by Mike Shevdon
I bit my tongue on the reply to that.
"You could have seen him when he was having a bath. I heard you sneak in earlier."
"I was on my way to see Alex."
"Really? How is she?" she said.
"Sulking."
"I could hear you across the courtyard."
"Yes, that went well, didn't it?" My shoulders sagged in resignation. "She's bored. She wants me to take her to see Katherine."
"You're going to have to take her eventually."
"I know. I said I'd think about it."
Blackbird looked up from the files. "You need to do more than think about it, Niall. Perhaps if you were to see Katherine alone, just to begin with."
"If I even hint that Alex is alive then Katherine will want to see her. After all she's been through she'll need to see Alex for herself."
"Then you're just going to have to grasp the nettle, aren't you?" she pointed out.
"I'm trying to think of a way to do it that won't seem like I lied to her. Alex does have a point."
"By delaying you are only making it worse," she said. "If you'd told her as soon as Alex got back you might have a leg to stand on, but as it is…"
"Alex had no control whatsoever to begin with. She was still in shock after what happened. How could I take her to her mother in that state? With her emotions driving her power, anything might have happened. She was a danger to herself and everyone around her. She still is."
"Nonsense. She's no worse than any other teenager."
"I spoke to Fionh earlier and she said she's not ready to join the courts."
"And what would Fionh know? When was the last time Fionh had anything to do with anyone under a hundred years old?"
"She's the one coaching Alex. She has the most contact with her."
"She's a Warder, Niall. With all that entails."
"What does that mean?" It didn't escape my attention that I was also a Warder, so that particular criticism was aimed at me too.
Blackbird shook her head and went back to reading the files. "Where did these come from?"
"Originally they were from Porton Down. They were passed to Garvin from Secretary Carler, the civil servant who looks after relations with the six courts."
"What are you supposed to do with them?"
"I'm supposed to find the people mentioned in them. Why?"
"They read like scientific mumbo-jumbo. What do you think morphological instability is?"
"In what context?"
"Andy exhibits signs of morphological instability, exhibiting severe disassociation and fragmentation," she read from the file.
"The doctors at Porton Down were experimenting on these people. Maybe Andy couldn't control his glamour. That would lead to sudden changes in appearance that might be called instability. I had trouble with it myself at first."
"Pyrokinetic projection?"
"That would fit with the guy who burned down a shopping centre. Garvin says the fire spread without an accelerant and through fire barriers, killing one guy and injuring another. Plus the CCTV wasn't working. That would point to someone with a fey affinity."
"If this person is throwing fire around, then that would tend to indicate a degree of control. You don't just throw fire – air doesn't burn on its own."
"So maybe there was an accelerant, but not something they'd recognise, or they don't have the language to describe it."
"Or maybe they don't know what they're talking about." She tossed the file back onto the pile. "This is just jargon and speculation. The language is so technical you'd need a glossary to decode it. It's as if it was written to deliberately obscure what they were doing."
"Perhaps it was," I said.
"I read through the file on Alex and didn't understand it, even though I know what happened to her."
"I don't need a file to tell me how Alex is."
"They thought she was delusional, and schizophrenic," said Blackbird.
"Was that before or after they tortured her?"
"It's nonsense, in either case."
"Well since you've had the chance to read through the files, maybe you could suggest which of these people I go after first?"
"Do you think you're ready to go after any of them?"
"Thank you for making that a question," I said.
She ruffled through the files and extracted one, handing it to me. "How about this one?"
I opened the file to a picture of a middle-aged woman staring out of a passport sized photo. Her name was Angela.
"I've seen this woman before."
"You have?"
"She was in the isolation cells below Porton Down. There were a bunch of people locked up in there. I got Raffmir to get me a key to let them out."
A spray of blood spattered onto a glass wall as Raffmir's sword took the head from the nurse who brought us the key to the cells. Her head bounced down the corridor, right in front of me. Black blood ran down the glass leaving a dark smear in its trail. The smell of fear and death was in my nostrils…
"Niall?"
"Hmm? Sorry?"
"You've seen her before?"
"Sorry, yes. When I opened the door to the glass cell, she touched me on the cheek."
I touched my face where she'd placed her hand. When she had reached out for me I had tried to push her away, but it had been like it was glued there.
"You let her touch you?" Blackbird was incredulous.
"I was helping her escape."
