The Eighth Court

by Mike Shevdon

  “Order your men to stand down,” said the King in a deep voice.

  “But, my Liege,” said Aimery, “they are…”

  “At once,” said the King, quietly.

  Aimery looked crestfallen. “Stand down,” he ordered. The tips of the spears fell. “My Liege, if I have done wrong I beg your pardon. It was done with the best of…”

  “Enough,” said the King. “Clear the room. Get these men out of here and let in some air, for the love of God.”

  The two uniformed knights pushed the men back and they reversed with some difficulty back down the passage. It was some time before the noise died away. The King remained silent throughout. No one else dared speak.

  When the men had finally gone, the King turned to Aimery. “How did you come here, this night?”

  “My Liege, I heard through my own means that these men conspired. I sought only to protect…”

  “No, you fool!” said the King. “Did you come by river or road?”

  Aimery was taken aback. “I came by river, My Liege.”

  “Good,” said the King, “then you’ve done something right. Wait outside with my men. I will speak with you later.” The uniformed knights escorted Aimery down the passage after his men. The King waited until Aimery was well out of earshot before speaking again. He turned to the scarred man that had come into the room before him.

  “When does the tide turn?” asked the King.

  “Within the hour, Majesty.”

  “The river is in flood,” said the King. “A man could go overboard on a night like this and no one would ever see him again.”

  “I will see to it, Majesty,” said the man. He bowed and turned to leave.

  “And make sure his men understand their fate if word of this should spread,” said the King.

  The man nodded and followed the path Aimery had taken down the passage, leaving the King with the knights. “Rise,” he said.

  The men got to their feet stiffly having knelt on the cold stone. It was Le Brun who spoke. “We are in your debt, Majesty,” he said.

  “You’ve been careless,” said the King. “If Aimery knows of this, then it is possible that others do too.”

  “We will be more careful,” said Le Brun.

  The King walked slowly around the room, circling the men. None of them moved. He appeared lost in thought. The only sound in the room was the occasional spit and hiss of the flares and the tap of the King’s boots on the stone.

  “It’s not enough,” said the King,”

  “I beg your pardon, Majesty?” said Le Brun. “We will do everything in our power…”

  “It will never be enough. How much do you love your King?”

  “Above my life, Majesty,” said Le Brun.

  “Above your life…” said the King, continuing to walk around them. “And you?” The King fixed each man with a stare as he circled them. Each man said he would give his life.

  “It is the burden of Kings that we must often ask more than those who serve us are prepared to give,” said the King. “It was ever thus.”

  “Niall Petersen?” Blackbird’s voice cut across the King, making Niall start where he stood. I looked around nervously wondering whether they too could hear it. But the King continued circling the men.

  “It’s time to come home,” her voice insisted.

  “I have something I want you to do for me,” said the King to the knights. “It’s more than I’ve asked of you before.” The light was dimming, as if the flares were expiring.

  “Come home.” said Blackbird.

  “Anything, Majesty,” said Le Brun.

  “Come home,” repeated Blackbird.

  The light faded until only the scent of burning flares was left.

  Niall opened his eyes.

  “Dad!” said Alex, and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely.

  “What on earth is the matter with you?” said Niall, hugging her back.

  There was a sharp rapping on the door. Fionh’s voice came through into the room. “Open up!” she called. “What are you doing in there?”

  Blackbird stood and went to the door, opening it wide so that Fionh could see inside the room. “It’s late, Fionh. To what do we owe this honour?”

  Fionh had her weapon drawn and held low. She scanned the room, noting Niall’s position on the bed with Alex, the drops of red on the quilt, the flattened area of quilt where Blackbird had been sitting beside Niall. “You’ve got a nerve, Mistress. You know better than to work blood rituals in this house,” she said.

  “I was under the impression,” said Blackbird, “That the warders were here for our protection. Your wardings have a weakness, Fionh, because something got through and had Niall in its grasp. It took a blood ritual to release him.”

  “Garvin will hear about this,” said Fionh.

  “Then I shall look forward to a discussion on improving the protection offered by the courts,” said Blackbird. “Unless you’re planning to start waving that weapon around?”

  Fionh sheathed the blade in one smooth movement, scanning the room again so that she would be able to report every detail. “Tomorrow, then,” she said.

  “Always a pleasure,” said Blackbird, closing the door on her.

  “What was that all about?” asked Niall.

  “I could ask you the same question,” said Blackbird.

  Mist was rising over the frosted fields beyond the fence that marked the boundary of the house, drifting like smoke on the night-breeze between the trees. Alex watched it as she walked out from the shadows below the oak tree to lean on the fence. The December night had cleared and the moon had set early, leaving glinting stars. Goosebumps prickled her arms but she was damned if she was going back for a jumper.

  Blackbird had made her dad tell them all about the dream, and even made him write down the names of the knights, but just when it was getting interesting Blackbird had declared herself tired and sent Alex off to bed. Alex suspected that she wanted to talk to her dad without her overhearing, but however resentful she felt at being excluded, there was nothing she could do about it.

