by Mike Shevdon
I closed her door again and went downstairs to find the baby his breakfast, wondering at the same time whether Alex had slept at all last night. Maybe she’d pulled an all-nighter — not the best idea with the celebrations this evening, which she would be expected to attend.
I went into the kitchen, looking for Lesley, and found my daughter instead.
“Morning, Dad,” she said brightly. “Morning, precious,” she said to the baby, ruffling her hand through his fine hair.
“Good morning,” I said. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” she said, kissing my cheek while the baby tried unsuccessfully to snag one of her curls in his grasp. “Breakfast has been cleared, but if you’re OK with toast I can do some for you?” She went to the big larder fridge, extracting a fruit-flavoured rice, then the cutlery drawer for a plastic spoon. “Are you OK feeding him that while I make you some toast?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Why? What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I said, settling the baby into his high chair and strapping him in. He could see the rice pot now, and was getting impatient.
She warmed up milk for the baby in a pan of water. “Do you want tea?” she said. “Coffee?”
“I think coffee,” I said, stripping the top off the rice pot.
The baby stuck his tongue out. “Labalabalaba.” I wiped the sticky bit from the lid on his tongue and he grinned at me, then spread the goo around his chops with his fingers.
“Lesley tells me off if I do that,” Alex told me, placing a coffee out of the baby’s reach.
“Lesley’s not here,” I reminded her. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“I’m going for a shower,” she said. “You can drop him with me when you’ve finished, if you like?”
“That’s very kind of you,” I told her.
“Garvin was looking for you. I said I’d wake you but he thought you needed the sleep.”
“Did he say what about?”
“Something about a meeting? He said you’d want to be there.”
“Ah,” I said. “I may not have time for breakfast,” I pushed the chair back.
“Sit down and finish that while I make you some toast,” she insisted. “He won’t go without you, and anyway, he said it would do them good to wait, for once.”
“Are you sure you’re OK?” I asked her. “You look different.”
“I’m growing my hair,” she said. “Do you like it?”
“It’s lovely,” I said, unsure I could tell the difference.
She placed toast in front of me along with a pot of honey and some butter, and the milk for the baby. “Don’t let him have any honey until he’s eaten the rice,” she advised. “Or he won’t eat the rice, and then he’ll scream blue murder until he gets more honey.”
“I’m not a complete novice,” I told her. “I managed with you.”
She kissed the top of my head. “I’m going for a shower,” she said, “but I’ll be back before you’ve finished, and I’ll take over while you go and do Garvin things.”
“Did I ever tell you were a wonderful daughter?” I asked her.
“Don’t be soppy,” she told me, and headed off for a shower.
“Ah,” I said to my son. “So that was Alex after all. I was beginning to think she’s been replaced by an alien.”
“Labalabalabalaba,” said the baby.
Garvin was waiting for me in the basement room where the Way-nodes were. Tate was with him. He nodded to me in greeting, but said nothing.
“They’re already set up,” Garvin said. “I’ve sent Slimgrin ahead to keep an eye on them. Are you ready?”
“I have everything I need,” I said. My sword was held scabbarded in my left hand.
“Do I need to remind you that this is a diplomatic meeting?” asked Garvin.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Good. Tate, you take the lead. We’ll be two minutes behind you.”
Tate stepped onto the Way-node and vanished into a twist of air. “I’m not expecting trouble,” said Garvin. Let’s not leap to conclusions. We’re simply there to establish the facts and see what their reaction is.”
“And if they deny all knowledge of it?” I asked him.
“All I’m saying is that we can’t allow ourselves to be deceived by our own assumptions. It’s a difficult time for us. We’re down two people, the courts are in flux; we can’t afford to sour our relationships with humanity as well.”
“Even if they’re trying to kill us?” I said. I didn’t get an answer. I hadn’t expected one.
He gestured to the Way-node and I stepped forward, reaching down into the flow of power beneath me. It rose in response, carrying me through an endless blackness streaked with whorls of silver as I veered around Way-nodes following the trail left by Tate. Voices that sounded like the calls of the lost echoed through the void, until I began to wonder who was more lost — me or them. I forced myself to focus on the traces of Tate’s passing.
Stepping out onto the frosted grass, I moved away from the Way-node, wrapping the area in a cloak of glamour. Tate had already moved away, probably scoping out the area with Slimgrin. I waited for Garvin to step out of the air beside me and then we both crossed the grass towards the great hall, letting the glamour fall away as we did.
Oakham Castle was never particularly large or grand and all that remains of it now are the outer walls and the great hall with its tall leaded windows. I had been here before twice — once with Lord Krane after we discovered the experiments being conducted on fey-humans at Porton Down Research Facility and once after Alex’s image was captured by a remote camera as she left the Tower of London having stolen a raven’s feather from one of the Tower birds. They say the third time is the charm.
