by Mike Shevdon
"You would hide it somewhere only a human would find it or give it to a human who was protected in some way?" she speculated.
"But the Feyre don't regard humanity as reliable. Humans don't have long enough memories and they don't live long enough. So what do you do?" I was leading her through my logic now, to see if it was flawed. "They've already solved that problem, by embedding the knives in a legal ceremony that will survive the death of any one individual."
"So what do we end up with that we haven't already found a purpose for? What is the thing that stands out like a loose end with no purpose we have yet discovered."
She thought for a moment. "The horse shoes? The nails? The sixty-first nail! That's it!" She jumped down from the wall. "The sixty-first nail is different from all the rest. It's made from the same metal as the Dead Knife. It's just the right size and the right shape. "
"And it's kept with sixty iron nails and six huge iron horseshoes, one for each court, to ward off unwanted hands." I smiled down at her.
She reached up around my neck and pulled me down for a breathless kiss, then danced away. "Come on! We've got to tell the Highsmiths."
I slipped down from the wall and followed after her. When I reached the kitchen she was explaining to the Highsmiths that we knew who had the key.
"When will you be able to get hold of it?" asked Jeff, sipping from a steaming mug of tea.
"As soon as we can get in touch with the person who has care of it," she told him. "Except we don't have her number and today is Saturday. The Royal Courts of Justice will be closed." She looked crestfallen at me.
"Why don't you call her mobile?" suggested James, over a mouthful of pasta.
"We don't have her mobile number," Blackbird explained. "I don't even know if she has a mobile. "
"Everyone has a mobile," he told us, "even Dad." This got a wry grin from Jeff.
"Directory enquiries might have the number, but all I have is her name," Blackbird shrugged. "It's not enough to get a number."
We were stumped again. Then I had an idea.
"Mrs Highsmith. I wonder if I might borrow your mirror for a few moments?" I indicated the big mirror over the kitchen sideboard.
"Help yourself."
I went to the mirror, glancing back at Blackbird. I think she knew what I meant to do, but I recognised the expression of challenge I had seen in the meeting with Claire when I had used the mirror in the Remembrancer's office. I stepped over to the mirror behind Lisa and James, who turned their chairs to watch me. "I thought you were going to look in it," Meg Highsmith said. "I am," I told her.
I felt for the mirror, dipping below its surface to the grey realm beneath. It was like the other one, still and calm.
I reached within to the well of darkness inside and formed a connection. The mirror turned milky white and the light in the room dimmed. I remembered Claire's face, her neat hair and clipped manner. "Claire?"
The mirror stayed tense but inert. Then a faint sound emerged, like a stereo that's been left on with nothing playing.
"Claire?" My own voice sounded hollow to me, reverberating in the stillness.
The sound continued. I could feel the connection there, but there was nothing. It was like an empty line. "Maybe she really doesn't have a mobile phone?" Blackbird murmured into the hollow silence. I reached over and pressed my palm against the glass. The mirror around my hand took on a pale light spreading outward until the whole mirror pulsed slowly with milky luminescence. Condensation formed on the surface as I pulled at the depths. The light in the room dimmed, the fridge juddered to a stuttering halt and the room temperature dropped about four degrees. "Claire? Are you there?"
There was hissing, followed by a whine that rose in pitch as if something somewhere were being wound tightly. It twanged like tiny electrical threads were snapping. There was a ticking starting slowly and getting faster and faster until it was a constant buzz and then, suddenly, a ringing tone. The ringing tone was a positive sign, but there was something wrong, I could feel it in the mirror. It felt as if I was over-extended, unbalanced. Cold drops of sweat coalesced on my forehead while the phone rang and rang.
There was a click and a voice echoed around the room. "Hello? Who is this?"
Behind me, I heard James whispering, "Neat."
"Claire? Is that Claire?"
"Yes. This is Claire? Who is this?"
"Claire, it's Niall. We met yesterday. I need to speak to you."
"I don't know," Claire said, her echoing voice answering a faint voice in the background. "I thought it was switched off."
There was a pause. "Claire?" Holding the line open was telling on me. I could feel the chill creeping into my hand, numbing my fingers.
"I can't," I heard her say. "It won't. Hang on, let me past and I'll take it outside."
"Claire, can you hear me?" What was she doing?
There was a sound of movement, doors opening and overheard fragments of conversation. I held onto the line, not sure if I would have the strength to reach for her again if the connection failed.
"Hello?"
"Claire. Is that you?"
"This is Claire. Who is this?"
"It's Niall, from yesterday. We met in your office, remember?"
"Oh, Christ. Niall, what are you doing? How are you doing this? "
"I needed to speak with you urgently."
