One last search, he thought. One last search. It was stupid risking everything for the sake of a biofilter. What happened if all his work went into meltdown?
Henry ran back to the house – he seemed to be running everywhere these days – and began a search so thorough that at one point he found himself looking behind the bowl in the loo. The ridiculousness of his situation struck him then. Did he really think Mr Fogarty kept a biofilter in his toilet? It was ludicrous. He was letting his panic get the better of him. What was such a big deal about testing the device without one tiny little component? Worst-case scenario, the chances were it simply wouldn't work. He'd been willing enough to try it without its biofilter a few minutes ago before he remembered he hadn't put in the battery. Why was he making such a fuss about the damn thing now?
He went back outside again. His electronic rat's nest lay where he'd left it on top of a broken-down old garden table Mr Fogarty had never got around to throwing out. Before he could panic again, Henry threw the switch.
In the middle of the rat's nest, an LED glowed green.
Henry looked around. There was no sign of a portal, no sign of anything at all. It hadn't worked. It was never going to work without a bio- Behind him, somewhere near the shed, there came an electronic hum. It was so low-pitched at first that he felt it through his feet as much as heard it with his ears. But then it rose higher and began to pulse like the siren of a cardiac ambulance. The volume rose to a painful level. This was nothing at all like what happened when he used the portal control Mr Fogarty made. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong.
The sounding siren stopped abruptly. There was an unfamiliar popping sound and a portal opened little more than six feet from where he stood. Henry stared at it in astonishment. He'd done it! He'd built a working portal control! What's more, it opened up directly into the Purple Palace – he recognised its corridors at once. How great was that?
He froze. There was a small sizzling sound like frying bacon. A whisp of smoke rose from a junction in his makeshift control. As he watched, sparks began to snake through the wiring of the rat's nest.
The portal flickered.
For an instant, Henry's legs refused to function. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the flicker meant the portal was going to close again, but he could do nothing, absolutely nothing about it. Then his paralysis broke and he flung himself forward.
The portal collapsed a second after he passed through it. But it didn't matter. He had made it. He was in the Purple Palace.
And something was very wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The old Purple Emperor would never have seen them in the throne room – serious negotiations with serious enemies took place in private. But Hamearis was not even slightly surprised. The Purple Emperor Elect was young and inexperienced. He would see a formal audience as the only possibility with a ranking Duke. Besides, he wouldn't realise how much trouble he was in.
It was years since Hamearis had entered this chamber. It had been set out for a banquet then and packed with gaudy people. Now it was almost empty and surprisingly gloomy. There seemed to be some sort of glowglobe failure: a brace of sleepy flunkies were setting out banks of lighted candles. The flickering flames caused eerie shadows, which was possibly no bad thing, considering the news he brought.
He let his gaze drift casually, arrogantly, along the forest of pillars and up to the acoustic galleries high above. Those baroque constructions carried every whisper through the great hall and out into the corridors beyond. Which was no bad thing either. If servants overheard, the word would spread like wildfire – and cause just as much panic.
At the far end of the chamber, Crown Prince Pyrgus and his sister, the Princess Royal, were seated on two huge elevated thrones. They had clearly chosen their positions in order to impress, but managed only to look like nervous children. They both had their father's aspect in them, Pyrgus even more than his sister. Word had it he was a wild one, as young people often were, but there was intelligence in his eyes and given a few years he might even have made quite a decent Emperor. Almost a pity he would never get the chance.
Hamearis began to walk towards them. His cloaked companion moved like a ghost three paces behind.
Blue watched Hamearis stride along the aisle. He walked slowly, almost insultingly so, as if he was on an evening stroll. But that would be deliberate. From everything she had learned, Hamearis Lucina was a master of diplomacy and psychological manipulation, skills that in some ways made him even more dangerous than Lord Hairstreak himself. Although she'd seen many pictures of him and watched some of his view screen appearances, the reality was even more impressive than the image. His body was well-muscled, like a warrior, but there was a deceptive sensitivity about his face. He had the handsome looks of a hero, which doubtless contributed to his enormous public following among the Faeries of the Night.
Hamearis bowed. 'Greetings, Prince Pyrgus. I must thank you for granting me an audience at so late an hour.' Prince Pyrgus, Blue noticed, not Emperor Elect. He had tawny yellow eyes like a haniel, and now they moved to her. 'Your Serene Highness,' he acknowledged.
Blue inclined her head slightly. She was glad Pyrgus had had the good sense to bring her to this meeting. Hamearis might be handsome, but he was dangerous as a viper and crafty as a rat.
Pyrgus said coolly, 'Since it is a late hour, Your Grace, I would appreciate your getting directly to the purpose of your visit.'
'Of course,' Hamearis said mildly. 'But first, with your permission, sir, I am required to present compliments and greetings from my friend and colleague Lord Hairstreak, who has expressly asked me to enquire after your health and that of your sister.'
'My health is fine,' Pyrgus said shortly. 'So's Blue's.'
Her brother would never, ever make a diplomat. 'Please convey our greetings to Lord Hairstreak and express our hopes that he too is fit and well,' Blue put in.
'Now get on with it,' said Pyrgus, spoiling the effect.
If Hamearis took offence, he didn't show it. In fact, he actually began to smile. 'As you wish, Crown Prince,' he said.
Blue had a sudden, gripping intuition that something terrible was coming. It was so strong she wanted to cry out, to stop whatever it was that Hamearis Lucina was about to say. But her terror was so great her tongue refused to function.
Hamearis said formally, 'Crown Prince Pyrgus, your father, the Purple Emperor, has contracted a pact with Lord Hairstreak, acting in his capacity as representative of the Faeries of the Night, whereby henceforth the Purple Emperor agrees that, due to his recent and ongoing illness, the functions of State shall become the responsibility of his son Comma, who shall, until his majority, be advised in all matters by Lord Hairstreak in the capacity of Royal Regent.' Hamearis drew a rolled scroll from the pocket of his tunic and offered it to Pyrgus. 'I am charged, Crown Prince, to present you with a copy of this pact, struck with the Imperial Seal and signed by the hand of your father, the presiding Purple Emperor, in the certain knowledge and expectation that you and all members of the Royal Family and Household will abide by the detailed terms herein and grant such aid and assistance as may become necessary to Prince Comma and Lord Hairstreak in the pursuance of their various duties.' When Pyrgus made no move to take the scroll, Hamearis dropped it at his feet.
'Duke Hamearis,' Blue gasped, 'our father is dead!' What the man had just said was appalling, sick, hurtful, despicable, stupid -
Hamearis licked his lips. 'Your Serene Highness,' he said formally, 'it is my pleasant duty to inform you that your illustrious father is very much alive.' He gestured.