by Mike Shevdon
“You will not remember,” said Raffmir’s voice, close by.
“I must,” I said.
“No more than you did the last time,” he said.
ELEVEN
“You’ll cut him open?” came Garvin’s question.
“You’re not serious?” asked Alex.
“The taint must be removed, or it’ll kill him. Do you want to do it? Or you, Garvin?” asked Blackbird.
“I’m no surgeon. I wasn’t aware you were either,” said Garvin.
“There are a lot of things about me you don’t know,” she said. “Would you rather try and get him to a hospital, assuming there’s time for that?”
“And tell them what?” asked Garvin. “He was shot hours ago but the wounds look like they’ve been healing for weeks? That something inside him is disrupting his ability to heal?”
“Quite,” said Blackbird. “He can’t get infection, so we’re safe on that score. Once the taint is removed he’ll be able to heal himself. I just have to make sure I don’t pierce anything vital.”
“Assuming you can find it. I hope your hand is steadier than it looks.”
“Get him down to the kitchen. Alex, bring me as many towels as you can find. Clean ones, preferably. Do you think you can find me something suitably sharp, Garvin? And a needle and thread. It’s a while since I’ve done any needlework, but there’s no time now to polish my stitching and I’ll need something to pull the wound together.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Garvin.
“If you have a better plan, Garvin, speak now.”
Her voice faded as I slipped back into the dark, but the heat in my blood would not let me rest. It brought me back to the surface where I saw vague shapes and moving patches of colour behind my eyes. The coppery tang of the scent of fresh blood filled my nostrils, underlined by the darker tones of the butcher’s shop.
“Hold it steady, Alex. I can’t do this if you keep waving it about.”
“I’m going to be sick,” said Alex.
“Show some spine, girl. Pinch your ear lobe. Make it bleed if you have to, but don’t you dare let go. Garvin, pass me that plate.”
“Is that the other one?”
There was a thin chink as something dropped onto a china plate. “Two bullets, both forged with iron tips. These were weapons made for a purpose which implies a level of knowledge and intent.”
“That leaves me with a simple question,” said Garvin.
“A question for which we all have an interest in the answer, Garvin. Hand me the needle.”
“Can I throw up now?” said Alex.
“If you do, you will lose the opportunity to tell your father that you helped save his life,” said Blackbird. “Now grit your teeth and hold this together.”
The voices faded into the gathering darkness once more. This time it consumed me and dragged me down, and as I fell into it, it fell into me. I was held inert in an endless, starless night, and I felt nothing. No light, no warmth, no fear. I could have been buried deep underground, drowned in the deepest well. I felt no pain, and had no hope. Only then, did the voices carry to me, calling me back.
The great stone hall must once have been white, but the soot from the candles and the smoke from the fire shaded it into grey. The rays of the afternoon sun cut from the tall windows across the edge of the room, laying stripes of light and dark across the room. Despite the warm day, the fire was banked and crackled with the heat. It shed light upon the throne and the man seated there. Where once he had been lean and strong, now he was wrinkled and despite the grand proportions of the seat, he amply filled it, his belly spilling over his belt. Still, I recognised him well enough. The stubbled jowls and sunken eyes were not enough to disguise that keen stare.
They were arguing: two men standing before him, trying to persuade or perhaps dissuade him from some course. He listened carefully, contributing little, allowing them their say, but at the end he cut them off. The language was beyond me, but his meaning was clear. A decision had been made.
From outside the room, a clamour arose. The door swung open and in walked two people I recognised. Kimlesh, standing tall in a blue flowing gown, was accompanied by Yonna, looking unearthly with her slanted eyes and sharpened features. From behind them came the clash of arms, and then silence. They paused, while the two men before the throne, finding themselves unarmed, took up the fire irons from before the blaze and prepared to defend their lord. They stood before him, regarding the newcomers with suspicion and alarm. Mellion strode in through the doors and closed them quietly after.
From the throne came a curt order, which the men immediately challenged. The big man pushed to his feet, stepped down from the dais and, with a quiet word to each man, took the fire irons from them and put them back beside the fire. They protested and argued, but he silenced them with a look, then ordered them out of the room. Again they protested, but he spoke quietly, warning them and them making promises to assuage their concerns. After a moment, they edged their way around the room and left through a door to the side, leaving the big man with the three visitors.
He asked them a question.
Kimlesh spoke. “King of England, Guillaume, and still you address us in the tongue of Normandy. I have aged every day that you have, though I wear my years the better.”
Guillaume spoke again, and it was a harsh and twisted version of the English I knew, but I understood him well enough. “I’ll use whichever suits me best,” he said. “I know you, and I know that creature you brought with you, but you are a stranger, Lady,” he nodded towards Yonna.
“You know me well enough, Guillaume. How is Maude?”
“She’s well enough, and far away, as perhaps you know.”
Yonna smiled, and the row of teeth she showed were sharp and pointed, putting any sense of humanity further away. Then she shifted, and in a moment the young lass in the shift stood where she had stood. She said something soft in the language of Guillaume’s home country and even under the stubble I saw Guillaume blush.