  It was only just past midnight, and her thumb hurt like hell. How was she supposed to sleep when it throbbed like that? It felt twice the size it normally was, though there was little sign of any swelling. Maybe it would get infected and puff up like a balloon – only she didn’t get infections, not any more. The magic that ran through her veins was like a possessive disease that left no room for any other, and like a disease, it would claim her in the end.

  She turned to face the house. She knew there would be a nightlight in the nursery, but from here the house looked dead and cold, the windows blank against the stars. She tried to picture it as a family home with servants and guests, but it was too big and too empty to fill with her imagination. She’d walked the passages lined with one room after another covered in dust sheets, the curtains drawn to keep out the fading sunlight. Even when they’d had mongrel fey staying, the house had swallowed them with apparent ease.

  “What are you doing?”

  Alex started at the sudden question, and then forced herself to relax. Of course Fionh had snuck up on her. That was Fionh’s way. She couldn’t just walk up like any normal person, she had to make you jump.

  “I was thinking about the house, and how lonely it must feel,” Alex replied, truthfully.

  “I’d have thought you’d had enough excitement for one evening,” said Fionh.

  “I wanted some air.”

  “Your thumb is bleeding,” said Fionh. Alex lifted it, regarding the fat droplet that swelled from the gouge, and then sucked it, tasting once again the metallic tang.

  “Be wary where you let the drops fall,” Fionh warned. “There are those who will make more of a few drops of blood that you’d have a liking for.”

  “What are they going to do?” asked Alex. “Snuffle around in the grass for them?”

  “You give yourself away too easily, Alex.”

  “What�
��s that supposed to mean?” asked Alex, regarding Fionh with a cold stare.

  “Merely an observation,” said Fionh.

  “Well cold as it is out here,” said Alex, “it not going to bother you, is it, Fionh?”

  “Will it not?” she asked.

  Alex pushed herself off from the fence. “Nah,” she said. “This isn’t cold, is it Fionh? We both know you get a lot colder than this.” She walked back towards the house, leaving Fionh in the shadow of the oak tree. She didn’t look back, but went inside and up to her room, undressing in the dark and pulling the curtains closed, excluding the starlight. She slipped the catches open on the windows, but left them closed, then opened the door and checked the corridor, leaving the door ajar, before she slipped into bed.

  She lay in bed with the quilt wrapped round her, shivering and sucking her painful thumb. She tried to think of something restful, but instead was assailed by the images of the drops of blood on the clean covers.

  It was some while before sleep claimed her.

  Garvin was in one of the empty rooms on the other side of the house, away from the morning sunlight. He’d thrown back the dustsheets on a couple of armchairs and was sat in one, his hands steepled in front of him.

  “You wanted to see me?” I said.

  He indicated the other chair, and I sat down. He reached forward, and I leaned back warily, but he only wanted to turn my chin so that he could inspect the marks patterned across my face from where the gates outside the Royal Courts of Justice had struck me. “You’re going to have a scar,” said Garvin.

  “Alex has started referring to it as my tattoo,” I said.

  “That has its own irony,” said Garvin.

  Alex’s arms were wound around with the images of black vines, periodically budding into dark flowers which formed gradually into berries. It’d been like that since her return. It worried me that she wore long-sleeved tops more now, as if she wanted to hide them. When I’d asked her why she was wearing so many long-sleeved tops, she’d simply said, “It’s cold.”

  “Fionh tells me that last night Blackbird was practicing ritual magic inside the courts.”

  “You’d have to talk to Blackbird about that,” I said warily.

  “I’m talking to you about it,” he said.

  “I missed most of it,” I said.

  Garvin sighed. “It’s dangerous, Niall. The wardings of the High Court are there to protect us all. She could have triggered something that would be a threat to everyone.”

  “I’ll tell her,” I said.

  “What happened?” he asked me.

  I shook my head. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve started having these intense dreams, ever since I was hit by the gates – just fragments of things. It doesn’t make any sense. I got lost in one of the dreams last night. Blackbird pulled me out of it, just when it was starting to make sense.”

  “That’s what happens in dreams,” said Garvin. “It’s an illusion. It’s like dreaming of falling – you wake up just before you hit the ground.”

  “Do you?” I said. “Always?”

  He smiled wryly. “Maybe you’re reading too much into it.”

  “Blackbird thinks it might be significant.”

  That had his interest. “For whom?”

  “I wish I knew,” I said. “Does Kimlesh speak French?”

  Garvin looked surprised. “I’ve no idea. Do you want me to ask her?”

  “No, no.” I rested my head in my hands. “I go to sleep and I wake up more tired than I started. I find myself assaulted by images I don’t recognise or want. I don’t know who most of these people are”

  Garvin edge forward in his chair. “Maybe you just need to get some rest.”

  “I can’t rest. I have to find out what this is all about.”

  “Niall, don’t take this the wrong way.” He raised his hands as my expression darkened. “You see, your hackles are already up and I haven’t said anything.”

  “What?” I asked, trying to sound calm and reasonable.

