The Eighth Court

by Mike Shevdon

  “We will be swearing blood oaths,” she reminded me. “And that requires blood. Bring your sword and something to wipe the blade that won’t show the stains. You don’t want people fainting when you pick up a blood-soaked rag.”

  “We could ask Garvin to do it,” I suggested. “He’s done it before.”

  “No, I want you to do it. It’s a symbolic moment and it needs to be done well. I trust you.” She rested her hand on my arm. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t lop anyone’s hand off.”

  “No pressure then,” I said.

  “We’ll let people meet each other, and then when everyone’s had chance to socialise, I’ll say something to the assembly. I don’t know what, yet, but I’ll think of something.”

  “A welcome address, perhaps,” suggested Angela.

  “Something of that nature. After that, we’ll name the baby, which means it’s your turn to stand up and say something, Niall. It’ll be the first naming ceremony in a fey court for hundreds of years, so you’d better come up with something good.”

  “This gets better and better,” I said.

  “Apparently this was all your idea,” said Blackbird, smiling, “so you can’t complain about it now. You keep telling me that’s it’s time our son had a name, and now’s your chance. It’s your choice, so choose well.”

  She didn’t say, or else, after that, but I felt that it was implied.

  “Speaking of our son, you could relieve Alex from looking after him. Lesley will have her hands full with the arrangements for tomorrow, but you could bring him back here. I need to find him something to wear when he’s presented to the court. What are you going to wear?” She asked me.

  “Just Warder grey,” I suggested. “I don’t really have anything else.

  “As good as anything, and it emphasises your neutrality. Angela, can you ask Mullbrook if he can have one of the new dresses ready for tomorrow? I’ll need to be presentable, and I’ll need something to wear when we beat the bounds – I can’t do that in a court dress…”

  I left them to their discussions and went to find Alex. She was in her room, headphones plugged into her ears while the baby sat in her lap. I had to wave at her to get her attention. She didn’t look very happy at being left with the baby all morning.

  “Are you OK?” I asked her.

  “Yeah,” she sighed. “I’m fine.” That was clearly not the truth.

  “I’ll take him off your hands now,” I said. “Thanks for looking after him. We couldn’t have done what we did this morning and taken him along.”

  “That’s OK,” she said. “He’s been no trouble at all.” This time her words rang true.

  “Is something the matter?” I asked her.

  “No,” she said. She must have heard the lie in her own words, because she added, “Nothing you can do anything about.”

  I sat on the bed, gathering up my son, who kicked his legs furiously as soon as he was lifted up.

  “You can tell me anything,” I told her. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “I guess,” she said. “If there was anything to tell.”

  “You should see the new place,” I said, trying to find something that would lift her spirits. “It’s quite something.”

  “I s’pose I’ll get to see it eventually,” she said, refusing the bait.

  “Sooner than you think. You’re being invited to attend a gathering at the new court, along with all the others. There’s going to be a party. I have to make a speech.” I tried to make it sound impressive.

  “You’re not going to be embarrassing are you?” she asked.

  “That depends whether you cheer up or not,” I told her, smiling. “I might have to tell everyone how you’re my best girl, my own little angel.”

  That was usually enough to get her going, but instead she just shrugged. “If you want,” she said. “Sorry, I’m just a bit down, that’s all.”

  I held out my arm and she gave me a brief hug. The baby reached out a hand for her, and she gave him her finger which he promptly stuck in his mouth. “You could give Blackbird and Lesley a hand,” I said. “They’re going to be running around like mad things for the next day or so. I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, maybe I will,” she said, reclaiming her finger from being gummed and wiping it on the bedclothes.

  “Well don’t sit up here moping all day. It won’t make you feel any better, trust me,” I said, standing up. “If you’re helping, at least you can be miserable in good company. Blackbird’s choosing something to wear, and I guess you’ll be needing something too?” I prompted. Usually the mention of shopping opportunities was enough to cheer her up.

  “Who’s going to be there?” she asked.

  “Everyone who’s anyone,” I said. “In the Eighth Court, at least. There are more of us than you might think these days.”

  “Is anyone else going? Garvin or anyone?”

  “Garvin? No I don’t think Garvin will be there. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering,” she said. “It’s not everyone, then?”

  “It’s for the new court,” I told her. “We’ll be moving to the new place, you’ll have a new room and everything.”

  “Leaving?” she said. “But I was just getting used to it.”

  “We can’t stay here,” I told her. “We’ve only been able to be here as guests of the High Court. Now that we have our own court we need our own place.”

  “I s’pose,” she said again. Somehow the news seemed to depress her even further.

  “Once you have a room that’s properly your own, you’ll be able to have your own things around you. Won’t that be nice?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Nice.”

  Unable to penetrate into whatever it was that was bothering her, I left her to it. She was a teenage girl and maybe she was just having the blues that day. It happened. At least she wasn’t shouting or bothering the plumbing. Maybe she’d cheer up in a bit and join in.

  I took the baby back to Blackbird and then made my excuses on the pretext of Warder duties. The next couple of days were likely to be busy ones and I had some outstanding business with a certain Sam Veldon that I wanted to deal with before I got embroiled into Eighth Court business. I found an empty room on the ground floor with a mirror in it.

