'Do you have a better one?' demanded Madame Brimstone irritably. She was staring at his glass.
Brimstone leaped to his feet. 'Why, To happy married life, of course!' he exclaimed. He waved his arms about excitedly and contrived to knock over his glass. The wine flowed across the table like a river of blood. 'Dear me,' shrieked Brimstone, 'how very clumsy of me. Never mind, my dear, I'll pour myself another glass.' As he reached for the decanter he noticed the tablecloth begin to smoke and fall in shreds.
Madame Brimstone pushed her chair back hurriedly and stood up before the liquid could splash on to her lap. 'I'll get a cloth to wipe that up,' she said shrilly.
'In a moment, Dearest Heart!' squeaked Brimstone, pretending not to notice his wine was now burning through the table. 'First our toast, our wonderful toast!' He poured himself a second glass and skipped around the table to link arms with her. 'To happy married life!' he said again, then hit her with the glass decanter.
Madame Brimstone went down like a stone.
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
The tree was very peculiar. It had the huge trunk of an ancient oak, but the branches were twisted like a monkey puzzle. Fogarty walked around it twice, tapping the bole, but could find no opening, which ruled out an illusion spell. And maybe it wasn't a spell at all. At the atomic level, matter was largely empty space, and the only thing that stopped the matter of your backside passing through the matter of your chair was an electrical field. So possibly they'd interfered with the field potential of the tree so the soldier's body could penetrate it. Which would explain the how but not the why. Why would anybody want to interpenetrate a tree?
'You now,' said another green-uniformed soldier, nodding encouragingly to Fogarty.
Fogarty didn't hesitate – he was far too curious to learn the secret of the tree. He stepped quickly towards the massive trunk, headed for the point the soldier had indicated, reached it, felt the wood rough and solid, yet somehow passed right through it. The sensation, oddly enough, was of sliding sideways.
He was in a shaft. It was metal-lined and wide enough for him to stand, both arms outstretched, without touching the sides. There had to be some sort of dimensional shift. Probably not much, but enough to move the shaft out of phase and allow the tree to keep its heart. Fascinating technology. These people were a lot more sophisticated than they looked.
He felt himself beginning to float upwards and recognised the familiar sensation of suspensor spells at work. In a moment he emerged on to a broad wooden platform high up in the branches of the tree. The young soldier who'd gone ahead – with a start Fogarty realised it was a woman – took his hand to steady him. He looked around and gaped in sheer amazement.
There was an entire roadway system in the upper reaches of the forest.
It was absolutely invisible from the ground, but here it snaked from tree to tree, its main arteries as broad as any motorway and served by scores of side roads, loading bays, parking bays, promenades and avenues. It was a monumental feat of engineering, created from a mix of wood and metal along with something else he didn't even recognise.
Blue was already on the platform, staring around her with studied nonchalance. Madame Cardui and Pyrgus emerged a few seconds later, apparently none the worse for their little disagreement.
'Did you know this was here?' Fogarty asked her at once. You could move an army down those roadways. He tried to calculate how far the forest stretched, but his Realm geography was still too weak to make the estimate.
Madame Cardui nodded. 'Oh yes. I've known about it for some time.'
'You never told me,' Blue said, with just the barest hint of sharpness in her voice.
'Need to know, my deeah,' said Madame Cardui, voicing one of the basic principles of espionage. 'You didn't need to know.' She flashed a tiny smile at Fogarty. 'Besides, at our age one must always keep a little something back. As insurance, you appreciate.'
Fogarty doubted if Blue did, but he appreciated the principle all right. 'Who are these people?' he asked Madame Cardui.
'My deeah, they're called the Feral Faerie – can you imagine it? We've always believed they were primitives. Primitive forest-dwellers. What a camouflage! They have their own culture, their own social structures, their own governing system, their own defence forces. I was astonished when I learned about them.'
'Are they Lighters or Nighters?' Fogarty asked.
'Not relevant,' Madame Cardui said. 'They don't hold allegiance to either side. Sorry, Pyrgus.'
Pyrgus, who was staring along one of the great tree-top roadways, hardly seemed to hear her. 'You could move an army down here,' he murmured, echoing Fogarty's earlier thought.
'Do they have treetop cities?' Fogarty frowned.
Madame Cardui shook her head. 'Just this communications network. They're nomads – urban life would stifle them. They congregate in small communities actually within the living trees.'
One of the green-uniformed soldiers now swarming on the platform murmured something in her ear.
'They want us to move out now, deeahs,' she announced.
'Where are we going?' Fogarty asked.
Madame Cardui smiled broadly. 'To meet the Faerie Queen.'
The transporter was a large wooden raft that floated some six inches above the surface of the roadway. It bobbed slightly, like a boat at sea, as Pyrgus stepped aboard. A green-uniformed soldier manned the single control, a large joystick set near the front. The craft was big enough to take almost the whole contingent, but by the time it was full, they were pressed shoulder to shoulder except for a small courtesy space around the pilot.
'Brace!' the pilot called.
Pyrgus was wondering what that meant when the raft jerked forward and sped off at a furious rate. He was thrown backwards and would have fallen were it not for the pressure of those around him. He noticed that everyone in green uniform was leaning forward to counteract the motion of the raft.
He found his own balance in a moment and watched the upper branches of the trees flash by. He was finding it difficult to gather his thoughts. Too much had happened in the last few hours. The coup by Hairstreak. Comma on the throne. His exile along with Blue and Gatekeeper Fogarty. The attack on the ouklo, which everyone had thought was carried out by Hairstreak's men, but which turned out to be the work of the Forest Faerie. And now rescue. At least he supposed it was rescue. He needed to talk to Madame Cardui.
Pyrgus half turned to find someone at his shoulder. It was the girl who had stunned him during the fight.
‘I want to apologise,' she said quietly. 'I didn't know you were the Crown Prince.'
'It's all right,' Pyrgus said. For some reason he felt embarrassed.
'Well, I'm not sure it is,' the girl said. 'But when you came at me with a dagger, I had to do something.'
'Unh,' Pyrgus nodded. He wanted to talk to her properly, but something was making him converse in grunts.
The girl stared into his face for a moment, then gave a little resigned shrug. 'Well, that's all I wanted to say.' She turned away.
'What's your name?' Pyrgus asked quickly, his vocal paralysis breaking at last.
She turned back again and her expression was pleased. 'Nymphalis,' she said. 'Nymphalis Antiopa.' She hesitated, then added almost shyly, 'My friends call me Nymph.'
'I'm Pyrgus Malvae,' Pyrgus said because he couldn't think of anything else.
'Yes, I know.'
The green uniform suited her, even though it was cut for a man. It certainly didn't make her look like a man. He couldn't imagine anything that would make her look like a man. It made her look… it made her look elegant. But then she had the sort of figure that would look elegant in a sack.