Strangeness and Charm

by Mike Shevdon

  "You'll start to remember soon," she remarked.

  "Remember what?"

  "What I saw, in the rooms under Porton Down. I've given you the memory."

  "You've given it to me? How?"

  "It's in the lemonade."

  I looked down into the translucent liquid, then put the glass back on the table, wondering what she had poisoned me with and how long I had.

  "It's only a memory, not the full experience. I stirred it in with the sugar."

  "Why?"

  "Because I want you to understand what I saw. Think back, there's a memory that's not your own."

  I thought back to the night Raffmir and I broke into Porton Down, to the people we had killed and those we had saved.

  I remembered the rooms with glass walls reinforced with iron wire. I could see myself taking the key from the nurse's hand, the swish of the blade, the spatter of blood across the glass, the slowing ooze as the blood ran down the glass, black and glossy in the dim light.

  Strangely I can see both sides of the glass.

  I remember the sudden trepidation that the dark figures would kill me too, followed by the realisation that we were being set free. These were not my memories. I could see myself through another's eyes; a shadowed outline under the faded safety lights.

  The key is turned; hope outweighs my fear while my heart pounds in my chest. I edge closer; the overwhelming urge to touch. My hand finds its way to his cheek. I am momentarily blinded, a piercing light – so much brightness – then darkness and an afterimage, a rising sun. The sun will rise, and they shall fall. I can hear myself saying it.

  The image of the sunrise is burned into my retina. My logical mind says that it could be a sunset, but my power knows different. I stumble away down the corridor, away from the man. I can barely see. My eyes fill with a searing light that hasn't happened yet….

  I blinked, vaguely disorientated by the foreign memory. I couldn't escape the feeling that something alien was planted there.

  "How can I have your memory? Can you remove it?" I said.

  "The memory? Now that would be interesting, wouldn't it? If I could make you forget things, how could you trust your mind? I could make you forget why you're here, where you came from, who you are." She shook her head, "No, I can't remove it."

  "You could have just told me."

  "Do you know what it means?" she asked.

  "Some of it. The light could have been me. There was a helicopter spraying bullets onto the roof. I created the light to destroy it."

  "I saw the aftermath when I left. What about the rest of it? The sun will rise and they shall fall. What does it mean?"

  "I was hoping you were going to tell me," I said.

  "Come with me." She went into the hall. "Come on, I won't bite."

  I followed her upstairs, careful to keep the sword where I could draw it if I needed to. There was a landing at the top, a bathroom and two bedrooms. At the front of the house was a closed door. A small sign on the door said, Caution! Woman at Work.

  She stood with her hand on the door. "I was a writer, you know? Freelance; mainly brochures and advertising copy, before all this."

  "All what?" I asked.

  "The facility at Porton Down. Did you know I volunteered? Initially they took volunteers. We were treated better than the other inmates, though that changed towards the end."

  "I'm surprised you went, given that you must have known what would happen there."

  "Oh I had a fair idea what they meant to do, but it was that or be taken there. It was going to happen anyway. Easier on me if I went willingly. It's all in here."

  "What is?"

  "See for yourself."

  She pushed open the door and stepped back, leaving me room to come forward. It opened into a small room at the front that had been converted into a study. There was a desk and chair, a pile of books and notepads – an ancient looking computer and keyboard had been pushed to one side. A desk lamp stood on one corner angled down so it wouldn't dazzle.

  The walls were covered in notes of every size, colour and shape. Every patch of wall-space had been tagged with stickynotes of different colours, pieces of ruled paper pinned to the wall, fragments torn from pads. I pushed the door open further. They were on every wall, as high as she could reach.

  "What's it all for?" I asked.

  "It starts on the wall behind the door," she said. "See for yourself."

  I hesitated.

  "It's OK," she said. "I won't lock you in there. There'd be no point."

  I stepped into the room and pulled the door back from the wall, trying to discern what I was looking at. Some were scribbled notes, others inscribed in calligraphic letters. To begin with, most were notes on lined paper, carefully cut from the page, but as they progressed around the room they degraded to pages torn from books, scraps of newspaper, napkins, pieces of cereal packet.

  There were random images scattered amongst the notes. Some were instant scribbles, like the moon and stars on a sticky-note, others carefully sketched, like an engraved medieval sun, shining down beneficently. Initially it was chaotic, but then themes started to emerge.

  The phrase, the sun will rise, was scattered throughout, but as the notes became more frantic, the writing became less legible.

