Faerie Lord

Thirty-Two

Pyrgus waited.

An old Realm saying, The Purple Palace never sleeps, drifted through his mind. It was meant as a political comment – your rulers work tirelessly on your behalf but now he could see the literal aspect of it as well. Move from your quarters at any time of the day or night and the corridors were bustling, servants… guards… messengers… He was watching them now from the shadow of an archway. Unlike the city streets, the plague made no difference to the Palace traffic. It was an almost constant stream.

But only almost constant. If you were patient, opportunities arose. He remembered that from childhood when he’d defied his father to slip away – usually from some punishment or other. You waited, then you seized your chance and made a dash. With a little luck, no one noticed you until it was too late. With a lot of luck, no one noticed you at all.

He should have realised Blue would want to come. But his attention had been so focused it simply never occurred to him. If it had, he’d have kept his mouth shut, of course, but too late for that now. What he had to do now was get away without her. She’d be furious when she found out, but better that than have her ruin everything.

The trouble was he felt really sorry for Blue. She loved Henry – he’d known that for years – and now Henry was in greater danger than he’d ever been in his whole life. Not knowing what was happening must be tearing her apart. Not to be allowed to help was even worse.

The corridor was suddenly empty. Without a second’s hesitation, Pyrgus stepped from the archway, ran a hundred yards south, then slipped into a little-used servants’ passage. He moved along it quickly, listening intently for sounds of anyone approaching. No servant would stop him, of course – he was still a Prince of the Realm and, besides, was known to have the plague – but best that he should not be seen. People talked. It would be a disaster if word of his actions reached Blue.

Halfway along the passageway, he stepped through a doorway into an empty chamber and waited, leaving the door open a crack. Blue was no fool. It would be so like her to assign one of her miserable little agents to track him if he left his quarters.

Seconds ticked by into minutes as he listened, holding his breath. After a while, he began to relax. Perhaps he’d misjudged her. Perhaps she’d learned to trust her big brother.

He was about to step back out into the passageway when he heard a sound. Pyrgus froze. He placed his eye to the crack. His field of vision was limited and the corridor was poorly lit, but after a moment a shadowy figure slipped silently past, a Trinian to judge from his height. Pyrgus grinned. Little sister still didn’t trust him after all.

He waited until he was certain the agent was clear, then cautiously vacated the chamber and made off back the way he’d come. But instead of returning to the main corridor with its renewed bustle, he slipped through an archway and crossed an empty gallery that took him to a second servants’ passage running parallel to the first.

He hesitated. There was someone coming. He could hear heavy breathing, dragging footsteps and a curious metallic clanking. Clearly not another agent. He risked a quick glance down the corridor. An old cleaning woman was approaching, dragging an empty bucket and a mop. Pyrgus stepped back into the shadows and she passed him without so much as a glance.

Pyrgus waited until the woman’s footsteps faded, then slipped into the passageway. He wasn’t entirely familiar with this part of the Palace, but quickly discovered Blue’s agent had done him a favour by sending him this way. The passage led to a gloomy wooden staircase, which took him to a storeroom that opened into the basement corridors beneath the main entrance hall. It was an area Pyrgus knew well – he’d hidden down here often enough as a child.

Moving quickly now, he raced along until he found a second staircase, which took him to a disused area of the Palace kitchens. The place had a ghostly feel, but he ignored it and pushed through a heavy doorway into exactly the passageway he was looking for. It ended at a locked door leading outside. Pyrgus grinned and inserted his master key. (Some perks to having been a Crown Prince after all!) The solid old spells recognised him at once and slid back the bolts. In a moment, Pyrgus was outside, breathing the fresh, clean river air of Imperial Island.

Blue’s agents could not be tracking him now, but all the same he moved cautiously. Nymph had promised to arrange for a personal flyer, fully charged and ready for take-off, to be hidden in the grove of trees beyond the Gatekeeper’s Lodge. There was absolutely no chance of anyone else going there during the period of mourning that followed Mr Fogarty’s death. Once Pyrgus reached it, he was free and clear.

But not free and clear yet. There was a Volunteer Guard posted along the perimeter of the Gatekeeper’s property. They would not be particularly vigilant – their duties were largely ceremonial – but he couldn’t risk their seeing him all the same. So he took a circuitous route through the shrubberies, crossed the little ornamental river by way of the stepping stones, then climbed a low wall and dropped into the Gatekeeper’s grounds.

It occurred to him suddenly that his problems getting here were nothing beside Nymph’s problems arranging for the flyer to be brought in secretly. But he was so used to trusting Nymph now, so used to her terrifying efficiency, that he felt not the slightest stirring of surprise when he caught his first glimpse of the dull sheen reflecting from the vehicle’s exterior spell coatings.

He ran through the grove like a wraith, jerked open the flyer door and climbed thankfully inside.

‘What kept you?’ Blue asked sourly.