Strangeness and Charm cotf-3

by Mike Shevdon

  "You said she was improving."

  "She is." Garvin stared at me. "You let these people loose, and you need to take responsibility for them. We can't leave them at large. If they come into the courts then all well and good. We can help them, give them support, keep them safe."

  "And if not?"

  He pushed the pile of folders across the desk. "I'm giving you Warder's Discretion. It's your call. Deal with them."

  I left Garvin's office feeling resentful. Why was it my problem? It was hardly my fault that the people at Porton Down had been running secret experiments with half-breed mongrel fey as their subjects, was it?

  Subjects? Victims would be a better word. What had been done in the name of science was obscene. They had stuck needles in them, drugged them, tortured them and made them perform like circus freaks, all in the name of research.

  Wasn't anyone else going to take any responsibility?

  Of course, I already knew the answer to that. I could tell Garvin that I didn't feel capable of fulfilling the mission and he would shake his head and assign someone else? Amber probably. She would finish the job that Porton Down had started and kill them all, quickly, efficiently and without attracting attention. I ought to be grateful that Garvin was giving me a chance to find a better solution, but I didn't feel grateful. I felt manipulated.

  I mounted the stairs two at a time — the injuries I'd sustained breaking out of Porton Down had almost completely healed. I still felt a twinge or two in my shoulder where I had caught the edge of a shotgun blast, but only when I was duelling with whichever Warder Garvin chose to partner me with at our morning practice sessions, and even the twinge would soon pass — a benefit of my fey blood.

  Walking through the doors to the corridor on which Blackbird and I shared a suite of rooms, I entered quietly in case she was asleep, not that I often found her sleeping during the day, but since she was the one managing the feeds in the middle of the night I thought it would be unkind to wake her if she had finally managed to grab some rest.

  I needn't have worried.

  The curtains were drawn back and there were sounds of splashing coming from the bathroom. I left the files on the desk and peeped around the door. She had filled the small baby bath in the big bath and was in the process of introducing our son to the warm water. From the noises he was making, he was enjoying it, though that may have been because of the kicking and splashing. Having no wish to end up damp and smelling of baby bath, I eased the door closed and crept out to check on Alex.

  Crossing back across the hallway above the stairs, I made my way the far end of the wing where Alex's room was. The size of the house no longer daunted me — I had become used to corridors with room after room set aside for visitors that never arrived. It did mean that Alex could be well away from most of the rest of the occupants of the house — limiting the amount of damage and disruption to the plumbing for the rest of us.

  My daughter's affinity with water was both a relief and a problem. I had been worried that she would inherit my gift for the void, or at least the female form of it, and be able to feed from living things by spreading a corruption known as darkspore. It had prevented me from telling her about her potential to inherit my fey genes until it was too late. Instead she'd discovered her gift for herself with disastrous consequences, drowning three other girls after an incident of bullying. She had lost control then, and was still struggling to regain it now.

  Instead of the void, Alex had inherited her affinity with water — she called it a sympathy, I never quite understood why. I did ask her once and she told me she felt sorry for it. She said it always wanted to be somewhere else, that it never rested, leaving me wondering whether she was still talking about the water.

  I came to her room at the end of the west wing and knocked on her door. There was no answer. I knocked again and waited. There had been time when I would have simply entered, but having walked in on her naked one day — now I waited. No amount of "I've seen it all before" made any difference, apparently.

  Having waited again with no answer, I decided it was worth risking the door. I opened it slowly.

  "Alex, are you in?"

  The door opened onto a large bedroom, the double bed higher than usual and the furniture in dark polished wood that reflected the daylight from the big French doors in a dull auburn gleam. The French doors were open and I could see Alex leaning on the stone balustrade overlooking the gardens below. Fionh was with her, so I approached slowly, not wanting to startle her. Fionh noticed me and held up a hand in caution.

  "Gently now, Alex," she said. "Let it find its own way."

  I edged towards the French doors to see what she was doing. Alex had her arms folded on the rail and was staring intently down into the garden. At my approach, a floorboard creaked underneath me and Alex glanced back momentarily. There was a gurgling whoosh from the garden below.

  "Oh, now look what you've done," said Alex. She threw her arms up and turned her back on the garden, resting her back against the balustrade and looking annoyed at me.

  "What did I do?" I looked at Fionh, who smiled thinly.

  "The pond will take hours to settle now, won't it Fionh?" Alex sounded oddly pleased. Fionh raised an eyebrow.

  I moved onto the balcony and looked down onto the garden below. In the centre was a circular pond, water roiling with sediment.

  "That was your fault. If you hadn't distracted me, I wouldn't have disturbed all the mud at the bottom," said Alex.

  Fionh shook her head in resignation. "OK, enough for today. But I want five fish on the surface tomorrow."

  "Five?"

  "They're only fish, Alex."

  "Yeah, but they go all over the place. They've got minds of their own, right?"

  "Are you going to be beaten by five fish?"

  "Four," she said.

  "Five," said Fionh, heading for the door. "I have things to do in the morning, but there's nothing to stop you practicing before I get here."

