The Fire King Page 5

  “Not prisoners. Not as such. More like a guarantee.”

  “And what if we were to simply get up and walk out of here?” asked Emily.

  “You can certainly try. But these tunnels go on for miles. Easy to get lost if you don’t know the way.”

  Emily looked at the others. Jack stared at Puck in frustration. Corrigan simply shrugged.

  “Your decision,” said the piskie.

  “Fine,” said Emily. She looked at Katerina. “Can you take me now?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lady Kelindria of Faerie.

  The cottage stood at the end of a dark alley, low and squat, like an animal lurking in the dirt and debris. The roof was made from thatch that had turned black and patchy with age. A thin trickle of sweet-smelling smoke writhed reluctantly from the crooked chimney, like a snake stirring slowly in the heat.

  Lady Kelindria of Faerie wrinkled her nose in disgust as she took in her surroundings. She didn’t like dirt. She liked things to be beautiful. Perfect. Like herself.

  She glanced over her shoulder to make sure her pets were keeping her gown off the ground. The children cowered in fear when her gaze passed over them, but they were doing their job adequately, so there was no reason to punish them. Not yet, anyway.

  Kelindria had never been to the Morrigan’s dwelling before. There was never any need. Besides which, it was dangerous. If any of those loyal to Titania saw them talking, there would definitely be trouble. As it stood, Titania may have suspicions that Kelindria was behind the strengthening rebellion, but she had no proof, and Titania was nothing if not fair. Another point against her. If it had been Kelindria in Titania’s position, she would have sent assassins to deal with her as soon as she suspected who was behind the trouble. Titania’s sense of fair play would prove her undoing.

  But Kelindria had to be here. The Morrigan had sent one of her ravens with a message. She was to come straight away. It was important. Ordinarily, Kelindria would have bridled at such a summons, but there had been something urgent about the note that made her decide to attend.

  Four small green lights flared to life as Kelindria approached the cottage. The lights shone from the empty eye sockets of two skulls mounted above the gate. The gate itself and, in fact, the whole fence were made from bones. Human bones, if Kelindria was any judge. She sniffed in disapproval. She wanted to say that it was all theatrics, that the Morrigan was simply being dramatic, but Kelindria had learned to tread carefully when it came to the witch. She was old, older than Kelindria, and had powers that ran down to the bones of the earth. Kelindria had found it wise not to underestimate the crone. Besides which, Kelindria still had need of her.

  But once the crown was in her hands, Kelindria would see to it that the Morrigan disappeared.

  Kelindria put her hand to the gate. As soon as she did so, a quiet voice whispered out of the air.

  “Who seeks entry? Be you here of your own free will, or be you sent?”

  “You know exactly why I’m here,” snapped Kelindria. “Now invite me in before I lose my patience.”

  There was a pause, then the gate swung silently inward. Kelindria walked through, ignoring the skulls that turned to follow her movements. She walked up the short path, snakes and spiders scurrying away from her feet into the long grass that fronted the dwelling. There was a fluttering sound from above. Kelindria looked up and saw that the Morrigan’s white ravens had appeared, perching on the roof of the cottage as well as the roofs of the buildings that formed the walls of the alleyway.

  Kelindria ignored them and stood expectantly before the crooked door. If the Morrigan expected her to knock, then she was going to be disappointed.

  The door swung inward. Kelindria allowed herself a small smile of triumph, but a moment later the smile faltered. The Morrigan was not one to pander to others. Why was she being so accommodating? Kelindria suddenly wondered if it had been wise to come here without any bodyguards. What if the Morrigan had turned against her? What if she had decided to give her support to Titania? Or worse, what if she fancied the crown for herself?

  There was nothing else for it, though. She was here now. She couldn’t simply turn away. It would be seen as weakness.

  So instead, Kelindria straightened her shoulders and swept imperiously into the cottage, the children who held her dress scrambling to keep up.

  The door led into a dim sitting room. The only light came from a low fire that had burned down to the embers. The Morrigan was sitting in a chair by the hearth, staring at the flickering red coals. Black Annis and Jenny Greenteeth stood behind her.

