Sixty-One Nails

by Mike Shevdon

  As I crossed the dark flow of the Thames, I paused above the murky water as it swirled out towards the sea beneath me while the orange glow from the underside of the dense cloud layer faded to a sullen grey. There was no flaming dawn, but the sky in the east lightened. The broken sunshine of yesterday had been replaced by the half-light that represented the majority of autumn days. As I crossed to the centre of the bridge I realised the clocks would soon be changing over to winter time, and the days would get shorter and shorter until we were all like Kareesh, living underground. I had all this to look forward to, assuming I lived that long.

  And yet the threat over me lent the day a new flavour. I found myself standing over the river in the misty dawn tasting the drizzle that drifted on the breeze, feeling truly alive for the first time in months. It smelled of salt and ozone and I understood that this was an easterly wind, rather than the prevailing westerly, and that it brought a little of the sea with it.

  Taking my time, I meandered to the far side and took the steps down to the roadway where I could make my way through the open ticket hall of Embankment Station and up the hill to the Strand, turning left past the front of Charing Cross station and along the pavement to Trafalgar Square. I walked up the hill, past the pale portico of St Martin-in-the-Fields to the tables where I had sat with Blackbird the previous day.

  The coffee shop showed no sign of life and, after the brief elation at having made it this far, I found myself empty and hollow. I had reached my destination and there was no one there. The pavements were empty and the coffee shop was dark. I walked across towards the National Gallery and down into Trafalgar Square, taking the steps down into the open square. I found a dry spot on the wall of the fountain upwind of the spray carried by the fickle breeze and sat, lulled by the sound of the water and the peace there. A couple of speculative early pigeons came and pecked at the debris around me and I wondered whether Gramawl was foraging nearby, finding titbits for his mistress. Probably it was too light for him now.

  As I sat there, the traffic built slowly and steadily to the everyday muted roar. The cars, buses and taxis intermingled until they became mere background noise, indistinguishable from the whole. That brief period in Trafalgar Square gave me the strength to continue. It wasn't that the stone lions inspired me, though they were very grand, or that I borrowed strength from Nelson, the tragic hero dying in the arms of his friend. I had no intention of dying, honourably or otherwise. What leant me strength was the peace I found there, amid the maelstrom. The traffic revolved around me but didn't stir me, the buses roared and the motorcycles barked, but to no effect. The pigeons came and went and the drizzle faded. I felt like I was standing in the eye of a storm. If only I could stay there.

  Eight

  I sat for an hour or more before people started walking across the square, heading towards work or some other rendezvous, and it lost its privacy. I was getting chilled so I wandered back the way I had come to find the coffee shop had opened. I ordered black coffee and added sugar before taking it outside. I sat among the deserted tables in the damp air and waited for Blackbird. On the war memorial across the pavement from me I could read the words "Humanity" and "Sacrifice". I hoped it wasn't an omen.

  Waiting for someone when you don't know whether they're going to turn up is like a first date, full of uncertainty and trepidation. You hope for the best, but at the same time you're thinking about what you're going to do if they don't show.

  I wondered what I might say to Blackbird if she walked across the square. I could tell her about discovering my glow and my unwelcome visitor. I could explain about being picked up by the police and the tragic events that followed. I was sure she would know what I ought to have done.

  But then I thought about what she might say when she found out the police were searching for me. I was sure she didn't want that kind of attention any more than I did. What could I say to her? "Hi, it's me, the person you didn't want to see; I have lots of new friends and they're all looking for me." It didn't sound very positive. Then again, the mould spreading across the door might be a vital clue to what I was dealing with. She would have to help me, wouldn't she?

  After an hour, I celebrated the beginning of the second day of my new life with another coffee. It had been this time yesterday that I had first met Blackbird and heard about the Feyre. She had expressed doubts that I would last until this new day and, to be honest, there had been times when I had shared them, but here I was. All I had to do now was repeat my success on a daily basis and I could look forward to a long life. I sipped my coffee but I couldn't enjoy it. I didn't want more coffee, I wanted to go and find Blackbird.

  I was getting twitchy. I didn't know how long it would be before the search at Heathrow extended out into the wider city and my description started to circulate. At the same time, the boredom of watching everyone else go about their daily life wore away at my aversion to risk. I was restless, even changing seats a couple of times to refresh the dampness of my trousers. Still there was no sign of her.

  Finally I had to admit she wasn't coming and that I couldn't stay. It crossed my mind that perhaps she was in trouble. This was followed by the realisation that if she was, she would be far better off dealing with it without my assistance. I needed her help, she didn't need mine. I stood up and looked around. Action was better than sitting and waiting for something that wasn't going to happen and I needed to be doing something. I needed to find her.