“What witchery is this?” he challenged.
“Be careful of that word,” said Kimlesh. “We are guests at your court, but a wrong word will bring your hard won gains down around your ears. We have come to claim our boon. Yonna for bringing you your bride. Were you not wed? You have children, do you not?”
William said something in his own tongue.
“I came to her as I came to you,” said Yonna, “and wooed her where you would not. Your marriage was made, and your alliance with Flanders was sealed with my help. Without me you would never have found each other.”
Guillaume said something else, and Yonna answered him. “No one denies your love for her, Guillaume, but without my art it would not have happened.”
“Nor would your victory over Harald,” said Kimlesh. “A single arrow, at just the right moment? It was a shot to make a bowman weep, and it was no accident.” She nodded towards Lord Mellion who hung back. The tall figure acknowledged the complement with the slightest of bows.
“And none of that would have come to pass if you’d been caught in the rain and tossed in the river by your pursuers. You promised me a boon that night, Guillaume. You said I could name it. Three is the trick of it, and we will have our due.”
“I made no deal of bows and arrows, or wives to woo,” said Guillaume, walking up and down in front of the fire.
“And yet here you are,” said Yonna. “Now they will call you William the Conqueror instead of William the Bastard, but we can change it back if you would have it otherwise.”
Guillaume paced back and forth before them, his step agitated, muttering to himself. Periodically he would look up at them as if he couldn’t quite believe they were there. After a while he halted.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“A small thing,” said Kimlesh. “We could take what we need but that would eventually lead to conflict. Three things, given freely, to be quit of your debt to us. Three things.”
>
“Name them,”
“The first is the small matter of a ceremony. A ritual which must be performed.”
“I’ll have no truck with magics,” said Guillaume.
“It is ritual, not magic, and as much to protect you as to benefit us. Otherwise your problems will multiply and you will have far worse than our meagre needs to contend with. If you would rather not sully your hands, it would be better handled by those you trust, perhaps?” She glanced towards the door through which the two men had passed.
“What else?” he asked.
“A treaty, if you will. An agreement between our peoples to coexist, without conflict, if not in harmony. We would sue for peace,” said Kimlesh.
“That much I can do. And what is the third thing?”
“A portion of what you have gained with our help and aid, Guillaume.”
“The kingdom is not as wealthy as some would have you believe,” said Guillaume.
The sun faded from the windows and the firelight dimmed as light faded from the room. I held on to hear the last of the bargain being negotiated between the High Court of the Feyre and the Conqueror. As I slipped down into darkness once more, I heard Kimlesh’s voice confirm the last of their requests.
“It’s not money we want,” said Kimlesh. “Let me explain…”
Slowly, sounds returned and I became aware of my surroundings. I smelled clean sheets and clean air. The odour of blood and gore had been replaced by clean linen scented with lavender and although I felt as weak as water, the darkness had retreated. I forced my eyes open, though it was an effort requiring force of will, and lay blinking at the pale candlelight from across the room. I turned away to find myself regarded by green eyes. I was rewarded by a slow smile.
“Hello,” said Blackbird, quietly.
I tried to say hello back, and found my throat dry and sore. It felt like I’d spent the day shouting at the sea. She sat up beside me and helped me sip some water from a cup. Across the room, Alex was curled into a chair, fast asleep.
When I’d taken some water, I could speak again. “Did I miss something?”
“You could say that,” said Blackbird. “You were shot. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” I said.
In answer, she turned back the quilt revealing my bare stomach. Down my side, the newly healed bullet wounds were bisected by a long scar. “Your stuffing came out and we had to put some more in,” she joked.
“What?”
“When Sam Veldon shot you, he used bullets with iron cores. The iron inside you was disrupting your ability to heal. I had to get the bullets out.”
“I like the first explanation better,” I said.
“Unfortunately it’s the least true of them,” said Blackbird. “You’re going to have an interesting scar to add to your collection. The kitchen isn’t really kitted out for surgery.”
“I’ll never look at the bread knife in the same way again.”
“Fortunately Garvin has no shortage of sharp knives and Mullbrook found me a curved needle. Once we had the iron out, your body could heal itself,” she told me.
“I had the strangest dreams,” I said.
“The iron was tainting your blood, making you feverish.”
“I think they were true,” I said. “They certainly seemed real.”
“Did they tell you where to find Sam Veldon?” she asked. “I think I’d like to pay him a visit.” There was a flash of green fire around the pupil of her eyes that could have been a reflection of the light from the candles, but wasn’t.
I found myself defending Sam. “He’s only a pawn. He told me he wanted me to die slowly, for killing Claire, but he wouldn’t know to use iron. He fired the gun, but the bullets came from somewhere else. Someone wanted me dead.”
“If they’d wanted you dead, they could have chopped off your head. No, Niall. This was a message — a warning — not just for you but for all of us. You were sent back to us tainted with iron, so that you would die slowly and painfully, where we could witness.”
“Who hates me that much?”
“Raffmir?”
“Raffmir is sworn not to harm me. He’d be breaking his vow if he had me shot.”
