by Mike Shevdon
I tried again, finding it easier to slip into the comfortable jacket and the jeans now I knew what they felt like. I steered my thoughts away from what had been, letting only the new image dwell in my imagination. I acknowledged small sensations, the way my ring had calloused my finger and how I needed to brush my longer hair back from my face.
"Just sit," she advised. "Let it settle."
I lifted my hand to my face, feeling the smoothness over my chin where stubble had been. A residual scratchiness appeared, reminding me not to think about what had been but to focus on how it was now. The smoothness returned.
"I could get used to this. I might never shave again," I grinned at Blackbird.
She took my comment seriously. "Don't be tempted to disregard the needs of the image you're wearing. If you would need to shave for that image, then shave. Otherwise you'll get lazy and people will start to notice. I still wear make-up sometimes, even though it's a pain, just to make sure it looks real. I can do make-up with glamour, but if I didn't remind myself regularly how it really looks, imperfections and all, then it could end up looking too perfect to be true."
I stood and turned around slowly in front of Blackbird. "How do I look?"
"Not bad," she encouraged. "Your own mother wouldn't recognise you."
"That was the idea."
"Your hair looks a bit black for someone with your skin colour."
"I could have dyed it," I pointed out.
"You could have, but men of your generation are not known for their familiarity with hair products. There, that's better. That's more of a dark brown."
"I didn't do anything."
"Your glamour adapted. I told you, it's like riding a bicycle. If you think about it, you'll fall off."
"If I don't think about it, will it revert?"
"Not now, I think. We'll walk slowly and let you get used to it."
She got up, brushing the back of her coat where she'd been sitting on the step. She walked gently around the base of the statue, looking up at the bronze and I fell in beside her. As we strolled, I took the opportunity to ask her about what the security guard had said.
"What did he mean about a quit rent? You were interested as soon as the security guy mentioned it."
"It's a form of payment from medieval times. A quit rent was paid, usually in goods or services, to be quit of an obligation. Let's say you were obliged to raise a levy of soldiers to fight for your baron. You could pay a quit rent of horses or fodder and be quit of the obligation to raise the levy. Do you see?"
"How do you know all this stuff?"
"I'm attached to Birkbeck College at the University of London. I lecture in medieval history there."
I suddenly recognised the manner. Should I be offended that while teaching me to use my glamour she'd been treating me like one of her recalcitrant students? We made our way slowly around the side of the church towards where the road narrowed again and a crossing led over to the entrance of the Royal Courts of Justice.
"Do you think the quit rent could have anything to do with the vision?"
"I don't know, but it's worth exploring. Kareesh said the vision would show you the way to find something that was lost, something of value that would be worth your joining in the courts. If the land on which Australia House stands is paid for by a quit rent, then that must go back to medieval times, perhaps dating back to whenever it was that the thing we are looking for was lost?"
"It's a bit of a long shot."
"Do you have any other ideas?"
"No."
"The things in your vision weren't random, I can tell you that much. They were there for a reason."
"Couldn't the vision have been a little more obvious?"
"Well, Rabbit, I don't think seeing into the future is either easy or straightforward, but if you know a better way of doing it then, by all means, feel free to volunteer your services."
"I asked for that really, didn't I?"
"Yes. I think so."
We gently strolled in silence for a moment. I walked along beside her and accepted her light rebuke without feeling she had pushed me away again. Perhaps the friendship I had hoped for was not impossible.
Across the road, I recognised the imposing entrance to the Royal Courts of Justice from the background of TV reports of high-profile cases and controversial High Court decisions on the evening news. The grand gothic architecture and arched stone doorway were obviously meant to impress anyone entering its portals seeking to engage or to avoid the forces of justice. The black iron railings flanking the doorway gave the entrance a new sense of menace, at least for me. Thankfully the gates were drawn back to the side.
We crossed the road and walked between the gates. I could feel the malevolent hum from the iron as we passed. I gingerly touched the marks on my fingers, invisible now beneath my glamour. Now the sensation in my hand was returning it felt like I had been burned.
Inside the arched doorway, we were faced with a new challenge. There was a well-staffed security post with guards, an X-ray machine for scanning bags and a walk-through body scanner. I halted Blackbird in the entrance porch. Two women stepped past us, talking as they handed their bags over to the guard to be scanned. I turned my back to the guards.
"Are they checking ID?" I asked Blackbird.
"No. Stop looking so furtive. They're just scanning everyone's belongings."
"OK. I'll wait here while you go and ask inside about the quit rent thing."
"You need to go and do this, Rabbit. If there's something there from your vision then I'm not going to be able to recognise it."
"You're the one that knows about quit rents. I'm not even sure what the question is."
"Just ask them if they have any information about the ceremony of the quit rents or about the land on which Australia House stands."
"We could both go?" I suggested.
"You need to do this. You need to prove to yourself that you can walk right past them. Think of it as a test."
"If it is a test, what happens if I fail?"