It was used as a neutral meeting place for the High Court and The Secretariat — the government agency charged with handling relations with the Feyre. It was used because the walls inside the great hall were decorated with horseshoes. The proximity of the iron shoes made it impossible to hear the truth or lies in the words of the people there. Something in the iron, or the shape of the shoes, disrupted that ability and meant that in that space humans and fey were equally unable to hear the truth in each other’s words. It was supposed to level the playing fields, but actually it worked against us. The Feyre didn’t usually tell lies — something about truth and power makes lies uncomfortable for us. They twist on our tongues, and the presence of the iron does not help with that. We are obliged to tell truth, while our human opposite numbers can lie all they like. There are other ways of revealing the truth, though, as they were about to discover.
The guy in charge of security was a gruff Scotsman we’d met previously. He was standing on the roadway, wearing a dark suit and smoking. He was flanked by two policemen armed with short-muzzled sub-machine guns. He was the one who’d showed me the video footage of my daughter being carried by the Thames current under Tower Bridge after she’d escaped the Tower. At the time he’d pointed at the pictures of my daughter and told me she resembled nothing human. I’d disliked him before he said that.
“You’re late,” he said, as we approached. He flicked the end of the cigarette into the bushes.
“We were finishing our breakfast,” said Garvin, calmly. “Are we ready to start?”
“Petersen.” The Scot acknowledged my presence. I don’t think he liked me any more than I liked him.
“I’d like to return the greeting,” I told him, “but I don’t think I know your name?”
He grinned at me. “Do I look stupid?” he said.
“Ah, already the difficult questions,” I said.
His smile faded. “You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face by the time all this is done,” he said.
“I’m not laughing,” I said.
“Shall we go in?” said Garvin.
We entered the great hall and the, by now familiar, taint of the horseshoes e
nveloped us. To my sharpened senses it was like having everything muffled, a dulling of the sensation of sound. It made the room feel uncomfortable and unnatural.
Secretary Carler stood to greet us. We did not shake hands. He was flanked by two men in dark suits. The Scot filed in behind us and closed the door, standing with his back to it so he could listen in on the meeting.
There were three high-backed chairs arrayed along each side of the table, and Garvin and I took two of them.
The secretary sat in his grey suit in the central chair opposite Garvin and shuffled a small stack of papers before him — expenses claims, perhaps, or maybe his tax return. The two men behind him remained standing. “You called our meeting, today,” he said without preamble. “Would you care to explain the urgency? It’s a busy time of the year and we would have preferred more notice.”
“Something came up,” I said.
Garvin frowned at me and turned back to Secretary Carler. “It’s good to see you well,” said Garvin. “We were a little concerned when you were absent at our last meeting.”
“I was detained elsewhere,” said the secretary. “Your concern is appreciated,” he said, without smiling. “If we could move on the matter at hand?”
“It concerns a potential treaty violation,” said Garvin.
“Indeed?” said Carler. “In what respect? I am not aware of any violations, and I would normally expect to discuss such matters with one of the Lords and Ladies. That’s normally the protocol,” he reminded us.
“It’s a security violation,” said Garvin. “One of my Warders was injured.” While Garvin talked I was extending my senses into the room. It was extremely difficult when surrounded by so much iron. I was trying to pinpoint something, but the sense of it was being smothered by all the iron.
“Injuries happen all the time,” said Carler. “It’s a dangerous business.”
“That’s true,” said Garvin, “and made more dangerous when someone is providing one side with access to weapons they would not normally have.”
“What kind of weapons?”
“It’s well understood that our kind have a susceptibility to iron,” said Garvin, looking around at the walls of the great hall. “Someone supplied an assassin with iron tainted bullets.” He dipped into his pocket. The two dark suits behind Carler reached under their jackets.
“Steady,” said Garvin. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
He slowly brought out his hand, revealing a small leather pouch. The dark suits didn’t remove their hands. He upturned it over the table and two small slugs dropped onto the table. He dropped the pouch on the table and the dark suits removed the hands from their jackets.
Carler reached forwards and picked up one of the slugs. “Where did you get these?” he asked.
“They were given to a man named Sam Veldon,” said Garvin. “They’ve been fired since then,” he explained.
“Interesting,” said Carler. “Who gave them to him?”
“We’re not sure — we thought you might know,” suggested Garvin lightly.
Carler dropped them back on the table. “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid. They could have come from anywhere.”
My hands were in my lap, with my sword resting between them. I grasped the scabbard and the hilt. “I was shot with them,” I told him.
“How unfortunate,” he said. “I’m pleased to see that it did no lasting damage.” The edge of his mouth twisted when he said it, and his eyes were too steady, they lingered on mine too long. Did he know something?
Garvin glanced sideways and realised where my hands were. It was now or never.
I burst upwards from the chair, hefting the edge of the table upwards and throwing it into Secretary Carler’s face. Garvin, half-expecting something, launched himself backwards in a graceful somersault. The table hit Secretary Carler as he went backwards and collided with the two suits behind him, knocking them backwards. I grabbed Carler’s legs and hauled him towards me under the table so that he was laid on the floor where the table had been. By the time the dark suits had their weapons drawn, the tip of my sword was at Carler’s throat. A glance at Garvin behind me showed me the Scot, his hands held high, one holding the pistol he’d managed to draw, but unable to bring it to bear with Garvin’s sword-point over his heart.
