It occurred to him he could find Blue.
The thought halted his expansion, gave him focus. He saw Blue at once, but in a strange way. He saw the winding pathway of her life, moving through Space and Time, visiting differing locations of her Realm and once, disturbingly, penetrating the very fabric of reality as she disappeared from the Realm altogether. But she returned again, close to the point of exit, and continued as before.
Where was she now? It was difficult to see, yet the very question helped him. It was as if he stepped out of his body and stepped into a forest glade. Blue was there, and Pyrgus too, and, a little beyond them both, Mr Fogarty in dirty, crumpled formal robes. All three were lying on the forest floor.
All three seemed to be dead.
'Blue!!' Henry shouted in sudden agony. He lost focus, then control. His mind expanded to infinity and his consciousness exploded.
Henry felt as if somebody had put his head through a mincer, then followed up by crushing his whole body in a vice. Every limb ached and he felt weak as a lamb. Movement seemed impossible. Even opening his eyes was an effort and the lids scratched his eyeballs like coarse sandpaper.
He was lying on a floor somewhere, curled into a foetal position, both hands between his knees.
He was not sure who he was.
Or where.
The inside of his mouth tasted like a sewer and his tongue seemed swollen to twice its normal size. There was a distant ringing in his ears.
He moved cautiously. The aches throughout his body peaked, then died a little. He'd had the feeling before when he got a leg cramp playing football. But now the cramps were in every muscle. All the same, they might be bearable. He moved again and this time the pain didn't peak as high. Gradually he straightened out and clambered slowly to his feet.
There was something wrong with the room. He tried to figure what it was, but his head wouldn't function right.
He felt dizzy and reached out for a nearby chair.
That's what it was! Blue's room was its normal size. He was his normal size. And there was something wrong with his back. It felt… it felt… this was stupid, but it felt sort of empty.
His wings were gone!
As he stood there, unsteadily holding the chair, it occurred to him that this was what had happened to Pyrgus. When the House Iris portal had been sabotaged and Pyrgus had become a tiny fairy figure with butterfly wings, the effect had worn off completely and his wings had disappeared. But it had only happened after several days. Had Henry been unconscious that long? His heart dropped to his boots. How was he going to explain all this to Blue? How could he explain losing his portal control and turning up so late? The emergency was probably over by now and he'd done nothing at all to help. It was mortifying.
What was it she'd said? Her father's body had disappeared and there was some plot to assassinate Pyrgus? A horrid thought struck him. What if the plot had succeeded? What if Pyrgus was dead now? Henry would never forgive himself and he didn't think Blue would either.
He was feeling stronger by the minute, but as his brain began to focus he was certainly not feeling any better. Suddenly, out of nowhere, came a mental picture of Pyrgus, Blue and Mr Fogarty lying dead on a forest floor. He'd seen that. He knew he'd seen that. But where?
He tried to tell himself the whole thing was no more important than a dream. For heaven's sake, it probably just was a dream! Except he didn't believe that, not for a minute. He had to find out what had happened to Pyrgus and Blue. He had to find out this minute!
Henry began to stumble from the room. As he reached the door he realised there was someone watching him.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
It was pleasant to be free again. Not just free from prison, although that was a definite bonus, but free from responsibilities. With any amount of luck, Hairstreak would forget about him now – heaven knew the little turd would have enough on his plate just running the Realm. Chalkhill scratched his ear. It might be useful to change his name as a precautionary measure, perhaps adopt something heroic like Lime Hawk, but that apart he could go where he wished, do what he wanted. He'd sell the estate, of course, use the cash to make a new start, possibly look up his old partner Brimstone – dreadful creature, but one had to admit he had a talent for business. The world, as the old saying went, was his chrysalis.
But first he had to get rid of the worm.
The brass plaque said simply Dr Vapourer and was as discreet as everything else about the clinic. Chalkhill had used the place before to rid himself of that embarrassing little problem he'd picked up at the tattoo parlour. Expensive, but circumspect and extremely skilful in certain areas. He was fairly sure they could have the creature removed – and painlessly – in a fraction of the time mentioned by the Facemaster.
He reached out to ring the bell and the worm froze his arm.
'What do you think you're doing?' Chalkhill asked crossly. He was actually more than a little taken aback – he hadn't realised how much control the worm had over his body. But perhaps it was temporary, or perhaps with an effort he could overcome the vermicular influence. Cautiously he tried to move the arm again, but it remained frozen.
'You don't want to do that,' the worm said crisply inside his mind.
'Don't If
'No, you don't,' the worm insisted. 'Not until you've heard what I have to say.'
Chalkhill groaned silently. The creature was about to embark on one of its interminable philosophical debates, he was sure of it. 'Cyril,'' he said patiently, 'it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but the time has come for us to go our separate ways.' An elderly couple passing in the street glanced at him strangely, but Chalkhill ignored them. 'I'm sure you appreciate -'
'I've been instructed to recruit you,' Cyril interrupted him.
Chalkhill blinked. 'Recruit me?'
'You're an intelligent man,' the worm said smoothly. 'I'm sure it won't have escaped your notice that the Realm is in a mess. Faeries at each other's throats over nothing more substantial than the shape of their eyes or the nature of their beliefs. One Emperor assassinated, the next replaced before he can be even crowned. The constant threat of war. The failing economy. Greed and hedonism everywhere. Complete failure of old family values. The entire Empire would be going to hell in a handcart if the portals weren't closed.'
'Well, clearly things aren't perfect,' Chalkhill agreed, wishing the worm would release his arm. It was beginning to ache quite badly. 'But they're no worse than they've ever been and there's not a lot that anyone can do about it, so if you'd just let go of my ar-'
'There is something we can do about it,' Cyril said earnestly. 'Specifically, there's something you can do about it. I'm inviting you to join the Wangaramas Revolution.'
Chalkhill suddenly found his arm was free. He flexed the fingers to relieve the ache, then slowly withdrew it from the bell. 'What's the Wangaramas Revolution?"
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Pyrgus climbed sluggishly out of a deep, black pit to find himself watched by the most beautiful pair of violet eyes he'd ever seen. The girl, he thought, was absolutely gorgeous. His heart was racing and his body trembled uncontrollably. He wondered in passing if he might be in love, but decided it was far more likely he was dying. His head felt as if there were bits missing inside, like a cheese with holes in it. His eyes kept slipping out of focus and recurring bouts of nausea threatened to make him throw up.
The girl must have noticed his eyes were open because she leaned forward and said quietly, 'I'm sorry, but I was worried you might use that dagger. It was only a stun wand.'