The Road to Bedlam cotf-2

by Mike Shevdon

  "I'm not sure I should be the one to bear such news. It's too important."

  "When you have my job, you get to deal with the shitty end of the stick too often. You see people at their worst, at their lowest, at the end. When, from time to time, you get the chance to share the joy in people's hearts, you grasp it, not for yourself, but because next time you're dealing with the shit you can look back and think, it isn't all like this."

  "I'll remember that."

  We sat in the church for a good few minutes after that, listening to the wind and the rain.

  "I should go," I told him.

  "Don't feel bad about this, Neal. The convention is not to shoot the messenger. Not your burden to carry."

  "That doesn't stop me feeling responsible."

  "Then be responsible for the good you are doing. Maybe we can put some families in touch again. You of all people know what it's like to deal with unexplained loss, I think."

  I picked up my umbrella and buttoned my coat.

  "Since you appear able to let yourself in, feel welcome here. If you need time to contemplate, it isn't a bad place to think. God doesn't mind. Just make sure you lock up when you leave."

  "I will. Thanks."

  I left him in the pew, and went back out into the rain. It showed no sign of slackening off and by the time I had crossed the road it had found its way under my coat and soaked through my shirt and trousers. There was no point in raising my umbrella as the wind would blow it inside out and I had no idea what would happen when it became a sword again. Would it too be broken?

  I strode down the hill with the wind tugging at my coat and the rain running down my face. The main road was busy with cars and the shops had opened.

  I needed to do something more than bring bad news. Time for some research.

  THIRTEEN

  Blackbird grabbed her bag, "Come on, Claire, we'll use the fire escape."

  "I'm not sure if I locked the front door."

  "Leave it. If they really want to get in they'll just break the door down and then you'll have a broken door to deal with."

  "But someone might steal my things."

  "There may not be anything left to steal if the building goes up, and even less to worry about if you go up with it. Move, woman!" She bustled Claire out on to the fire escape.

  "I don't even have shoes on," complained Claire. "All my shoes are in the apartment. I'm wearing slippers, for goodness sake. People will see."

  "It could be worse. You could have been naked in the shower. At least you're dry, clothed and alive."

  As they reached the bottom of the metal staircase, fire officers came to meet them bearing blankets. Blackbird eyed them warily, grasping the horseshoe in her left hand.

  "This way, Madam. Everything's under control." A tall man in a fluorescent jacket looked warily at Blackbird and ushered them away from the stairway.

  Blackbird shrugged his offer of a blanket away. "If everything was under control, young man, we would not be standing out here."

  He raised his eyebrows at the "young man" comment. "Feeling our age this morning, are we?" he said with a grin.

  Claire came to her rescue. "Don't you even think about patronising us, just because you think you're in charge."

  His attitude shifted. "No, Madam. My boss is in charge and that's him over there by the appliance, so you can write to him with any complaints. In the meantime we'd like to prevent you from being incinerated. Please come this way."

  They were guided out of the alley and across the road. The police were stopping traffic and there were a number of people gathered, looking back across to their flats and homes.

  Blackbird caught Claire's arm. "I'm going."

  "Going? Where?"

  "Never mind where. Deefnir will follow me, not you, so you should be safe. Keep the horseshoes with you just in case. Place them like I showed you, and don't open the door to strangers, even to get the milk, understand?"

  "But where will you go?"

  The police were shepherding them towards the crowd and Blackbird didn't like crowds. It was too hard to see what was going on.

  "Don't worry. I'll get in touch when this is over. Watch out for yourself."

  Blackbird veered sideways.

  "This way, Miss," said a short policeman with a padded anti-stab vest over his uniform. He indicated the gathering across the road.

  "I'm just passing through," she reassured him. "What a kerfuffle, eh? Is it a bomb scare?"

  "Just a gas leak, Miss. No cause for alarm. Keep to the right there, please, let the emergency services do their job."

  Walking down the pavement, away from the flashing lights and the milling people, she glanced behind frequently to see if someone separated from the crowd, coming after her, knowing she probably wouldn't see them until it was too late.

  Rule one of survival, don't go where you're expected to be.

  That gave her a problem. She did have places she could go, but many of them would be places she was known. She didn't want to take trouble where it wasn't welcome, but her choices were few.

  She pulled the bag up on to her shoulder, letting her hand dip down where the reassuring weight of the horseshoe was cold against her fingers. If anyone using magic got close, it should disrupt their power momentarily, giving her a split second to decide between fight and run. She shifted her hand to the hard black handle of the kitchen knife she had borrowed from Claire. She would return it, of course, when she had no more need of it, but for now it would give her a chance to even the odds, should the answer be fight rather than flee.

  Making herself slow down, she crossed the road between the traffic. The drivers stopped for her, something she had never known happen in London, but then there had to be some advantages to being obviously pregnant, apart from the obvious one, of course. Almost unconsciously, she stroked her hand down her belly.

  Her best option was a taxi, but her funds were low and getting a taxi in rush hour on a morning promising rain was going to be difficult, even if she did play the mother-to-be. Second choice was the Tube. That had other advantages in terms of where she could go.

