Faerie Wars 01 - Faerie Wars Read online

  Faerie Wars (The Faerie Wars Chronicles #1)

  Herbie Brennan

  For Jacks always

  Contents

  One. 1

  Two. 3

  Three. 5

  Four. 7

  Five. 10

  Six. 12

  Seven. 16

  Eight. 19

  Nine. 23

  Ten. 26

  Eleven. 29

  Twelve. 30

  Thirteen. 33

  Fourteen. 35

  Fifteen. 38

  Sixteen. 41

  Seventeen. 42

  Eighteen. 43

  Nineteen. 43

  Twenty. 43

  Twenty-one. 43

  Twenty-two. 43

  Twenty-three. 43

  Twenty-four. 43

  Twenty-five. 43

  Twenty-six. 43

  Twenty-seven. 43

  Twenty-eight. 43

  Twenty-nine. 43

  Thirty. 43

  Thirty-one. 43

  Thirty-two. 43

  Thirty-three. 43

  Thirty-four. 43

  One

  Henry got up early on the day that changed his life. He was making a cardboard sculpture and he'd left it the night before for the glue to dry out. All he had to do now was add a toothpick shaft and some decorations and the flying pig was finished. Three weeks' work, but today he'd turn the handle and the pig would take off, flapping cardboard wings. Pigs might fly. That's what it said on the base.

  He was out of bed at seven, dressed by three minutes past and testing the set of the glue just one minute after that. It was solid. What else would it be when you left it overnight? That was the secret of cardboard models -never hurry. Take your time with the cutting out. Proceed stage by stage -- which was what it said in the instructions: proceed stage by stage. Leave lots of time for the glue to set. Just do those three things and you ended up with cardboard sculptures that were as solid as the Taj Mahal. He had seven in his room already, including one that really was the Taj Mahal. But the flying pig was his best yet. It had a mechanism inside, made up from cardboard cogs and shafts. The mechanism raised the pig from its base and caused the wings to flap.

  At least that's what it said in the instructions. Henry was about to find out.

  Using a small nail, he bored a tight hole and inserted the toothpick. It was the last thing he had to do, if you didn't count the decorations. But it was tricky getting the toothpick seated just right. Trouble was, you couldn't tell until you tried it. And if you tried it and it wasn't right, it could wreck the mechanism. There was a red warning about that in the instructions. Get it wrong and you were back to square one. But get it right and you were king.

  He thought he had it right.

  Henry looked at his handiwork. The base was a black cube with nothing on it except the handle and the wording Pigs might fly. The pig itself crouched on the top, all pink and porky. Its wings were so cleverly folded you couldn't see them. The model was finished except for the last few stupid decorations. But he might even forget about those. The decorations didn't have anything to do with the mechanism. This was the real moment of truth.

  Henry held his breath, reached out and turned the handle.

  The pig took off smoothly on its pillar, onwards and upwards, unfolding cardboard wings. As it reached the end of the pillar, a hidden cog fell into place so that it stayed aloft, flapping. It would stay there until you turned the handle backwards. But Henry didn't turn the handle backwards. He kept the old pig up there, flapping, flapping.

  Pigs might fly.

  'Yes!' Henry exclaimed, punching the air.

  His mum was in the kitchen, sitting at the table staring into a cup of coffee. She looked wretched.

  'Morning, Mum,' Henry said cheerfully. He headed for the cornflakes cupboard. 'Got it working,' he said as he shook cornflakes into his yellow bowl. He carried it back to the table and reached for the milk jug.

  His mother dragged her eyes out of the coffee cup and let them settle on him, large, liquid and entirely vacant. 'What?' she asked.

  'Got it working,' Henry said again. 'Flying pig. Got it working. Never thought the machinery would hold up -- cardboard machinery, give me a break -- but it's cool. I'll show it to you later, if you like.'

  'Oh, yes,' his mum said, but in that dreamy, distant tone that made him wonder if she still didn't know what he was talking about. She forced a smile and said, 'That would be nice.'

  Martha Atherton was a good-looking woman. Even Henry could see it. Her hair was starting to go grey, but the FBI and the Spanish Inquisition would never get her to admit it. To the world she was brunette with auburn highlights. Her build was curvy -- not exactly plump, but enough to stop her looking starved. Henry liked that, even when she looked like death. Who didn't look like death first thing in the morning?

  Henry spooned cornflakes into his face. 'Where's Dad?' he asked. 'Did he come home last night?' Sometimes Dad stayed over when he was working late. He wasn't back last night when Henry crashed. But then Henry crashed early last night. He'd been so tired out by Mr Fogarty that he'd hardly managed to glue the last bit of the flying pig together.

  For a second he thought he saw something in Mum's eyes. Then it was gone and so was the vacant look and

  she was saying casually, 'Oh yes. I expect he'll be down in a minute.'