  "You sound like my piano teacher."

  "Did you learn to play piano?" asked Fionh, suddenly intrigued.

  "I had lessons," said Alex.

  "That isn't what I asked you."

  "I can play a bit," said Alex.

  "I thought not," said Fionh. "Tomorrow then, and five, not four. Niall, could I have a word?"

  "Talking about me behind my back again?" asked Alex, as we retreated to the corridor.

  Fionh waited until I had passed through the door. "Actually, no. I want to speak to your father about something else. I'll talk to him about you when when I can tell him how hard you've worked."

  "But I have worked hard…" Alex's voice was muffled as Fionh closed the door.

  "You're very patient with her; I'm grateful."

  "I'm not doing it for you, and I said we wouldn't talk about her behind her back," she said.

  "But I wanted to ask you how she was doing? Garvin said she was improving. She is, isn't she?"

  "Improvement is a relative term. Is she better? Yes. Is she ready to join the courts in her own right, no. At least not yet." She glanced towards the door. "I'm hopeful, though."

  "Hopeful?"

  "She's still having nightmares, Niall. She cries in the night. She puts on a brave face in front of other people, but we both know she's been through a lot."

  "Will she ever be the same?"

  "I doubt it. In any case, that's not what we're trying to achieve. She's changed — she's had a lot to take on in a short period. She needs to find a new equilibrium, to find her feet again without them getting swept away from under her."

  "How long will that take?"

  "The rest of her life, maybe? It was you I wanted to talk about, though."

  "Me?"

  "Yes. I'm busily giving lessons in power to your daughter and you're missing out."

  "In what way?"

  "I was supposed to be teaching you. Garvin asked me to talk to you about it."

  "I've just seen him; he didn't say anyth
ing to me."

  "No reason he should. You're progressing with your physical training, but that's only half the story. You need to learn to use your power — you have no focus, no concentration, your control is erratic — you're ruled by your emotions."

  "And on the positive side…?"

  She smiled, but the smile faded. "It will get you killed Niall. It took you weeks just to master your glamour enough to carry a sword without anyone noticing."

  "That's more difficult than it looks."

  "Warders have to control their power — not just use it but make it an extension of their will. It's a weapon that's more potent than your sword and potentially a greater weakness if it's used badly."

  "I get by."

  "Getting by isn't enough. Your power should be an expression of your inner self, a reflection of your determination, concentration and will-power. Use it well and you won't need to fight."

  "I'm not sure my inner self needs expression."

  "I'm talking about learning to use your power, Niall, not therapy sessions."

  "Look, sorry but I'm too old to go back to school. I'm just trying to imagine you teaching me the way you teach Alex."

  "I'm not sending you back to school, and I'm not going to be teaching you. I have my hands full with Alex and my other duties, remember? I've arranged for someone else to give you lessons later on."

  "But not with you?"

  "No."

  "Then who's teaching me?"

  TWO

  "This isn't working," I said.

  Blackbird glanced sideways at me and then returned her gaze to the parkland that spread out before us. The widebrimmed sun-hat shaded her eyes, concealing her thoughts from me. "You're not giving it a chance."

  "I thought when Fionh said she would find me a tutor, she meant one of the other Warders."

  "Thanks." The brim of her hat dipped as she looked down at her hands.

  "I didn't mean…I just meant that they would be more… objective."

  The August sun beat down upon us, she in a light summer top and shady hat, and me in warders grey. I was hot, irritable and wanted to go inside for a drink.

  "You don't think I can be objective?" she asked.

  "I think you'd be objective about other people, just maybe not about me."

  "You think now that you're a Warder and I'm just a mother, you're beyond my ability to teach you anything…?"

  "It's not that. Dammit, we sleep together. We… doesn't it bother you? We had a child together."

  "I don't recall you doing much sweating and straining," she said. "The way I remember it, it was mostly me having the child."

  "That's what I mean. That's exactly what I'm talking about. You don't give me credit for anything."

  "You want credit for birthing our child?"

  "No, of course not. But you don't allow me any… oh, it doesn't matter. Just get on with it." I sighed in resignation.

  "Have you considered that the problem might be with you?"

  "There you go again."

  "I'm simply suggesting that you might not be be adopting the best approach. If you're going to learn anything you need an open mind — just get on with it is perhaps not indicative of openness."

  I looked at the landscape, not appreciating any of it.

  "How do you feel?" she asked.

  "How do I feel? I'm hot. I want a drink. I'm sitting here baking in the sun, wondering what we're doing out here. How is this helping me?"

  "You need to be more open to the possibilities."

  "I'm open." I opened my arms wide. "Look at me — how open do you want me to be?"

  She smiled and looked back at the view. It was a stunning vista, designed by someone famous, apparently, and modelled on the work of Capability Brown. It was supposed to invoke peace and tranquility. It wasn't working.

  "Anger will not help you," she said.

  "…For anger leads to hate, and hate leads to…"

  "Don't quote movies at me that I haven't seen," she said.

  "If you haven't seen it, how do you know it's a movie?" I asked her.

  "You were doing the funny voice."

