The Eighth Court

by Mike Shevdon

  Clang! It crashed into the battery, sending pots and pans tumbling noisily across the floor.

  He stepped sideways. Clong! The skillet swished back and hit the wall.

  He stepped in, grabbed the handle and wrenched it from his assailant’s hand, tossing it aside. He twisted her around; he had his arm around her throat, her hand pinned against her side. Instead of struggling, she reached upwards and touched his face.

  “I saw you before,” she said, breathing hard. “You were wreathed in white fire beneath the labs at Porton Down. “I wanted to touch you then, but instead I touched Niall.”

  “Now you have your chance,” he said. “What do you see?”

  “Death.”

  He palmed the long kitchen knife from the worktop behind her where it had scattered with the cutlery.

  “It’s Angela, isn’t it? Whose death do you see, Angela?” he asked.

  “Yours,” she said. “Uh!”

  The knife slipped between her ribs. “Wrong again.”

  Her knees went first and she slumped to the floor.

  He went to the sink and ran some cold water over his hands, carefully dipping the edge of the frilled cuff from his white shirt in the cold water where it had soaked up some of the blood. “I’ll never get the stains out of this,” he said. “Might even have to have a new shirt.”

  Collecting his sword he regarded the body on the floor. “Shame, we were just getting to know one another.”

  He went to the kitchen door. “This is too easy. Now where’s my delightful cousin? There are a few things we need to settle between us.”

  He walked back towards the parlour.

  Two people crashed through the scrub and brush. “It’s here somewhere,” said the first.

  “For God’s sake, Hathaway, I’m not kitted out for tramping around in the woods. We did that earlier.” The woman struggled after, sliding on the mud as she tried to keep up.

  “I could find it in the light,” he said, “but it all looks different in the dark.”

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “It’s usually the other way around.”

  “That way,” he said, suddenly. “It’s over here. I told you I could find it.”

  She caught up with him. “At last,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.” She slid down the bank, staggering as her she missed her foothold.

  “Wait,” he said. “It’s supposed to be guarded.”

  “You see anyone, Hathaway? I’m not hanging around for anyone. Let’s get out of here.”

  She heard him scramble down after her to the dip where the leaves had gathered in deep piles. “I know it’s here,” she said. “We just have to locate the spot under all these leaves. You try over there.” She looked up. “Hathaway?” She was the only person in the dip. She could have sworn she heard Hathaway follow her down. “Stop messing about,” she said. “This isn’t funny.”

  There was a sound – a soft thud. She looked down to see blood welling out from the blade protruding from her chest. “Oh fuck,” she said, and toppled forward.

  A dark figure outlined in a nimbus of white stood where she had been. Retrieving the sword, he wiped the blade carefully on a kerchief and returned the blade to its scabbard.

  There was a rustling from the Way-node. The trees shivered and the cold wind turned, catching twigs and whipping the whispering dry leaves into a spiral of fluttering movement. He moved forward to see what was causing the disturbance and something dived out of the Way-node, rolled and sprinted away up the bank. He chased it for a short distance, but having quickly lost sight of whoever it was in the shadows between the trees, he returned to the Way-node. Anyone heading towards the house was in for a nasty surprise in any case. He needn’t worry.

  He returned to the Way-node, looking for shadows and keeping a close eye out for any other disturbance between the wood. All was quiet.

  Thumph! His head rolled away into the leaves, dead eyes staring until they fell into dust.

  Amber strolled back through the trees. “There’s only one left on guard,” she said. “They always were an arrogant bunch.”

  Tate shook his head. “We’re spread too thin not to do the same.”

  “I’ll stay,” she said. “Let them know I’m keeping the Way open. We’ll get as many clear as we can.”

  “Assuming there are any left,” said Tate.

  He strode into the trees, while Amber melted into the shadows.