"You'll be fine. Go on."
"What if it's more historical stuff?"
"If you find there's something that really needs a historical background then I'll come in and we'll both talk to them."
"Why won't you come in with me?"
"You made the bargain, Rabbit. The vision Kareesh showed you was of a future in which you survive, but it's up to you whether you follow it or not. You never mentioned me in the vision. Just by being here I may be changing your future. If I start altering things then it may never come true."
It crossed my mind that I could tell her I had seen her in the vision, that we had been together, but I knew she would hear the lie in it straight away.
"Just walk though, right?"
"Straight past them," she confirmed.
"And you'll be here when I come out?" Her talk of changing my future had made me wonder whether she meant to ditch me again.
"I'll be here."
It was the answer I needed.
I gave her a nervous grin and turned hesitantly in through the inner doors to where the first of the security guards waited. He offered me a plastic tray and waited while I dumped the contents of my pockets into it so they could feed them through the scanner. I smiled briefly and he indicated I should step through the arch of the body scanner. The arch beeped and I had to stand while a burly security guard ran a black wand up the inside of my legs, down my back and over the inside and outside of my arms. The arch was obviously set to a high sensitivity since the only metallic thing I had left on me was my belt buckle.
He cleared me without comment and I collected my wallet and small change and breathed a silent sigh of relief as I made my way around to a reception desk where a middle-aged black lady was typing at a computer. I stood and waited until she'd finished whatever she was doing and turned to look up at me.
"Excuse me," I used my best business voice, "do you mind if I ask you a really unusual question?"
; She lowered her nose so she could peer at me over the top of her spectacles.
"Honey," she replied, in a warm voice that spoke of limitless patience, "you ask away, 'cause I heard it all."
I smiled, disarmingly I hoped.
"I was talking to the people over at Australia House and they sent me over here to ask about the ceremony of the quit rents. Is this the right place?"
"Sure is, honey. Every year we have a ceremony going back hundreds of years. In fact it's due in the next few weeks. Do you want to attend?"
"You can come to it?"
"Sure you can. I don't know the date off hand, but I can find out for you?"
"That would be very kind."
"Just a moment then." She picked up the phone, looking heavenwards for a second while she remembered the number, then dialled a rapid sequence of digits. She smiled at me and waited while it rang. She paused then put the phone down again.
"It's going through to voicemail. I think she must be out at lunch, as I don't think they're in court today. If you come back after two, I can confirm those dates for you then?"
"That would be fine."
By this time, there was someone else waiting in line behind me, so I thanked her and moved to the side to let them take my place. She was just as helpful with them as she'd been with me.
I took the opportunity to take a brief look around for things I might recognise from the vision. The interior of the Royal Courts was as grand on this inside as it was on the outside, with high vaulted ceilings decorated with intricate patterns like tiny coats of arms supported on slim stone pillars. None of it matched the images from the vision, though. Were we still on the right trail? How would I know? I walked around and went back through the one-way exit back to the entryway.
I was relieved to find Blackbird was waiting for me, just as she'd said.
"I found a receptionist who knows the person to ask about the ceremony. She rang them, but they're at lunch at the moment. She says we can come back at two o'clock and she'll try again for me."
"That's good."
"So we can find out about it then."
"I already know."
"Pardon?"
"I already know. You can buy a fact-sheet from the kiosk behind you in the annex there for a pound. It tells you all about it."
I looked behind me to find a tiny gift shop tucked into the side of the porch, selling postcards and mementos. I glanced back at Blackbird and she held up a laser-printed leaflet titled The Royal Courts of Justice.
I searched her expression. There wasn't even a hint of smugness.
"Did you know about this before I went inside?"
"I swear I saw it after you went in." Her expression held the ghost of a smile. She wasn't lying to me, but there was something fishy about that last statement.
She passed me the photocopied sheets and I turned through them. There was a complicated diagram on the second page showing the relationships between the various courts of the land.
"How does this help?" I glanced up at her.
"Here, at the back, it tells you all about the Quit Rents Ceremony. It's held every year about this time. Look it says here."
Blackbird took the leaflet back and leafed through it. She arrived at a page and quoted from it.
"The annual ceremony of the rendering of the quit rents by the Corporation of London to the Queen's Remembrancer on behalf of the Crown is an ancient, time-honoured and traditional ceremony that may be the oldest surviving ceremony next to the coronation itself."
"How does that help us?"
She held up a finger.
"It is feudal in origin and character since it represents the rendering of rents and services in respect of two pieces of land, one being a piece of wasteland called 'The Moors' at Bridgnorth in Shropshire and the other being a tenement called 'The Forge' in the Parish of St Clement Danes, probably on the land now occupied by…" She wagged her finger. "Yes, Australia House." She grinned at me, triumphantly. "Look, it says right here."
I wasn't looking at the paper. My mind's eye was scanning back through fragmented images.
"A forge?"
"Yes. What about it?"