"Niall. I'm at the hospital. Jerry is here in a private ward. How did you call me? The phone was switched off because of the hospital and now it won't respond." That explained why it was so hard. "Can you switch it on?"
"I can't do anything with it. What have you done to it?"
"I'll call back in a moment. Switch it on, can you? "
"It won't do anything."
"Give it a sec. I'll call you back." I released my hold on the mirror and took my hand away. It shivered as I released it, leaving my handprint outlined with condensation. We watched cold droplets of water run down the glass and coalesce on the edge of the frame. I waited for half a minute and then put my hand back on the mirror. "Claire?"
This time it rang immediately. Compared to the previous time the connection was effortless.
"Hello?"
"It's Niall."
"Yes. How did you do that?"
"It's… difficult to explain. Can you talk?"
"Hang on. Let me close the door. I'm in the rest room and you're not supposed to have mobiles on, even in here." There was a short pause. "Go ahead."
"Is the Remembrancer OK?"
"He's in some sort of coma. They found him after you'd gone, down near the river. He was barely conscious and he hasn't come round since. His wife and daughter are here with him. "
"Do they expect him to recover?"
"They don't know what's wrong with him. They say he muttered something about shadows coming to life when they put him in the ambulance but that was probably just delirium. He's had tests and things and as far as they can tell it's something to do with his heart, but they can't pin it down. "
"What are they treating him with?"
"They don't want to give him anything until they know what they're dealing with. He appeared better after they'd got him to hospital, but then he got worse again overnight. It's like he's just wasting away." I glanced at Blackbird, but she just shrugged.
"Listen, Claire, the reason I called you is that we need to get access to the nails for the ceremony? Can you get them for us? "
"I could, but I don't want to leave Jerry."
"You may have to if we're going to prevent a lot worse happening. Can you get to the nails? "
"If need be. But I don't like leaving him."
"Don't worry, we'll come to you. Which hospital is it?" If Blackbird could fix my heart, maybe she could do the same for the Remembrancer.
Claire gave me the name of a private hospital that I had last heard reported on the news when one of the royals was ill.
"We'll come to you," I repeated. "Maybe we can help."
"Th
ere's security. They're treating it as suspicious, though suspicion of what, I'm not sure. "
"What kind of security?"
"The police are guarding all the entrances. I think it's mainly to keep the press out."
"OK, look, I'm not sure how long it will take us to reach you, but wait for us there."
"I'm not going anywhere. And Niall?"
"Yes."
"Next time, just leave me a message, OK?" The connection closed.
Twenty-Two
I took my hand from the mirror, the outline of it still clear in the misty smudge of condensation.
James said, "Well, that beats directory enquiries."
There was a grumble of laughter from his father and the tension in the room eased a little.
I turned to Blackbird. "Do you think you could help the Remembrancer?"
"That depends on what happened to him."
"Without him it's going to be difficult for the ceremony to go ahead," I pointed out.
"That may be true, but it doesn't change anything. He may be dying naturally."
"You heard what Claire said: shadows that come to life?"
"I heard her. But if they've terrified him into heart failure then the damage may already be done. "
"You helped me," I pointed out.
"That was different, Niall. I was there when it happened." There was an edge of impatience to her voice. "Maybe when we get there I'll take a look but I can't promise anything. In the meantime we need to finish the knife." She turned to the Highsmiths, seated around the table.
"What do you want us to do?" Jeff Highsmith spoke for them.
"We need you to complete the new Quick Knife. We'll have the key by tomorrow, one way or another. I think we can get the hammer. We need a smith."
"You'll have one," Ben Highsmith volunteered.
"Dad, it's a long way. It should be me," said Jeff.
"No, son. You stay here with your family and keep them safe. This could turn nasty, and if the worst comes to the worst then I'm at peace with it. I had all those years with your mum. I won't let you throw away the years you have to come."
Meg reached over and grasped Ben's hand.
"But Dad!" Jeff suddenly sounded like his son, James. "How dangerous is it?" Meg Highsmith's voice cut across them both.
Blackbird answered. "If we manage to do it before anyone realises what we're doing, then the danger is minimal. He might slip and fall into the Fleet, which wouldn't be too pleasant, but that's about the limit. "
"And if they realise?"
"Then there are those who will try and prevent the re-forging of the knife. They have already tried to kill Niall and you heard the state of the other person they found. I won't lie to you; I doubt we can win if it comes to a fight. Our best hope is getting the knife re-forged before anyone notices."
He shrugged his shoulders in a very matter of fact way. "I may be old, but I've been a smith all my life and I'm not weak. Anyone who tries to do me a mischief will get cold iron up his arse."
