Strangeness and Charm

by Mike Shevdon

  I had to admit, though, it didn't look like it was going to be today. Maybe if I came back tomorrow I would have more luck. I thanked the waitress who cleared my cup away and headed out into the market. I stopped at one of the stalls selling fruit. The stallholder was bemoaning the figs he had for sale, saying they were too ripe to hold onto and he was going to have to chuck them out the next day if someone didn't buy them. I hesitated, wondering if Blackbird liked figs.

  That was when the half-seen figure crossed my vision. It wasn't that I recognised him, but that I didn't really see him. When I turned to look there was no one there. He was using glamour to conceal himself.

  I left the fruit-seller and walked swiftly to a parallel row, following along with the path I'd vaguely seen from the corner of my eye, trying to catch a glimpse of shadows that shouldn't be there or places where I had the sudden urge to look away.

  I tracked back towards the stall where his coat was, being careful to keep out of view. I circled around, keeping stalls between me and the path he was likely to take, and came out near where I had left his coat. Andy was talking to the owner of a stall selling Caribbean foods with his back to me. The owner pointed to the stallholder with the coat. He thanked the guy and walked over to the stall, taking my bait.

  I waited out of sight until he was talking to the stallholder. The coat was produced and he grinned, clearly pleased to have it back. He slipped into it, shrugging it onto his shoulders and patting the pockets. He pulled out the money I'd secreted and hefted it, making some remark to the stallholder. I edged forward, waiting for him to read the note I'd left with the money. As I did, the stallholder lifted up the rucksack and then noticed me, pointing me out to Andy.

  Andy's reaction was immediate. He sprinted for the aisle, knocking over a tray of apples in the process, scattering them across the concrete. The stallholder shouted after him, gesturing after him as he raced away.

  I was already moving after him, heading down a parallel row of stalls, catching glimpses of the flying coat as he ran ahead of me. He turned into the side street, heading back where he went before. I accelerated, figuring he was going for the same exit. As I tuned into the back street he was running ahead of me, coat flying out behind him. He didn't even look back, he skidded into the blind alley.

  I slowed to a halt at the mouth of the alley. A little way in the coat was sprawled across the floor, abandoned. The bag of money was discarded too, thrown against some of the bin bags further in. Of Andy there was no sign. I drew my sword and edged into the alley, scanning the walls and the high roof, looking for an outline that didn't fit. I'd been only seconds behind him. Unless he could fly or run up sheer walls he had to be here somewhere.

  "Andy? Come on out. I won't hurt you. I want to talk to you."

  There was no reply. After a few moments I summoned up the courage to explore deeper, finding only old bin bags and rotting vegetables. I turned around in the alley, looking for hand-holds and climbing places. There was no obvious route upwards, but he'd used this alley twice now. Was there some means of escape that I was missing? I rattled the thin windows and checked the roller shutter again. Did he have some way of opening and closing it quickly and quietly?

  I put my sword away and placed may hand on it, willing it to open. The cold metal was unresponsive, and when I tried to lift it, it clacked noisily but wouldn't budge. It left a finger-width gap, but that was all.

  Turning slowly, I looked for trapdoors or drain-covers that might hide an exit underground, kicking aside bin bags to see what was underneath, but there were none. Walking slowly back along the alley I picked up the coat and the money. I hefted the money as he had done.

  This clearly had value to him, he'd been pleased to receive it back. So why abandon it? The same with the coat, it was bulky, yes, but why leave it behind? I was beginning to think he was sprouting wings and flying away over the rooftops, which might explain the coat, but not the money. Why not take it with him?

  Shaking my head I took it back to the market. The stallholder was not pleased to see me.

  "He was fine until you turned up. Owe you money does he?" he said, hefting boxes of fruit onto a sack truck.

  "I just want to talk to him."

  "Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you? Thought of that, have you?" He carried on loading.

  "Look," I said. "If I don't talk to him he could be in trouble."

  "Police are you?" he asked. "Show us your badge."

  "Not police, this is a private matter, and I think Andy will want to keep it that way."

  "Bonking someone's missus is it? The quiet ones, they're always the worst."

  "As I say, it's a private matter." I let him come to his own conclusions. "He's come to you twice now, he'll come back for the coat when he thinks the coast is clear." I held out the bundled coat.

  "I ain't looking after it. Look what happened, you scared him into tossing my stock half-way round the market."

  "You still have the rucksack, and I apologise for the damage to your stock." I fished out a tenner from my wallet. "That should cover any damage."

  "Nah, I don't want your money. Give it 'ere." He took the coat from me.

  "I've slipped a note into the inside pocket for him, make sure he knows it's there."