  She crossed another street, watching to see if anyone else crossed after her, then turned down a side road past a school where mothers were shepherding rowdy youngsters between iron gates – not the sort of school her child would be welcome at. She veered away from the iron even though it wouldn't affect her in her present state.

  "Force of habit," she muttered to herself, earning a strange look from a young black woman who pulled a small boy close to her as an older girl prodded him, then danced out of reach into Blackbird's path.

  "Mind what'cha doing, Helena. You nearly had that lady over."

  Blackbird turned back to say that it was no problem, and it was then that she noticed the pale foreign man in the black suit. He didn't quite fit somehow, or maybe he wasn't used to wearing a suit and tie. He carried on walking towards her, not breaking step and studiously ignoring her gaze, but Blackbird couldn't help looking up at the heavy grey clouds and thinking that on a day like today most people would at least have worn a coat over an expensive suit like that.

  She waved away the apology and hurried along the pavement. There were people around, walking to work or on their way to see friends, but that wouldn't matter. If it came to a fight it would be a private conflict. No one would see. No one would intervene.

  When she looked back, the man had gone. Was she barking at the moon, seeing phantoms, making something out of nothing? She wasn't sure, but her pace increased and she kept glancing back whenever she had an opportunity.

  She reached the tube station at Pimlico and took the ramp down to the ticket hall. She was at the barrier before she realised she would need a ticket and had to turn back. She dug in her purse for money and fed the machine coins while she tried to watch all the entrances. There was no sign of the man in the suit by the time she reached the barrier again. Slotting her dayticket through the machine, she went through and took the esc
alator down.

  She chose the platform for the southbound line headed for Brixton. A single youth sat on a bench, eyes closed, nodding his head to the sound of the music pumping from his headphones. Blackbird could hear it clearly from yards away. She could not imagine any member of the Seventh Court tolerating such a racket, and therefore judged the youth harmless. Ignoring him, she moved quickly along the platform until she found the passageway through to the northbound side. She stood in the gap between platforms, breathing hard.

  It was a few minutes before the train arrived and she used the time to catch her breath. The humid air in the station didn't make her any cooler and she could feel where the sweat was soaking through the smock-top under her arms. She considered peeling off the top, but then she would have a moment when she could neither see anything nor fend off any attack.

  She fanned herself with her hand instead.

  The train rattled on to the platform a moment later, but she didn't move immediately. She waited until the alarm for the train doors closing was beeping and then stepped out on to the platform. At the far end she saw a tall man lingering where the departing passengers left the platform. As she jumped between the closing doors, she saw him move quickly through the remains of the crowd and jump for the door. She watched carefully as the train departed, hoping to see him stranded on the platform, but he wasn't there. That meant he was on the train.

  She looked around in the carriage. The seats were all occupied and no one offered to give up their place to the obviously pregnant woman. She moved down the car, stepping between the feet to get one door further away from the far end of the train. At the end of the car there was a group of six young men, hair cropped tight to their heads, tattoos on their arms. The nearest one wore a baseball cap while they all wore hoodies. The surly way they viewed other passengers meant that they went unchallenged for their end of the car, even through there were a number of spare seats between them.

  "Wanna sit down, darlin'?" The nearest one leered at her.

  To some men pregnancy was not a barrier. For some it was an attraction. She was about to tell them to get lost when an idea occurred to her.

  "Are you boys patriotic?" she asked, noting the wavy Union Jack tattooed on the arm of the lad sprawled in the far corner.

  "What's 'at about?" asked the one in the baseball cap.

  "She wants to know whever you lav your country," said the one in the white hoodie across from him, grinning.

  The pronunciation of the word "love" as "lav" almost made Blackbird smile.

  "I lav my country as much as the next bloke, dun I?" said baseball cap.

  "It's just…" she said. "Never mind."

  "What?" he said. "You don't fink I do? I do, dun I?" He challenged his mate to deny it.

  "It's just… there's a man, clearly a foreign gentleman, following me. He was walking behind me down the street and then he jumped on the train as soon as he saw me boarding."

  "Where?" said hoodie. He stood up in the carriage, making Blackbird stand back.

  "He's in one of the carriages towards the front of the train, a tall, dark-haired man in a black suit. Do you think he might be following me?"

  "Sounds like a bit of a perv to me," said baseball cap.

  Hoodie agreed. "I don't care if he's foreign or not, he shun't be following you about, should 'e? That's pervy, that is."

  Hoodie squinted up the carriages, failing to see beyond the next car. "'Ere, we're coming into Victoria. Let us off first, and we'll walk down the train and 'ave a look." He spoke quickly to the rest of the bunch and they gathered around Blackbird protectively.

  "This is really very good of you," she said. "I'm just a bit nervous, what with being in my condition."

  "That's all right, darlin'," said the one with the tattoos. "Never let it be said that chivalry is dead in England."

  Blackbird smiled her thanks while recalling that chivalry was introduced into England by the French and realising that this probably wasn't the time to mention that to them.

  They rumbled into the platform at Victoria and rolled to a halt. As the doors opened, the group tumbled out on to the platform, jostling each other and laughing loudly. They moved up the train, making a complete pantomime of acting natural. Blackbird waited a moment and then followed them.