  Garvin spoke quietly. “I’m already a man down. Fellstamp hasn’t stirred and it’s been months. We’re not sure how long he can last. He’s slowly wasting away. If he doesn’t come round soon then it may be too late.”

  “You blame me for that as well?” I asked.

  “I’m not blaming anyone,” said Garvin, “but I can’t afford to lose another man. We’ve managed on six before and we can do it again, but five? Tired people make mistakes, Niall. Fatal ones.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I’d recommend rest and relaxation, but there’s precious little chance of that with the negotiations on the Eighth Court in session.”

  “If I rest, I dream,” I said. “And it’s no rest at all.”

  “If you were Fellstamp, I’d recommend you get drunk. If you were Tate I’d set you felling trees until exhaustion claimed you. Fionh I’d send to the practice hall to beat seven shades of shit out of whatever she could find.”

  “And if I were Amber?” I asked.

  Garvin gave me an odd look. “Is there something between you and Amber?”

  “No, I’m just curious.”

  “Be careful of curiosity, Niall. It can lead you in odd directions and Blackbird isn’t the forgiving kind.”

  “I’ll take your advice on that,” I said.

  “Seriously, Dogstar. You need to get your head straight. Go for a walk, meditate, jump into a lake – do whatever it takes to clear your head.”

  “I’ll try and think of something,” I said, standing.

  “And try not to read too much into it,” said Garvin.

  I shook my head. “How much is too much?” I asked him.

  “Are you there?”

  “Do you even need to ask?” whispered the voice.

  “She was doing blood ritual within the courts. Whatever you’re doing to him, they’re going to find out.”

  “I’m not doing anything to him,” whispered the voice, calmly.

  “Well someone is!”

  “Keep your voice down,” said the whisperer. “They will hear.”

  “She only needs to twist it into a divination and they’ll know.”

  “Relax. Divination is not her talent.”

  “What about the girl? She was there too. She’s nosy, hangs about where she shouldn’t be.”

  “The girl has power, but not control. That was seen to. Relax. It’s all going to plan. Soon we shall see what we shall see.”

  “Perhaps we can arrange an accident? No one need ever know.”

  “She’s unpredictable,” said the whisperer. “Her strength comes and goes. Make a mistake and it could go badly. Leave her alone. Her time will come soon enough.”

  “That’s all very well for you to say. It’s not your neck.”

  “You’re too impatient. Nothing is achieved without risk.”

  “Better when the risk is not yours, though, eh?”

  “Do you still want my help?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then stick to the plan. You will get your reward.”

  “And what then?”

  There was no answer.

  When I went back upstairs, Blackbird was getting ready to resume discussions with the courts while she discussed tactics with Angela. She stepped into the long dress, threaded her arms into the sleeves and adjusted the bodice.

  “You’re getting quite good at that,” I commented.

  “It’s practice,” she said. “I bless the inventor of the zipper. It’s so much easier than all those tiresome buttons. Mullbrook is having another three dresses made for me.”

  “He’s taken a shine to you,” I said, “and although he has no official status, he is listened to. You could have worse allies.”

  “What I need are more numerous allies,” she said. “What did Garvin want?”

  “He asked me to mention that the use of ritual magic was not permitted at court,” I said. “He says it’s
dangerous.”

  “For him or me?” she asked.

  “He says you could have triggered the wardings. He wasn’t specific about who would be harmed.”

  “Can’t be giving too much away, can we?” she ventured. “You can let him know that you’ve delivered the message.”

  “He’s also worried about me.” I admitted.

  She stopped fussing with her hair and looked at me, concern in her eyes. “That makes two of us.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe the incident with the gates did more damage than we realise. Maybe I have concussion.”

  “Ahem,” coughed Angela, politely. “I think I may be able to offer a suggestion, or at least an explanation.” We both looked at her.

  “Go on,” said Blackbird.

  Angela looked uncomfortable. “When he… when I was… that is to say…”

  “Spit it out,” said Blackbird.

  “The lemonade,” said Angela.

  “Spit out the lemonade?” said Blackbird. “What’s this nonsense?” She turned to me, only to see from my face that I was having a dawning realisation. “What?” she asked.

  Angela continued. “When Niall first came to me, I knew who he was, or at least I knew about him – ever since that night in Porton Down. I was being driven mad by dreams and images and I knew they had something to do with Niall. I didn’t know what they meant. I couldn’t sleep without dreaming about them. It was driving me crazy.”

  “Like you’re dreaming now,” said Blackbird, catching on.

  “I wanted him to understand. I needed him to tell me what they were about. So I stirred the memories into a glass of lemonade.”

  “Oh no,” said Blackbird, turning to me, “You idiot! You drank it! You may as well have eaten a shiny red apple with the words ‘Eat Me’ written on it in dripping poison.”

  “I think you’re getting your stories confused,” I suggested.

  “Confused?” She was shouting now. “You’re the one that’s confused. You’re supposed to be a Warder. You don’t take offerings, bribes or gifts. At all. Ever!”