She sighed. "You see what I mean now about not being ready."
"She went all wide-eyed on me, started talking about brightness."
"And there was brightness, wasn't there? You lit up everything in a five mile radius," said Blackbird.
"Then she said something else: 'The sun will rise, and they shall fall'."
"I beg your pardon?" Blackbird suddenly focused back on me.
"It's what she said, just before she ran into the dark."
"That's what Deefnir came out with, at the Highsmith's farm. He started blabbering about the felicitations of the Seventh Court and wanted to touch me." She put her hand on her stomach. "Amber wouldn't let him. Deefnir said, 'The son will rise and they shall fall'. I thought he was talking about our son."
"I thought Angela was talking about the sun in the sky, she'd mentioned brightness. I thought I'd hear it before somewhere, but I couldn't remember where."
"Kareesh."
"What?"
"When I took you to see Kareesh, on the day you came into your power. You bargained for your vision, but before she granted it, she said something. Evader of traps, bringer of hope – it ended with, 'the sun will rise and they shall fall', don't you remember? At the time I thought she was finally losing it, she never volunteers things – not usually."
"I don't understand the connection. Why should Kareesh say the same as this woman – and what's Deefnir got to do with it?"
"There's not enough in the file to tell us what's going on. They seemed to think she was a fantasist – they weren't sure she had any power at all."
"But she said the same thing as Kareesh."
"And she was touching you at the time. You're the link, Niall. You were there, both times."
"But not when Deefnir said it."
"But your son was there inside me. You thought it was the sun will rise, but maybe this woman was referring to your child."
"What does it mean?"
"I've told you before, Niall. Prophesy is fickle and uncertain. You can't rely on it. It could mean anything. Even those who see the future don't know what it means."
"I've got to find this woman."
"It won't be difficult. They've given her address. Apparently she's living there."
Turning to the back of the file, there was a photograph of her in a raincoat leaving the front door of a house. Below it was a street map of Tamworth, along with her address.
"Isn't she worried she'll be arrested?"
"What for? As far as I can see she hasn't done anything,
except maybe witness things that no one else knows about. If they were going to pick her up they'd have done it by now, so I expect they're leaving her for you."
"I guess I'd better go and see if she's still there then."
On the back of the dresser was a wooden stand, holding the scabbarded blade that came with my job. I took it down and unsheathed the blade, checking the edge for nicks and straightness, then pushed it smoothly back into the scabbard.
"What are you planning to do?" she asked.
"I'm going to talk to her, and find out what she knows."
"You don't need a sword to talk to her," said Blackbird.
"As you pointed out earlier, I need to be ready for anything. Who knows what she's capable of?"
"You sound like Garvin."
"Yeah, well. Maybe it comes with the job," I said.
"To the man with a scythe, everything looks like grass."
"I thought it was hammers and nails?"
"A nail that's hammered is still a nail, with care it can be pulled and hammered flat and may be used again, but once the hay is cut, there's no re-planting it. Not every job needs a sword, Niall."
"Yeah, but there's never one handy when you need it, is there?" I walked to the door. "I'll be back later."
"Try not to get killed," she said.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." I closed the door behind me.
THREE
Angela's house looked like any other semi-detached built between the wars. It had bay windows and a small arched porch sheltering the front door. There were pins for the gate-hinges in the brick wall where the short driveway emerged into the road but unlike its neighbours, the iron gates which had originally fronted the other houses had been removed.
The house had skipped the fashion for whitewashed rendering and survived as plain brick. As I walked along the opposite side of the road I noted the net curtains hung for privacy, the shrubs in the front garden which had been recently pruned and the brass padlock on the side gate. It suggested cared-for and careful. There was no car on the front drive, but that was true of many of these houses in the middle of the day. It didn't tell me whether there was anyone home.
Strengthening my glamour, I diverted attention away as I reached the end of the street, then crossed to the other side. Reversing my course, I walked back towards the house. The gardens at the rear backed onto one another, providing a possible escape route for me, as well as for her. I wondered what Garvin would do in these circumstances, but then he rarely did anything this trivial and he didn't work alone. He'd have another Warder backing him up at least.
I began to wish I'd asked one of the other Warders to come with me and watch the back of the house; no amount of magic meant you could be in two places at one time. Still, this job didn't warrant a team. It shouldn't need more than one Warder for a lone woman with no history of violence. More than that would simply scare her, and scared people were irrational and dangerous – there was no reason to turn this into a fight.