  “Sam Veldon,” I said into the mirror. It misted slightly and then cleared to the sound of low snoring. “Sam!” I shouted into the mirror.

  “Wha–?” said a voice. “Who’s there?”

  “You know who this is,” I said, “don’t you.”

  “You’re dead,” he said. “I shot you. You’re dead.” He sounded only half awake, as if he were wondering whether he was dreaming.

  “If that’s true, then I won’t be able to meet you on Westminster Bridge at midday, will I?”

  “Westminster? What’s that gonna do?” He wasn’t making a lot of sense, but then he’d had a disturbed night, and had just been wrenched from the limited sleep I’d allowed him.

  “Midday – don’t be late.” I released the mirror, sure now that he would be there. I had one or two preparations to make and then I would go and meet him, and this time I would be the one who was waiting.

  SIXTEEN

  On a December afternoon on Westminster Bridge, even when the low winter sun is at its strongest, no one stops to admire the view. It was bitterly cold. People huddled past wrapped in scarves with coats buttoned tight, eager to escape the freezing wind off the river.

  I waited in full view for Sam, knowing he would watch for me. I took a risk. It was possible he could be in one of the buildings overlooking the bridge with a rifle, taking a bead on my head, but I didn’t think so. That was the reason I’d chosen this spot. It had a good view of the Houses of Parliament and the security services tended to take a dim view of people with sniper rifles and telescopic sights so close to the seat of government – something Sam would be aware of. He’d almost succeeded once in killing me by getting in close. I wasn’t sure whether h
e’d worked out that I could avoid the glassy stare of the CCTV cameras that were undoubtedly trained on the bridge, tracking everyone who crossed. Maybe he was relying on that.

  People hurried past me, eager to reach the relative shelter of the buildings on each bank, their breath clouding in the chill air before it was whipped away upstream. Sam stood out as he approached. He didn’t huddle and he didn’t rush. His coat was loosely wrapped around him, giving him easy access to the inside pockets.

  You bastard, I thought. You’re planning to shoot me again.

  He looked grim. The stubble was raised on his cheeks where he hadn’t shaved for days. There were loose pockets of saggy skin under his eyes and dark smudges that spoke of too much whisky and not enough sleep. He paused and checked behind him, timing his walk so he would reach me while no one else was passing. I could see him weighing it up – one to the chest, one to the head, then over the parapet into the Thames.

  He walked up to me. “Peterson,” he said. “Last time I saw you, you were dying.”

  “I’d love to say there were no hard feelings,” I told him.

  He turned as if to glance back and went for the inside pocket of his coat. That’s when Amber kicked his legs out from under him. He landed badly with a dull crump from his shoulder. “Aaagh!” he shouted.

  Amber stood on his wrist and placed the tip of her blade on his neck, pulling out a wallet, a mobile phone, a card wallet and an automatic pistol from his coat and jacket pockets. I caught them one by one, tossing the pistol over the parapet into the Thames.

  “Sam,” I said. “I do believe your intentions were less than honourable.”

  “Fuck off!” he said, trying to pull his wrist out from under Amber’s boots.

  “Be polite,” I advised him. “You don’t want to upset her.”

  “Go and f–” He got as far as that when Amber hauled him up by the front of his coat and swung him round, and tossed him straight over the parapet. He screamed as he went over, flailing his arms in desperation. I waited a moment, and then leaned over the parapet. Sam was dangling by one ankle from Amber’s grip. His free leg and arms were flailing around wildly.

  “I warned you,” I told him. “I tried to tell you. You’re just not very good at accepting advice.”

  “You bastard,” he shouted. “For fuck’s sake!”

  “If I were you,” I said. “I’d stop struggling. You might loosen her grip and that would leave you with two choices. You’d hit the water hard, and you might go unconscious if you were lucky.” I stared down at the brown water heading towards the sea. “You might just drown.”

  Sam started shouting. “Help! Heeeeelp!”

  “On the other hand, I’m not sure how good a swimmer you are. If you hit the water right, you could make it to the surface. Of course, at this time of year in these conditions you have about a minute. Hypothermia will be nicer than drowning. It’ll be like going to sleep. Do they teach you survival in your line of work?”

  “Heeeeeelp!” he shouted. Amber raised one eyebrow, as if she were considering letting go.

  “No one can hear you,” I told him. “You have just one chance, though Amber thinks that’s one chance too many. I’m going to have to convince her not to let go.”

  “I hate you, Petersen!”

  “Who gave you the bullets?” I asked him.

  “Fuck off!”

  Amber’s grip slipped an inch up his ankle. He screamed like a girl.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “I can’t tell you,” he said. “I don’t know anything.”

  “OK,” I said. “You’re probably right. Even as a policeman trained in undercover work, your powers of observation were probably off that day. I understand. I’m just sorry we couldn’t make this last longer. Amber, drop him.”

  “Nooooooooo! Wait! Wait!” He swung from her grip, his fingers scrabbling upside down against the base of the parapet searching for some grip, some handhold.

