by Mike Shevdon
Pain exploded in my chest. I wrenched myself back into the world, fleeing in panic from the acid touch. The water gushed into my mouth and I coughed, desperately trying not to breathe in. I wrenched and grasped at anything to draw me from that dark embrace. The black coils stayed with me, sliding inside my arms, feeding from the burning ache in my cramped muscles, tasting the pain.
My hand punched into something solid, sending a jolt up my arm, further numbing my senses. I tried to scramble past but something was blocking my path. In a moment of clarity I realised it was the far bank. I was there. The prospect of air had me skidding my hands across the wall while my chest felt like it would burst apart. My numb fingers skittered across the broken bricks searching for a handhold. A vertical edge found me a metal rung and I hauled myself up while I choked and coughed, inhaling water and slime, my vision swimming with spots and strange lights until finally I erupted out into air.
I slid my forearm through the highest rung I could reach and hung there, retching and spewing, while the current still tried to pull me free and carry me downstream. My head swam and the world spun around me as my chest tried to pull air into my waterlogged lungs. I felt curiously detached. The pain seemed distant and otherworldly. My vision swirled and the void within me writhed and coiled. Somehow I was out of myself. I was up in the vaulting, seeing the wretched bedraggled figure hanging from the rung, the hammer still dangling in the water behind, while the figure spasmed and belched muddy water.
Blackbird's voice drifted up to me. "Don't die now. Not now."
Then the body twitched again and it hauled itself up another rung, more by reflex than intent.
Solandre's expression was pure disbelief. She shook her fists and shrieked. "Noooooooo…"
Her voice dissolved into a whisper like the wind through dry grass. Her body seemed to fade slightly and then expand. Her arms drifted out over the water towards the sodden figure hanging from the rung.
"Solandre! No!" Raffmir's voice held a note of command, but the fading figure ignored him.
"Stop her," Blackbird told him. "Stop her now!"
"I cannot," he said. He turned back to watch his sister reaching out across the water towards my body.
"Well, I can." Blackbird stepped behind Raffmir towards Solandre, being careful to avoid the indistinct floating cloud as her body drifted apart.
She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out the Dead Knife. Immediately, its colour began to rise, a deep blush rising in the metal. She focused on it and the metal roared into flame.
"Solandre!" she shouted. "This is for Niall."
She shoved the burning knife deep into Solandre.
There was a flash. A sound like the slamming of a great door rolled around the vaulting. A giant hand picked Blackbird up and slammed her back into the wall behind her. It went pitch black.
After a moment there was coughing and choking. The air was filled with smoke. A hesitant light flickered into life down the bank away from her, throwing elongated shadows into the clouded air. Tiny particles of floating ash drifted aimlessly in air currents, mimicking the eddies and swirls of the river, dimly illuminated by the floating light.
Blackbird pushed herself up against the wall, her limbs slow to obey her. She looked around for Solandre and Raffmir. He was pulling himself onto his knees, from his position sprawled, legs half over the edge. There was no sign of his sister.
Blackbird spat the ash from her mouth and raised an arm weakly. A sudden breeze swept the smoke and floating ash spiralling up over the gantry and away. The air cleared and the light steadied.
Movement in the water caught my eye. Ben was in the water, swimming towards the rungs where the figure still clung. Blackbird looked around, still confused. Raffmir pulled himself to his feet, pushing his long hair back from his face in a habitual gesture. He was smeared with soot and ash and he looked more like a ragged street urchin than the gentleman he affected.
Blackbird climbed to her feet, leaning against the wall for support and stood to face him.
"You killed her," he said.
Ben swam to where my body hung from the rungs. I was pulled down from the vaulting and back into my body as he clambered over me then hauled me up onto the ledge. I coughed again, spewing water onto the bricks. The air in my lungs fought with the dark tide in my core. I spewed water onto the bricks, retching and gulping air into my lungs.
Reluctantly the dark tendrils unwound from my heart and I slid back into unconsciousness.
TWENTY-EIGHT
A thin sound entered my awareness. An alarm clock beeped and beeped, incessantly and I tried to summon the effort to hit the snooze button. My limbs felt like lead and even a small effort was too much. I dearly wished someone would turn the damned thing off.
Gradually I became aware of other sounds. There was a rattling rasp, rhythmic and almost regular, which waxed and waned with the pain in my throat and, under that, the low hubbub of activity in a distant room. Aches drifted into focus, my arms, my chest, my legs all throbbed with dull persistence.
Then I remembered. The water, the hammer, the cold. It all came back to me in a wash of recall. I struggled to open my eyes, finding the light blurry. A voice spoke to me.
"It's all right, you're safe."
It was an effort to turn my head towards the sound. Her face moved into my field of vision and resolved slowly into focus. Her lips curved upwards slightly and she laid a cool hand on my forehead.
"Sleep, Niall. Let your body heal."
Whether through some magic of hers, or simply because I was too weak to hold onto consciousness, I slipped back into dreamless sleep.
