Ruler of the Realm

Thirty-one

Blue’s personal flyer was a dart-shaped single-seater finished in a stylish, high-gloss black with crimson interior trim. Voice-activated controls gave a hair-trigger response and newly installed spell compression meant it hurtled through the airways like a comet. Normally Blue adored using it, but this trip was an exception.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

‘Yes, fine.’ Flapwazzle wriggled reassuringly against her back.

‘Sure?’

‘I can’t tell lies.’

The problem was she couldn’t get comfortable. Usually she lay back in the crimson seat, overrode the safeties and flew at top speed. But with Flapwazzle anchored to her spine, she didn’t want to lie back for fear of crushing him. And since she didn’t want acceleration to push her back, she ordered the craft to maintain a boringly sedate pace. Unfortunately the flyer wasn’t designed to be used in this way. It performed erratically, demanded constant attention. So she sat forward, frowning, and tried to coax it along while she developed a headache, sore back and a stiff neck.

Flapwazzle said, ‘What’s our plan?’

‘What’s our plan what?’ Blue asked vaguely. The flyer was just beginning to pick up speed again, which was a relief, but looking down she discovered she’d lost track of where they were. The last thing she needed was a friendly chat with Flapwazzle.

‘Our plan when we get to Hairstreak’s place. What are you going to say to him? What’s the excuse for paying him a visit?’

A good point, Blue thought, despite her problems. It was important Lord Hairstreak didn’t get suspicious. He might be her uncle, but they weren’t exactly on good terms, so she could hardly say she’d dropped in for a cup of ragwort.

After a moment she said, ‘I’ll tell him I want more details of his offer.’

‘Wouldn’t you just send a minion for that?’

Actually she probably would. Besides, what more details could he give her? It was an offer to negotiate. You either said yes or no.

‘Besides, what more details can he give you?’ Flapwazzle added, echoing her thought.

‘Have you any suggestions?’ Blue asked to shut him up. ‘Bank starboard, avoid cloud,’ she muttered to the flyer.

‘Why don’t you ask him how much backing he’s got for negotiations?’

The flyer dropped below the level of the cloud and Blue realised two things. The first was that they were no longer over the city. The second was that they were definitely off-course. Lord Hairstreak’s new mansion was the former Tellervo Estate which lay outside the city walls to the north-west, but not far.

You couldn’t mistake the Tellervo Estate, even from the air. Old Zoilus Tellervo was obsessed with building follies – imitations of ancient ruins mostly – and there were dozens of them strewn across the estate. Hairstreak wouldn’t have had time to demolish them yet. The ground below showed no sign of ruins, fake or otherwise, so clearly they weren’t over the property yet.

The question was, what were they over?

Blue leaned back (Flapwazzle was just going to have to take his chances) and twisted her head to get the long view. The mountains were still clearly visible to port, so they couldn’t be wildly off-course. But directly below seemed to be fairly featureless farmland. She could be anywhere.

‘Why don’t you ask him how much backing he’s got for negotiations?’ Flapwazzle asked again, his voice muffled now.

Then she saw the ridgeway! The ancient earthwork meandered like a snake towards a body of water that had to be Ormo Lake. Which meant she wasn’t far from Hairstreak’s new estate after all.

‘Hard to starboard,’ she ordered the flyer with a sigh of relief. As the craft swung right, she relaxed and turned her attention away from the controls. ‘Why don’t I ask him how much backing he’s got for negotiations?’ she asked Flapwazzle rhetorically. ‘Yes, why don’t I? That’s a great idea.’

It was too. She should have thought of asking Hairstreak that anyway. How much backing did he have? It was one thing for Hairstreak to say he was ready to negotiate, but even if he was genuine, what good was that if the Nighter Great Houses didn’t back him? Of course she’d have to ask him that. And it was sensitive enough for her to want to ask personally. Good old Flapwazzle!

An alarm sounded in the confines of the flyer’s cabin and a red light began to pulse on the display in front of her.

‘What is it now?’ Blue asked tiredly. Probably another complaint that they were flying too slow or too low or too high.

‘We have been targeted by ground-based missiles,’ said the spell-driven voice of the flyer.