Faerie Lord

Fifty-Seven

The Abbot was a large, muscular man with a shaven head and drooping moustache. He looked more like a bandit leader than a monk and Blue liked him at once. But she found it difficult to tear her eyes away from his companion, a tiny, wrinkled individual in a grubby yellow robe. ‘This is the Purlisa,’ the Abbot said, using an archaic term that Blue vaguely remembered meant ‘Treasure’ or ‘Precious One’.

It was clearly an honorific of some sort, so she bowed. ‘I am Sluce Ragetus,’ she told him, choosing one of the old aliases she used when she travelled as a man.

‘We’ve been expecting you,’ the Purlisa said, his eyes twinkling. He glanced at the Abbot. ‘Haven’t we, Jamides?’

The Abbot snorted.

‘That’s very surprising,’ Blue told the Purlisa. She smiled slightly. (It was difficult not to smile at the little Treasure.) ‘Until just a very short while ago I’d no idea I was coming here myself.’

‘Strange are the workings of Fate,’ the Purlisa remarked cheerfully. ‘Isn’t that right, Jamides?’

Abbot Jamides snorted again. To Blue he said, ‘The Precious One forecast the coming of a hero who would rid us of a particular problem we face. I believed the omens were against it. Now he wants to crow.’

‘Ah, we can all make mistakes, Jamides.’ The twinkling eyes closed in a long, slow blink as the cheery grin widened. ‘Although some of us make more than others.’

The last thing she needed was to be drawn into the problems of the monastery, ‘I’m hardly a hero,’ Blue said quietly. They were in the Abbot’s personal quarters, a sparsely furnished cell that overlooked a patch of garden. She’d been offered food and drink, but it had yet to appear.

‘Sometimes people are not what they seem,’ the Purlisa remarked. ‘Or what they think they are.’ He smiled at her. ‘Perhaps you are not what you seem, Sluce Ragetus?’

There was something in his tone that rang warning bells. She forced an easy smile, ‘I can assure you, Purlisa -’

But Jamides, the Abbot, interrupted her. ‘I grant it was clever of you to disguise yourself as a man,’ he said.

‘So much less trouble in a monastery,’ the Purlisa twinkled.

The Abbot looked through the window with an expression of distaste. ‘Difficult for the monks when there’s a woman about.’ He nodded sagely, then added, ‘The younger monks.’

‘They have erotic thoughts,’ the Purlisa explained.

The Abbot looked back at her sternly. ‘All the time.’

‘Distracting,’ said the Purlisa. He looked at her fondly and added, ‘From their religious duties.’

‘Lord Abbot – ’ Blue began, wondering what on earth she was going to say.

But the Abbot waved her words away unspoken and his expression softened. ‘You need have no worries about us, of course. As Abbot I am too disciplined for erotic thoughts and the Purlisa is too old.’

‘Almost,’ the Purlisa said.

The Abbot looked at him quickly and frowned.

The Purlisa blinked benignly. ‘She’s very pretty underneath the spells.’

‘Ah,’ Blue said. She had the feeling she was in serious trouble, but it was all she could do not to laugh. ‘About the spells…’

The Purlisa pursed his lips and waved a warning finger. ‘Forbidden here in Buthner. Absolutely, positively illegal. Hideously strict penalties: some might even say barbaric. And nowhere is magic more blasphemous than in a monastery.’ He smiled cheerfully again. ‘Still, I expect you didn’t know.’

The Abbot looked at her fondly. ‘And you have saved us so much trouble with the younger monks…’

‘I imagine we could overlook it,’ said the Purlisa.

‘I imagine we could overlook it,’ echoed the Abbot.

They both beamed at her.

‘How did you know?’ Blue asked. She’d taken a chance with the spells largely because Madame Cardui claimed they were espionage grade and entirely undetectable.

‘The Purlisa is a mystic,’ said the Abbot.

The Purlisa flickered his hands spookily. ‘I see beneath appearances,’ he said in a sepulchral voice. He smiled, then sobered. ‘For example, I see there is a worry in your heart.’

Blue stared at him. The desire to laugh had suddenly disappeared.

‘I expect it’s a lost love,’ said the Abbot. ‘With women it’s always a lost love.’

‘It is a lost love,’ the Treasure said crossly. ‘And there’s no need to mock just because you’re too disciplined -’ he lowered his voice and mumbled ’ – or too ugly – ’ the voice raised again ’ – to have a lost love of your own.’ He turned to Blue and said kindly, ‘It is a lost love, isn’t it?’ This little old man was incredible. Blue said, ‘Yes, it is.’ ‘It is interlinked. It is interwoven. It is part of the tapestry of life.’ ‘Everything is part of the tapestry of life,’ the Abbot grumbled. ‘That doesn’t solve our problem.’

‘It is part of the part of life’s tapestry that involves our problem,’ said the Purlisa impatiently. He glared briefly at the Abbot, then turned back to Blue and smiled. ‘What’s your birth name? I expect it’s something more melodious than Sluce Ragetus.’

For a moment Blue considered making up another name, then decided she simply couldn’t lie to the Precious One. ‘Blue,’ she said. ‘It’s Holly Blue.’

The Purlisa looked at the Abbot. ‘Why is that name familiar?’ he asked.

‘It’s the same name as the Realm’s Queen Empress, you old fool,’ the Abbot told him. To Blue he said, ‘You’re not related, by any chance?’

To her surprise, Blue felt herself blush.

The Abbot blinked. ‘You are the Queen Empress?’ Blue nodded.

‘You see, Jamides! A royal soul! Exactly as I predicted!’

The Abbot ignored him and frowned at Blue. ‘But what are you doing in the Buthner desert?’

The Purlisa began to pace and gesture wildly. ‘A royal soul!’ he said again, delightedly. ‘It’s just precisely what I predicted. Admit it, Jamides – go on, admit it!’ He swung round to grin at Blue. ‘It’s what I said, isn’t it? A lost love?’

‘I suppose it is,’ Blue said. ‘A lost love.’

‘You see! You see!’ He actually waved two fists in the air. ‘You must tell us of your lost love,’ he said. ‘Then the Abbot will tell you of our problem. Then it’s entirely possible that I shall tell you how one may form part of the other.’ He pulled out a chair and sat down suddenly, a smug expression on his face. The Abbot promptly took a seat beside him.

‘There’s not much to tell,’ Blue said. ‘My friend Henry-’

‘Your love Henry,’ the Purlisa corrected her.

Blue hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, all right. My love, Henry, has disappeared and I think he may be in the Buthner desert and I came to look for him. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the main thing.’

The Abbot looked up at her sharply. ‘Just a minute. Did you say Henry? That’s a human name.’

Blue said warily, ‘Yes, it is. Henry is a human boy.’

‘You see?’ the Purlisa exclaimed. ‘Human! Didn’t I say human? Now will you take my visions seriously?’

‘I do take them seriously!’ the Abbot hissed. ‘I’ve always taken them seriously. But they’re not always right. And you must admit your last one was so far-fetched -’

Blue suddenly realised she was the only one still standing and sat down. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘but Henry may be in danger. Can you help me find him?’

The Purlisa beamed at her. ‘You help us. We’ll help you!’

An acolyte appeared with a tray, which he set down before Blue, then silently withdrew.

The Purlisa pursed his lips and nodded. ‘See?’ he said. ‘A younger monk.’ He smiled triumphantly at Blue. ‘You did not disturb him in the slightest.’