“Another of the Seventh Court, then.”
“Why use iron? That’s not their weapon of choice. A length of steel, yes, but iron bullets?”
“Maybe Sam’s being doing some research?” she suggested. “Maybe he has some of Claire’s journals?”
“Claire’s flat had been cleaned — more than that, it had been restored. I’m sure Sam has some shady connections, but he works alone, especially where I’m concerned. He doesn’t have the resources to have a flat cleaned and restored so that it looks like nothing happened. That takes manpower, and more people would have to know about it. Sam is all about keeping secrets, not sharing them.”
“Then who?” she asked.
“The horseshoes had gone from the locker at the National Archives, and from the flat. Sam didn’t have them with him, not that you’d willingly carry them around. Maybe he took them, maybe not, but someone furnished Sam with the bullets, and told him how to find me,” I said. “I’d like to know who it was, and why?”
I tried to push myself up, but Blackbird pressed me back down without effort. “Not tonight, Niall. You’re still healing. Even Garvin went to bed. Your daughter fell asleep watching you.”
“She looks cramped in that chair.”
“She’s young and she’ll sleep better knowing she’s with you. She helped save your life, you know.” Nestled into the chair, her hair curled and uncurled with her breathing. “Sleep now, and you can decide whether you are ready to be up and around tomorrow. Your body needs rest, so sleep in if you can.”
“If I sleep, I’ll dream,” I said.
“Then dream of healing, and of a better day tomorrow.” She stood up. “Angela and I are taking a white rose to All Hallows by the Tower tomorrow, so we’ll be able to tell you what happens.”
“You want me to come with you?”
She shook her head. “Sleep as long as you can — I’m serious. Only a few hours ago I was up to my arms in your insides. It’s a wonder you’re still alive. Rest while you can.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“For now, I’ll sleep with the baby. I’ll be close, but I don’t want you turning over and pulling the wound open. Close your eyes,” she said, “and rest.”
She laid her hand upon my forehead, stroking my hair, and despite myself I found my eyelids heavy and her cool hand restful. I drifted easily back into sleep.
The dream began more easily, and this time I knew it was a dream. A familiar smell, something of spice, and the familiar prickle of power over my skin.
The sound of conversation drifted to me in snatched phrases. “How many know of this?” A male voice.
A female voice answered. “It will be obvious to anyone who sees the broader picture.”
“Mercifully few then,” another female voice said.
The light grew and I began to see points of light, flickering in the darkness. These resolved slowly into candle flames arrayed in a broad circle around thrones I recognised. It was not the courts as I knew it, but that was undoubtedly where we were. There was Kimlesh, her hair shorter than I remembered, and Yonna looking somehow less feral, less angular than she now did. Krane lounged in his usual manner, but even he looked leaner. In the seventh throne sat someone I recognised from the one brief meeting we’d had before I’d been sent from the High Court; someone I knew more by reputation than acquaintance: Altair, Lord of the Seventh Court.
“It is a temporary state of affairs,” he said, “brought on by the incomers; they breed plague faster than they breed themselves.”
“We are immune to plague,” said Barthia, her bulky form adorned with heavy bands of gold and silver. “Their malaise cannot affect us. It cannot be the cause.”
“And yet here we are,” said Teoth.
“This must bring forward our pla
ns,” said Kimlesh. “It leaves us no choice.”
“There is always a choice,” said Altair, “and they are not the plans of all of us.”
“Culling the humans will not help us, Altair,” said Yonna. “As Barthia pointed out, they are not the cause of our troubles.”
“Then it is pure coincidence, I suppose,” said Altair, “that their numbers have grown, as ours have diminished?”
“They are stealing something from us, we just don’t know what it is,” said Teoth.
“How?” asked Yonna. “They have no power, they have no strength. How do they steal from us? This is pure speculation.”
“They steal the food from our forests,” said Altair, “they pollute our water, cut and burn down the trees, turning abundant wilderness into strip fields and pocket farms. They build on land that is not theirs and call it home.”
Mellion made a complex series of hand movements, ending in a bony finger pointed at his open palm.
“I agree with Mellion,” said Kimlesh. “All of that may be true, but it does not change our situation one jot.”
“How long do we have?” asked Yonna.
There was a long silence, then a crackly voice spoke from the shadows. “Not as long as you think.”
Around the thrones indignation broke out. Altair spoke over the others. “Come forward, old one. Don’t skulk in the shadows. You may as well come and speak in plain sight, though you are not invited here.”
“I need no invitation,” said Kareesh, hobbling forward into the smoky light that danced around the candles. “I go where I must, and do what I can.”
“I will speak to Garvin on this,” said Krane, leaning forward from his throne as if he would pounce.
“Much good may it do you,” said Kareesh. “Like all guard dogs, he has his limits.”
“What are you doing here, Kareesh?” asked Teoth. “If there is something you wish to discuss, I will hear it, but not now. Perhaps it would be better if I should come to you. You’re not as young as you were.”
“I don’t need you to count my teeth,” said Kareesh, “and I came to speak with you assembled. I do not move these old bones lightly or without reason.”
