by Mike Shevdon
She reluctantly agreed to go on condition that she could come back and Barry guided her outside. She was comfortable with him and they had clearly spent a lot of time together.
"He's OK, your Barry," I told her as he closed the door behind him.
"He's a good man, Niall, a gentle man."
It was a remark I would have taken as critical before, but I took it as another positive sign that I could accept her assessment without inferring it as critical of me.
"So, did the situation you were involved in get sorted out? Is that how you ended up in the river?"
This was the question she had manoeuvred Alex and Barry out of the room to ask, and I wondered how I could explain the events of the past days without telling her things that would only raise more questions than answers.
"I think it's safe to say it got resolved, Katherine. I don't think there is a threat to you or Alex any more, but it's made me look at my life in a whole new light. Things are going to have to change, that much I do know. In many ways they already have."
"You do seem different," she remarked, "but I still don't understand how you ended up in the river. Did you fall from a bridge? Did someone throw you in?"
"No. It's very complicated and the less you know about it, the better, but you can trust me when I say I had no intention of ending up swimming in the Thames." I could say that in the knowledge that there had never been any possibility of swimming with the hammer slung across my shoulder – besides, I had been in the Fleet, not the Thames.
"I'm not sure I like these secrets, Niall, not when Alex and I are involved."
"You're not involved. I worked very hard to make sure you stayed out of it. And I'm not the only one with secrets, am I?"
"Well I just hope that there's an end to it, whatever it was."
Blackbird appeared, closely followed by a nurse who straightened the bed, took my temperature again and updated the chart on the end of my bed. Then Alex reappeared and I was treated to a full description of her trip abroad, including the aeroplane, the hotel, the city and all she'd seen and done.
The description was more of a monologue than a conversation, though both Katherine and Barry were solicited for opinions on whether something was "awesome" or simply "cool". She asked me about the needle in my arm and then asked whether Blackbird dyed her hair and then she got to wondering whether anything would really happen if she pressed the buttons behind the bed.
Eventually Katherine declared that I must be tired and, despite protestations from Alex that I couldn't be tired as I had only just woken up, she was shepherded out with promises that she could return the next day if I wasn't discharged.
"That," I remarked to Blackbird when they had gone, "is a real incentive to feel better."
"She was worried about you."
"Yes, I know. And I do appreciate her concern. But she's so full of life, sometimes, she wears me down."
"And she's only one," she reminded me, walking around to sit beside me on the edge of the bed.
I grimaced, but then smiled at the thought of what was to come.
"The doctor says the water has cleared from your lungs and with the amount of antibiotics they pumped into you, I shouldn't think you'll get any infection for years."
"I don't think it works like that," I told her.
"Really?" The corner of her lips turned up in that half-smile and she tilted her head sideways, slightly.
"Don't tease. I'm not up to teasing yet."
"Oh? And here was me hoping you might be up to a little more than light teasing in a day or so."
"I've only just regained consciousness," I reminded her.
"Actually you were conscious that night, for a short while. You've recovered really quickly. The doctors are already wondering at your rate of recovery. You were off the oxygen after twelve hours and have been improving ever since."
"Is that your doing?"
"No, water really isn't my thing. It's your body that's changing. Just look at your hands. When they brought you in, they were covered in cuts. They put several stitches into your fingers. That was less than two days ago. Now you would think the scars are months old. Fortunately, the nice lady doctor says some people stick together well, and you're one of them. Still, you've given even her pause for thought."
"Do you think I should play sick for a while?"
"No, I think you should get yourself out of their sight as soon as possible. You don't want to show them any more than you need to. Seriously, if I'd realised you would heal this quickly, I wouldn't have called an ambulance."
"Where else can I go? The flat is still torn apart from Solandre's visit and I doubt the police will let anyone near it until they've completed their forensics."
"Well, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I can't go back to being Veronica, other than for a short while to quietly sort out her life and give her an excuse to disappear. I think you know now that going back to your job isn't really a possibility."
"What am I going to do for money? I have Alex and Katherine to support, and if you're not going back to the university then neither of us has a job."
"What's that?" asked Blackbird. She tensed, suddenly deeply concerned.
A noise came from beyond the door to the corridor outside, like a pendulum tick, slowly increasing in volume. It had a sharp metallic quality and a frequency that matched a steady walking pace. It slowed as it approached my door and Blackbird stood, facing the door, body set. The door opened slowly and a tall gentleman wearing a dark grey jacket over a black T-shirt and charcoal trousers stood in the doorway.
His eyes swept the room before he entered, taking in each detail, reminding me of the way the quiet policeman had assessed the room, except he didn't look much like a policeman. He looked like a bouncer.
TWENTY-NINE
The tall man entered, stepping sideways, leaving the door wide and placing the wall behind him. His manner was professional and he carried an expression of faint amusement, as if he were aware of a private joke he was unable to share. His hair was short and his ears stuck out slightly. In his hand was a dark wooden stave, about as tall as his shoulder. The top was ornamented with a decorative silver cap and the base was shod with steel. It slid downwards through his hand, tapping sharply as the tip struck the tiles beside his feet. It was an easy movement showing long familiarity.