Reaching the house again, I looked for signs of occupation. There were empty milk bottles on the step, but they could have been there for days. All the windows were shut, and given the heat of the day that would indicate that no one was home. Maybe I could let myself in and wait for Angela to return.
Movement at the upstairs window caught my eye – not empty then. There was a vague figure behind the net curtains. With my glamour concealing me I should not stand out, even for someone watchful. I continued walking until I reached the end of the street.
With the house occupied, it was more complicated. I couldn't guarantee it was Angela and I wasn't sure if there was more than one occupant. It increased the risk and added uncertainty. I could sneak around the back and try and see who was in, but I had no way of knowing whether she might have set wardings around the back of the house in case of unwanted visitors. The front was safer; anyone could approach the house from the front – milkman, postman, cold-callers. It made sense to stay where the traffic was.
I turned back on myself again, wondering if any of the houses opposite were unoccupied. I could let myself in to one of those and watch Angela's house from across the road. As I reached the house I noticed a change. In the front downstairs window of the house there was a white rectangle in the window. As I got closer I could see that a sheet of paper had been taped to the glass. On it was written, 'What are you waiting for?'
So much for stealth.
I brought the sword alongside my leg allowing my glamour to conceal it. If necessary I could draw it quickly. I turned into the drive.
As I reached the front door it opened. Angela's face appeared in the gap.
"Oh, thank goodness you're here," she said.
I glanced behind me, wondering if I was being followed by someone else. I was alone.
"You'd better come in, the kettle has just boiled," she added.
This was turning into a strange day.
She opened the door wider and allowed me into the dimly lit hallway. After the heat and brightness of the summer day outside, the cool of the tiled hall was welcome. Angela was careful to keep her distance.
"Shut the door, you'll let the heat in."
I pushed it closed behind me, wondering momentarily if I'd just entered a trap. My hand slid down to the hilt of my sword.
"Come through, I'm making tea, if that's OK?"
It didn't sound like much of a threat, so I followed her down the hall to the kitchen at the back. It would once have been small, but someone had put in a joist and opened it into the sitting room next door to make a kitchen-diner. There was a large French door looking out over a meticulously cultivated garden. After the dark of the hall it was light and airy, and still much cooler than outside.
"Is it?" she asked.
"What?"
"Is tea OK, or would you prefer something cold."
"A cold drink would be fine."
"I have some home-made lemonade if you would like?"
"Great. Thanks."
I watched as she opened the tall fridge and took a jug from the shelf.
"You knew I was coming?" I asked.
She glanced up, hesitantly, and smiled. "I thought you'd be here earlier." She poured the cloudy liquid into a glass and then added a spoon of sugar. "It's a little tart," she said.
"You know who I am?"
"I've known ever since I touched you in the isolation units under Porton Down. Take a seat." She gestured to the chairs around the dining table.
"I'd rather stand." I glanced at the chairs. "You knew I'd say that?"
She shook her head. "That's not how it works, but you already know that."
Placing the glass on the table beside me, she returned to the kettle and made herself a cup of tea.
"Lovely house," I said.
She smiled as she added milk to the tea, moving around the kitchen, watching me from the corner of her eye.
"Have you been here long?"
"I was born here. My mother had me in the bedroom upstairs. I was a home delivery."
"Is your mother here now?"
"She died."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
"It was a long time ago. She was an old lady."
I watched her reaction. "How old?"
"She was in her nineties, so she had a good span. I think she held on for grandchildren. Not to be, I'm afraid."
"You're married?"
"No. There's just me if that's what you're worrying about. You won't be needing a sword."
"What makes you think there's a sword?" I thought I had concealed it. I had been practicing carrying it without anyone noticing.
"It's in your posture. You stand like a dancer, but you're not here to dance."
I tried to look more relaxed without relaxing. I didn't work. "So you live here alone?"
"Company would be nice, but it's difficult finding someone who…" She shook her head. "Touch isn't really…" She looked up. "It's very limiting. I'm sure you understand. Even animals seem to pi
ck it up."
I sipped the lemonade, looking out of the window at the garden, realising that she must spend a lot of time there. Plants were so much less complicated than people. They were living things you could touch without sparking visions of other people's lives.