  Henry expected so as well. His father had his train to catch and hated to rush. 'What you got planned for today, Mum?' She was headmistress of the local girls' school, but it was closed for summer holidays.

  'Nothing much,' his mother said.

  Henry wondered if he'd turn into a zombie every morning when he was his parents' age. He finished his cornflakes and shook out some more, then reached for a banana from the fruit bowl. He had another busy day with Mr Fogarty. Slow-release carbohydrates were what he needed.

  He heard his father's footsteps and looked up in time to see him on the landing headed for the bathroom. 'Hi, Dad!' Henry called and was rewarded with a grunt. As the bathroom door closed, he tilted his chair and reached into the drawer for a knife. He cut his banana into chunky slices -- weird how the size made a difference to the taste -- then cut in an apple as well. 'We got plenty of bananas?' he asked his mother.

  'What?'

  'Bananas, Mum. Have we got plenty?'

  She stared at him for a moment, then said, 'Yes, I think so.'

  'Mind if I have another one?' Henry asked, wondering what was wrong with her. This was way beyond her usual Morning of the Living Dead.

  Her eyes drifted up to the landing. 'Have as many as you like,' she said in that offhand way he usually interpreted as disapproval. But why make a big deal about a lousy second banana? He felt the familiar flash of guilt, but took the banana anyway and cut it in as well.

  Then he got up and headed for the fridge to see if there was any strawberry yoghurt.

  He was doing justice to the mixture when his father came out of the bathroom, showered, shaved and dressed in his natty blue-grey business pinstripe. Something suddenly occurred to Henry. When the old man had been heading for the bathroom, he wasn't coming from his and Mum's bedroom -- he'd been coming from the direction of the spare room.

  Or had he? Henry frowned into his cornflakes, trying to remember. He thought Dad had been coming from the spare room, but he wasn't sure. Why would the old boy want to sleep in the spare room anyway? Unless he got back so late Mum had already gone to bed and he didn't want to wake her. Except he'd been home late lots of times and that had never worried him before. Maybe Henry just got it wrong. He'd only caught a glimpse after all.

  'Hi, Dad,' he said as Timothy Atherton walked into the kitchen. 'I got my new model working.'<
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  There was something wrong and Henry couldn't figure out what it was.

  'Will you be late again tonight?' This came from Mum, without preliminaries and sort of sharp. Maybe she was freaked because Dad came home late last night.

  'I'm not sure,' his father said. 'I may well be.'

  'Tim, we need to -- ' She stopped and Henry could have sworn it was because his father threw a warning glance in his direction.

  'I'll phone you, Martha,' his father said tightly.

  It wasn't what they were saying, since they weren't actually saying very much. It was more the tone of voice. Not just Mum, but the two of them. Henry frowned. Maybe they'd had a fight last night, after Dad got home. Henry was fast asleep by then: they could have shouted the place down and he wouldn't have heard them. His mind went back to something he'd thought earlier. Maybe Dad really bad slept in the spare room. Maybe Mum sent him there. Must have been bad -- far as he knew, they'd never slept apart before.

  Out of nowhere Henry wondered if his father had another woman. Lots of businessmen did: they slept with their secretaries. Maybe that's what the row was about. He felt a sudden chill. Other women were bad news. Couples got divorced because of other women.

  Henry glanced surreptitiously at his father. He was looking thinner and older lately, with lines of strain across his forehead and around the eyes. If he really was sleeping with Anais, it wasn't making him any happier. But he couldn't be sleeping with Anais -- not Dad. He just wasn't the type.

  His mother said, 'Aren't you going over to see Charlie this evening?'

  For a beat, Henry didn't realise she was talking to him. Then he woke up and said, 'Yes. Yes, I thought I would.'

  'Mrs Severs will probably feed you -- she usually does.'

  'Yes, I thought -- '

  But his mother had already turned back to his father. 'I thought perhaps if you could get back a little early, we could have something to eat together, maybe go out somewhere. For a meal, I mean. Aisling won't be back from Pony Club until the weekend. Henry's going out. There'd just be the two of us.' She swung back to Henry. 'You wouldn't mind that, would you? If you're having supper with the Severs?'

  'No,' Henry said. 'I could stay over if you like.' He often stayed over at the Severs's, but she ignored him, which presumably meant she didn't want him to. Hey-ho.

  He saw his father glance at the clock. He had half an hour to make his train. 'I think that would be an excellent idea. I'll ring you later.' His voice was strained.

  Tension had spread over the kitchen like a rug. Henry tried to defuse it. 'Wow, another nice morning!' he exclaimed brightly, looking at the sunshine through the window. 'Pity I have to go to Mr Fogarty today.'

  'I thought we might talk,' Mum said. 'About ... things.'

  Dad closed his eyes briefly, then said, 'I'd better go now.'

  'You haven't had your breakfast,' Mum said at once.

  'I've had coffee,' Dad said. Which was true, although only one cup.

  'I'll make you something,' Mum said. Her chair scraped on the tiles as she stood. 'You've plenty of time.'