"You are Niall Petersen and Blackbird of the Fey'ree." It wasn't a question. "I am Warder Garvin. I bring you the felicitations of the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Courts and request that you stand before them before sunset today."
"A request?" I asked him.
"It's a formality," Blackbird said. Her stance said that she knew this fellow. "They want to see us today."
"Will you come?"
I looked at Blackbird.
"Where?" she asked.
"There's an address in Soho Square on this slip of paper."
He untucked a scrap of paper from his pocket and leaned forward to place it on the bed. "Be there an hour after noon. We'll take you the rest of the way."
"We?" I asked.
"I brought reinforcements, in case there was trouble. Tate?" He smiled, tipping his head towards the door without taking his eyes from us.
The doorway darkened and in it stood a huge bear of a man. The way he filled the doorway reminded me of how Gramawl had filled the tunnel below Covent Garden. He had the same bulk, as if he had to lean down to pass through the limited opening. His long hair was gathered back in a clasp and he had a grizzled beard. Grey eyes regarded us from beneath bushy eyebrows. He also wore the dark uniform.
"Trouble?" he asked. His voice was resonant and low, rich like chocolate and not in the least bit perturbed. If there was trouble, he wasn't concerned.
Garvin glanced over at us and then shook his head. "No. We'll see you in Soho Square."
"What if we're held up?" I asked.
"Don't be late. Or we'll have to come and fetch you."
He turned, the bulk of T
ate retreating before him, and they walked away back down the corridor, the rhythmic tap of the staff on the tiles sounding their retreat.
"Who were they?" I asked Blackbird.
"We're being summoned to stand before the Council of Seven Courts, the full council of the lords and ladies who rule all the Courts of the Feyre."
"Seven courts? I thought you said the Seventh Court wasn't part of that anymore."
"Their place is held open for them should they ever decide to return. The Council is where the rulers of the courts meet together to discuss matters affecting them all."
"So why are we being summoned?"
"I don't know. The Council usually acts to defend the independence and authority of each individual court. They resolve disputes between courts."
"So why do they want to see either of us?"
"I don't know, but you can't refuse. You have to go."
"What will happen if we don't?"
"They would send those two to bring us before the court and, believe me, it would be far better to go willingly. Or we could be ruled in contempt, just like a human court except the punishments are more visceral."
"There are only two of them," I pointed out.
"The Warders of the Seven Courts are a cross between court officials, bodyguards and court enforcers. They carry out the will of the courts, in blood if necessary. And there are six of them, one for each court."
"So they'll try to bring us before the court. We can stand up for ourselves, I think we've proved that much at least."
"The Untainted are bad enough to deal with but the Warders are different. If the Seven Courts decree an execution then these are the people who carry it out. They're specially trained to go up against the worst of Feyre society. They are the ultimate sanction of the courts. They work as a team and they make Raffmir and Solandre look like amateurs."
"They didn't look so bad."
"Delivering messages is one of their more pleasant duties. They probably regard it as a day off."
"Do you think we should go with them, then? Couldn't we run away, go somewhere remote?"
"You may be able to run, but I can't."
"Why not?"
"Niall, I am bound to the courts. When I am summoned I must go. I receive the court's protection, but I am also bound by its decisions. I don't have a choice. They'll always find me and, anyway, it's not really an option in my condition."
"You're definitely pregnant then?"
"You'll be a father again."
"Oh wow. That's incredible, really. I'm delighted." I drew her to me, intending to kiss her, but she resisted.
"I've never done this before. I confess I'm a little scared."
"I'll stay with you. It'll be OK. We can go to ante-natal classes together. I did it with Katherine."
"I can't go to ante-natal classes, Niall." She looked troubled.
"Why not? It's easy. It's just exercises and stuff. You'll be good at it."
"You forget, the baby is only partly human. Fey mothers carry their children for almost a year, not nine months. Don't you think people are going to be suspicious if it takes that long? It might not even come out looking human. I can't have a scan or let anyone see it, can I? I have to keep it secret."
"Don't the Feyre have midwives or something? Surely if they're so keen to have children they have something?"
"Kareesh will look after me when the time comes, but in the meantime I need somewhere quiet, somewhere safe for the baby to grow." She was looking more and more concerned.
"It'll be OK," I reassured her, "After all we've been through, we can deal with this. I'll think of something."
"There's more. I'm going to lose my power."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm going to lose my ability to use magic. It's already fading. Pregnant Fey can't use magic. It would be dangerous for the baby and my body won't let me. It'll close down for the duration. That's how I know I'm pregnant. What I did in the tunnels, I couldn't do any more. It's the way it should be, but…"
"But what?"
"Niall, I feel so helpless."
I opened my arms and she leaned forward and rested her head on my chest while I hugged her to me. She was trembling so I simply held her until the trembling eased.