  After that the fragments became more diverse with pieces I recognised. The words, Gauntlet Runner, written over a newspaper photograph surrounded by pictures of rabbits cut or torn from magazines – cartoon rabbits, rabbit symbols, photos of rabbits. In another there were dogs of all different shapes and sizes. One section had spikes, nails and all manner of pins and the distinctive curve of horseshoes.

  "What's it all for?" I asked her, where she stood outside the door watching me scan around the room.

  "I've written nothing except this since I came back," she said, "I can't pick up a pen without this coming out. I dream it, I find myself repeating it when I'm cooking, I end up humming it to myself. Nails, rabbits, stars, the rising sun. It's all I can think of since I touched you."

  Her manner was becoming more anxious. Her tone was clipped and she pushed her hand through her hair. "It's in my head and I can't get rid of it, God knows I've tried. I need you to tell me what it means. I've been waiting for you to come so you can tell me what it means."

  She was rubbing her hands together, dry-washing them.

  "I don't know what it means."

  She must have heard the slight hesitation in my voice. "But you suspect."

  "I recognise some of it. I doesn't make any sense, though."

  "Tell me."

  "I'm not sure it helps."

  "Tell me!" She reached for me and my sword was in my hand. We faced each other, her outstretched hand close to the edge of the blade. She met my eyes.

  "Are you going to use that on me?"

  "If I have to."

  "You can't imagine what it's like. It's driving me to the edge. If you can tell me what it means then maybe it will leave me alone. If you're here to kill me, then do it. It'll be a mercy."

  "I'm not here to kill you."

  "Then tell me what you know, or you might as well use that sword before I kill myself."

  I glanced again at the walls. "A lot of it is about me, I think."

  "What about you?"

  "The rabbits – I'm called Rabbit by some, Dogstar by others…"

  "Sirius – that's the dogstar isn't it? I have a picture of Orion on the wall there. Sirius is below it – look there."

  "There's a ceremony with nails and horseshoes. It's an ancient ritual."

  "I have nails – horseshoes too, what's it got to do with you?"

  "I was involved with it, last year. It was going wrong but we fixed it."

  "This is all about you…" her eyes tracked around the walls.

  "I don't know what the rising sun means, but it's come up more than once – not just with you but with other people. Maybe whatever it means hasn't happened yet."

  "Will you let me touch you?"
<
br />   "No."

  "Just for a moment. I swear I won't harm you."

  "What for?"

  "I just need to see… maybe I'll be able to say what it means. It could help you."

  "It could make it worse," I said.

  "I don't think so." She gave that nervous shake of the head again.

  I watched her and realised how thin the veneer of sanity was, and how close she was to doing something stupid. I couldn't leave her like this, not when it was my fault.

  "I have a proposal," I said.

  We arrived at the High Court without warning, which might not have been the best idea. Amber was in the room where the Ways terminated, sword drawn as she realised I was not alone.

  "Who's this?" she asked.

  "A guest – my guest." I glanced at the sword, and she lowered the point minutely.

  "You're not supposed to bring visitors, Dogstar."

  Angela was looking around wildly, disorientated by the unexpected landing.

  "She's not a visitor. Garvin told me to bring them in, well here's one of them. Angela, this is Amber. You can trust her. She'll protect you."

  Angela glanced warily at Amber, who raised an eyebrow minutely.

  Angela looked around. "Where are we?"

  "Somewhere safe. I need you to stay with Amber for a moment while I make arrangements. Will you do that? Just don't touch her or anything."

  "I won't touch her," said Angela. "She wears death like a shroud."

  "Great," said Amber. "One of those."

  I led Angela away from the centre of the floor in case anyone else tried to use the Way. Collisions were unlikely, but it wasn't a good place to stand. I led her so she could lean against the wall and I watched her take in her surroundings.

  "How do you feel?" I asked her.

  "I'm fine – that's quite a ride."

  "It's exhilarating to start with, but you'll tire quite quickly. It takes it out of you."

  "I went hill walking once, in the Lake District. We came down a scree slope and everything started sliding. Travelling on the Way – it was like that, only more so."

  "Sit down here, against the wall. I'll only be a few moments. I just need to let people know that you're here and get you somewhere to stay.

  "I'm not staying."

  "We'll see. It'll be OK."

  She slid down the wall, crossing her legs and watched Amber warily. Amber made a point of not watching her, leaning against the wall, closing in on herself. I had seen her stand like that for hours without moving, but with the potential to strike at any moment. No wonder Angela watched her.

  I left them and went up into the house, searching for Garvin. I found him in the hall talking to Fellstamp.

  "Dogstar. I was just coming to see you."

  "You were? I only just got back."