  The stallholder tucked the coat away. "You've warned him off now. Can't you let him alone? He don't mean no harm."

  "He's not in any danger from me. I only want to talk to him."

  "Yeah, funny how those sorts of conversations end up with broken bones, ain't it?" he remarked, assessing me.

  "Just make sure he gets the message," I said.

  "All you have to do is find them and bring them in. That's it," Garvin said. "That's the job."

  "It's not as simple as that," I said. "Amber and I went after this group and they were prepared. Now they know we're after them they'll be even more careful. It's not just me that can't find them, Amber hasn't been able to track them either."

  "Meanwhile you want to give that Scottish git more ammunition," said Garvin.

  "He has access to information that we do not," I pointed out. "We need to know what else has been stolen – not just trinkets and home comforts, but odd things – items that might have some symbolic significance."

  "Why do you need to know this again?"

  "Blackbird thinks they might be trying to create some sort of ritual, or to prevent one. You remember the fuss about the Quit Rents Ceremony? She thinks it might be something like that."

  I carefully didn't mention Gregor. Garvin wouldn't be keen on Blackbird's involvement, but getting an outsider involved would not meet his approval at all.

  "Is there nowhere else you could find that out?"

  I thought for a moment about asking Sam Veldon. He worked for the security services and might have access to this information, but it would be outside of his normal sphere of interest and asking the wrong questions in that environment tended to draw attention. I had used most of my favours with Sam getting Alex back – he was unlikely to be helpful.

  "Unless you have some other contacts with access to the police computer systems? That'll be the quickest way to find out what's going on – if we can narrow it down to thefts from museums, private collections, art galleries and anywhere else with artefacts which might have symbolic significance, stolen between the summer solstice and now, that should give us enough to work on."

  "And if I get you this list, what are you going to do with it?" he asked me.

  "That depends what's on the list," I demurred.

  "You're sure this isn't one of Blackbird's games?"

  "To what end?"

  Garvin sighed, "It's enough that she goes off on wild goose chases, Niall, without sending the Warders off on one as well."

  "Aren't you always telling me to find out what I'm walking into before I engage?" I asked.

  "Don't quote me back, Niall. I haven't the patience for it."

  "We know they've stolen a feather and a key. The question is, what els
e have they stolen, and what will they go after next? I thought you'd be pleased that I was following my training."

  Garvin raised an eyebrow, then folded his hands. "OK, I'll put a request in today. I don't know how long it will take them to respond. I'll get back to you when they do."

  "Thanks," I said, standing. "Oh, and I'd like to borrow Amber, if I may?"

  "Amber? Why?"

  "I've tracked one of the escapees down, but every time I have him cornered, he disappears. I think it would be easier with some backup."

  Garvin studied my face for a moment. "Very well. I'll talk to her."

  "I've already mentioned it to her. It's OK with her if it's OK with you," I said.

  "She's a Warder, she doesn't need permission," he said.

  "She seemed to think it would be best to clear it with you first," I said.

  Garvin looked at me long and hard. "Amber hasn't asked my permission to act on anything for a very long time."

  "I'm only saying what she said to me."

  "I'll speak to her," said Garvin, "but it's fine. In fact, I encourage you to work with the other Warders. Maybe some of their experience will rub off on you."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

  I turned and walked away.

  "It's kept them alive," Garvin called after me. "You might want to bear that in mind."

  At whose expense, I wondered.

  "You don't need me for this," said Amber. "It's a job for one."

  "You agreed to help," I pointed out.

  "I thought he was dangerous. From what you've said, every time he spots you he takes off. That's hardly a threat."

  "I still haven't managed to catch up with him."

  She shook her head. "You're making it too easy for him – approaching in plain sight, announcing your presence before you need to – no wonder he gets away from you. If you're going to use those tactics you're going to have to learn to run a lot faster."

  "I don't want to scare him. I'm trying to build trust."

  "Perhaps that's not working out so well for him?" she suggested.

  "Look, Amber, are you going to help me or not?"

  She studied me for a while, and then nodded.

  "Twice now I've chased him and each time he's come to this alley. Where he goes, I don't know, but he comes round here and then vanishes."

  She turned around slowly, checking walls, floor, the rolldown shutters and the slot windows. "Not many places to go. Are you sure he isn't hiding out until you've gone?"

  "Where?" I asked.

  She drew her blade and poked through some of the binbags, finding only discarded waste and flies.

  "My plan," I explained, "is to wait for him to appear and then introduce myself. I'll try and talk to him. If he bolts then he'll likely come here, where you can be waiting for him."

  "Cornered animals fight harder," she remarked.