"Do you remember I told you in the vision that I'd seen a dark hall filled with water? It had an island in the middle of the stream with a misshapen altar on it."
"Yes, I remember."
"That's what I've been trying to recall. The shape was peculiar but I couldn't put my finger on it before. It was quite distinctive, even under the flotsam clinging to it. It's not an altar."
"If it's not an altar, then what is it?"
"It's an anvil."
TWELVE
Blackbird handed me the leaflet, pointing out the relevant section. I scanned through it quickly, then went back to the beginning and read it through slowly.
In respect of The Moors, the Quit Rent consists of the presentation of a blunt knife and a sharp knife. The qualities of these instruments are demonstrated by the Comptroller and Solicitor of the City of London, who will bend a hazel rod of a cubit's length, one year's growth, over the blunt knife and break it over the sharp.
Hazel rods of this length were used as tallies, which is like a counting rod, to record payments made to the Court of Exchequer by notches made with a sharp knife along their length and after the last payment, split lengthways with a blunt and pliable-bladed knife, one half being given to the payer as his receipt and the other half being retained by the Courts to vouch its written record. This quit rent has been rendered for over 750 years, the earliest recorded notice being in the Shropshire Sergeantries in 1211, during the time of King John.
The Quit Rent in respect of the tenement called The Forge consists of six horseshoes and sixty-one nails, which the Comptroller and the City Solicitor count to demonstrate that the numbers are correct before rendering them to the Queen's Remembrancer on behalf of Her Majesty.
"Why would they still be doing this after seven hundred and fifty years? Surely the rent for Australia House can't still be some horseshoes and nails, can it?" If it was, then I was paying far too much for a flat in the suburbs.
"Maybe it can. Maybe they've been doing this for so long, they no longer wonder why. It's strange, though. I mean, here we have a ritual going back hundreds of years that involves the splitting of a hazel rod and an exchange of iron. Hazel has always been symbolic for the Feyre and iron – well you already know about iron. Maybe it means something?"
"Do you think the ceremony is what we came here for?"
"The anvil is what you saw in the vision, but the forge may be the connection between Australia House and the anvil."
"In the vision, there was a door, like a hatch, high up on the wall across from where the anvil stands." The image of it floated in my memory like a fragment from a bad dream.
"Then if we find the anvil, we find the door. Wait a moment, there was something else here." She flicked through the pages of the leaflet searching for something. "Here it is, on the back.
I read over her shoulder. "'There are in excess of a hundred and fifty Judges, Registrars and Masters in the Royal Courts of Justice.'"
"Not there. Here."
"'The River Fleet runs under the buildings.' Do you think that could be the underground river I saw in the vision?"
"It must be. It can't be a coincidence, surely? We just need to find a way down to it."
"OK, but you've seen the security in there. They're not going to let us wander around in the basement looking for a lost river."
"There will be external manholes, I expect, but they will be covered by cast iron. I think you've had enough iron for one day, don't you?"
"In the vision, I followed the flow back up from the outflow into the Thames, but it had a huge grating in the way. From the brief look I got at it, the grating looked pretty solid."
"Come on." She walked down the steps into the sunlight.
"Where are we going?"
"We're going to see if there's someone who knows how we get down to
the underground river."
She turned and walked out into the daylight, tucking the leaflet inside her coat and leaving me to follow on behind. I trotted after her then slowed as I caught up to walk along beside her into Fleet Street. Reaching the entrance to a narrow alley between buildings, she caught my arm.
"Down here."
She ducked into the passage, which opened out into a sidestreet with Georgian doorways facing along one side. She approached a black door and lifted the brass knocker, letting it fall with a clatter.
I heard a faint voice from within. "Come."
Blackbird pushed open the door and we entered a dim hallway. The bare brickwork along its length was soot-stained, the mortar crumbling from the joints. The door swung shut behind us, leaving us in semi-darkness. There was a doorway to the side that shed an uncertain light on the wall opposite and Blackbird moved forward to stand in it, her shadow shifting and dancing on the wall behind.
"Greetings, Marshdock," she said. "I give you good day."
"And a good day to you too, Blackbird," came a deep voice. It had an oily tone to it, though, as if the welcome were not entirely heartfelt. "What have you brought for me today?"
Blackbird stepped inside and I moved to stand in the doorway behind her. A wide stone fireplace in the back wall held a bronze basket with a great log laid across the heap of ash beneath. Flames licked up the side of the log, casting a fitful light into the room and across the ceiling. The window to the street was barred by heavy shutters, the only light coming from the fire.
The room was dominated by an enormous desk, its surface inlaid with dark leather scattered with oddments like paper knives and inkwells. The figure behind the desk had pale brown skin with a worn creased texture to it. He looked rumpled, shrunken. He wore an old-fashioned coat that looked two sizes too big for him and I wondered if he had indeed once been larger. His eyes and nose were too big for the rest of his face and it gave him a childlike quality that was immediately dispelled by the hardness in his eyes.