“If the policemen outside start shooting through this door,” he reminded the Scot, you’re going to be riddled with bullets.”
“Hold your fire!” he shouted. There were shouts outside, a short burst of machine-gun fire, and then silence.
“Niall, it’s your show,” said Garvin.
“Let him go,” said the closest dark suit, his pistol aimed at my head. The furthest one had it aimed at my body.
“On the contrary,” I told him. “I just went to a lot of trouble to get him where I want him. Now, slowly and carefully put the guns onto the floor,” I told him.
Carler went to say something, but it was choked off when I pressed the point home. “Two things can happen,” I told them. “I’ve already survived being shot — maybe you already know that. You might just get lucky — I may get shot again, but I guarantee that you’ll all be dead. So will the officers outside. You’ll have a massacre on your hands and there’ll be a lot of explaining to do back at head office.” I let that sink in. “Alternatively, you can both place your guns where I can see them and we can all take a step back.”
I waited, counting to thirty in my head. The man on the ground was unarmed at present, so the priority went with the closest armed man. I readied myself and my power. I’d been trained for this. I could take them.
Slowly the second dark suit lifted his pistol and placed it on the stone floor. The second one waited and then did the same. I regarded Carler, who looked less like a bank manager with a sword at his throat. I moved slowly around, putting him between me and the suits, reached down and flipped open his jacket. There was a similar pistol in a holster under his arm. I lifted it out with the tips of my fingers.
“Garvin?”
“We’re clear,” he told me. “I have the gun.” He backed the Scot around until he was joining his colleagues behind the upturned table.
I stepped back and let Carler get to his feet. “This is an outrage,” he said. “The Lords and Ladies shall hear of this.”
I passed the gun from Secretary Carler to Garvin while I watched the Scot and the suits. Garvin removed the clip and neatly ejected the chambered round, holding it carefully up to the light by the brass case. “Not this one,” he said.
He took the pistols from the floor and did the same with those. “Not these either. I hope we’ve not gone to a lot of trouble for nothing,” he mused, casually.
“What about him?” I said, nodding towards the Scot.
Garvin popped the clip from the Scots weapon and ejected a round onto the floor. I knew immediately when he picked it up that we’d found what we had come for.
“This one,” he said, carefully holding up the round from the gun. “It’s a pistol round with an iron core. I couldn’t swear it’s identical, but it’s a good enough match for me. You’re aware, Secretary Carler, that the hoarding of weapons specifically aimed at the Feyre is prohibited under the treaty. I think iron-cored rounds count. What’s your man doing with them?”
“Think very carefully,” I told Carler. “I want an answer to this, but if I don’t get one I like, I’m going to drag all of you outside, hang you by your feet from a tree and start asking questions away from these horseshoes. I’m quite tempted to do that anyway.”
“We do not respond to threats,” said Secretary Carler.
I shook my head. “If only that were true,” I said. “Someone supplied bullets similar to these to a man called Sam Veldon with instructions to shoot me with them. If he’d done what he was told and shot me in the head, I’d be dead, but he shot me in the gut. If that wasn’t a response, what was it?”
“You’re only proving we were right,” said the Scot. “You’re a loose cannon,
Petersen. You’re putting us all in danger.”
“Ah, I said. “Now we come to it. What exactly am I supposed to have done?”
“You’re a murdering bastard,” said the Scot, “and we all know it.” Carler shot him a warning look, but he ignored it.
“And who am I supposed to have murdered?” I asked him.
“Where do you want to start?” asked the Scot. “The body count at Porton Down alone would justify any action we cared to take.”
“Porton Down was in violation of every treaty we have,” said Garvin to Carler. “I thought Lord Krane made our position clear on that when we were here last. If we’re going to start a score-settling exercise, I think we have a few of our own.”
“This isn’t about score-settling,” said the Scot.
“Then what is it about?” I asked.
“A rogue. Someone upsetting the status quo,” the Scot answered. “Whenever the body count starts to rise, we just have to look for you and you’ll be lurking somewhere. Like a bad penny, you always turn up.”
“That’s like accusing firemen of always turning up at a fire,” I said. “It’s nonsense.”
“Were either of you involved in this?” asked Secretary Carler of the two dark suits. They both shook their heads. “Very well,” he said. “This is an internal matter,” he said. “I can only apologise for my colleague’s ill-advised actions.”
“Hey now,” said the Scot. “You’re not burning me for him, surely? He needs taking down.”
“We would like to restore the meeting to some order,” said Carler. “You,” he addressed the dark suits. “Arrest that man. Take him into custody. Hold him until I tell you otherwise. If he has accomplices I want them held as well.” They stood watching him. “Now!” he barked.
“Are you nuts?” shouted the Scot. “Do you know how many deaths this guy has caused? Take your scabby hands off me, you moron.”
We watched as they manhandled him out of the room. There was a difficult moment when they tried to take him outside. Apparently there was a stand-off outside between the Warders and the police. It wasn’t resolved until Garvin went outside with Secretary Carler and together they ordered everyone to stand down.