  I smiled. I couldn't help myself.

  "That's better. I was serious about anger not helping you. It tightens everything up, and limits your ability to respond."

  "How then, mistress, should I respond?"

  She let the sarcasm pass. "You could start by cooling us down. You're sitting here in the heat and it's making you irritable and tetchy — even more than usual. It would be a simple thing to summon a cooling breeze and drop the temperature by a few degrees… not too much. I don't want to lose my hat."

  She tipped it forward again, shielding her eyes. The breeze I had called tugged at her loose top. The cooler air over the grey long-sleeved shirt that was the Warder's summer uniform helped lower my temperature and cool my head.

  "Maybe I should go and get a hat," I suggested.

  "Running away so soon?"

  "I'm not running away, I'm just saying that a hat might be good. You've got one."

  "You don't have a hat," she said.

  "I could borrow one. I'll get sunburn."

  "If you don't want to do this, Niall, you don't have to."

  "I'm fine. I'll manage without a hat."

  There was a long pause.

  "The breeze has died," she said.

  I summoned it back, but it whipped up the bank, tipping Blackbird's hat from her head and sending it tumbling across the grass. I ran after it as it veered away and I barely caught hold of it before it landed in the flower bed.

  I walked across the grass to the bench where she waited. I handed it back to her and she squinted up at me, light and laughter bright in her eyes. The copper tints in her hair caught the sun like burnished metal.

  "It was your breeze, Niall, you could simply have let it die and you wouldn't have to chase the hat across the grass."

  "I like chasing hats."

  "Warm now?"

  She had a point. It was far too hot to chase around. I sat on the bench beside her and resumed looking at the view.

  "Your power is an extension of your will," she said.

  "You've told me that before — or somebody did — Fionh, maybe."

  "What is your will, Niall?"

  It was an odd question. "What do you mean? Are you asking what I want?"

  "No, I want you to tell me what your will is. What is this thing that your power is an extension of?"

  "It's what I want, isn't it? What I need, maybe. Didn't you say once that magic responds to need?"

  "I did, and you do well to remember it, but that is your unconscious will. Your magic will respond because your unconscious demands a response, but not in any way that's controlled — it's like yawning, you can't control it."

  I yawned. She smiled.

  "Its the heat."

  She carried on smiling.

  "You did that deliberately," I accused.

  "I suggested an idea and your body responded. I can seed ideas into your mind because you are unfocused and undirected — you have no will."

  "Of course I have a will."

  "Not a directed will. It's hanging like a banner without a breeze. It's waiting for direction, and by making a weak suggestion I can influence you. In a difficult situation, that's dangerous. It makes you vulnerable."

  "In a combat situation I wouldn't be unfocused. Having someone try to kill you concentrates the mind wonderfully."

  "Until you're distracted, and you're distracted very easily."

  "I'm not."

  "The breeze has died again."

  This time she held onto her hat. The breeze ruffled the grass and twisted in her hair.

  "…and when you call it back it has the tone of your temper in it. You're going to have to lose that."

  "That's not me, it's doing that by itself." I let it die down.

  "No, Niall, that's you. Let it go and I'll show you."

  The gusts died away and the summer heat descended o
n us, beating down. Then a breath of breeze stirred around us, shifting and flickering, veering and backing. It found direction, pushing gently from behind, cooling our backs and necks.

  "Show off," I remarked.

  She looked down at her hands again, but I knew she was smiling. We sat in silence while the breeze cooled our backs and we took in the view.

  "What do you want me to do?" I asked, eventually.

  "Do? I'm not your boss, Niall, and I don't give you orders. If you want to learn, I'll teach you, but it has to come from you. I'm not taking orders from Garvin, or anyone else."

  "Garvin put you up to this? I thought it was Fionh's idea."

  "And how is that different?"

  "Fionh has her own ideas about how things are done."

  "She's still a Warder, Niall, and that puts her firmly in Garvin's camp."

  "We have camps, now, do we?" I asked.

  She lapsed into silence.

  "I thought we were all on the same side," I said

  "We have sides now, do we?" She used exactly the same tone that I had. "I don't like what he does, I don't like how he does it, and most particularly, I don't like him," she said.

  "Who are we talking about now?"

  "Garvin." Her gaze was on the horizon.

  "Well unfortunately I work for him, so I don't have that luxury."

  "You don't have to work for him."

  "He's providing a roof over our heads, sanctuary for my daughter, and for our son, and a place for me in the courts which I wouldn't otherwise have."

  "The courts provide that, not Garvin. He places you in harm's way. You're not ready."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

  "You're not. He knows it, I know it. Even you know it."

  "Do you have a better plan?" I asked.

  There was another long silence.

  "If you do, I wish you'd say because I'm not seeing any glowing alternatives. Most of them involve being homeless and at the mercy of whoever comes along."

  "Everything has a price, Niall, especially this." She brushed imaginary flecks from her skirt.

  "Yes, well, sometimes you don't really have a choice."

  "There's always a choice, if you are prepared to take it." She stood up. "Think about that while you're deciding who you want to learn from."