The Faeman Quest by Herbie Brennan

Author:Herbie Brennan [Brennan, Herbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Historical, Paranormal, Readers, Military & Wars, Intermediate
ISBN: 9781408805619
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2011-01-04T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Nine

Chalkhill seemed to know his way around Lord Hairstreak’s Keep, Brimstone thought. He was certainly recognised by the securities, otherwise they’d both have been dead by now. But recognised didn’t necessarily mean welcome, as they discovered when they reached His Lordship himself.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Hairstreak demanded with obvious irritation.

Brimstone glared at him suspiciously. There was something wrong here. Chalkhill had told him His Lordship was a disembodied head now, but clearly Chalkhill had lied. Hairstreak was very much embodied, quite his old self in every way, fit and positively glowing with rude good health. He even looked as if he might have grown an inch or two, although that was probably just Brimstone’s faulty memory. Which was obviously what Chalkhill was relying on. He was probably counting on Brimstone having forgotten what he’d said about a disembodied head. Obviously Lord Hairstreak and Chalkhill had hatched some dastardly plot together to murder Brimstone. It was just the sort of thing they’d do. Not that Brimstone was worried: he had George to protect him now. A bluebottle flew in through Hairstreak’s window. Brimstone caught it expertly and dropped it into his pocket as a snack for later.

‘He’s helping me with my enquiries,’ Chalkhill told Hairstreak shortly.

Hairstreak dismissed the information with a shrug. He stretched luxuriously, walked to the window and looked out through the spell-driven rain to the high cliffs and rugged rocks battered by a raging sea. ‘I almost died once on those rocks,’ he remarked inconsequentially. Then he turned back, eyes glittering. ‘Where is the girl?’

‘We don’t have her,’ Chalkhill said, then added quickly, ‘yet.’

‘Clock’s ticking,’ Hairstreak growled.

Chalkhill nodded. ‘I know.’

‘Then what in Hael are you doing here?’ Hairstreak shouted suddenly. ‘Wasting my time and your own! Why aren’t you out there looking for her? You really really think I’m paying your outrageous fees so you can pop into my home every five minutes for a cup of tea?’

‘No, sir,’ Chalkhill said and Brimstone suddenly realised that for all his bluster, Chalkhill was still afraid of the little turd; or big turd, as he seemed to be now.

‘Then what,’ spat Hairstreak, ‘are you doing here?’

‘There have been developments,’ said Chalkhill stiffly.

‘Oooooh – developments!’ Lord Hairstreak exclaimed. He did a little dance and spread his arms through the air in a high, sweeping movement. Brimstone watched him with fascination. Perhaps, Brimstone thought, Chalkhill hadn’t been lying about the disembodied head. Hairstreak was certainly behaving like someone who found a body a novelty. He’d hardly stood still for more than a moment since they walked through his door. But where had he got the new one? ‘And, pray tell me,’ Hairstreak said, spreading his hands like a pedlar and tapping his right foot, ‘to what developments do you refer?’

Chalkhill gave a taught, triumphant smile. ‘We have Queen Blue and King Consort Henry.’

There was absolute silence in the reception chamber and for once Lord Hairstreak stood stock still. He stared at Chalkhill as if he was unable to believe his ears. (His

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