Meg forced a smile and Jeff squeezed his father's shoulder, though they must both have known it was bravado. Lisa pressed herself under her grandfather's arm, less willing to accept the bluster at face value. "It may take us a little while to get the nail, but we should be able to meet you at midday tomorrow outside the Royal Courts of Justice. Bring the new knife and any tools you think you might need to finish it. The roads shouldn't be busy. It is Sunday, after all," Blackbird said.
"Aye. I'll be there."
She smiled and thanked him.
"It's the nature of the deal," he told us. "Besides, how many men can say they've worked metal for the Courts of the Feyre in their lives? Not many, I bet. "
"Not many," she agreed.
"We need to get moving if we're going to be any help at the hospital." Blackbird was gathering our things together. "We have a long walk ahead of us, so we'd better get going."
"Can we give you a lift somewhere?" Jeff offered.
"Actually, I don't think we need one," I told him. "Ben, would you mind keeping the old Quick Knife here? It's broken anyway and it's probably more use to you than it is to us. "
"I can do."
"Then would you pass me the Dead Knife from the case?"
He lifted the lid of the case, releasing the miasma that hung around the Quick Knife, and then closed it again after removing its dull grey twin.
"What are you intending to do?" asked Blackbird.
"I think there might be a quicker way back, and if it doesn't work, then our walk will still be waiting for us. It shouldn't take long."
Jeff slid the knife across the table within reach and I picked it up. As the metal made contact with my skin, it shimmered momentarily and then fell into perfect black, a broad leaf of darkness. "Take hold of my hand."
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" she asked.
"No, but you did say I should trust my instincts. I don't think it'll do any harm and it could save us the journey. Do you want me to try it on my own first? "
"No," she said. "I'll go where you're going. Then at least we won't get separated again." She reached out tentatively and grasped my hand. The knife stayed lightless but inert. "Ready?" I asked her.
"Thank you, Jeff and Meg, for your hospitality," she said. "Ben, we will see you outside the Royal Courts of Justice at midday tomorrow."
"I'll be there."
"Now I'm ready," she told me.
I lifted the knife in my hand and focused on it. Then I called to the emptiness within me. It welled upwards into the knife and the world slid into neither up nor down. Everything interleaved without touching, overlaid and underlapped in a kaleidoscopic dizziness. We were close to everywhere without being anywhere. I kept a firm grip on the warm hand clasped in mine as we slid between places, finding the gaps where we could pass, tasting but not touching.
It occurred to me that we didn't have to go to London. I had the knife and was no longer bound by concerns of distance. We could go anywhere, be anywhere. The world would spin without us, if we dared let go. I only needed to choose somewhere calm and peaceful and we could find respite, just for a while.
The possibilities were arrayed about me, tempting me with all the variations of existence. Each one was a world in a bubble, independent and isolated from those around it. All I had to do was choose.
But if I chose a different world, then everything would change. The smith would arrive at the rendezvous alone and the knife would never be re-forged. The barrier would fall and Raffmir and his sister would come and go as they pleased, feeding on humanity. The world would slip into chaos.
I could not let that happen, if only for the sake of my daughter, for they would surely seek her out and do to her what they had failed to do to me. I refocused, aware now that the drifting thought pattern was part of the interstitial space we traversed. Something here set the mind adrift so that thoughts wandered and all sense of space and time were lost. I began to understand how it was that I had lost two hours when I was here before.
I forced myself to recall the image of the room above the abandoned underground station with the arched window looking out over the Strand. I formed the thought that we could be there. And we were.
Blackbird staggered, unbalanced slightly by the sudden return of gravity and space. She looked around, recognising where we were. We could see through the window that it had fallen dark outside.
She let out a held breath. "How much time did we lose?"
I turned back, noting the change in her voice, realising that she had reverted to her older appearance, the one I had first encountered. "Is something wrong?" she asked me.
"No. It's just I thought… never mind." I tried to hide my disappointment that she'd chosen to change back. "If we're going to meet Claire, it has to be as someone she will recognise," she pointed out, reasonably. "I know. I understand." It made logical sense, but I wasn't any happier about it.
She approached me and lifted her mottled hand under my chin.
It felt strange, as if her hands weren't hers somehow. It was an effort not to pull away. "It's still me, Niall."
"I know, but it's strange. I know it's you, still… "
"How much time do you think we lost?"
"I'm not sure. It couldn't have been long." It had still been light in Shropshire, but we were further east here, so had we travelled into the dusk? Was that why it was so dark?
She grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the stairs. "Niall, you have no idea about time there, do you?"
"What do you mean? It's not late."
"Not late? My watch says eleven o'clock. Which day is it?"
"What do you mean, which day?"
"I mean we left on Saturday. What day is it now? "
