It was a peculiar feeling for Henry, but it was very definite. The clothes were nothing like he usually woretoo brightly coloured and a bit girly – but somehow he felt really good in them. (He pulled on the right sock.) Macho and heroic. Well, sort of… (He pulled on the left sock.) He liked the way the material moved when he moved. Somehow he thought it made him look good. Well, better than the old BABE MAGNET anyway, although he fancied he might really be a bit of a babe magnet in this gear.
The boots were the strangest part of the whole outfit. They were dark brown, just short of knee-length, but made entirely of the same silk as his blouse and britches. Even the sole was no more than a few extra layers of silk to give a cushioning effect. They wouldn't last five minutes on stony ground, but he'd worry about that later. For the moment, they moulded to his feet and legs as comfortably as slippers.
He was still feeling good as he walked from the bathroom.
The women were waiting for him. With his newfound confidence, Henry smiled and said, T don't know your names, but I'd like to thank you.'
'My name is Peach Blossom,' the nearest woman said. She smiled back at Henry, without making any attempt to introduce the others. 'Thank us for what?'
They were putting food on a little table. Some of it looked unfamiliar, but all of it smelled delicious. T don't know – the bath.' And the food, he thought, except that they hadn't actually offered it to him yet. He remembered his manners and added belatedly, 'My name's Henry.'
'We know who you are.'
Henry didn't know what to say to that. What he did say eventually was, 'Who are you?'
'Silk Mistresses,' Peach Blossom said. 'We're Sisters of the Silk Guild.'
He was eating something called ordle which had a smoky flavour and was absolutely delicious. Without thinking, he said, 'Will you get in trouble for this?'
'Why should we get in trouble?' Peach Blossom asked quickly.
Uh-oh. He was sorry he'd said it now. There was no reason for them to know he'd just broken out of the palace dungeons or any of that. If he'd kept his mouth shut, he could have pretended he was just a casual visitor who'd got lost and strayed into somewhere he shouldn't. Maybe he could still convince them that was all he was. Except when he'd told her his name she'd said, We know who you are. How did she know who he was? But if she did know who he was, did she know it wasn't all that long since he'd been thrown into the dungeons?
Henry decided to feel his way around it. With luck he might not have to give himself away. 'The new Queen's not too happy with me,' he said as casually as he could. If he played it cool enough, he might find out subtly what they felt about the Queen before he had to commit himself.
'The new Queen's loony as a Border Redcap,' Peach Blossom said.
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
He knew there was something he should have done. He'd thrown her in without staking her heart. Brimstone looked up at the crows circling overhead and making such a racket. Too late now. There was somebody coming and he didn't know how much time he had before they got here. Whoever was approaching was close and there was no way Brimstone could afford to be found beside an open hole with his wife's body at the bottom. Especially with her skull smashed in and her stupid wizened little brain oozing out of her nose.
He grabbed the spade and set to filling in the grave.
It was hard work, but he couldn't afford to slow. The crows were going berserk now, stupid birds, and he even fancied he could hear somebody stomping through the undergrowth. Fortunately filling a grave with loose earth was a lot faster than digging it in the first place. He flung the last spadeful and glanced around desperately. The whole place looked what it was – freshly-dug earth. He might as well have put up a notice: New Grave Here.
Dead leaves!
That was it – dead leaves! Dead leaves for a dead wife. If he could just get the body covered up loosely now, he could divert whoever was coming and get back later to finish the job. He began to strew armfuls of dead leaves across the newly-dug grave. But he was nowhere nearly finished when he was transfixed by a bright blue light and something tall and hideous stepped into the clearing. Brimstone dropped the rest of the leaves. He felt his heart stop and his face go pale. No more than five yards away loomed Beleth, Prince of Darkness.
Beleth looked awful.
He'd appeared in his gigantic demon form, but one of his horns was crumpled, two of his fangs were broken and he had an ear missing. There was a fading bruise under his right eye, a pulsating lump on his head and a hideous scar that ran all the way down his left cheek, over his jaw and across his throat. Brimstone had always been terrified of the Infernal Prince, but at the moment the creature hardly looked capable of chewing off a baby's leg. His heart restarted and the colour flooded back into his face. 'What happened to you?' he asked. Beleth scowled. 'That's not important.' 'No, really,' Brimstone said. 'I'm concerned.' 'A bomb blew up in my face,' Beleth said shortly. 'Fortunately this form is virtually indestructible. But what's important -'
'How come all the Hael portals are closed?' Brimstone asked curiously. Beleth must have come by vimana: it was the only way. And since a transport vimana trip would take years, he had to have come alone in one of the fast single-seater saucers, which he'd never, ever done before.
Beleth covered the distance between them in three massive strides and caught him by the throat. Brimstone felt himself lifted up as if he were thistledown. 'Gaah!' he choked. 'Gaah!'
'What's important,' Beleth repeated quietly, his face close to Brimstone's own, 'is that the rest of the Hael Realm wasn't as fortunate as I was.' He released Brimstone, who dropped back to the ground with a spine-jarring thud.
'The Hael Realm was destroyed?' Brimstone gasped, massaging his throat.
'Don't be stupid. But it's in serious need of reconstruction.' He glared at Brimstone with blood-red eyes. 'The cost will run to billions.'
Brimstone swallowed painfully. 'Bit strapped at the moment, I'm afraid. I -' He caught Beleth's expression and ground to a halt. 'That's not what it's about, is it?' He wondered what it was about, but one thing was for certain: this had to be good news. If the Hael Realm lay in ruins, then Beleth would have more on his mind than a broken contract. Besides, that whole silly business about sacrificing Pyrgus was old news now, hardly worth even think- 'What it's about,' growled Beleth, 'is treachery! What it's about is ingratitude! What it's about is broken agreements, welching on bargains, turn-coating scumbags!'
Perhaps it was worth thinking about after all. 'I'm sorry about that contract business,' Brimstone said hurriedly. 'Circumstances beyond my -'
'Not you, you imbecile!' Beleth roared. 'That mealy-mouthed cretinous little upstart Hairstreak!'
Brimstone blinked. 'Hairstreak? Lord Hairstreak?'
Beleth and Lord Hairstreak had been allies in the last attempt to overthrow the Faeries of the Light.
'Yes. Lord Hairstreak! Crapulous crud-faced puke-mouthed sewage-headed little… little… little… '
Beleth was losing it. His eyes were flashing seven colours and flecks of spittle were flying from his mouth. The bump on his head had started to pulsate and the scar across his throat seemed to be opening up to show a row of straining stitches. Brimstone wondered if he might actually have had to sew his head back on after the bomb exploded. But this was clearly no time for speculation.
'I thought you and Hairstreak were allies?' he said quickly.
'Were,' said Beleth sourly. 'Operative word. Past tense. Hairstreak was happy to accept my help when he thought it would put him on the Peacock Throne. Now I need his, he doesn't want to know.'