After a while she lifted herself up and looked into my eyes.
"Tell me that it will be OK?"
"It'll be fine," I told her. "I promise." She rested her head back on my chest and we lay there for some time while the hospital murmured around us.
"I need help," I told her, after a while.
"What kind of help?" she asked.
"I need Claire, today, now. Can you bring her to me?"
"Here? Yes. What for?"
"We need Claire to help us. I'll explain it to you both when she gets here. But hurry."
"She's going to want to know why, Niall."
"Tell her I want her to be our insurance policy."
Blackbird and I reached Soho Square shortly before one and found the early afternoon drinkers were already established in the pub on the corner. The garden in the centre of the square was arrayed with office workers eating lunch. We found the address easily, an anonymous entrance in a row of doors. We were ten minutes early.
"They're not here yet," I remarked.
"Of course they are," Blackbird contradicted.
"I don't see anyone."
"You won't."
She looked around nervously, then ascended the short flight of steps and pressed the brass doorbell mounted by the door. No one came to the door. She waited a moment and then descended back to the pavement.
"They will know we're here now."
"I thought you said they already knew."
"Don't be picky."
We waited on the pavement in full view while people walked through the square on their way to meet friends, lovers or colleagues. We scanned each face for signs of our earlier visitors, but didn't see them approach. They appeared out of the random movements of passers-by. One moment there were a number of unrecognised people strolling through the square and the next they were there.
With them was a young woman with short, dark hair, wearing a pale grey silk shirt and trousers. Her eyes were as hard as glass. She had walked past Blackbird and then doubled back, cutting off the retreat. We knew she was one of them from the sword swinging from her hip which hadn't been there a moment before. The black lacquered scabbard gleamed with the dull sheen of constant handling. She watched us, and Garvin and Tate watched the square. Tate swung a long-bearded axe gently from one hand. It looked like a toy against his enormous frame.
"You're on time." Garvin's smile was noncommittal, as if it was all the same to him. "Tate you know. This is Amber. You will not call power unless it is directly requested, understand? Use power without permission and we will kill you without hesitation."
He moved down the pavement, staff tapping on the paving, away from the door where Blackbird had rung the bell. Tate and Amber moved in to flank us.
"Aren't we going inside?" Blackbird asked, gesturing towards the door where she'd rung the bell.
He shook his head. "There's no one in there. I checked."
He went down the row to another similar door, as anonymous as the first, and trotted up the steps. The door opened as he reached it and a fourth member of the team was waiting, wearing the same charcoal uniform. On his belt were two long knives, one on each hip. Like every other weapon they looked worn by frequent handling. He was shorter in build with a broad nose, a bull neck and shoulders that gave him the impression of being roughly square. His hair was ginger and he reminded me of someone I had seen recently. I was trying to recall who it was as we were shepherded inside. Then I remembered. He had the same broad flat nose and protruding eyes as Marshdock.
"Are they ready for us?"
"They're assembled," he said to Garvin. "But they have some other business to discuss. Fee is with them. She'll let you know."
Tate and Amber followed us inside. We were
led through the house, past closed internal doors to what could only be described as a scullery at the back of the house. It had a range cooker that looked like it hadn't been used in decades and a large rectangular table in scuffed bare wood, scored with generations of service. A window looked out onto the back, but it was too shadowed between the buildings to see what was outside. Garvin didn't pause. He went straight to a side door at the back of the room and opened it.
"Down here," he said.
"What is it," I asked Blackbird as she descended the stairs behind Garvin, "about the Feyre and basements?"
"It's closer to the earth," she said, as if that should explain it.
The stairs had a bend in them and were quite difficult to negotiate, so that I wondered how Tate was going to get down them. They opened out at the bottom into two cellar rooms accessed through an open doorway. There was a faint musty smell and I noticed a tray left out on a chest with a number of wizened apples on it. They didn't look like this year's harvest.
Garvin strolled into the second cellar and waited for the rest to follow. Amber came down after us, followed by a scraping sound as Tate eased himself down the stairway and into the room.
"The courts are down here?" I asked Garvin.
He shook his head. "Follow."
He walked to the centre of the room, turned to face the back wall and stepped forward. There was a twist in the air, he shimmered and vanished.
"It's one of the Ways, is that it?" I asked Blackbird.
"There isn't a Way here," she said. "It doesn't go anywhere."
"Yes it does," rumbled Tate. "You next." He nodded towards Blackbird.
She stepped forward to the place where Garvin had been, orientating herself as he had done.
"Interesting," she said, then stepped forward and vanished.
"Now you." He nodded towards the spot.
I walked forward, remembering the last time I had tried this. I had become lost and had nearly broken my neck getting out again. Nervously, I turned to face the wall and then felt down below my feet. The sensation was different. When we had used the Ways before I had felt the flow of power beneath my feet like a raging torrent. This was more like a stream or a tributary, the same in nature but much less powerful. I looked at Tate, but he just nodded. Amber dropped her hand to her sword hilt for emphasis.