The Faerie Lord by Herbie Brennan Page A

Alan himself would have found this aspect of his death quite entertaining. What pose should be selected? Should he lunge forward with an upraised sword, like so many military heroes? Should he clutch a book or a scroll to emphasise his wisdom? She could almost hear him snort derisively at any of the classic postures.
    All the same, she would have to choose something. He was Gatekeeper of the Realm, after all, and there was a plinth already prepared for him in the Palace Memorial Garden of Remembrance. Her Alan would join a long line of Gatekeepers stretching back through the centuries. It was a fitting tribute to a great soul.
    ‘Would the Painted Lady care to study some designs?’ the embalmer asked politely.
    Cynthia glanced down to find the woman was holding a large leather-bound volume opened at a painting of the Memorial Garden. Spell coatings presented her with detail after detail of remembrance figures of the other Gatekeepers, including, she noticed with surprise, Tithonus, the Gatekeeper who betrayed his own Emperor.
    ‘He must be dressed in his Gatekeeper’s robes,’ Cynthia said uncertainly.
    ‘Of course, Painted Lady.’ The woman glanced delicately towards the bed. Cynthia followed her gaze and discovered the embalmers were doing it already.
    How would Alan
want
to be remembered? She wished she had discussed it with him before he died,
    but there had been so many more immediate things to consider.
    ‘There is a certain urgency, Painted Lady,’ the woman told her gently. ‘The gravistat …’
    Cynthia understood. Once introduced, the gravistat worked quickly. The body had to be placed in its correct position before the tissue turned to stone.
    She hesitated, then all of a sudden knew what she should do. Alan had always loved tinkering with gadgets and machinery. It was how he would want to be remembered.
    She took the book from the woman and closed it with a snap. ‘Take his workbench from the Gatekeeper’s Lodge and bring it to the Garden of Remembrance,’ she instructed firmly. ‘Place him beside it, leaning over. He should have a portable portal in his hand.’ She stared soberly at the woman. ‘Try not to make him look an idiot.’
    ‘Of course not, Painted Lady!’ the embalmer exclaimed.
    With her final duty done, Madame Cardui swept from the room. Now she had to face the fury of her Queen.

Chapter Twenty Seven

    It wasn’t heavy and it wasn’t strong, but the thing struck Henry with such mindless fury that his face was lacerated and bleeding from a hundred cuts before he could raise a hand to defend himself. The useless lighter flew from his grasp as he struck out wildly.
    The creature was about the size of a dog. It looked, in the brief flash of the sparks, like something almost human, scrawny and leprous. But a human that had fangs and claws.
    It struck him again, hissing and spitting. This time it clawed his arm, ripping the sleeve of his coat and opening the flesh beneath. The pain was hideous, far worse than the scratches on his face. Henry staggered backwards and suddenly there was light.
    The creature howled.
    Henry clutched his injured arm. The light was blinding, but his eyes adjusted. He looked around in panic. There was a shattered stone sarcophagus beside him. There were bones strewn on the floor. He was in a ruined tomb. One wall was broken down and sunshine streamed in through it. The creature that had attacked him was crouched in a corner, cowering from the light. It had large, nocturnal eyes.
    In the instant it took him to look, Henry realised he’d
    torn down a hide curtain that had been blocking out the light. It was crudely sewn from animal skins and hung -could it have been hung by the thing that attacked him?
    The thing clearly did not like the light. It growled and hissed from its gloomy corner, but made no move to attack him again. Now he could see properly, any resemblance he’d imagined between the creature and a human being quickly slipped away. It was humanoid