  I could retrace our steps but where would that lead me? It would take me back to Covent Garden and to the tunnels beneath the tube station. Would Kareesh know where she was? If she knew, would she tell me? I doubted it but she might be able to get a message to her and let her know I was still alive. That might be enough. At least if I walked that way I could check with Megan to see if she'd seen Blackbird, assuming she was at her usual spot.

  I considered walking up to Covent Garden along the open streets rather than following the circuitous route from yesterday. Blackbird had thought I wasn't ready to take the straightforward route yet. I would follow her route, then.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then walked away from Trafalgar Square into Lower St Martin's Lane, turning into a side-alley where my shoulders would touch both sides if I stood straight on. Halfway down there were doors open into the rear of a pub where the sound of a vacuum cleaner told me they were cleaning up, ready for the new day's business. Stepping back out into the street at the end, I followed the route Blackbird had led me through, taking odd turns into back alleys and walking around the rear of buildings. Blackbird had used her glamour to make sure we weren't noticed but I wasn't sure how to do that. Perhaps if I just exuded a general ambience of I'm supposed to be here then no one would notice me.

  I bypassed a corporate reception, the girl behind the glass giving me a half-glance as I went along the side of the building. Maybe it was working. I turned around the back of the building and followed what looked like a fire evacuation route the wrong way past some metal stairs and down towards a black-painted gate.

  "Excuse me?" The voice came from a side passage.

  A burly looking guy with the buzz-cut hair of a soldier in a security guard's uniform moved quickly up behind me, forcing me to turn and meet him rather than slip through the gate. "Where d'ya think you're going'?"

  "Oh, if I go this way I can find my way again." I pointed the way I was going.

  "You can't go down there, mate, that's private property, that is."

  "I'm so sorry." All the time, I was thinking Forget me! Turn away! You didn't see me! But it wasn't working. "Well I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me and explain yourself." The security guard indicated back the way he'd come.

  There was no way I was going with him. I glanced back towards the gate and, as I did, he leaned forward and grabbed my arm. I pulled away, but he had a firm grip. I turned back to his grim-faced determination and tried to pull his hand from my arm.

  "Now listen, mate, you're going to get into
trouble if you don't come with me."

  He pulled at my arm again, tugging me off balance so I staggered towards him. I had my hand on his where he gripped my arm as I tried to pull back. Reaching to the core within me I focused my will on the single instruction: Forget me!

  A pulse of darkness jolted down my arm and he staggered back as if I had punched him. His face went blank. He placed his hand on the wall for support. His hands came up to his eyes and he rubbed them as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. I rushed back to the gate and shot back the catch so I could push my way through. I slammed it shut behind me, glad to get something between us. He was still leaning against the wall, squinting towards the gate and blinking as if the light were too bright to bear. I left him there and hurried down the walkway, cutting around the back of another building and coming out behind a row of shops. Moving quickly along my route, I came to another alleyway where I ducked out of sight into the entrance. Now I had time to think, I was worried about the guy. I had tried to push him off but he'd been determined to drag me back towards the building. When I had finally managed to focus enough to get my magic to work on him I had been trying to pull his hand away. Blackbird had said touch intensified some gifts and I wondered what the effect on him would be. Maybe he'd be OK now his mind had stopped trying to deny I was there. I took a moment to try and compose myself and decide what sort of spell, if that was the right word, I should use. What I really wanted was to be invisible but if gates and doors started opening on their own then that was bound to attract attention. The idea of I'm supposed to be here was subtle enough but it didn't have the imperative that Forget me had. On the other hand, Forget me had been too strong – or was that because I had been touching him at the time? It still seemed harsh and crude.

  After some thought I settled on Ignore me, since that was really what I wanted.

  Once I had the thought clearly in my head that I wanted people to ignore me, I reached within myself, trying to connect my intention to the source of power inside myself. It pulsed once and then subsided. Was that it? Had it worked? Still wary against further encounters, I continued along the route.

  Thankfully I met no one else before I came at last to the black door onto Covent Garden Piazza where we had emerged yesterday. I smiled to myself remembering Blackbird's remarks about the buttercups. Rolled in them, she'd said, not on them, but in them. I would have liked to see her then, though perhaps that wasn't such a good idea since I had got the distinct impression that she hadn't been alone. A snag of jealousy pricked me, which was irrational given that she was so much older than me. Why should I care about the antics of someone twenty or more years older than I was? She wasn't even human, but then neither was I, apparently. I pushed the door open and strolled out into the open piazza surrounding Covent Garden Market. The space was welcome after the claustrophobia of the alleys and walkways. At this time of day the tourists were still doing museums and galleries, leaving the square sparsely used. Delivery trucks were parked in the open piazza and there was no sign yet of the street performers and entertainers who would show up later when the tourists gathered.