  “Well?” demanded Kelindria. “What say you? Why did you summon me?”

  The Morrigan slowly shifted her gaze from the fire, the red glow sliding across her features as she did so. The light pulsed and flickered against one side of her face, glinted in her black eyes.

  “I think you know,” said the Morrigan quietly.

  Kelindria frowned. “I don’t like games, old one. Whatever grievance you have, out with it.”

  “Fine.” The Morrigan pushed herself to her feet. “I want to know why you have gone behind my back.” She took a step forward. “I want to know why you have broken our pact.” Another step, but Kelindria refused to back away. “I want to know”—and here the Morrigan’s voice rose to a shout— “why there is a girl running around London town with the key to Faerie hidden about her person!”

  Kelindria’s eyes flicked between the Morrigan and Black Annis. What was this? Some kind of trick? “What are you talking about?” she asked in amazement. “Is this a jest?”

  “No jest, I assure you,” snapped the Morrigan. “So I ask again, is this your doing? And why weren’t we told?”

  “You talk in riddles,” said Kelindria. “The key to Faerie, you say?” She shook her head. “Impossible. You must be mistaken.”

  The Morrigan had calmed down somewhat in the face of Kelindria’s obvious confusion. “Then see for yourself,” hissed the hag. “Annis?”

  Black Annis stepped around the chair and approached Kelindria. Jenny Greenteeth followed close behind her, clutching a jar made from smoked glass. The Morrigan turned away and dropped a log of wood on the fire. The embers flared to life, sparks exploding upward and floating into the chimney.

  Greenteeth handed the jar to Annis. The crone lowered her damp hood and smiled at Kelindria, revealing the rotten stumps of her teeth, like craggy rocks, in the black, glistening cave of her mouth. Annis pulled the lid from the jar and reached inside with her bony fingers, withdrawing what looked like a fat tick about the size of an acorn.

  Kelindria couldn’t hide her surprise when she saw this. “Is that a nostalgae?”

  “It is,” said the Morrigan, without looking up.

  Annis quickly popped the nostalgae into her mouth and closed her eyes. Kelindria knew this was not from any kind of distaste, but rather because she was concentrating. Kelindria watched, fascinated. She could see little bumps form on Annis’s hollowed cheeks as the nostalgae searched for a way out. But this soon stopped.

  There was a minute of silence. Then Kelindria saw Annis’s mouth open. Slowly, ever so slowly. The nostalgae’s legs poked out of her mouth, scrabbling over the crone’s weathered lips. Her mouth grew wider and wider, and as it did so, Kelindria could see this was because the nostalgae was growing in size, pushing Annis’s mouth open as it enlarged.

  Just before Kelindria thought Annis’s mouth must split apart, the crone breathed in through her nostrils, then exhaled sharply. The nostalgae flew from her mouth with a pop and landed on its back. Still the parasite grew, until a few moments later it was the size of Kelindria’s head, its gray skin stretched tight and translucent.

  Images flickered inside this bulbous sphere. They were grainy and faint, but Kelindria could see them clear enough. For that was the magic of the nostalgae. Instead of blood, it fed on thoughts and memories, sucking them from someone’s mind and storing them inside its body. Kelindria bent over and watched the fl
ickering images. She saw the Thames. A small, dark-haired girl running along the shore and behind a shack. She saw the viewer (Black Annis) confronting the girl.

  She saw the key.

  For there was no doubt about it. The girl held the key to Faerie, the key Titania was supposed to be in possession of.

  But how? Was it some kind of trick? No, you couldn’t fool a nostalgae. It didn’t feed on imagination. Only real memories.

  Then what had happened? Had the girl stolen the key? Preposterous. The Dagda was a member of Titania’s court. He would have alerted her if anything had happened to jeopardize their plans. And if not him, then she would have heard it from somewhere else. This wasn’t the kind of thing that could be kept secret.

  She turned to Black Annis. “You’re sure it was real? It wasn’t a replica?”

  “It was real. I felt its power, I did.”