  "Yes, and you brought someone with you. Fellstamp, go and give Amber a hand, would you? I need a brief word with Niall."

  Fellstamp grinned at me as he passed. There was no sign in his movements of where I had run his shoulder through with a sword during my initiation as a Warder. The old swagger was back and his dark curly hair fell across his eyes, which sparkled under his fringe with amusement. To me his nose was too broad, his lips too full, but I also knew that among the female Stewards he was considered very attractive. It was rumoured that he'd slept with most of them.

  "I'll go keep our guest company, then, shall I?" He executed a neat half turn that kept him facing me as he passed, and as I came between him and Garvin, he winked. He spun back neatly and walked the way I had come.

  "What's up with him?" I asked Garvin.

  "Hard to say," said Garvin, "Our visitor wouldn't be female, would she?"

  "How did you know that?"

  "You know how Fellstamp loves to flirt."

  "I don't think Angela's his type."

  "I didn't know Fellstamp had a type. So she's called Angela. What's her affinity?"

  "I didn't ask. She's like Kareesh, though, she can see the future, or possible futures."

  "Earth and Fire then. I'll arrange for an audience with Teoth for her. Is she house-trained?"

  "What does that mean?"

  "Is she dangerous? Do we need to lock her up?"

  "No, she's fine. I need to do something, though. She's had a vision and I think it's about me. She wants to touch me, but I didn't want to do it alone."

  "You're going to let an untrained seer touch you?"

  "The sun will rise, and they shall fall."

  Garvin gazed steadily at my eyes. "She said that?"

  "Not just said it. She has diagrams of it and poems of it. She draws it and dreams it. It's all over the walls of her office. She's been able to write nothing else since she encountered me in the cells under Porton Down."

  "OK. I'll have her brought up to the drawing room."

  "That was too easy. You've heard that phrase before."

  "Perhaps."

  "There's no perhaps about it, Garvin. Blackbird told me that Deefnir used exactly that phrase when he cornered her at Highsmith's Farm."

  "Then you are well-informed, Dogstar." His use of my Warder nickname was intended to remind me of my position as newest and most junior of the Warders.

  "It's not just there, though is it? You already knew about it."

  "You're guessing, Dogstar." He led off towards the drawing room.

  "It's a good guess, though, isn't it?"

  "Perhaps. Let's see what your seer has to say."

  "You'd better sit on the floor. You can't fall off that," said Garvin.

  Angela stood in the doorway, watching Fellstamp move the dust-sheeted armchairs back and create some space in the middle of the disused room. Amber drew back the drapes and let the sun back-light the lace curtains. It should have made the room warm and inviting, so why did I feel cold?

  Perhaps it was the memory of when Kareesh had held my hands in the tunnels beneath Covent Garden Underground Station, gifting me with a vision of my future, or at least my probable future. It had set me on a path that saved me from a gruesome death at the hands of the Seventh Court, but left me wondering how much was preordained and how much was down to chance, or fate, or decisions that I or the people around me made.

  Blackbird said that the future was uncertain, that even seers could not predict – they could only show you the points on your path that were most likely to occur. My last attempt at this with Kareesh had worked out for me – I had escaped the Untainted and found a place in the courts – maybe that's why I was willing to give Angela a chance. There was a risk, but by doing it here in the presence of the other Warders that risk was limited.

  Garvin's reaction bothered me. He had been all about business as usual until I mentioned what Angela had said, and then he had become interested. If I had proposed letting Angela touch me in normal circumstances then the answer would have been no, I was sure. I was expecting to have to persuade him, to argue my case. Instead he had agreed almost without discussion and made immediate arrangements. He caught me watching him across the room and I looked away. I never had any doubt that Garvin was trustworthy, that he had the best interests of the Courts and the Warders at the centre of everything he did. I just wondered how much of that included me.

  "Sit here," Garvin said to Angela.

  A clear path had been created for her to take a seat in the middle of the rug. The other Warders kept a wary distance from her. No weapons were displayed, but after her words about my stance and posture I noticed that the other Warders moved in a similar way. It wasn't that they danced, but that they looked like they could dance, or they were ready to dance. Perhaps that's what training as a Warder did to you. I smiled to myself for a moment, wondering whether I should actually learn to dance and whether Blackbird would like that. Would she dance with me, I wondered?

  Garvin must have caught my smile. "Looking forward to this?"

  "Not especially. Too late to back out now, though, eh?"

  "You don't have to do it if you don't w
ant to. It was your idea."

  "So it was."

  "Gain as much knowledge and insight into your enemy before you make contact," said Garvin. "It's a sound approach."

  "What enemy, Garvin? What am I looking for?"