Fogarty hit the palace like a whirlwind, issuing orders. ‘Change of clothes – can’t see people with loam on your backside. Get me an appointment with the Queen. Find somebody to brief me on what’s been happening. Send a formal thank-you to the Forest Faerie. Have those bloody Generals come and see me. See if you can find out where Madame Cardui is hiding. Take -’
‘Ah, sure, these were fresh on last month and not a pick of loam on any of them,’ Nyman said.
Fogarty stopped to glare at him, frowning in bewilderment before it dawned on him the Lep was talking about clothes. ‘Not for you, you idiot – for me!’
‘Ah, I get you now, sir. You leave that to me: I’ll have something brought up from your Lodge and you can change here.’ Nyman drew a notepad from the pocket of his jerkin and licked a stub of pencil. ‘Now what was the rest of it, sir…?’
It brought Fogarty up short. He’d been so energised by good news that he’d been going off inside his head like a firecracker. His rejuvenation treatments must be affecting his hormones.
‘You’re not as stupid as you look, are you, Nyman? All right, let’s see… Clothes first. And a sonic shower. Then find me Madame Cardui – she can fill me in on what’s been happening. After that the Queen, then the Generals.’
‘She’ll be in the Situation Room, sir,’ Nyman said. He looked at Fogarty’s blank expression. ‘Herself, sir. Situation Room, sir. That’s where she told me to bring you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Fogarty.
The guards stopped Nyman at the first checkpoint – he’d insisted on accompanying Fogarty even though he had no security clearance whatsoever. Fogarty went on alone. His earlier ebullience had been replaced by a curious feeling of unease. For a palace that was no longer on Countdown, there were a lot of military personnel in the corridors and he even had to wait his turn at the suspensor shaft listening to stiffly apologetic guards as a stream of messengers took priority over the Realm’s Gatekeeper.
But when he did step into the shaft, his build allowed him to sink so quickly that he caught up with one group that had gone down before. They wore the armbands of reconnaissance messengers.
‘What’s all the activity about?’ Fogarty asked at once.
‘Wouldn’t know, sir.’
‘Couldn’t say, sir.’
‘Brass never tell us anything, sir.’
‘Thanks,’ Fogarty growled shortly, his head now on a level with their ankles.
‘You’re welcome, sir,’ the messenger’s voice floated after him.
What the hell was going on? With Blue back, the Countdown would be stopped at once. Unless there was some other factor he didn’t know about. It looked as though he’d come back only just in time.
He’d know soon enough.
At the bottom of the suspensor shaft, the lead corridor to the Situation Room was a bustle of activity as well. Fogarty used his elbows vigorously to push through the throng. Then the door guards spotted him and moved to clear a way. He pushed through the door and took in the scene at a glance. The war preparations had ratcheted up to high gear. Everybody was moving at the double. All three Generals were shouting orders. Every viewglobe in the place was live. Cynthia was reclining near the door issuing instructions to several of her agents.
‘Ah, there you are!’ she exclaimed as she caught sight of him. She must have been using some sort of suspensor technology on her gown for she floated towards him in the reclining position before rising gracefully to her feet.
Fogarty looked around him. ‘What the hell’s going on, Cynthia? Hasn’t Blue cancelled the Countdown?’
‘The Countdown is no longer relevant, dahling. Our friends the Faeries of the Night have launched a preemptive strike.’ Madame Cardui looked at him soberly. ‘I’m afraid the Realm is at war.’