The personal flyer was fantastic. The top speed was about seven times faster than an ouklo. Just one word and you could make it loop the loop. It very nearly hovered without stalling and if you banked sharply it started up this amazing sonic hum. If Pyrgus hadn’t been on a serious mission, he could have had a lot of fun.
The street grid of Yammeth City was underneath him now and he could see the amazing expanse of green that was their final destination. He put the flyer into a sharp dive.
‘Do we plan to crash inside the Ogyris Estate, sir?’ Kitterick enquired. ‘If not, Merchant Ogyris may have a landing pad.’
‘I think he probably has air defences as well,’ Pyrgus said, frowning. ‘Besides, I don’t want him to know we’re here. I thought we’d come down somewhere on the edge of the city and walk.’
‘There is a public landing area quite close to the main gate of the estate, sir.’
‘Is there? How do you know?’
‘I have been equipped with maps of Yammeth City, sir.’
‘You’ve got maps? You might have shown them to me.’ What with never having used a personal flyer before, he’d had some trouble finding the place.
‘They’re internal, sir. Imprinted on my brain. I’m afraid I only have visionary access.’
Pyrgus put the flyer into a holding pattern, describing a wide circle over the city. ‘This public landing area – wouldn’t a Lighter flyer be a bit conspicuous there? I mean, I don’t want word getting around that we’ve arrived.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, sir,’ Kitterick said soberly. ‘Faeries of the Night use far more air transports than we do, so there are scores of vehicles coming and going. One more will scarcely be noticed. Besides, this is an unmarked flyer.’
Pyrgus thought about it for a second. The last thing he wanted was a long walk through Yammeth City. If the public landing area really was close to the estate gate…
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Where is this place?’
‘The large rectangle rimmed in green, ahead and a little to starboard, sir.’
Pyrgus saw it. ‘I’m on it,’ he said. ‘We’re going down!’
Kitterick proved right about their not being noticed. Several hundred Nighter vehicles were parked in neat rows. People were coming and going all the time. There appeared to be no formalities at all. Pyrgus slipped on his lenses and handed a pair to Kitterick.
‘What’s this, sir?’
‘Darkened glasses,’ Pyrgus said. ‘So people can’t see your eyes and tell you’re not a Faerie of the Night.’
Kitterick blinked. ‘I’m four foot seven inches tall with orange skin. I think people might suspect I’m not a Faerie of the Night even with dark glasses, sir.’ He folded the lenses neatly and handed them back. ‘I don’t think we need worry unduly, if I may say so, sir. There are quite a few Trinians in service throughout the Cretch. More so now, of course, since the Hael portals closed and demon servants are at a premium.’ He began to tidy away the flying gear. ‘May I enquire whether we have a plan on this mission or whether we will simply be crawling through the bushes until something attacks us as we did at Lord Hairstreak’s?’
Pyrgus grinned. ‘No crawling through the bushes this time, Kitterick. We do have a plan. We’ll present ourselves at the main gate and ask for Gela.’
‘Gela, sir?’
Pyrgus hesitated. ‘My, ah, friend. My friend Gela. She’s Merchant Ogyris’s daughter.’ He felt a lot less confident than he sounded. Gela might not be prepared to help. In fact, on balance, he thought it was a bit unlikely, but he didn’t have a better idea and it was probably worth a try.
‘I see, sir.’
‘I thought Gela could get us in,’ Pyrgus pressed on. ‘Maybe ask us to the house for a cup of fume or something. I’d ask her not to mention the visit to her father. Then, while one of us engages her in conversation, the other could sneak out and take a look at the crystal flowers.’ He hesitated. ‘Probably you,’ he added lamely.
‘May I say, sir, that is possibly the worst plan I have ever heard?’
‘It’s the only one I’ve got,’ Pyrgus told him sourly. ‘We might as well try it.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Kitterick.
The main gates of the Ogyris Estate were enormous ornamental bastions flanked by twin statues of grinning demons. The statues were in a garish pink-veined marble. The gates were wrought in lethal iron, hideously expensive, but impervious to faerie attack and with a thin, black spell coating to protect any legitimate visitor who might touch them accidentally. They were shut.
Pyrgus blinked. For some reason it had never occurred to him that the estate might be closed off, although now he was here it seemed the most likely thing in the world.
‘What do we do now?’ he muttered aloud.
‘Allow me, sir,’ said Kitterick and placed his palm squarely on the brass attention plate sunk into the left hand wall.
‘Please state your name and business,’ said the nearest statue.
‘Please face the gate and speak clearly,’ said its twin on the other side.
‘Please refrain from touching the gates at any time,’ said the first statue.
‘The gates are made from iron,’ remarked the other statue conversationally. ‘Very dangerous to faeries.’
‘The master coated it with spells, but they’ve worn a bit thin.’
‘Need replacing, really.’
‘So keep clear, or let the dwarf touch them. Iron doesn’t work on Trinians.’
‘It’s Prince Pyrgus, isn’t it?’ the other statue said. ‘You’ve been here before with young Mistress Gela, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Pyrgus said nervously.
‘Thought I recognised you. Nice to see you again, sir. Careful of the gates.’
‘You’ll still have to state your name and business, I’m afraid, sir,’ said the other statue. ‘Just for the record. We have to log all visitors with Security Central.’
‘Troubled times.’
‘Purely a formality in your case, sir.’
‘But one we must adhere to. Full name with titles, sir. Please speak clearly. Oh, and you should name the dwarf as well. He has to be stamped, since it’s his first time.’
So much for Gela sneaking them in without her father knowing. ‘Prince Pyrgus Malvae of House Iris,’ Pyrgus said quietly, in case the name was heard by some passer-by. You could never tell what might happen to a Faerie of the Light in Yammeth City. You heard stories of them being lynched.
‘Bit louder, sir,’ the statue said.
‘Prince Pyrgus Malvae of House Iris!’ Pyrgus shouted, throwing caution to the winds. ‘Knight Commander of the Grey Dagger, Honorary Arcond of the Church of Light, former Emperor Elect, former Crown Prince of the Realm, Chief Friend and Sponsor of the League of Decency to Animals, President of the Weirdling Congress, Honorary Grand Herald of the College of Heraldry, First Cooperdentoid of the Ancient and Honourable Order of the Immaculate Hand, plus various subsidiary honours.’ He drew a fresh breath and added, ‘And Kitterick.’ He leaned across and whispered, ‘You don’t have any titles, do you Kitterick?’
‘Afraid not, sir.’
‘And the Orange Trinian Kitterick,’ said Pyrgus loudly.
‘And your business, sir? Succinctly. It just needs to be something like “Visiting Merchant Ogyris” or “Delivering ornaments for the house” or something of that sort, sir.’
‘Visiting Mistress Gela Ogyris,’ Pyrgus said.
‘Passing on,’ murmured the first statue. It closed its eyes to process the information.
‘Would you like to step over beside me, Mr Kitterick?’ asked the second statue in a friendly tone. ‘Might as well get you stamped while we’re waiting.’
When Kitterick moved beside it, the statue produced a large rubber stamp from the folds of its tunic and imprinted a luminous OG on his forehead.
‘Just show that if you’re stopped. It’s valid for twenty-four hours. Don’t wash until you want rid of it – rain won’t affect it, but it comes off with soap. Some of the younger generation keep them on for weeks – it’s a fashion accessory, apparently.’
‘Cleared,’ said the first statue.
There was an ominous click and the massive gates swung open.