Blood running down translucent glass. Watching it form into sticky droplets.
I shook my head. Not now. I had to get a hold on myself. I grabbed the journals from the table, leaned Claire’s body forward across the table again, as if she were resting. Pulling the tatters of my glamour around me, I left. With my glamour in full force, no one saw me leave, but that wouldn’t matter. They had all seen me arrive, all seen me sat outside the room. The archivist would attest that she had told me that I could not go into the room, and they had all seen me enter it.
Bloody Raffmir.
“You were supposed to be guarding her,” said Blackbird.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Now what are we going to do?” said Blackbird. “It was bad enough that we’ve lost the knives and the horseshoes without losing the Remembrancer’s clerk as well. You’re sure she was dead?”
“Her throat had been slit.”
“Well I suppose it was quick, but hardly what she deserved,” said Blackbird. “This goes from bad to worse. I warned her to keep the horseshoe close.”
“The horseshoe?” I asked.
“Yes, she was carrying one with her. Don’t tell me you left that behind as well?”
I thought for a moment. “She wasn’t allowed to keep her bag with her. The archivist wouldn’t allow it. She put it in a locker. It’s probably still there.”
“Or the police have it,” said Blackbird.
“Well funnily enough, I didn’t stick around to ask them about it,” I said.
“Perhaps we could try and keep the discussion constructive?” said Angela, trying to calm things down.
“Perhaps if you hadn’t dosed him with your memories,” said Blackbird to Angela. “We’re in a bind, and no mistake.” Angela looked hurt, but Blackbird was in no mood to be sympathetic. “We’re up against it, Angela.”
“We still have time,” I said. “I can go back for it. If I can find some way of transporting them, I could retrieve the one from the flat too.”
“We have less time than you think,” said Blackbird. “Teoth and Krane are insisting that the Eighth Court moves out of the High Court by the winter solstice.”
“But that’s only days away,” I said.
“Where will we move to?” said Angela. “We won’t all fit in my house.”
“That might be the only choice we have,” said Blackbird, “and I’m truly grateful for the offer.”
“It wasn’t an offer,” said Angela. “I was being sarcastic.”
“Do you have a better idea?” asked Blackbird. “Sparky, Alex, Niall, you, me and the baby — that’s not so many. The others will just have to stay where they are until we can find something larger. It’s not supposed to be a full-time home for everyone — more of a place to gather.”
“We’ll be camping in the garden,” said Angela. “What about Andy and the bees? Julie’s about to lose her flat.”
“Who’s Julie?” I asked.
“She’s one of the newcomers,” said Blackbird. “She came in last night with a guy called Hathaway — I’m assuming that’s his surname. Word is spreading, Niall. They’re coming to us because we offer the best hope there is.”
“It doesn’t say much for the other options,” I said. “We need a better plan than Angela’s house, with the greatest respect to you, Angela.”
“I agree with you,” she said, emphatically. “What about Yonna or Kimlesh? Won’t they help us?”
“I think they would if they could,” said Blackbird, “But they don’t own their courts and they have their own dissenters. They can’t just give us property as a donation or a loan. Can you imagine how long it would take Teoth or Krane to let slip that the courts were giving their assets away to support a bunch of half-breeds?”
“We can’t all go to Tamworth,” I said. “How long do you think it would be before the authorities took an interest in us, operating out of semi-detached in a housing estate? How long before one of the new intake loses it and we’re attracting entirely the wrong sort of attention. These people need space — room to make mistakes. I give it a week.”
Angela picked up one of the journals I’d rescued from the archive office. “Perhaps the knights will help us. They’re all old families. Claire said they were wealthy. We might as well go through the journals and see if we can find any reference to them,” said Angela.
“Even if you can decipher the text, I’m not sure it’ll help,” said Blackbird. “We’re not supposed to know who they are, let alone ask them for favours.”
“By the same token,” I pointed out, “If they’d been at the ceremony as they were supposed to have been, perhaps none of this would have happened. They must bear some of the responsibility.”
“That’s true,” said Blackbird, “But what if they didn’t come because they’re all dead, their throats slit like poor Claire?”
“Then we really are screwed,” said Angela.
“What about the Secretariat?” I suggested. “They must have resources. Maybe they can lend us something in the interests of keeping the peace.”
“I don’t need another set of negotiations,” said Blackbird, “and they will want something in return.”
“It’s in their own interest. Otherwise they have to clean up the mess, and prevention is better than cure, surely?” I saw a shadow pass across Angela’s eyes at the mention of a cure. She’d been at Porton Down and knew first hand the sort of cures they’d been developing there. “Sorry,” I said to her, “bad turn of phrase”.
“If we meet the Secretariat,” said Blackbird, “then Garvin will know about it.”
“Not necessarily,” I said.
“I want him kept out of it, Niall.”
“I won’t tell him. I promise.”
“You won’t need to. If the Secretariat is involved then it will get back to him and then he’ll have reason to start sticking his nose where it’s not wanted. They won’t help us anyway. You’ve said yourself that they’re only interested in covering their backs.”
“Then we need a better idea,” I told her, “and fast.”
“Are you all right, Sweetheart? Can I get you something?” It was the tenth time she’d asked that question; well maybe not the tenth, but it was getting on Alex’s nerves.
“No, Mum, I don’t want anything.”
That at least was true. There was nothing Alex wanted and nothing she could do. She couldn’t go out, or see her friends, or mooch around the shops, or invite Kayleigh round, or any of the things she might have done. She’d thought twice about inviting Kayleigh, but how did you even begin to explain, and anyway, what would they talk about? She’d stood outside Kayleigh’s house one night and watched her. It’d been like time-travel, watching someone from the past. For Kayleigh, nothing had changed. For Alex, everything had changed.
“Are you all right?” asked her Mum.
The question again. “I’m fine.”
“It’s just… do you mind not doing that with the cushions?”
Alex looked down in her lap at the cushion she had twisted until it was wound tight. She let go and it sprang back into plumpness, though the cover retained the stress lines across it. She smoothed them with her hand.
Katherine sat opposite, waiting for Alex to say something.
“What?” said Alex.
“If there’s something on your mind, you can always talk to me about it,” said Katherine.
No, she really couldn’t. She shook her head. “I’m OK. What’s for supper?”
Katherine wasn’t put off so easily. “Alex, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“What about? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“You’ve said some things — I understand. Teenagers make things up all the time. It’s part of their narrative — coming to terms with the world. I know you need… attention. But you’re home now. You can let all that go.”
“All what?” asked Alex, genuinely puzzled.
“All that stuff about killing people, and being on the run. You forget, I was a teenager once.” She smiled. “It’s all about the drama.”
“Drama?”
“You’re very creative. You always had an active imagination. It’s only natural that you should make up stories.”