When I next awoke, it was quiet and the lights were dim. The beeping noise had gone and my eyes fluttered open to see Blackbird curled in the chair beside my bed, asleep. The chair, the room and the bed told me this was a hospital. There were the small noises, murmurs and rattles percolating through the fabric of the building, telling me it was night. I didn't have the heart to disturb her; she curled around herself with her spiralled curls falling over her face, her hands tucked under her chin. I closed my eyes and let the sound of her breathing lull me back into sleep.
Sunlight woke me next. A bar of white resolved itself into a gap in the curtains as I blinked and stretched, my muscles protesting and joints cracking as I shifted position. I groaned and rolled onto my side away from the brightness. She was resting her chin on her forearms on the side of the bed, watching me, her eyes sparkling green in the light.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello." My voice sounded hoarse, even to myself. "What time is it?"
"It's nearly eight o'clock. How do you feel?"
"Sore," I admitted. "Like I've been on wash, rinse, heavy load, intense cycle, with repeat."
"You're getting better."
It was good to know the aches and twinges accompanying every movement were a sign of improving health.
"What happened? Did we make it? Did Ben finish the knife?"
"It's all handled. Don't fret. You made it across and he finished the knife. It's all taken care of."
"But we have to get it to Claire." I pushed myself up onto one elbow, making my head swim and precipitating a thumping headache.
She leaned over and pressed me gently back down, the weight of her hand outweighing my meagre strength.
"It's being done today, in a few hours. The preparations are all in hand." She smiled. "We did it, Niall. We beat them."
I collapsed back to the bed, confused. "What day is it?"
"It's Tuesday. I thought you were going to sleep all week. Are you hungry?"
My stomach growled in response. "Starving."
"I'll go and see if I can rustle up some food for you."
She made to stand, but I caught her hand, despite the tubes taped to my arm. "Stay."
She eased herself down again and I rested my hand on hers. Just the touch of her was a kind of therapy.
"I was sure I'd lost you," she said, qu
ietly.
"I had a plan," I told her. I explained how I had planned to slip beneath the water and then use the sixty-first nail to transfer the hammer across beneath the surface of the river and emerge victorious on the other side.
"That would never work. The hammer is iron. It's about as antithetical to magic as you can get."
I let her explain what, for her, must have seemed like an elementary mistake, mainly just for the sound of her voice. She was amazed that I been stupid enough to try it.
"Well, how else did you think I was going to cross?" I asked her.
As soon as the words came out, I knew it was a question I should have left unasked. It silenced her and the shadow of it moved behind her eyes like something lurking in the depths. The answer was simple. She hadn't.
I squeezed her hands under mine and she did not look away.
It struck me that she had let me make my decision and been prepared to live with the consequences, but still she had waited, hoping against hope for a miracle.
Perhaps I had been granted one.
"What happened in the tunnels?" My memory of it was fragmented and strangely unreal.
"After you went into the water, we waited for what seemed like an age. Raffmir started pressuring for me to call an end and I kept trying to put him off. It was getting to the point where I was going to have to concede when you appeared on the other side. After you pulled yourself up the rungs on the far bank, Solandre lost it completely. She faded into spectral form and reached across the river towards you. Raffmir tried to stop her but she was obsessed. She was going to kill you. I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled the Dead Knife from my pocket and made it as hot as I could and then stabbed her."
"I thought she couldn't be hurt physically."
"I thought so too, but the heat might have hurt her enough to get her attention away from you."
"And did it?"
"It did more than that. Ben told me that if powders get spread into the air at a certain density, they can ignite. Fire spreads though them like a chain reaction, superheating the air and causing a shock wave. Effectively, she exploded."
I tried to take in what she was saying.
"What about Raffmir?"
"There was nothing he could do. He was hurt slightly in the explosion; nothing lethal, unfortunately, but by the time he realised what had happened it was all over. His sister had broken the laws of trial and he knew her life was forfeit. He was forced to accept the outcome and the fate of his sister, though he didn't like it."
"Did he say anything?"
"Very little. He conceded the trial and said he would honour the outcome. Then he said that if the formalities were concluded he would take his leave. He's such a prig. His sister's just been blown to bits and he's discussing formalities."
"So he left."
"Her ashes either drifted away on the water or blew away on the breeze. He just climbed back up onto the gantry and vanished into the dark. I expect he'll have some explaining to do when he returns to his world, but they will have to honour the outcome as he has. It's our way.
"Ben had been thrown into the river by the force of the blast but fortunately for you, he can swim. He climbed up the rungs after you and hauled you up onto the side. He pumped as much water as he could out of your chest and put you into the recovery position. It was all he could do. By that time I'd crossed the river and could take over."
The shadow reached her eyes again.
"What?" I asked her.
"I made him finish the knife, Niall. I want you to know that. I couldn't carry you out of the tunnels alone, but I made him finish the knife before we carried you up together and called an ambulance." Her eyes were dark and haunted by the decision.
The security we had all fought for was dependent on finishing the knife and restoring the ceremony. Without that, every sacrifice would have been meaningless.
