The Eighth Court (19 page)

“
Cleaning the well?
”
asked Krane.
“
Is that what we’re doing?
”

“
Are you considering adopting this mad scheme now, Krane?
”
Altair asked.

“
I’m open to all the options, Altair, as we all should be. If you have something new, please share it with us.
”
It was the first time I’d seen Krane say anything against Altair, and the result on the wraithkin Lord’s face was worth the wait.

He stood.
“
Well let me say this, loud and clear. The Seventh Court will not pollute its bloodlines with humanity no matter how fertile they are. Nor will we sully ourselves with the blood of the other courts. We are proud of what we are, as you should be.
”
He strode across the candlelit space, making the candles flutter as he passed. The door opened, and he left. The shadow dwelling in the darkness beyond the flickering lights followed him, closing the door after.

“
Well,
”
said Kimlesh.
“
That places us in a difficult position.
”

“
That depends,
”
said Barthia.
“
Altair has departed, expecting that as we are no longer quorate we must do the same, though I, for one, am not yet minded to leave.
”

“
Nor I,
”
said Yonna.

“
Nor I,
”
Kimlesh echoed.

Mellion extended his hand and then placed it on his knee.

Krane said,
“
I am not leaving if no one else is.
”
He looked at Teoth, who looked from side to side, assessing the situation.

“
You understand,
”
said Teoth,
“
that if we continue, there will be accusations of treachery from Altair?
”

“
The meeting was not declared closed, Teoth,
”
said Kimlesh.
“
Are you going to let our brother dictate to you when you may speak and when you may not?
”

He looked from one to the other.
“
Very well then,
”
he said.
“
I too shall stay.
”

Even so, they dropped their voices and I leaned forward to hear them better. Their voices became fainter, and the flickering candlelight faded.

The interior of the Church of All Hallows by the Tower received the morning sunrise like a blessing. It streamed through the east window leaving long shadows striped across the altar out into the church. As the morning progressed, the light slid sideways, becoming narrower as the sun rose and the world turned and the sun moved round to the stained glass windows along the south aisle, leaving the altar in shadow.

Into that shadow stepped two men. One wore a long coat, and the other a dark suit.

“Do you know what to do?” asked the one in the coat.

“I do,” said the suited man.

“It must be done right,” said the man in the coat.

“I know,” the suited man replied.

“It’s almost noon.” The man in the coat glanced down the central aisle and then nodded to the second man. “Be careful.”

“I will,” said the suited man. He waited until the first had left the church via the vestry door and then walked quietly into the Lady Chapel and knelt before the image on the wall before him. To one side there was a white sculpture on a stand which was supposed to represent the Madonna, but appeared to have spikes emerging from it. Somehow it seemed appropriate. He bowed his head. He heard Blackbird and Angela when they entered through the door at the far end of the church, but he did not stir. He listened to them approach and only then did he rise and step out into the central aisle.

“There is no service today,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Blackbird started at his sudden appearance. She was holding a white rose in one hand, being careful of the wicked thorns that adorned its stem. “We didn’t come for a service,” she said.

“Indeed,” said the man, noting the rose and glancing from Blackbird to Angela and back to Blackbird. “Is there something else I can do for you?”

“We would like to present this white rose,” said Blackbird, “at the foot of the altar of All Hallows by the Keep on the eve of the winter solstice.”

“Are you sure you have the right day?” said the man. “And the right church?”

“It is the winter solstice tomorrow,” said Blackbird. “Today is the eve.”

“I’m sure it is,” said the man. His smile was indulgent, as if they were a little stupid, or perhaps confused.

From outside the church, they could hear the chimes of a clock starting to toll out the noon bells. “Do I simply place it on the steps?” she asked the man.

“Do you?” he said. “I won’t prevent you, if that’s what you wish to do,” he said.

“On the cushion before the altar?” she asked, “Is there anything special for it to rest on?”

