thank you for your cooperation, sir,' the young policeman said. 'Sorry to have troubled you.'
Mr Fogarty grunted and walked out into the street.
'Did you see that?' Blue hissed delightedly. 'They've let him go.'
The phone rang on the counter and the sergeant reached for it again. 'Nutgrove Station,' he said pleasantly. Another phone rang, this time beside the woman who was typing. She picked it up while moving the mouse of her computer with her other hand. 'That'll be Tom,' remarked one of the constables behind the counter. The girl covered the mouthpiece and called across to the man who didn't look like Elvis, 'Can you come over to the counter a minute, Mr Robson?' The female half of the old couple said sharply, 'What about us? Haven't got all day, you know.' One of the constables said, 'It really shouldn't be much longer, love.' Blue said urgently, 'Come on, Henry.' She swarmed over the counter like a rhesus monkey. The sergeant suddenly exploded, 'Yuuuck!' and dropped the phone. He stared down towards the floor, his eyes wide with astonishment. 'Where did that come from?' he demanded. The two constables turned to look with a mixture of revulsion and amazement. Henry had thrown up on the sergeant's trousers. The results were all too visible. They steamed a little.
It was weird the way Mr Fogarty kept looking at a spot above his left ear when they talked, but Henry supposed that's what happened when somebody couldn't see you.
'Mistaken identity,' Mr Fogarty said irritably. 'Bank clerk picked out somebody else in the identity parade.'
'Why do you think Henry got so sick?' Blue asked. She was visible again, but Henry had only just started to flicker.
'It'll be his shirt,' Mr Fogarty said firmly.
'What's wrong with my shirt?' Henry demanded. They were back in Mr Fogarty's home and the nausea, thankfully, was dying down a little.
'Synthetic fibres,' Mr Fogarty told him in sepulchral tones. 'They conflict with the energy the spell cone released. Get a resonance going and you're sick as a parrot.'
'You mean he's going to be ill any time he uses magic?' Blue put in.
'Only if he wears that shirt. Get him to take off all synthetics and try another cone. If I'm right, he should be fine.'
'Just a minute -' Henry said. It wasn't just his shirt. His trousers were synthetic too. And he didn't even want to think about his boxer shorts.
But Blue mercifully cut in. 'We'll have to experiment some other time, Gatekeeper. I think it's important you and I get back to the Realm as soon as possible.'
'What's happened?' Fogarty asked.
'My father's body has disappeared,' Blue told him tightly. 'And there's a plot to assassinate Pyrgus.'
Fogarty looked pained. 'Not another one.' He took a deep breath and blew it out vigorously. 'You're right, we'd better go. You got an open portal?' When Blue nodded, he glanced across at Henry. 'You coming?'
Henry blinked. 'I'd have to sort stuff out at home first.' He had to get some dried food to leave for Hodge, but what he really meant was that he needed to sort out his mother, figure out an excuse for leaving home for a while.
Fogarty said, 'You do that, then join us fast as you can. You can use the transporter I left you.'
Blue and Mr Fogarty headed for the door, but when they reached it, Mr Fogarty turned back. He took a small box from his pocket and pressed it into Henry's hand. 'Just get dressed in natural fibres before you use them.'
'What's this?'
Mr Fogarty gave one of his rare grins. 'Little present for your mother.'
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There was something wrong with Pyrgus. He was skulking in his quarters when they found him and Fogarty had seen healthier-looking corpses.
'You OK?' Fogarty asked at once.
Pyrgus looked at him with dark-rimmed eyes. 'Yes.'
'Sure?'
Pyrgus nodded. 'Yes.'
Fogarty sniffed. 'Don't look it.'