  “Hey, is someone there?” The figure climbed up the loft stairs. “We’re getting people out.” There was silence. “It’s only me,” she said. Her heels clacked on the wooden stairs as she rose into what was once the servants’ quarters. The orange dress glowed in the moonlight coming through the windows set in the gable ends.

  “Here,” said a voice. Andy stepped out from behind some packing cases. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “We’re getting them out,” said the woman in the orange dress. “It’s clear at the moment but we have to be quick. Is there anyone with you?”

  “There was someone,” said Andy, “but I’m not sure where they’ve gone.”

  “That’s OK,” said the woman in the orange dress. “We’ll try and find them on the way down.”

  “You lead the way,” said Andy.

  “It’s dark,” she said. “Take my hand.”

  “How do I know you are who you say you are?” he asked.

  “Don’t be silly. Who else would I be? Now take my hand and we’ll go down together.”

  “I’m OK, I don’t need help,” he said.

  “Not for you, silly,” she said. “For me. You think it’s easy in these heels?”

  “They’re not that high” said another voice. The woman in the orange dress spun around to find herself faced with another woman, also in an orange dress and similar heels. “You know, that colour really doesn’t suit you as much as it suits me.”

  There was a crash. A chair splintered as Andy swung it across the back of the impostor, where it exploding into dusty fragments. “Shit! It’s full of woodworm,” shouted Andy. “Save yourself, Julie. Get out while you still can.”

  The orange dress of the impostor lost its colour and faded into grey. “Too bad for you,” it said, transforming into a tall grey woman and reaching towards Andy. Her voice took on a breathy whisper as her body drifted into insubstantial spectral form. “Much too bad.”

  The loft area was already cold, but now it took on a bone-chilling intensity. The ghostly form turned on Andy who was retreating back from her, throwing oddments of chamber pots, broken picture frames and long discarded toys in her direction. None of them had any effect. “Time up,” she said.

  “Too true,” said Julie. Heat was radiating from her. The dress started smoking and turning brown where it touched her skin.

  “No!” said the impostor. “You don’t understand.” She started condensing inwards, visibly pulling herself together, but she was already extended towards Andy.

  Long licks of flame started travelling up Julie’s arms. As soon as they did, the flame flashed across the gap and the impostor exploded. Julie and Andy were flung backwards in the blast. The whole roof buckled and shook, fragments of tiles raining on them like shrapnel. The fire caught across the loft area, the flames flickering on all manner of things. In moments, old curtains, abandoned teddy bears, cardboard suitcases – everything caught. It was like a giant tinder box.

  “We have to get you out!” shouted Julie to Andy who was sprawled across the floor. She was no longer wreathed in flame, but seemed unaffected by the heat that was rapidly building.

  “The smoke,” coughed Andy. “I can’t deal with the smoke.”

  “Come on,” she said. “I’ll help you downstairs.”

  “The window,” choked Andy. “You have to open it.”

  “If I let the air in here it’ll go up like a furnace. You’ll die in the heat or be killed by the fall.”

  “Do it!” Andy insisted.

  She picked up a wooden baby cot and hurled
it at the gable window. It crashed through, toppling on the rim and then fell two stories to the ground below where it smashed on the paving. The air rushed in and the heat intensified. Fire started jumping from one thing to the next like it was a living entity.

  “Help me out,” said Andy.

  “You have to be kidding,” said the woman.

  “Do it,” wheezed Andy.

  She leaned down and grasped under his arm, heedless of the heat and the roiling smoke.

  “Air,” Andy gasped.

  She helped him to the broken window, smoke rolling upwards into the night air. He thrust his head and shoulders out and took a huge breath. “Now,” he coughed. He toppled forward and fell out, twisting in the air as he fell. She screamed, but as he fell he dissolved and became a thousand tiny particles which swirled and swarmed, turning in the night air, buzzing with the thrum of thousands of tiny wings, streaming out over the drive to form a twisting column of turning, angry bees. Andy’s coat fell, a flapping discarded remnant, onto the broken shards of the baby cot.