"It's OK. I would have done the same. And I'm still here, aren't I? You can't get rid of me that easily."
A little of the haunted look dissolved. There was a hint of a smile and I smiled back. She leaned forward and pressed her warm lips to mine in a long languid kiss. I shifted, sending shooting pains down my back and grunted at the pain. She stopped and drew away; worried she had hurt me.
"Don't stop," I whispered.
She kissed me again, this time warming me in a way that was completely incompatible with my physical state. When she stopped, her eyes were filled with promises. She squeezed my hand.
"I really should let them know you're awake. The policeman let me stay in here on condition that I promised I would let him know as soon as you woke."
"Policeman?"
"We brought you up out of the tunnels, but I couldn't revive you. Your lungs were still waterlogged and I had no idea how long you could hang on for. Your glamour had completely faded and you looked like you did when I first met you. That worried me more than anything else."
I put my hand to my cheek, feeling the stubble where I was unshaved, knowing my face was my own.
"We called an ambulance and Ben told them he'd dragged you out of the Thames from one of the piers. He's a convincing liar when he has to be. The ambulance crew found your wallet and your driving license on the way to the hospital. By the time I'd caught up with you at the hospital, they knew who you were and the police were here waiting for you. There's been an officer on the door ever since."
"Can we slip past them? Get away before they realise I'm awake?"
"Well we could, but I think your daughter might be upset if you did."
"Alex?"
"The police called Katherine and told her you were in hospital. They returned yesterday morning and came to see you while you were still unconscious. Alex was very grown up about it, but you could see she was worried. I don't think you can just vanish without seeing her."
"But what about the police?"
"If you run now, they'll never leave you in peace."
She stood slowly and left me with that thought while she went to tell the officer I was awake and to try and rustle up some food for me. As soon as she'd gone, the officer came into the room, nodded once to me and then stood by the door, looking blank and impersonal.
"Am I under arrest?" I asked him.
"Not at the moment, sir. But the senior officer would like to speak with you regarding our enquiries."
"So I can leave if I want to?"
"I think it would be better if you stayed, sir. There's a doctor coming to check you over and the investigating officer is on his way."
I rested back against the pillow, trying to organise my thoughts ahead of the interview I knew was coming.
The doctor arrived before either Blackbird returned or the police arrived. She was a well-groomed, middle-aged Asian lady who spoke with a light Birmingham accent.
"I'm Dr Agraval. I've looked after you since you were brought here on Sunday. How are you feeling?" She held a torch up to look into my eyes.
"Not bad considering."
She took my hands in hers and turned them over, looking at the palms of my hands which were criss-crossed with a lattice of newly formed scar tissue. "Do you always heal this quickly?"
"Not usually," I answered truthfully.
"Hmm. Any headache or disturbed vision? Do you feel nauseous?"
"If I turn my head too quickly, my head thumps a bit, but apart from that, no."
She felt under my chin and around my neck. "Your glands are swollen."
"Is that bad?"
"Not necessarily. With the amount of water you took in, your immune system has gone into overdrive." She put a temperature probe into my ear and read off the digital display. "Your temperature's within the bounds of normal. Can you open your shirt please?"
She held the metal end of her stethoscope in her hand to warm it while I struggled with the unfamiliar buttons of the pyjamas they had provided for me, just as Blackbird returned with a plate of sandwiches.
"I leave you for a moment and you're taki
ng your clothes off for another woman," she remarked casually. The doctor ignored her. I guess she'd heard it all before. We went through the routine of breathing in and out while the doctor pressed the stethoscope to various parts of my chest and then my back. I eyed the plate of sandwiches, my stomach making alarming noises. "There's nothing wrong with your appetite, then?" she said.
I shook my head.
"You can have those after I've taken your blood pressure. Eating will affect the result."
She slipped the armband up around my arm and began inflating it while Blackbird removed the cling film and put the cheese sandwiches on the table by my bed. After a few moments the doctor released the arm band and declared open season on the sandwiches. They were plain white bread and plastic cheese, but I wolfed them down. They tasted wonderful.
"Anything else bothering you? There are no broken bones, but sometimes a ligament strain can be just as painful."
"I feel a bit bruised," I told her around a mouthful of sandwich.
"Remarkable. I have patients who take months to make this much progress and you've only been here a couple of days."
"I guess I'm just fortunate I didn't take in much water."
"When they brought you in you were unconscious. Your lungs were full of foul muddy water and you were a hair's breadth from dead. We had to drain your lungs and give you oxygen to keep you alive."
"I'm just lucky, I guess." I exchanged a look with Blackbird.
"Beats me," she stood up and tucked the stethoscope into a pocket of her white coat. "Maybe it's something in the water. Maybe we should be bottling it and selling it as a treatment."
"That might not work," I said, chewing sandwich.
"I've seen stranger things, but not many," she said. "Are you up to talking with the law? They're hopping from foot to foot outside waiting for a shot at you. I told them I would see you first, but frankly there's nothing wrong with you that rest won't cure. I'm more worried about them than you. They look like death warmed up."