  “Then what does this mean?”

  “You really had nothing to do with this?” asked the Morrigan suspiciously.

  “No! You think if I had the key we’d be sitting here right now? I would have opened the doors to Faerie. London would be ours.”

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “This troubles me,” said the Morrigan. “It is yet another element we seemingly have no control over.” She stared moodily into the fire. “What of this so-called Raven King? Are we at least any closer to finding him?”

  “We are not,” said Kelindria shortly.

  “Then maybe it is time to abandon your search. We don’t even know if he is real.”

  “But what if he is? What happens when we take London? The story says the magic in him will sense the danger. He will awaken into his powers and come for us. That is what he does. No. We must find out the truth first. And if he is real, we must deal with him before we make our move.”

  “I tell you one thing,” said the Morrigan. “Despite his name, he has nothing to do with ravens. They are my creatures. I would know if they were linked to such a being.”

  “Then why is he called the Raven King?” asked Kelindria.

  “I know not.”

  Kelindria stared at the nostalgae. The image was replaying once again. She stared thoughtfully into the frightened eyes of the girl.

  “Do you know, this may be a good thing,” she said slowly.

  The Morrigan shifted her gaze from the fire. “How so?”

  “Think on it. What has been holding up our plans? The fact that Titania has the key to Faerie hidden away. The fact that she could summon her armies from Faerie if she needed to. But if there is a second key … How much simpler to find this child and take the key from her? We could open our own gate to Faerie. We could bring our own army through and storm the tree. Titania would be caught unawares.”

  All eyes turned to the nostalgae. The image showed the girl running away along the banks of the river Thames.

  “We must find that girl,” said Kelindria.

  The Morrigan nodded. “I will send the Crimson Knight back to the river. His hounds will soon find her scent.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  In which Emily visits Gresham College and speaks to Christopher Wren.

  Gresham College had certainly sounded impressive to Emily. Especially when Katerina told her it was where Christopher Wren taught his lessons. So she expected something large. Something impressive. A large building fronted with statues, perhaps. But when Katerina finally stopped on Bishopsgate Street and pointed the college out to her, Emily couldn’t help but feel slightly let down.

  The afternoon sun shone hot against her cheek as she stared at the short gravel path leading up to an untidy jumble of stone houses. It didn’t look like any college she’d ever seen. “I think there might be more of it on other side,” said Katerina doubtfully.

  Emily glanced along the dusty street as she readied to cross. Two maids struggled to carry a basket overflowing with white linen. A woman with a tray of matches and pegs around her neck rested against a tree. Emily was slightly heartened to see the tray also held a small group of fey creatures, their legs swinging idly over the edge as they sat and enjoyed the sunshine. It seemed some parts of London weren’t affected by Puck’s attempts to root out those loyal to Kelindria. “I’ll wait for you here,” said Katerina. She smiled self-consciously. “Places like this make me nervous. All that learning.”

  Emily nodded, hurrying across the street and slipping through the open gates. The gravel path forked into two, one section leading to the main house, the other along the side of the wall. She followed the second path, passing more buildings and catching glimpses of one or two men in wigs and neat clothes.

  Emily decided the best thing to do would be to approach one of them. She picked a short, fat man with a flushed face. He was furiously scratching beneath his wig.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she said.

  “You don’t happen to have a quill about your person, do you?” he asked, barely giving her a glance.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Pity.” The man scratched some more, then heaved a heavy sigh and yanked the wig off his head, revealing gray hair cut almost to the scalp. He peered into the underside of the wig. “Blasted lice,” he muttered. He rubbed his hand over his head and sighed happily. “Much better. Now,” he said, turning his attention to Emily. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for Christopher Wren,” she said. “Do you know him?”

  “Wren? Course I know of him. Lovely fellow. Sometimes think he’s a bit dilly in the head, if you know what I mean. You can’t get that clever without it pushing a few things loose up there.” He tapped his head, then trailed off and frowned at the wig hanging limply in his hand like an exhausted animal.

