Faerie Wars 01 - Faerie Wars Read Online Free Page B
Author: Herbie Brennan
shivered. He'd been about to run across those cobbles.
What were Chalkhill and Brimstone trying to hide? A minefield was more than Faerie-of-the-Night suspicion, way more than anything you'd do to protect a formula for glue. What was going on in the factory?
A uniformed guard emerged from a doorway, fastening his trousers. Pyrgus was in plain sight and too terrified to move, but the man was looking towards the crater in the courtyard where the mine had exploded. All the same, it was only a matter of seconds before he'd look in Pyrgus's direction. Where to go? What to do? With Hairstreak's men in Seething Lane, he could hardly climb back over the gate. But if he tried to cross those cobbles he risked blowing himself to rat-sized bits.
The speakhorn blared suddenly.
'Coming,' the guard shouted sourly, but without turning round. He reached the crater and stared down into it as if he hoped to find some clue as to what had triggered the mine. He was moving without any great haste.
There was no way Pyrgus could stay standing where he was. Once the guard turned, he'd be spotted. He wasn't sure which would be worse: Chalkhill and Brimstone's fury at finding someone trespassing in their factory or Hairstreak's men exacting rough justice for the missing phoenix.
The speakhorn sounded again, louder this time. 'All right! All right!' the guard called out impatiently.
A scary thought occurred to Pyrgus. Not every cobble was a mine. The rat had run at least two yards before it got blown up. If he ran too, he might get lucky.
Or he might not.
Another scary thought occurred to Pyrgus. Suppose he didn't run. Suppose he jumped. Suppose he bounded like a kangaroo. That way he wouldn't touch so many cobbles and so cut down his chances of triggering a mine.
He glanced around and estimated he was about thirty feet from the nearest doorway. If he covered six feet with each leap, he'd touch down on just five cobbles altogether. How many cobbles were mined? There was no way he could know, but surely it wasn't likely Chalkhill and Brimstone had booby-trapped one cobble in five.
Or was it?
No, of course it wasn't. If he only touched five cobbles altogether, he had a chance -- a very good chance, a very, very good chance -- of reaching the doorway in one piece. The rat must have crossed at least ten cobbles before it got blown up. And even then it probably wasn't a very lucky rat. A lucky rat could have crossed fifteen, twenty, maybe even thirty cobbles safely. Pyrgus had to ask himself, was he a lucky rat? He also had to ask himself, would the door he was aiming for be locked?
The speakhorn blared and kept on blaring. It was the perfect time to move -- the noise would cover any sound he made. Pyrgus leaped.
The world went into slo-mo so he watched with terrified fascination as his leading foot approached a cobble, then gently touched the cobble, then slammed down hard on the cobble. He winced, but the cobble failed to explode.
Then he bounded off again and watched with horror as his foot landed full force on a second cobble ... which also somehow failed to explode. In the middle of his third leap he saw the cobblestone beneath him was a different colour from the others and closed his eyes as he approached it. He landed, stumbled, trod on three more cobbles -- three! -- but somehow bounded off again.
Then the slo-mo stopped, everything blurred and seconds later he was standing in the doorway. The guard was headed for the gate, amazingly not caring where he stepped on the cobbles, his muttered complaints suddenly audible as the speakhorn silenced.
Pyrgus pushed the door. It opened.
He was in an empty whitewashed corridor. There were doors along the right-hand side and, with the first one he tried, his luck changed massively. He found himself staring into a cupboard lined with uniform white coats, the sort issued to glue-factory workers. He noticed that the coats were tagged and suddenly realised why the guard could walk
What were Chalkhill and Brimstone trying to hide? A minefield was more than Faerie-of-the-Night suspicion, way more than anything you'd do to protect a formula for glue. What was going on in the factory?
A uniformed guard emerged from a doorway, fastening his trousers. Pyrgus was in plain sight and too terrified to move, but the man was looking towards the crater in the courtyard where the mine had exploded. All the same, it was only a matter of seconds before he'd look in Pyrgus's direction. Where to go? What to do? With Hairstreak's men in Seething Lane, he could hardly climb back over the gate. But if he tried to cross those cobbles he risked blowing himself to rat-sized bits.
The speakhorn blared suddenly.
'Coming,' the guard shouted sourly, but without turning round. He reached the crater and stared down into it as if he hoped to find some clue as to what had triggered the mine. He was moving without any great haste.
There was no way Pyrgus could stay standing where he was. Once the guard turned, he'd be spotted. He wasn't sure which would be worse: Chalkhill and Brimstone's fury at finding someone trespassing in their factory or Hairstreak's men exacting rough justice for the missing phoenix.
The speakhorn sounded again, louder this time. 'All right! All right!' the guard called out impatiently.
A scary thought occurred to Pyrgus. Not every cobble was a mine. The rat had run at least two yards before it got blown up. If he ran too, he might get lucky.
Or he might not.
Another scary thought occurred to Pyrgus. Suppose he didn't run. Suppose he jumped. Suppose he bounded like a kangaroo. That way he wouldn't touch so many cobbles and so cut down his chances of triggering a mine.
He glanced around and estimated he was about thirty feet from the nearest doorway. If he covered six feet with each leap, he'd touch down on just five cobbles altogether. How many cobbles were mined? There was no way he could know, but surely it wasn't likely Chalkhill and Brimstone had booby-trapped one cobble in five.
Or was it?
No, of course it wasn't. If he only touched five cobbles altogether, he had a chance -- a very good chance, a very, very good chance -- of reaching the doorway in one piece. The rat must have crossed at least ten cobbles before it got blown up. And even then it probably wasn't a very lucky rat. A lucky rat could have crossed fifteen, twenty, maybe even thirty cobbles safely. Pyrgus had to ask himself, was he a lucky rat? He also had to ask himself, would the door he was aiming for be locked?
The speakhorn blared and kept on blaring. It was the perfect time to move -- the noise would cover any sound he made. Pyrgus leaped.
The world went into slo-mo so he watched with terrified fascination as his leading foot approached a cobble, then gently touched the cobble, then slammed down hard on the cobble. He winced, but the cobble failed to explode.
Then he bounded off again and watched with horror as his foot landed full force on a second cobble ... which also somehow failed to explode. In the middle of his third leap he saw the cobblestone beneath him was a different colour from the others and closed his eyes as he approached it. He landed, stumbled, trod on three more cobbles -- three! -- but somehow bounded off again.
Then the slo-mo stopped, everything blurred and seconds later he was standing in the doorway. The guard was headed for the gate, amazingly not caring where he stepped on the cobbles, his muttered complaints suddenly audible as the speakhorn silenced.
Pyrgus pushed the door. It opened.
He was in an empty whitewashed corridor. There were doors along the right-hand side and, with the first one he tried, his luck changed massively. He found himself staring into a cupboard lined with uniform white coats, the sort issued to glue-factory workers. He noticed that the coats were tagged and suddenly realised why the guard could walk
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