He smiled. “You’re confusing this with the rose rent on the summer solstice,” he said. “Do return in the summer and you can see the ceremony then. It’s quite a spectacle.”

“When you say confusing
this
,” said Angela. What is
this
, that you are referring to?”

“That’s not for me to say,” he answered her, smiling politely.

The chimes ended and there was a slight pause when all was silent. Even the muted rumple of the traffic seemed to pause for a moment. Then the bell started tolling the hour. Blackbird stepped forward and placed the rose on the kneeling cushion at the step of the sanctuary. The man did not move.

“There,” she said. “It’s done.” She turned back to the man.

He waited until the full twelve chimes has rung, then he reached inside his jacket pocket and extracted a large bronze key. “I believe this is what you require,” he said, dropping the key into her open hand.

“Is that it? The key to Grey’s Court?”

“Isn’t that what you were expecting?” he asked them.

“Yes,” said Blackbird. “Is that all? There’s no deed, no contract?”

“As the key-holder, what else do you require?” he asked. “You are welcome to stay and give thanks.” He gestured towards the pews arrayed down the church.

Blackbird looked at Angela and Angela shrugged her shoulders.

“Thank you,” said Blackbird.

“You’re welcome,” said the man.

He watched as Blackbird and Angela walked back down the central aisle, waiting until he heard the outer door close and the sound of the traffic recede. Then he turned and walked slowly to the back of the church and stepped through the arch, turning towards the vestry door. He opened it and stepped through. Inside the man with the coat waited for him.

“Did they take it?” he asked.

“They did,” said the suited man.

“What about that?” asked the man in the coat. He gestured towards the floor of the vestry where a man lay dead, his neck at an awkward angle.

“An accident,” suggested the suited man. “Hard to prove otherwise. There’ll be an investigation, but that needn’t concern us.”

“Excellent,” said the man in the coat. He led the way to the side door and placed his hand on the wood of the door. There was a clunk as the lock tumbled and he pulled open the door, allowing the other man through.

“I would make a good priest,” said the suited man.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the man in the coat. “You’ve just murdered someone.”

“Ah, yes,” said the suited man. “There is that.”

“
Altair!”

“Do not use that name here,” said the whisperer. “I forbid it.”

“You were watched.”

“When?”

“Whoever it was you sent to put pressure on Kimlesh’s Court. They were seen negotiating. Tate followed them.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. How could you be so careless?”

“Do not think that because you share my secrets that you can speak to me so. When you chose to throw your lot in with mine, we sealed a bargain, but I am the Lord of the Seventh Court, and you… you are my servant.”

“I am not your servant.”

“Your loyalty is to none other, not any more. Remember that.”

“We did strike a bargain, and I’ve seen precious little in the way of a return.”

“They have taken the bait,” he whispered.

There was a pause. “What? You’re sure?”

“Of course. I would not say if it were not so.”

“Then it could be soon?”

“The solstice. There will be a window of opportunity,” said the whisper.

“And then you will deliver on your side of our bargain?”

There was only silence.

When I awoke, I was in bed alone. I tried to sit up, and then regretted the attempt as the skin at my side tightened, making me gasp. Looking down at my side, the wound was already scarring over. Blackbird’s skill was healing them even faster than I would normally heal, but they were still tender to touch.

Sunlight edged through the gap in the curtains, and I rolled out of bed in an ungainly but less painful manner and went to draw them back, revealing a crisp day where the frost still lay wherever the winter sun had not yet touched. The sun was as near high as it was going to get – Blackbird must have already left to keep the appointment at the church with her white rose, leaving me here asleep. Perhaps she thought I would be more trouble than help, or perhaps she thought I needed the rest. Checking in the nursery, I found the cot also deserted. I found it hard to believe I had slept through my son’s awakening, but it had been the sleep of exhaustion, and hopefully of healing.