  “Um … do you know where I can find him?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I do beg your pardon. I’ll take you to him, shall I? Nothing better to do. No one turned up for my lecture. The name’s Barnaby, by the way. Barnaby Stephens.”

  He turned and led the way past the jumble of buildings and through a short tunnel that opened onto a covered walkway. The walkway formed a path that led around a huge grass-covered courtyard that was in turn surrounded by three rows of drab-looking buildings. “The professors’ lodgings,” said Stephens, nodding at the buildings. He pointed to the other side of the square. “Wren’s apartments are over there.”

  They walked around the courtyard until Barnaby stopped in front of one of the many doors and rapped sharply on the wood. It was yanked open by a tall, pinch-faced man with cold gray eyes. He had a thick pile of parchment tucked under his arm.

  “Afternoon, Cavanagh,” said Barnaby. “Is Wren in? Young girl to see him.”

  The man called Cavanagh turned his cold eyes to Emily. “What on earth for?” he asked, his lips curling in distaste.

  Barnaby shrugged good-naturedly. “Didn’t think it was my business to ask,” he said.

  Before Cavanagh could respond, a man with white hair and bright blue eyes appeared at the door. He gave Barnaby and Emily a cursory glance, then nodded at Cavanagh.

  “See you next week,” he said, leaving the apartments.

  “Who is it, Cavanagh?” called a voice from inside the dim room.

  Cavanagh half turned. “A … child, Christopher. A small girl.”

  Emily fought back the urge to tell Cavanagh she wasn’t actually all that small.

  “A girl?” asked the first voice, surprised. “Whatever does she want?”

  “I have no idea, Christopher. Perhaps you should come and see?”

  There was a pause. “Er … yes. Good idea.”

  Emily heard the clumping of shoes on wood, and a second man appeared at the door. His face was kinder than the skinny man’s. Not good-looking (his nose was rather large), just … friendlier. His eyes were distracted at first, but they sharpened to attention when he focused on Emily.

  “Yes? Hello?” he said politely.

  Now that she was here, Emily didn’t really know how to start. Should she just ask him about the Inv
isible Order outright? Or maybe ask to speak to him in private?

  “I’m afraid I must rush you, my girl. I’m due to give a lecture soon, and I’m fairly confident someone may turn up.” He smiled.

  Another man exited the room, nodding a farewell at Christopher Wren and Cavanagh as he went. Emily waited to see if Cavanagh or Barnaby would leave as well, but it seemed they wanted to hear what Emily had to say. Oh well. Best just to get it out.

  “Um … I wanted to talk to you about the Invisible Order,” she said. As Emily spoke, she kept a careful watch on Wren’s features, but they showed not the slightest hint of recognition.

  “The Invisible Order?” asked Wren, puzzled. “What is that? It has the sound of subterfuge about it, eh?” He smiled at the other two men before returning his attention to Emily. “A secret communiqué perhaps? Something to do with spies?”

  “No, it’s … a group of men. Scientists, mostly, like yourself. They meet … and …” Emily glanced at Cavanagh from the corner of her eye. He was glaring at her. She knew what he was thinking. That she was wasting Wren’s time. “They protect people,” she said. There was no turning back now. She just had to say it. “They protect people from faeries.”

  Silence followed her words. Then there was an explosive laugh from Cavanagh and a kinder chuckle from Barnaby. Wren glanced at the others, puzzled, as if he thought this was some kind of trick they had concocted. He smiled tolerantly at Emily.

  “Faeries?” he asked. “A group of scientists that protects people from faeries?” He shook his head. “My dear child. I wish I had the time to stand here and listen to stories, but flights of fancy are not for me.” He tapped his head. “I have no space for them. My mind’s filled up with numbers and theorems.”

  And that was that. Emily stared up at Wren as her world collapsed around her. She had thought that Wren would know what she was talking about. After all, he was her connection to the Faerie key’s hiding place. She had thought she would tell him, and he would nod wisely and take her under his protection. That he would know what to do. Would know how to get them back home. But unless he was an actor of amazing skill, it seemed he really didn’t know what she was talking about.