  As soon as she stepped on to the platform, the suited man stepped off at the front and began walking towards her, merging into the group of people at his end of the platform heading towards the exit. When he reached the exit he paused, as if remembering something, so that the group dissipated around him.

  The lads took this as a sign.

  "'Ere, what's your game?" shouted Hoodie. They picked up speed as they got closer, urging each other on, the testosterone levels rising like a flash flood.

  "Get out of it, pervert!" shouted baseball cap. They gathered round him, penning him in, shoving and pushing him towards the exit.

  The alarm for the closing doors sounded and Blackbird reversed her direction and jumped back on the train. As the doors whirred closed behind her she heard an outcry as the conflict suddenly escalated. The train lurched and started accelerating. As she passed the exit door she saw Hoodie hurtle through the air and land sprawled across the platform. There was a blur of tangled bodies as she passed and trundled into the tunnel and they were out of sight.

  She fanned herself with her hand again. "Hooray for chivalry," she murmured to herself.

  At the next stop she changed for the Piccadilly Line. She didn't know how long it would take for the suited man to follow, but she was counting on London Underground to intervene. With any luck the Railway Police would be involved. If the man in the suit was fey that wouldn't slow him down much, but now she was at least one train and one connection ahead of him. She knew where she was going. She hoped that he didn't, otherwise the distraction wouldn't work and she would have to try something else.

  She got off the Piccadilly Line train at Covent Garden and waited near the lifts until the coast was clear. The door down was a problem. She couldn't unlock it with magic and the CCTV cameras were everywhere. When she tried the door, though, it was open. Was she expected?

  She slipped through into the dully lit platform beyond and waited on the stairs for her eyes to adjust. Then she made her way down the spiral stairs until she reached the tunnel near the bottom. The arch of the tunnel extended into the gloom beyond the light until the green and white of the walls merged with the darkness. She stepped forward confidently and then paused, returning to the steps.

  "No good arriving with this, is it?" She dipped into her bag, extracted the horseshoe and laid it gently under the bottom step where it would function as a warding but not be noticed by anyone coming down the stairs.

  As she turned back to the corridor, a huge shaggy shape materialised out of the dark.

  "Gramawl!"

  She ran forward and nearly tripped, but giant hands snapped out and caught her. She was swept off her feet, gathered up into huge shaggy arms.

  There was a thrumming sound, low enough to vibrate the marrow in her bones. She grabbed handfuls of fur and hugged him close.

  "Gramawl, I've been so scared."

  The mountain of fur shifted, settled down crosslegged on the cold tiles and cradled her in its lap, stroking her hair from her face with one massive gnarled finger. She pressed her face into the fur, breathing easy at last.

  There was a rumbling sound. Blackbird looked up.

  "You want to feel?"

  Golden eyes the size of saucers gazed down on her. She grabbed hold of two of his fingers in her hand and moved the hand around until it rested against her belly. The hand curled around the curve of the bump. She sighed, relaxing under his hand.

  There was a low "Humph!" from Gramawl.

  "Oh! Did you feel him? He kicked."

  A sound like grating granite filled the tunnel. It resolved slowly into a gentle huffing that was Gramawl's laughter. She laughed too, like a descant over heavy bass.

  "
There! He did it again. He can hear you."

  Gramawl removed his hand and took Blackbird's hand in his. He held her hand open and then tapped rhythmically on her palm with the pad of one finger: pat-pat, pat-pat, pat-pat, pat-pat.

  She looked up. "Is that his heart? You can hear it?'

  He held out his hand as if he was dangling a sweet or holding a mouse by the tail, then folded in his thumb and closed his fist. Finally he wrapped one hand around another.

  "Small but strong, safe inside," she said. She took his hand and opened it again, pressing it to her belly, folding her own hands over the top. She relaxed into him. A low purring sound reverberated within the tunnel, soft and deep, and for a while she rested against him.

  Eventually she stirred, shifting in his lap. He turned his face down to her and she stroked her hand down the side of his face. "Is she awake?"

  Gramawl nodded slowly and allowed Blackbird to climb from his lap before rising easily, filling the tunnel again with his bulk. He turned and led the way into the darkness. Blackbird followed, her footsteps sure despite the lack of light. He would not lead her astray.

  The tunnel curved then straightened, and she could see the dim light from the steps spilling down from the side tunnel. He stopped on the far side of the tunnel, eyes gleaming in the dark. She reached up to pat his cheek, then mounted the steps carefully, holding the handrail so she would not falter, up to the half-landing, turning back on herself. She could see the opening above, the lamps in their metal shuttered cowls, the smell of cloves mixed with new turned earth.

  "Who is it?" The voice was crackly, but clear. Blackbird smiled in the dimness.

  "It's me. I've come to see you."

  "Girl? Is it you?"

  As she mounted the remaining steps, she could see dark rich hangings in heavy Persian designs draped across the opening,

  "Yes, Kareesh. I'm here." She put her hand into the gap to part them.

  "One in two. Two in one." The voice had changed.

  "Isn't one and isn't two. Two and one. Knit together, entwined and entangled, made together, pulled asunder."