Then it came back to me – the dream of the courts. I felt sure it was a true dream, but how long ago had that happened? If I asked any member of the High Court, they would want to know where I came by such information, and I was not ready to show my hand. Some of the memories that Angela had given me were coming to the surface and I was slowly discovering things that no one outside the High Court knew. I wondered if even Garvin was aware – or had that been him skulking in the shadows at the edge of the court?

I showered, cleaning the pink skin on my side where Sam’s bullet had left a puckered scar, now bisected by a newer scar running down my side. The water allowed me to clean off the patches of dried blood. I was healing impressively fast now that the iron bullets were removed. I probed the new skin with my finger, finding it still tender.

I washed the rest of me, then dried and shaved, being careful to avoid the pattern of red marks that still covered one side of my face like a livid tattoo. I had to admit that I was starting to look like a patchwork – too many injuries, too quickly. Still, I was alive.

I rinsed my face and inspected the damage. With a shake of my head, my glamour concealed the mark, but almost invisibly slowly it began to creep back, rising like a pale shadow across my face. Was that because it had been caused by iron? I found myself rubbing the palm of my hand where I had once grasped a set of iron gates. The scars there had healed eventually, but in that case I had barely touched them. Resigning myself to the fact that there was nothing I could do about it either way, I pulled on my Warders greys, and went in search of my son and something to eat. I was suddenly ravenous.

I found him in his favourite place, in the high chair at the end of the big table in the old kitchen, a bread stick in one hand and his other hand in his mouth. There was a bowl of greenish goo in front of him, some of which he appeared to eaten while the rest was smeared across his face.

“Good morning,” said Lesley. “We were beginning to wonder if you’d sleep all day, weren’t we?” My son grinned at me – not a pretty sight with a mouth full of green goo. I attempted to take the bread stick from him, but he would not relinquish it. His grip was firm and his determination was greater than mine, so I let him keep it. He used his hand to scoop up some more from the bowl, pressing it against his lips so that the goo squeezed between his fingers.

“You’re enjoying that aren’t you?” I said to him.

“It’s one of his favourites,” said Lesley, “though what there is in peas, potato and sprouts that he likes is hard to fathom. Still, he shows his appreciation, don’t you, Sweet Pea?” She kissed him on the top of his head, and he craned his neck around to see what she was doing.

“How are you feeling? I understand it was a busy night?” she said.

“I missed most of it, but I’m doing OK, thanks. Surprisingly well, given that I was shot.”

“Are you up to breakfast?”

“I’d love some,” I said.

“I meant for him, rather than you, but I can arrange some for you too.” She passed me a plastic spoon so that my son and I could engage in the well-tried game of me trying to get the food inside him while he tried to spread it onto me.

“I don’t know which of us should have a bib,” I said. “Him or me.”

“I can get you one if you want,” said Lesley. “I have one that says Cute when Asleep.”

“It wouldn’t suit me,” I said.

“I’m not sure Blackbird would agree with that,” she said.

“Did she say anything this morning?” I asked.

“She said something about a theoretical rose,” said Lesley. “By the way, I wanted to ask you, have you thought about Stewards for the Eighth Court?”

“Sorry?” I was taken aback by this change in tack.

“All the courts have their own Stewards, but there isn’t a precedent for a new court. I wondered if you’d spoken with Blackbird about it?”

“I can’t say I have,” I said. “It’s not really my responsibility.”

“I took the liberty of mentioning it to Mullbrook, and he suggested I should talk to you.”

“To me?”

“You do have Blackbird’s ear,” she said, “and if you go and live somewhere else then I’d hardly ever see Sweet Pea here, and I get on so well with Blackbird, and you wouldn’t hardly know I was there…”

“Are you asking me for a job?” I asked her. She looked uncomfortable, busying herself with some paperwork spread across the other end of the big table. “Well, I’m flattered that you think I have that much influence, but I’m not even part of the Eighth Court. I’m a Warder. Next week I could be assigned some other duty.”

“Realistically, that’s not going to happen, though, is it?” she said, looking up from the papers.

