by Mike Shevdon
They carried on sorting, but explained the dilemma of the missing key. There was a growing pile of old keys in the centre of the table, but none looked likely.
"It has to be quite large," I told her, picking up an ornate brass key. "The keyhole is square and about a quarter of an inch on each side. The thing is, it didn't look as if the lock turned."
"No, it didn't did it?" agreed Blackbird. "How do you turn a square key in a square hole?"
"Maybe it's a round key that goes in a square hole?" remarked Jeff.
"Maybe, but then where do the 'key' bits go; the bits that trip the levers?"
James Highsmith had watched all this from the far end of the kitchen table, but now he stood up and started talking in low tones to his mother.
"I don't know, James. Ask them," she told him.
He turned to us, glancing at his father. "There's this PlayStation game…" he started.
"James, not now!" The disappointment in Jeff's voice at the change of subject to his son's passion was palpable.
"Jeff. Hear him out." Meg Highsmith stood behind her son. This was clearly a point of friction between the man and the teenager and it looked like Meg had had to stand between them more than once.
James hesitated, but at a nudge from his mother he started speaking again.
"In the game you collect an ornate dagger, early on in the game. I thought it must be a magic one; you know, effective against certain types of monster? But after a while, you stop using it because it's useless. It's much more effective to use the bigger weapons."
Jeff sighed, but subsided at a look from Meg.
"Then, when you get into the later levels there are people that try and buy it off you, or steal it, or trade it for something. It got so I kept it just because everyone wanted it. Anyway, you get to the big castle at the end and the drawbridge is up, the gates are locked, but you need to get inside to fight the big boss."
He paused, but found only blank faces. I don't think any of us had ever played on a PlayStation.
"The thing is, there's a little gate which you can get to by climbing around, but when you get there it's locked. The keyhole is a funny shape, like a thin diamond. The only way of opening the gate is to put the dagger into the keyhole. Then you're in."
"And?" said his father.
"I think what James is telling us is that while we are all looking for something shaped like a key, that may not be what we need," said Blackbird.
"You said the keyhole didn't turn," James pointed out. "Maybe it doesn't need to, if you have the proper-shaped thing to put into it?"
"So we're looking for something that could push into a square hole about so big." Blackbird held her thumb and forefinger apart to show them the size.
Everyone looked blank.
"That makes it worse," I said. "We were looking for a needle in a haystack. Now we don't even know if it's a needle." James looked crestfallen so I added, "But James may be right. A literal key may not be what we're searching for." That brought back a hesitant smile.
Jeff and his father started putting things back into the drawers and boxes they had come from, much to the relief of Meg. They cleared away the mess and James wiped the table and began laying out cutlery for lunch.
James looked at his mother and she turned to us. "Will you stay for some lunch after all?" she offered.
It was rather unfair to change our minds two minutes before it was served, so we made excuses and said we would go and sit in the sunshine while they had their meal. We walked around the back of the farm, past where the forge still smoked, and sat upwind on a low wall looking out across the fields.
"It could be anywhere," I said to her.
"Actually, I don't think it could."
She glanced sideways at me.
"I think the hammer was locked away to prevent the Seventh Court from hiding or damaging it, but there would be no point in keeping it safe if you couldn't get to it when it was needed, and no one knew when that might happen. If you think about it, everything has been left in place if you knew where to look."
"What about the anvil? That was pretty well hidden."
"But you knew where it was because of the vision. And I knew where to find you because Kareesh sent me her message."
"So you still think Kareesh is behind all this."
"Yes. She is the link that ties it all together. I still don't know why she didn't just tell us what to do, but I'm sure she has her reasons."
"Well, there's nothing in the vision to tell us where the key might be. There's nothing small enough to fit. And I've found all the pieces now, even if they're not quite right in my head. I know where to find the silhouette of the cat. We've found the anvil in the hall of water and we've been to Australia House. The vaulted roof is the crypt of the church where the Way started and the green twig is the mistletoe on Meg Highsmith's kitchen wall. The whirling leaves were on the way where we stopped in the copse, and the closing door was in the tunnels under Covent Garden. The only missing piece was the wrecked bedroom, striped in sunlight, and I woke to that this morning."
She shuffled along the wall slightly so she was next to me and she could slip her arm through mine. "It was a bit wrecked, wasn't it?" she reminded me.
"Yes, it was." I clasped her hand into mine and we watched the changing light over the fields as the clouds rolled across the sky, comfortable in silence.
My mind drifted with the clouds, sifting through the memories of the last few days. It amazed me how quickly I had adjusted to all of the changes in my life, but with Blackbird leaning against my side I had the inescapable feeling that it would be OK. We would find a way.
"If you are right," I said to her, "then Kareesh has given us all that we need. We have the anvil and the knives. We think we know where the hammer is. We have a smith who can work the metal and enough time to finish the job. We just need the key. James had the right of it when he said it might not literally be a key, but we're thinking about this in the wrong way. We're thinking of all the things that could potentially be keys when actually we only need to look at what we've been given."
"We haven't been given a key," she pointed out.
"We know it would have to be kept somewhere safe from the Seventh Court. We know the Seventh Court doesn't have any humans. If you didn't want the Seventh Court to have the key, but you did want the other courts to be able to access it, where would you put it?"
As I talked, I realised where the key was and how we would get it.
"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."
"There'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."