  'I don't have plenty of time,' Dad said flatly. 'If I don't leave now I'll miss the train.' He stood up. For just the barest instant they faced each other, very close together. Then Dad looked away and muttered, 'Better go.'

  'Can you drop me off at Mr Fogarty's, Dad?' Henry asked quickly. He purposely avoided looking at his mother -- for some reason he had a guilty feeling he was taking sides.

  'I thought you weren't going to Mr Fogarty's until this afternoon,' his mother said sharply.

  'No, this morning, Mum,' Henry said, still without looking at her.

  'You haven't had any breakfast either.'

  'Yes, I have.' He gestured at the empty cornflakes bowl.

  'That's not enough.'

  'I put bananas in it, Mum,' Henry said. 'Anyway, I can have something with Mr Fogarty. He likes the company.'

  'Mr-'

  'You'll have to come now if you want a lift,' Dad cut in.

  'Bye, Mum,' Henry said. He ignored the stricken look and kissed her on the cheek.

  Dad left without kissing her at all.

  'What was all that about, Dad?' Henry asked as he clicked his seatbelt.

  His father said nothing, but pulled out of the drive far too fast and without really looking. Henry noticed Mum wasn't standing at the door to wave them off as she usually did.

  Henry sat in the passenger seat feeling nervous. He hated it when his parents fought. You could cut the tension with a knife and now Dad was in a mood. They didn't do it very often which made this one all the more worrying. Henry told himself it was probably nothing, but that didn't stop the worry. He knew five kids at school whose folks were divorced.

  His father said something, but Henry missed it. He dragged his attention back from his thoughts. 'Sorry, Dad?'

  'This Mr Fogarty -- what's he like?'

  'Old guy. You know ... ' Henry shrugged. He didn't want to talk about Mr Fogarty. He wanted to find out what was wrong between his mum and dad.

  'No, I don't know,' Dad said shortly. 'Why don't you tell me?'

  He was uptight because of Mum. Henry said, 'Pensioner. Seventy, eighty -- I don't know. Old guy. His house is a mess.'

  'And you're cleaning it for him?'

  If this had been Mum, the question would be followed by So bow is it you never clean your room?, but with Dad what you saw was what you got. Or sort of. They'd been through all this before. But Dad was clearly hassled because of Mum. He was driving too fast, for one thing. 'Sort of,' Henry said. 'I clean up a bit, but some of the time he just wants to talk.' And some of the time he didn't. Mr Fogarty was weird, believed in ghosts and fairies, but he wasn't about to mention that. Weird or not, Mr Fogarty paid on the nail and Henry was saving for an MP3 player.

  'About what?'

  'What?'

  'Talk about what? You said some of the time he just wants to talk. Talk about what?'

  'This and that,' Henry said.

  All his father's pent-up frustration suddenly exploded. 'Oh, for God's sake, Henry, has he made you sign the Official Secrets Act? I just want to know what sort of thing you chat about. You're my son. I take an interest.'

  Henry said, 'You wouldn't slow down, would you, Dad? You've got the heir with you.'

  His dad glared at him for a moment, then grinned for the first time that morning and the tension in the car suddenly lifted. 'Sorry, old son,' he said softly. 'I really shouldn't take it out on you.' He eased his foot back off the pedal.

  Henry sat back in his seat and watched the trees and hedges whizzing by.

  Mr Fogarty lived in a small two-up, two-down at the end of a cul-de-sac on the edge of town. Henry's father pulled in on the corner. 'There you go,' he said. 'Don't work too hard.'

  'You too,' Henry said. He reached for the handle, then stopped.

  Dad said, 'Might see you this evening, son. Before you go off to Charlie's.'

  Henry said, 'Are you having an affair with Anais, Dad?'

  The silence was so deep it seemed to overcome the ticking of the car's engine. Henry sat quite still, his hand still on the door handle, looking at his father. He thought his dad would be angry, but instead he just looked distant, as if he was in the hot seat on Who Wants To Be a Millionaire?

  Are you having an affair with Anais?

  A. Yes.

  B. No.

  C. Not any more.

  D. We're Just good friends.

  One of those answers is worth PS64,000, Mr Atherton. But the drop's a bit steep if you get it wrong.

  After a while, Dad said, 'If you don't go now, I'll miss my train.'

  'Come on, Dad,' Henry said. 'Don't you think I have a right to know?' He stopped himself adding, You've plenty of time to make your train, knowing it would sound too much like Mum. What he did add was, 'If you are, I won't tell Mum.' As he said it, he felt about six, promising not to tell the teacher.

  Dad still didn't say anything. When the silence
stretched further than he could bear, Henry opened the car door. 'OK,' he said.

  His father said something as he climbed out. Henry was closing the car door at the time and didn't catch it. He opened the door again and bent down.

  His father said quietly, 'I'm not having an affair with Anais. Your mother is.'