  I walked across the cobbles and under the glass roof of the covered market. I didn't think I was doing too badly in the circumstances. I had managed to follow Blackbird's route around the alleys and so far nothing had tried to eat me.

  Megan was setting up her stall, intent on setting out the small boxes in their ordered rows. I watched her for a moment, though she showed no sign of being aware of my presence. Then I remembered my Ignore me spell and focused for a moment on dispelling its effects. Megan turned around to collect more stones from the crate behind her.

  "Oh! Rabbit, you made me jump." She stepped backwards, alarmed by my sudden appearance, one hand grasping the edge of the table behind her for support. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. You were so absorbed."

  "Hmmm. Yes, I suppose so. Is Blackbird with you?" She scanned the stalls nearby as if Blackbird might be lurking there.

  "I was going to ask you if you'd seen her, actually. I wondered if she'd stopped by."

  "Really?" She returned to setting out stones. There was a note of scepticism in her voice. Didn't she know I would have trouble lying to her?

  "So have you seen her?" I asked.

  She looked up from what she was doing, assessing me. Then she took a small cloth handbag from the floor behind the stall and came around to lean against the front of the stall. Taking a green and yellow tin from it, she opened it to extract a roll-up cigarette. "Smoke?" she asked. "No thanks. I don't."

  "I shouldn't either," she said. "Filthy habit."

  Nevertheless she took a plastic lighter and lit the end of the cigarette, taking a drag that made her eyelids crinkle and then blew the smoke sideways, away from me. "You haven't known her long, have you?" she said. "Not long at all actually," I admitted.

  "She'll be found when she's ready and not before."

  "Well, if she calls by, I wondered if you'd let her know I was looking for her?"

  "I will if I see her."

  "Thanks."

  "But I won't see her."

  "Why not?"

  "Not unless she wants to be seen," she told me, taking another drag.

  I hesitated. Did that mean I was wasting my time trying to find her?

  "Is there anywhere in particular that I could go… where I might find her? You've known her for some time, right?"

  "I've known her for a fair while, but we're not exactly close."

  "I only met her yesterday. She rescued me."

  "She has a habit of doing that. That's how I first met her. I thought I was going mad. I'd put one of my pieces down and the next minute it'd be gone. The little sods were cleaning me out, taking all my best work. I couldn't afford to replace them, not on my pension."

  "Your pension? Did you retire early?" She didn't look much older than me, and certainly not old enough to be retired.

  She laughed. "No, I didn't retire early. I retired at sixty-four and bought the pitch for the stall then. I needed something that would generate an income and I had a little money put aside for a rainy day. I'd been making jewellery as a hobby for a long time and it was a good way of combining what I liked doing with making a living."

  "I thought Blackbird said you two had known each other for a long time?" If she'd met Blackbird after she had retired then it can't have been that long ago, could it?

  "Not that long really, at least in her terms. That was in seventy-two."

  "Seventy-two? But that would mean you were… No way!"

  "I can show you my pension card if you like." She smiled, but it was an ironic smile. "What did you think? I've been around a while. Blackbird says my Fey genes are keeping me young and I suppose she would know. It might explain a few other things too. "

  "What sort of things?"

  "Little things. I smoke too much, drink too much, stay up too late and do far too many things that are bad for me, but I've never had a day sick since my teens. These things should be the death of me." She held up the cigarette and took a last puff before dropping it to the floor and grinding it out with the toe of her embroidered slipper.

  "It sounds like you have it made," I told her. "I mean, it's what every woman wants, isn't it, to stay young looking forever?"

  "It has its drawbacks."

  "Like what?"

  "For one thing, it gets difficult when I go to collect my pension. I don't look like I'm about to get a telegram from the Queen congratulating me on my centenary, do I?"

  "Does the Queen still send telegrams like that?"

  "I don't know. I guess in a year or two I shall find out, shan't I?" she grinned.

  "So how do you get your pension?"

  "Usually I have to sign to say I'm my own daughter and I'm collecting it for my mother who's too old and frail to come and get it for herself, which is ironic, isn't it? "

  "Why is that ironic?"

  "Because I don't have a daughter, or any other children." The sudden b
itterness in her voice was palpable. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise." I hadn't meant to pry into personal matters.

  "You may live a long time, Rabbit, but you had better get used to the idea that you'll never be a father. "

  "I'm already a father."

  It just came out in response to her statement but I realised as soon as I said it that I probably shouldn't have mentioned it. It was just that I had felt the need to shake off Megan's dark prediction before it turned into a foretelling. I cautioned myself to be more careful in future about who I told about my daughter. Megan, though, was startled. "You are?"