The Purple Emperor

There was a yelp and a peculiar squelching noise. Henry spun round. 'Where's Ziczac?' There was no way he could have reached the corner already.

'Stay back!' Pyrgus snapped. He began to run in the direction Ziczac had taken.

Both Nymph, Comma and Blue all ignored him and started running at the same time. They arrived together at the edge of a narrow pit that had opened in the floor of the corridor. Pyrgus looked down.

Ziczac's body was impaled on seven vicious metal spikes set into the floor of the pit. His eyes were open, but he was clearly dead.

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE

Brimstone found the narrow stairway between a Buddhist souvenir shop and a tiny store that specialised in selling pickled eggs. The flathead on the first landing was seated on a wooden chair reading the National Inquirer, his jacket open to show the shoulder holster.

He recognised Brimstone at once. 'Ho?' he sniffed.

'Yo,' said Brimstone, using one of the dreadful colloquialisms he'd picked up on an earlier visit to Spanish Harlem. Nobody here knew where he really came from and he preferred to keep it that way.

The flathead jerked his thumb towards the next flight and went back to his National Inquirer.

Two sweet little girls ushered him into Mr Ho's offices on the first floor, giggling behind their hands. Mr Ho was seated in a cracked leather armchair, smoking something resinous in a long, clay pipe. He had the eye folds of a Faerie of the Night, but not the slitted pupils. He took the pipe from his mouth and favoured Brimstone with a benign smile.

'Mr Brimstone,' he acknowledged.

'Mr Ho,' said Brimstone, nodding. He glanced around the room, pleased to see Mr Ho's shelves were still well-stocked with both books and supplies.

'Excuse it that I do not rise in deference to your hugely advanced ancientness,' Ho said. The benign smile again. 'I am unable to revere you on account of extreme intoxication.'

'Think nothing of it, Mr Ho.'

'Tea, Mr Brimstone? Or a pipe?'

'Neither, thank you, Mr Ho. May I enquire about the health of your granddaughters?'

Mr Ho beamed. 'Excellent, I can report. I note from the ring on your finger that you have recently married, Mr Brimstone. May I, in turn, enquire after the health of your illustrious new wife?'

'Dead,' said Brimstone.

'Ah,' Ho said, nodding. 'Her legacy?'

'Substantial,' Brimstone told him.

Ho took another puff of his pipe and smiled. 'Supplies then, is it, Mr Brimstone? Some items on which to spend your fortuitous substantial legacy?'

'A grimoire, Mr Ho.'

Ho's eyes widened a little. 'The Lemegeton, Mr Brimstone? Or the full Clavicle} Or perhaps the Grimoire Verum? Or shall I have my ladies find you the Boke of the Mervayles of the World?

They both laughed heartily. Mervayles of the World was a book of white magic. Brimstone shook his head. 'No, no, Mr Ho. I need the Grimoire of Honorius the Great.'

Mr Ho stopped laughing at once. 'Are you serious, Mr Brimstone?'

'Deadly, Mr Ho.'

'I do not have it.'

'But can you get it?'

'The cost would be astronomical,' Ho said bluntly.

Brimstone smiled. 'I have American Express platinum.'

Ho's eyes widened again. 'May I see it, Mr Brimstone?'

Brimstone rummaged in his bag and produced the card Beleth had given him. Ho took it, examined the magnetic strip on the back, then bit it carefully.

'This seems to be in order, Mr Brimstone.'

'So you can get the book?'

Mr Ho held up a single finger. 'One hour, Mr Brimstone. Permit me one hour.'

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

Blue was standing by his shoulder, staring into the pit. She looked as if she might be sick at any minute. Pyrgus said quietly, 'You know what this place is, don't you?'

Blue nodded. 'An obsidian maze. Hairstreak has built an obsidian maze. Pyrgus, that monster has our father!'

Frowning, Nymph asked, 'What's an obsidian maze?'

'What's an obsidian maze,' Comma echoed. He was staring down at the body with fascination.

'It's a game,' Pyrgus said. 'The maze is filled with lethal tricks and traps, demons, wild animals, that sort of thing. You put somebody in it and the game is to see if they'll survive.'

Nymph stared at him. 'You make a game out of watching somebody fighting for their lifer

Pyrgus shook his head. 'We don't. It's illegal. Has been for a long time – centuries. I can't remember when it was made illegal, it was so long ago.'

'Except,' Blue said sourly, 'our friend Hairstreak seems to have built himself one.' She looked at Pyrgus. 'I wonder why there haven't been rumours – I never heard so much as a whisper.'

'Obviously has good security,' Pyrgus sniffed. He was staring down at the broken body of the little wizard. 'What are we going to do about Ziczac?'

'He's dead, Pyrgus – there's nothing we can do.'

'I meant about the body.'

'Oh,' Blue said. They stared down together.

Nymph said sharply, 'I'll get it if you're squeamish. He was my friend.'

Pyrgus said, 'He was a friend to all of us, Nymph. But most traps in an obsidian maze have double triggers.'

'What's that mean, Crown Prince?' She was looking at him angrily.

Blue said, 'It means that if anybody tries to go down there, it will trigger a second trap, more lethal than the first. It may even seal off this segment of the maze, flood it with poison gas, something like that. Ordinary traps can be avoided if you're careful, but the rules of the game are that secondary traps can be built with no way out.'

'You know a lot about this game, Princess Royal,' Nymph said.

'Blue knows about all sorts of stuff,' Comma said. He was still staring into the pit.

'I studied it in my history lessons,' Blue snapped.

Nymph's face was expressionless, but her voice softened a little. 'We shall have to leave him where he lies – we cannot endanger the party further. It is a warrior's death.'

Henry came up beside them. 'Except he wasn't a warrior.'

'He was our only way out of here,' Blue said.

They all turned to look at her.

Blue said, 'Without Ziczac, we can't pass through walls. We may have to fight our way out of Hairstreak's mansion.' She glanced around.

Comma said quietly, 'If we survive his obsidian maze.'

Brimstone looked at the tome with something close to wonder. It was written on sheepskin and was more than seven hundred and fifty years old. Cautiously he opened it at random.

Trinitas, Sother, Messias, Emmanuel, Sababot, Adonay, Atbanatos

… The words crawled across the page. There was a diagram of a magic circle.

Mr Ho was hovering anxiously by his shoulder. 'Is it what you wish, Mr Brimstone?'

It was what he wished all right. Exactly the grimoire Beleth had told him to find – the ultimate black book of the Analogue Realm, the most diabolical work of dark magic ever circulated. And written by a Pope! He turned another page. He would have to study it very carefully.

'This is perfect, Mr Ho,' he said. 'But in addition, I shall want a large sheet of virgin parchment.'

'I have it,' Ho said. 'You shall have it.'

'And a black cockerel.'

I can get it,' Ho said. 'You shall get it.'

'Three pints of human blood.'

'Which group, Mr Brimstone?'

Brimstone blinked. 'Group?'

'Which blood group do you need, Mr Brimstone. They will ask me when I buy it for you from the Blood Bank.'

They had Blood Banks in the Analogue Realm? How very sensible. Saved all the bother of finding a victim. Might be a business worth starting at home.

'Doesn't matter,' he said to Ho, 'so long as it's fresh.'

'Consider it yours, Mr Brimstone! Anything else?'

'A private room to study this fascinating text, Mr Ho.'