“I’m not sure I can predict what will happen, Lesley, but for my part I would be honoured if you were to join the Eighth Court. Our son thinks the world of you, and he has few enough friends in the world that he can afford to lose any of them, can you son?” He grinned at me, which would have been more endearing without the green smears. “It really is up to Blackbird, though. I can speak to her about it if you want me to, but why don’t you just ask her?”

“It seems a little forward?” she said.

My son waved his breadstick at Lesley. “Eh! Eh!” She rose and went to take it from him, at which point he stuck it back in his mouth, grinning at her.

“Tease,” she admonished him.

One of the reasons he liked the old kitchen so much was that it was a centre for operations for the Stewards. People came and went, delivery drivers arrived with trays of vegetables or orders of meat. The High Court had to be ready to accommodate whoever arrived, at whatever time of day, and this room acted as an informal hub for the staff. Deliveries were signed for and stored away, while my son sat like a lord at his table and watched everyone with interest. I gave up trying to spoon-feed him and wiped his hands and face with a damp cloth that Lesley had passed to me. He settled into chewing the end of the breadstick. Once he was happy, she found me some fresh bread and golden yellow butter, and a jar of pale honey. I sat and ate, trying to avoid my son getting his fingers into any of it while I was not paying attention.

As Stewards came and went, many of them stopped to say hello to him or ask Lesley how he was. He rewarded those he favoured with a bread-covered smile. It pricked me slightly; they didn’t ask me, they asked her. I realised that I needed to spend more time with him, and resolved to do so as soon as the present crisis was over. The trouble was, there always seemed to be another crisis around the corner.

“Did Blackbird mention when she would be back?” I asked Lesley.

“She just said she hoped to return with good news. I don’t know any more than that. Angela was with her, if that helps?”

“I have something I need to do,” I said, pulling my side as I rose and earning a worried look from Lesley.

“Should you be going out so soon?” she asked.

“I promise I’ll take it gently,” I said. “Is it OK to leave him with you?”I was only too aware that I was prevailing upon Lesley’s good will once again to look after our son.

She just smiled. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, Sweet Pea? I’ll give him his bath in a while, but I need to make a few calls and check some things first.”

“You know,” I said, “It’s time that boy had a name, before he starts to believe he’s called Sweet Pea.”

Lesley looked hurt, “I have to call him something,” she said.

“That wasn’t a criticism,” I said. “Six months is a long time to wait for a name, and I think we’ve waited long enough. I’ll speak to Blackbird about naming him. I heard somewhere that they used to have name-days – a ceremony to welcome new children into the court. Maybe we should have some sort of get-together and make a thing of it?” I suggested.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” said Lesley. “I’ll speak to Mullbrook and see what we can come up with.”

“Well, maybe I better speak with Blackbird about it first,” I said, in a moment of hesitation.

“Nonsense. She’ll be delighted that someone else has organised it, and you’re right, I can’t call him Sweet Pea all his life.” She ruffled his downy hair affectionately.

I left them there, jealous of the time Lesley would spend with my son, but knowing I had other things I needed to do so that he could have a home where he could grow up in safety.

I went to my room and collected my sword and a small torch. There was someone who knew more about this than anyone realised, and I was beginning to see a pattern. I needed to talk to Kareesh, and I needed to do it while Blackbird wasn’t around, being protective. I left before Blackbird came back and either insisted on coming with me, or dissuaded me from going at all. Down in the room under the courts where the Way-nodes were, Amber was leaning against a wall when I entered.

“Are you guarding the room, or waiting for me?” I asked.

“Both?” she said.

“Are you going to be following me today?”

“No,” said Amber. “I’m coming with you.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Blackbird said I wasn’t to let you out of the courts alone.”

“Ah,” I said, thinking that maybe she was ahead of me on that one.

“I think she’s gained the impression that since I didn’t let you die I might be able to keep you out of trouble,” said Amber.