  “What for?” I asked. “I already told you that I didn’t kill Claire. You don’t believe me. I think I know who did, but your chances of catching him are approaching zero about as rapidly as you’ll be approaching that river in a moment. I don’t kill people who don’t try and kill me, whereas my colleague Amber here has no such scruples. To her you’re just a dead weight, shortly to have the emphasis on dead.”

  Sam started kicking again, “For God’s sake. It’ll be cold-blooded murder.”

  “I don’t kill people who don’t try to kill me, but you’re not on that list, are you Sam? You’re the sort of guy who shoots someone through a coat. You leave them to bleed to death. We have nothing left to say. Amber’s right, the only thing left between us is a loose end. One that can easily be severed.”

  “Wait! Wait! I can tell you something. I can.”

  “What?”

  “Not from down here. Haul me up. I’ll tell you if you get me up.”

  “Naah,” I said. “You’re bluffing.” Amber’s grip slipped another inch. He screamed. She had hold of his foot now. I noticed the way the hairs on his legs were caught in her grip. That must be quite painful.

  “No! They were spooks. They knew who you were. They told me about you. They said you’d killed her.”

  “Who did, Sam? Who did?”

  “They didn’t give names. Their type never do. For Christ’s sake, I’ll tell you everything, just get me up!”

  “What do you think?” I asked Amber.

  “I think he’d say anything right now,” she said. “He doesn’t yet realise that if he’s lying I’m going to toss him over again, and this time I’m not catching him.”

  “I swear,” he said. “I’ll tell you it all. For God’s sake.”

  “God won’t help you now,” I said. “Not in this world.” I could hear that he was telling the truth, though. He would tell us everything, and I needed to know.

  “Get him up,” I said.

  When Amber brought him up, I pulled off his coat and threw it over the parapet into the Thames. He watched it float out on the stiff breeze and then vanish. “That’s you if you don’t tell me everything I want to know,” I said.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he said. He was shaking, and it wasn’t from cold.

  “Watch your mouth,” I said, glancing at Amber. “You’d better learn to keep a civil tongue in your head if you want to live.”

  Sam held the glass of whisky to his lips, his hands still shaking. We had adjourned to a pub, the Slug and Lettuce, part of a chain conveniently situated just near the old County Hall. We had followed Sam to the place, making it clear that he could run, but then Amber would have to hamstring him and carry him back to the bridge.

  He was seated opposite me, nursing a triple scotch cupped between his hands.

  “The meter’s running,” I reminded him.

  He visibly tried to stem the trembling in his hands. “There were two of them,” he said. “There are always bloody two of them.” He looked between Amber and me. I waited for more.

  “They came to me at work, arranged an interview room. It was official,” he said.

  “Officially what?” I asked.

  “They came to give me the news. They’d brought photos and everything – her face, lying in a pool of blood. The initial forensic analysis, before the autopsy. The death certificate – it said cause of death was loss of blood.”

  “What did they want?” I asked him.

  “They showed me a picture. It was a photo of you just outside the crime scene. You looked panicky, desperate. They asked me if I knew who you were.”

  “And you told them you did.”

  “You don’t tell that sort anything if you don’t have to. They told me what had happened, that there was no family, few friends. They asked me if I wanted to arrange a funeral. I didn’t see the point. They left me to it.”

  “So how did you get the bullets?” I asked him.

  “After they’d gone I started going through the files. I knew there was stuff on you. If I could fi
nd you then we could settle it for good. I went through everything I was cleared for.”

  “And?”

  “And then they came back. They knew I’d been through your files. They knew what I knew, and a lot more besides.”

  “Did they say where they got that information?”

  “Don’t be daft. They said you were a problem. They said you were a loose cannon and that sooner or later, someone would have to deal with you. I volunteered. They gave me the bullets. They were issued for the firearm I already had, so they’d done their research. I didn’t care. I just wanted you dead.” He stared at me, and there was hate in his eyes.

  “I didn’t kill her,” I repeated, shaking my head.

  “I don’t fucking care!” he shouted. “Ever since you arrived it’s all gone pear-shaped. Everything is screwed up and fucked over. If you didn’t kill her, then you made it happen, I just know it.”

  I didn’t challenge that view. I wasn’t sure I could. “She knew it was risky,” I told him. “She was braver than you are.”

  “Too fucking right,” he said, taking a good mouthful of scotch.

  “What were their names?” I asked him.

  “They didn’t introduce themselves. You learn not to ask too many questions.”

  “So you have no idea who they were.”

  “They knew what they were looking for, they had clearance to see what I was checking on the system, they had the authority to commandeer a meeting room. They were spooks. That’s all I needed to know.”

  That didn’t sound quite as true as the rest of it. “If you start holding out on me, Sam, I’m going to leave you to Amber.” Amber smiled sweetly at him.

  He sighed. “I overheard something between them. They were talking between themselves. They mentioned a couple of names.”

  “What names.”

  “A codename, and his secretary.”

  Amber and I exchanged a glance. “Tell me.”

  “I can’t remember. It wasn’t important.”

  “Try and remember.”

  “As I said, at the time it wasn’t important. An odd name, obviously a codeword, and some woman.”