  "I only want to talk to him. There's no reason for a fight."

  "On your part, at least," she said. "We don't know about him."

  "He hasn't shown any inclination to fight up until now. Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

  "It would help if you knew what talents he possesses – evasion is clearly part of it."

  "There's not enough information in the files to make any sense of it. We'll have to play it by ear. Are you OK with the plan? You'll have to wait here."

  She leaned against the wall by the down-pipe. "I'm good at waiting."

  As I watched, she closed in on herself, settling into stillness. After only a moment or two she might as well have been part of the wall.

  "Great," I said, wishing I was more confident.

  I made my way back to the market, wandering through the aisles and keeping a low profile, hoping to see Andy before he saw me. I looked for signs of someone using glamour – the faint heat haze in the air where someone is trying not to be seen, the unaccounted urge to look away when someone passes. As it was, I needn't have bothered. Half an hour later, Andy walked through the market wearing the coat, carrying the rucksack I'd left with the stallholder. Having escaped twice, he'd developed a boldness to his approach and sauntered casually through the stalls, greeting regulars by name.

  I followed him through the stalls, watching him ply his trade. He sold jars of honey to a couple of stallholders, exchanging the golden jars for coins and notes. I began to see that he wasn't trying to supply the market with honey in bulk, but was selling jars individually to the stallholders themselves. The comment the guy who'd kept his coat had made about him charging retail price began to make sense. He wasn't looking for trade, he was looking for customers.

  I followed him to the guy I'd left his coat with, and he stopped there and spoke with him. He passed over a jar, gesturing that he would take no money for it. It was a reward for returning the coat, perhaps. I waited out of sight until he finished his conversation and moved on, winding his way through the stalls. I placed myself in a position where he would be coming towards me on his way back out again, leaning casually against a pillar so that he could see I wouldn't chase him.

  As he turned the corner and scanned the stalls he spotted me. I tried for a wave of the hand as a casual greeting, but he interpreted my move as a threat and bolted for the side street. I ran after him, tracking his progress out of the market into the street, heading for the alley.

  I was only moments behind him. He had the rucksack hampering him and the coat flying out like a banner behind him as he ran. As soon as he came to the alley he dipped sideways.

  I came around the corner to find him standing, arms raised and held out from his body. In front on him, Amber held her sword level with his throat, the tip of the blade only inches from him. Poised, she stood like a dancer. He looked back at me as I caught up behind him.

  "It's OK," I said, slightly winded, "We only want to talk. She won't hurt you."

  "Buuddzzz," he said.

  I looked at him. "What?"

  There was something strange about him. His skin became bumpy, as if some disease was erupting from within him. His form rippled as he swayed drunkenly, Amber's blade following his movement. It was as if he was no longer able to support his own weight.

  Amber said, "What the…?"

  His skin broke into fragments and evaporated, falling away to reveal a living crawling mass of tiny creatures. They streamed into a flying mass, spiralling out from the manshape, the coat and rucksack falling to the ground amid them. Amber and I staggered back from the swarming, circling mass as they filled the alley with their buzzing, rising and swirling upwards in a harmonious melée, spilling out over the roof until they vanished out of sight.

  "Bees." I said, finally grasping what I'd seen. "He's made of bees!"

  "Shapechanger," said Amber, "and not one I've seen before. Come on." She headed out of the alley.

  "Where are you going?" I asked. "We're never going to catch him now."

  "That's where you're wrong," she said.

  I raced after her as she headed down the side street, rounded the block and turned back on herself into the shopping street that fronted the row. She scanned the skyline.

  "Not far then," she said.

  "What's not far?"

  "You see any bees?" she asked.

  "No."

  "Quite." She ran along the row, counting the shops until she came to a vegetarian cafe. "This is about right," she said.

  She glanced to either side at the private doorways to flats on either side, choosing a black door that looked newly painted. "Black's my favourite colour," she explained.

  "Where are we going?" I asked.

  "You'll see."

  She put her hand on the door and it popped open. Inside was a short hallway with stairs up to the first floor. We mounted the stairs quickly, running along the corridor past a door from behind which a heavy reggae beat was thumping, to the next set of stairs. She didn't hesitate but kept moving upwards. The next floor was quieter, but we went up again. This stairway was narrower and came to a plain
door at the top of the stairs.

  "Make a wish," she said.

  "What kind of wish?"

  "Too late." She laid her hand on the door and pushed it open. Inside was a small one room bedsit that looked as if it had been ransacked. There were clothes on the floor, hanging from door handles, in piles on the bed. Books and magazines were strewn among the mayhem.

  "Is this where Andy lives?" I asked.