“She might be right,” I admitted.

Amber’s expression said otherwise. “Where are we going?”

“To visit an old friend. I need to see Kareesh, but I want to see her alone.”

Amber looked sceptical again. “Are you sure you’re up to seeing an ancient frail fey without an armed escort?”

I was obliged to take the rebuke in good humour, given my success rate, but insisted that I had to see Kareesh alone. “I need to ask her something, and if you’re there, she won’t give me the answer I need,” I explained.

“Just as long as you don’t get hurt,” said Amber. “I’m not delivering you to Blackbird again like last night. It’s not good for my career prospects.”

“You’re looking for promotion?” I asked.

“I’m looking for survival,” she said.

We left the courts and headed out on the Ways towards London, skipping across the nodes until we emerged in a gym in central London. The pumping bass emitted by the sound system and the movement of the people exercising was good cover. No one saw us in the exercise room, and when we emerged we were just another couple leaving the gym club.

We walked together up St Martin’s Lane and onto New Row, the small boutique shops displaying designer shoes, jewellery or framed photos of London with touched-up skylines. Slipping past the Metro supermarket we made our way across the road into Covent Garden proper. Here restaurants offering lunchtime specials were nestled between clothes stores and souvenir shops selling plastic Union flags. The streets were paved in cobbles and pedestrians wandered in the road, heedless of the occasional delivery van.

The entertainers were out in force, competing for the lunchtime crowd, and on the breeze I could hear the high, pure tones of an opera singer, warming up for the evening’s performance by singing to the tourists in the covered market. As we strode up the rise to the tube station, we passed hawkers selling balloons to bright-eyed youngsters, and entertainers who had painted themselves to resemble bronze statues, looking even more frozen than usual. The winter sunshine had tempted out the tourists and the opportunists were determined to make the best of it, no matter the cold.

The wind whistling down Long Acre cut through the pedestrians, making them turn up their collars against the cold. I reached the underground station and we strolled through the ticket gate unheeded, the metal gates flipping open despite the lack of any Oyster card. The lifts were ferrying people up from the tunnels below like workers coming off shift. They spilled out of the station on one side before the doors opened to allow us in for the downward journey.

In the warm air of the tunnels, the air smelled faintly of machine oil and electric sparks. It was easy to hang back and let the other passengers disperse. They marched along down to the platforms while we drifted into the service tunnel between the lift entrances. There was a door there that said Staff Only, and it was a moment’s work to unlock it and let myself through onto the top of the stairway leading down to the service access for the lifts.

“Wait here for me?” I asked Amber.

“Don’t be too long,” she said. “Or I’ll be forced to come and get you.”

I took that as a serious threat, and began to wonder what Blackbird had said to her. The door swung closed and darkness reasserted itself.

The last time I visited here, I was unwelcome. The tunnels had been blank with no stairway rising to a private chamber filled with scented hanging lamps and old rugs. I had been forced to follow the phantom sounds of the person leading me through the tunnels. This time I was hoping for a warmer reception, and an explanation. I was certain now that Kareesh knew more than she was letting on. I also dared to speculate that when Blackbird brought me here, it wasn’t my first visit. The memories from Angela hinted that I’d been here before that, though my own memory of that visit had been wiped from my mind. Kareesh was old, that was obvious, but old didn’t mean weak. The Feyre trod around her as if on eggshells and, if my dreams were correct, that was despite her flouting certain taboos.

I remembered, at my first encounter when Blackbird brought me here, wondering at the difference between Kareesh and Gramawl, and trying to reconcile the huge troll who dedicated himself to guarding and keeping Kareesh in her nest, against the fragile form he guarded. I’d asked Blackbird why he stayed with her and she’d told me that he stayed with her because he loved her. She’d never mentioned that their love was outside the norm, or that others of the Feyre might not approve of a cross-courts relationship, but then she’d grown up with them, an outcast herself. It was something I meant to ask her about when I saw her next.