  “OK,” she said. “Now I just have to get myself out before the roof collapses.”

  “Not that way, that’s the cloakrooms,” said Alex. She went to the next door and listened, trying to blot out the sounds of screaming behind her.

  “Maybe we should hide in there,” said Debbie, wishing she’s worn something more practical than a pale trouser suit and ballet shoes. “If we turn the lights out, they won’t know we’re in there.”

  “Yeah, cause no one ever hides in the toilets,” said Alex. “It’s the first place they’ll look. Haven’t you seen any movies?”

  “There’s no need to be mean,” said Charles. His father was something in the city, apparently, though that meant little enough to Alex. “She’s only trying to help,” he told Alex.

  “And they can see in the dark,” said Alex, ignoring him. “Through here,”

  “Where does this go?” asked Megan, following Alex through a maze of passages at the back of the house.

  “Those are sculleries, and that’s the gun room. There are stables at the back, converted into offices. There must be another exit here somewhere.” She led the way through.

  “Why don’t we go to the gun room?” asked Charles. “We can at least arm ourselves. I can use a shotgun.”

  “Do you know how to work a matchlock?” asked Alex. “No, I thought not. Besides they don’t leave working guns lying around in National Trust properties. It’s not the done thing. Shut the doors behind you,” said Alex.

  “Why?” asked Debbie. “What if there is something down here and we need to get out this way?”

  “You hear that sound?” said Alex. The screaming from behind them was suddenly choked off. “That’s you, if you go back that way. Close the door, it might slow them down.”

  “Can we lock it?” asked Megan.

  “There’s no locks on the internal doors. My dad said you can seal a door if you know how. Anyone know how?” One after another they shook their heads. “Keep moving,” said Alex, “and hope they’re not coming around the outside and waiting at the back to intercept us.”

  “You think that’s likely?” asked Megan.

  “You have a better idea?” asked Alex.

  When she reached the office, she pulled them through and shut the door behind them. The door had a Yale lock, which she clicked shut and latched closed. “It won’t hold them,” she said. “Help me move this.” She stood one side of a low bookcase and she and Charles manoeuvred it across the door. “This isn’t heavy enough,” she said, pulling out an A4 file with loose paper in it. “Find something bigger.”

  “Like what?” said Charles, exasperated.

  “Did you find the exit door?” Alex said to Megan as she emerged from the other room.

  “It’s locked,” said Megan.

  “So unlock it,” said Alex. “It’s not hard.” She pushed past Megan into the adjoining office. At the end of the office was a single door labelled Fire Exit. It had one of those quick release bars. She pressed it and the lock flipped open but the door didn’t move. “It’s a fire exit,” said Alex. “It’s not supposed to be locked.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” said Megan in an irritated voice from behind her.

  Alex pressed her hand on the door and concentrated. The lock flipped open on its own, but the door stayed resolutely shut.

  “Break it down,” said Alex to Charles, pointing at the door.

  “What?” said Charles.

  “You’re a man!” said Alex. “Do manly things. Break it down.”

  Charles exchanged glances with Debbie and Megan, and then took a few paces back and shoulder-charged the door. He met it with a solid thump and the door shuddered but remained closed.

  “Again,” said Alex. Charles hit the door again, but with no greater effect. “Keep going,” said Alex.

  “It’s not your shoulder,” said Charles.

  “It’ll be more than your shoulder if we don’t get that door open,” said Alex.

  “I read somewhere you’re not supposed to shoulder charged doors. You’re supposed to kick them down,” said Debbie.

  “You want to try?” said Charles to her.

  “I was just thinking of you,” said Debbie, resentfully.

  Nevertheless, Charles changed tactic and stood in front of the door and kicked it with all his might. There was a bigger bang but no greater effect. “There’s something on the other side of it,” said Charles.

