Hairstreak's smile broadened. 'You're a trained operative,' he said. 'My master spy and soon to be my most effective assassin. Would I waste such a valuable resource?' He strolled casually back to the window. There was no sign of the haniel and a small team of servants was clearing up the mess of the footman. One of them dropped his head into a large brown paper bag. 'Do you want to know how I propose to get you out alive, Jasper?'
Despite a deep mistrust of Hairstreak, Chalkhill felt just the barest tingle of relief. 'Yes sir, I do. Yes, definitely. That's something I would like to know!'
'Here's the plan,' said Hairstreak briskly. 'First, the blowpipe. It's not a wand. It's not a magical implement of any sort, Faerie or Analogue. It's a simple weapon. So simple I guarantee no one in the Faerie Realm will recognise it for what it is. The thing's actually quite harmless in itself. But with these -' He took a small box from his pocket and handed it across to Chalkhill, who glanced questioningly at Hairstreak, then opened it. Inside were six tiny feathered darts on a bed of velvet. 'Don't touch the tips,' Hairstreak cautioned. 'They're soaked in spider venom. The smallest prick will kill you.'
Chalkhill snapped the lid shut hurriedly.
'It's an interesting end as well,' Hairstreak went on thoughtfully. 'Agonising, but interesting. First, paralysis. Then the skin turns blue. Then the pain starts. You scream yourself to death within four minutes. I tried it on one of the servants. Astonishing to watch -his face peeled off.' The pensive look left his eyes. 'You bring the blowpipe into the Cathedral quite openly as a bubble wand. You bring the darts in as part of the ornamentation of your hat. Now this is the clever part. When you want to kill the Emperor Elect, you simply take a dart from your hat – you'll be surrounded by my men, so no one will notice what you're doing – you take a dart from your hat, slip it into the pipe, then blow down it sharply.'
'Blow down it, Your Lordship?' Chalkhill echoed.
'Blow down it, Jasper,' Hairstreak repeated. 'It's the force of your breath that propels the dart towards anything you're aiming at!' He paused to look at Chalkhill with glittering eyes.
Chalkhill looked at the pipe, then at the box of darts. He looked back up at Hairstreak and gave an involuntary shiver. 'How delightfully… primitive,' he said.
'Primitive but effective,' Hairstreak nodded. 'Our young friend Pyrgus will scarcely notice the wound. At most he might take it for an insect bite. There are three minutes before the paralysis sets in, a further four before he's dead – ample time, would you not say, for a getaway?'
Chalkhill examined the plan. If one ever dared to admit it, Hairstreak was an appalling little creep, but there certainly didn't seem to be any hidden agenda. Or flaws for that matter. Except possibly one…
'Your Lordship -' He hesitated. 'There does seem to be one small problem… '
Hairstreak scowled at him. 'Which is?'
'Sir,' Chalkhill said, 'you must appreciate that I am no longer what one might call an undercover agent. I mean, I thought it an absolutely splendid idea to try to kidnap the Princess Royal, but it did mean my secret identity as your, ah, master spy, was and is for ever exposed.' And I was thrown into that dreadful, smelly jail, he thought, but it was probably not the time to bring it up. He leaned forward earnestly. 'By which I mean, sir, that my face is known now. I have a certain… notoriety. I'm afraid the Emperor's security people will never allow me to so much as set foot inside the Cathedral.'
'Ah,' said Hairstreak. A malicious little half-grin crawled up one side of his mouth. 'Ah-ha. You think I haven't thought of that? You think I haven't thought of something so glaringly obvious?'
'No, sir. No indeed. I didn't mean at all to suggest -'
But Hairstreak ignored him. 'That's the best part of the whole plan! You see, my dear Jasper, I shall not attend the Coronation.'
'You won't?' Chalkhill asked, wondering what that had to do with anything. 'But won't it be… expected of you?'
'Of course it'll be expected of me, you cretin! Expected and politically expedient. Which is why I'm having a special illusion spell crafted.'
'Illusion spell?' Chalkhill repeated. He seemed to be repeating a lot of what Lord Hairstreak said in this conversation.
'You're going in my place,' said Hairstreak. 'As me.' He smiled openly again. 'I told you you'd be surrounded by my men. They'll be your bodyguards.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
When a Purple Emperor died, tradition decreed that his body be dressed in the formal robes of his office, then placed under a stasis spell for display in the Cathedral until the day of his successor's Coronation. Four uniformed members of the Imperial Guard stood like statues at the corners of the bier while loyal subjects filed past tearfully to pay their final respects.
But the last Purple Emperor, Apatura Iris, lost most of his face when he was murdered and no amount of reconstruction spells seemed capable of putting it together again. There was no question of public display. Thus the body lay in stasis in the palace crypt, ministered to with hourly prayers by the mortuary priests.
'It was like this when I arrived,' Thorn said miserably.
They stood staring at the empty bier. There was no sign of vandalism, no sign of damage, but the body was no longer there. Blue said, 'Who conducted the last prayers? Before you?'
'Brother Sinapis.' Thorn hesitated. 'Serenity, I spoke with him. All was in order when he withdrew.'
'The guards?' There were guards at the entrance to the crypt, ceremonially dressed to be sure, but they would still have noticed anyone trying to enter.
'They saw nothing, Serenity.'
Blue said crisply, 'I want to talk to Brother Sinapis myself. And each of the guards. Please arrange to have them brought to my quarters, starting with Sinapis. They are to be isolated from each other before I speak to them – I don't want any discussion between them until I hear each individual story. I want you to -'
Pyrgus, who'd said nothing at all since Thorn had appeared before the Gatekeeper's lodge, now said sharply, 'Just a minute, Blue.' She looked at him in surprise. There was a note of command in his tone she'd never heard before. And a stern, strained expression on his face. 'We need to discuss this -' he gave her a warning look, '- and other matters with Gatekeeper Fogarty.'
'Mr Fogarty's not back,' Blue said unnecessarily.
Pyrgus lowered his voice, as if this would somehow prevent his being heard by Thorn, who was standing beside him. 'I don't want to trust any of this to servants. Blue, I want you to translate to the Analogue World and bring Mr Fogarty back at once – his personal business will have to wait. I'll speak to Sinapis and the guards myself.' He turned and his voice sharpened. 'You, Thorn, will personally organise a security search of the crypt. Tell the Captain of the Watch you have my full authority. I want the area swept for any clues, however small, to what has happened. Spare no expense – and that includes the cost of extracting impressions from the stonework, although I imagine whoever did this would have been cloaked.'
Blue stared at him in astonishment. This was a Pyrgus she'd never seen before – decisive, in charge… imperial. He glanced round at her. 'Are you still here, Blue? You really must make arrangements to translate at once – the situation is both serious and urgent.' 'Yes, Pyrgus,' Blue said meekly.
Blue found Chief Portal Engineer Peacock bent over a basin in an anteroom of the chapel, scrubbing his hands with a stiff brush. 'Something I can do for you, Serenity?' he asked.
Blue nodded, her lips suddenly dry. 'Is the portal functioning?'
'Yes, of course, Serenity.'
'No, I mean is it functioning properly? You fixed it after the sabotage attempt -' the successful sabotage attempt, carried out on Lord Hairstreak's orders, although they'd never prove it,'- the, ah, business with my brother?' She didn't really want to spell it out, didn't really want to remember. Pyrgus had almost died when he went through it then.