Ruler of the Realm

Ninety-three

There was a discreet knock on the bedroom door before it opened silently. Madame Cardui, who suffered most fearfully from insomnia, was propped up in her bed, resplendent in a flowing peignoir, reading some State papers. She glanced up over the top of her spectacles at the figure who slipped in.

‘Ah, Kitterick, you’re back.’

‘Indeed, Madame,’ Kitterick confirmed.

‘We are at war, Kitterick.’

‘So I understand from your guards, Madame.’

‘You saw nothing of it?’

‘I was fortunate in the route I took to return.’ He began to tidy the room, a routine that came easily to him.

‘You’ve been away a long time. Mrs Ogyris, I presume?’

‘I fear so, Madame. Did Pyrgus not inform you directly?’

Madame Cardui sighed. ‘He was the soul of discretion. Were your efforts fruitful?’

‘In a manner of speaking, Madame.’

‘Information on the war?’

Kitterick shook his head. ‘I fear not, Madame. It was not a development I anticipated, so I concentrated on the time flowers.’

Madame Cardui removed her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘It was not a development any of us anticipated, Kitterick. Will the time flowers prove our undoing?’

Lanceline, Madame Cardui’s translucent cat, appeared from underneath a table and wound herself around Kitterick’s ankles. He reached down and absently fondled her ears.

‘No, Madame, they will not,’ he said emphatically.

‘Ah,’ said Madame Cardui and waited.

‘Pyrgus appears to have destroyed them,’ Kitterick said.

She frowned. ‘Pyrgus told me they had been removed.’

Kitterick shook his head. ‘Not then – on his previous visit. When he shattered the glasshouse.’ He moved deferentially towards the bed, produced a single crystal bloom from the pocket of his jerkin and presented it almost gallantly to Madame Cardui.

‘Why, thank you, Kitterick. This is one of the actual flowers?’ The thing was exquisite, like some wonderful artwork.

‘Yes, Madame. But it no longer functions to control time. None of them do. For that one needs a living flower and this one, like the others, is now dead. They require a special atmosphere to grow. When picked they can be preserved for several hours by means of a sealant spray. After that they become inert. The glass was supposed to be impervious – Merchant Ogyris never imagined anyone would be idiot enough to attack it with a Halek knife. When Pyrgus broke it, there was no one to spray the preservative. The entire harvest died within minutes.’

‘I see,’ said Madame Cardui. She felt a small wellspring of relief. One less problem for the morrow. Lanceline jumped on to the bed, curled herself into a question mark and fell asleep.

‘There is one thing, Madame…’

Something in his tone alerted her at once. ‘Yes, Kitterick?’

‘The flowers were not grown for the Faeries of the Night, as Pyrgus believed. They were to be exported to Hael.’

The relief was replaced by a sudden chill. This was what she had feared. ‘For Beleth to use against us?’

‘It would seem the Realm owes Prince Pyrgus a considerable debt of gratitude, even if he didn’t know what he was doing. Madame Ogyris was not privy to the details, but it appears the demons have been considering a strike against the Faeries of the Light and believed the time flowers would tip the military balance. They approached Merchant Ogyris some time ago, before the portals closed.’

Madame Cardui leaned forward slightly. ‘So this was a long-term plan?’

‘Very much so. The flowers themselves are a Hael plant. In their natural state they control time for no more than a second or so – a defence against insects, I believe. The hybrids Merchant Ogyris was growing could only be produced in the Realm. The light spectrum makes it impossible for them to grow in Hael. So the demons did a deal.’

Madame Cardui shuddered. Beleth was proving an implacable enemy, one far more dangerous than Lord Hairstreak could ever be. If the Realm survived the current crisis, the Intelligence Service would have to pay far more attention to the demons than it had done in the past. If the Realm survived…

She said drily, ‘Madame Ogyris seems to have been most forthcoming, Kitterick.’

Kitterick lowered his eyes modestly. ‘ Most forthcoming, Madame,’ he agreed.