  “Hold the lock open while he kicks it,” said Alex. A dull thump came from the other room. “Shit!” said Alex. “Get that door open. I don’t care how.”

  Back in the first office, the door thumped again. The bookcase shook, and files fell out onto the floor. Splits appeared in the wood around the lock. Alex rushed to the door, putting both hands on it. “You’re a wall, not a door. You don’t open, you hear me!” The door thumped again, and this time it held.

  “That was timely,” said Megan, trying to pull a desk across to bolster the bookcase. They watched the door lock flip open and closed, open and closed. Alex put her hand over it, and it stopped.

  “It won’t be enough,” said Alex, helping her. She looked around the room. There were no ground level windows, but the stable had high angled roof-windows set between the black beams of the slanted ceiling to let daylight in. “Can you get up there?” asked Alex.

  “How?” said Megan. “You want me to fly?”

  “Can you?” asked Alex, hopefully.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Megan. “You think if I could fly I’d be trapped in here?”

  “Good point,” said Alex. She flinched as the door thumped again.

  “How long?” asked Megan.

  “Not long enough,” said Alex. “Is that door open yet?” She went back to where Charles was repeatedly kicking the door.

  “It’s not just the door,” he said. “There’s something blocking it.”

  “We already know that,” said Alex. “Find a way to remove the block. Burn it down, I don’t care.”

  “We can’t” said Debbie. “None of us is that strong. Are you?”

  “Wrong element,” said Alex. There was a sudden sour smell, sharp and distinct. “Oh fuck!” She went back into the first room to find a spreading black stain on the door. “Don’t touch it,” she said to them. “We have three minutes. Think of something.”

  “You got us in here,” said Debbie.

  “That’s not helping,” said Megan, but Alex knew she was right.

  There was another thump, this time from the wall. “Oh now they’re coming from both directions,” said Charles. “It’s just a matter of which lot gets us first.”

  “We fight,” said Alex, looking at each of them in turn. “I don’t care what you can do, but do it. Throw everything you’ve got at them.”

  “It’s not going to be enough,” said Megan.

  “I know,” said Alex softly. “I know.”

  The plaster in the wall began to
crack. There was another thump and grit particles and chunks of plaster rained onto the carpet. At the same time, the smell of fungus and rot from the door intensified. Another thump from the wall sent clouds of dust into the room. They all stood back. Charles picked up an office chair to hurl at their attackers. In Debbie’s hand a paper knife glinted dull. Her knuckles were white on the handle.

  A loud thump came from the door. A hand reached through the gaping hole, feeling for the lock. Charles whirled the chair into the door and it crashed through leaving a gaping hole.

  The wall erupted in a blast of stone, plaster and wood, a huge figure burst through. Charles went for another office chair. “Wait!” said Alex.

  Tate finally burst through into the room, bits of wall collapsing around him.

  “Out!” he called, spitting grit and stones. “Everyone out!” He grabbed Charles and propelled him through the gaping hole in the wall. The others scrambled through after him. Behind them the bookcase was being pushed aside and eager hands were reaching through. Tate grabbed a large stone from the pile of rubble, weighed it in his hand and threw it through the hole in the door. There was a satisfying crunch and a scream from the other side. He guided Alex through the hole and then followed.

  Outside Alex threw herself at him, her hands around his neck. “I knew you’d come back for me.”

  “That was too close,” he said.

  “We were trying to get out the back door,” said Alex. “We couldn’t get it open.”

  “They will have sealed the windows and doors that weren’t guarded,” said Tate, “which is why I came through the wall. Come on, we’ll get you and the others to the Way-node and I’ll come back for more.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” said Alex, following Tate as he trotted through the arranged beds of the formal garden.

  “It wasn’t a suggestion,” said Tate.

  They reached the hedge at the bottom of the garden. Beyond the hedge, Megan, Charles and Debbie were clustered into a tight group. Around them were arrayed a wide semi-circle of figures holding swords, outlined in ghostly white fire.