“Honestly, I didn’t see,” I said, thinking back to the events in the National Archive. “I thought I knew who took the safe, and who killed Claire, but now I’m not certain. You need to ask yourself, though, in whose interest is it that the safe and the clerk are out of the way? Who stands to gain? Then you can answer your own question.” I watched him absorb that information. “Was it your lot that redecorated Claire’s flat?” I asked.
“From time to time it is necessary to ensure that peace is maintained,” he said. “It doesn’t do to leave too many loose ends.”
“So you took the horseshoe,” I said. “Did you also take the one from the National Archive as well?”
“The horseshoes are not your concern,” he said.
“Did you know the family crest of the De Ferrers family has horseshoes on it?” I asked him.
“What an interesting coincidence. As you pointed out,” he said, “no one will ever stand trial for Ms Radisson’s murder. It serves no purpose to leave a host of confusing evidence that goes nowhere and leads to nothing. Better for the police to spend resources on problems they can solve. Speaking of which, do you know the whereabouts of the missing journals from the National Archive?”
“I believe I do,” I admitted.
“We would like them returned,” he said, “sooner rather than later.”
“What about the two knives,” I asked him, “one blunt, one sharp.”
“The knives are not your concern,” he told me. “Neither are the nails or the horseshoes. Those things will be taken care of.”
“But you lost the safe,” I told him. “What was inside it?”
“That would be another matter that is not your concern,” he said. “Omnia praesumuntur rite essa acta.”
“Latin,” said Garvin to me. “Roughly translated it means, it is presumed until proved otherwise that what should have been done, has been done.”
“Quite so,” said Secretary Carler.
“And if you can’t do it?” I asked.
“We try not to give ourselves airs and graces,” he said. “We only do what we can.”
“We have what we came for,” said Garvin. “I assume you will take appropriate action regarding our Scottish friend?”
“An internal matter,” said the secretary. “Please give my regards to the Lords and Ladies and tell them that we value our continued accord on all matters. I’m glad we were able to clear up a few matters. We hold to the treaty.
“As do we,” said Garvin. “You’ll excuse us.”
“Of course,” said the secretary.
When we got outside, there were a lot of nervous policemen. Instead of holding their weapons across their chests, as before, they were now held ready, pointing at the ground. Opposite them stood Tate. In his hand was a sword, the blade naked. It looked like a toy in his hand. Slimgrin was nowhere to be seen, but then that was to be expected. Garvin smiled at the policemen. They exchanged glances, but did not respond.
He walked across the grass towards the Way-node. Tate didn’t move. “Next time you plan something like that, tell me first,” he said to me.
“I didn’t plan it,” I said, “and you would have left me back at the courts if I’d voiced my suspicions.”
“You’re making assumptions about what I will or will not decide,” he said. “We can be deceived by our assumptions, I said that to you before.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I said.
“Good.”
“What would you have done?” I asked him.
“If I’d been in your place? Probably much the same. I liked the move with the table. It was worthy of a Warder.”
“Thanks,” I said. Compliments from Garvin were rare.
“Don’t get over-confident,” he said.
“I’ll try not to get carried away.”
NINETEEN
When I returned to the courts I went to find Blackbird. She was in the kitchen with Lesley, discussing arrangements for the evening while Lesley laid out plates ready to be carried to Grey's Court. I told her what had happened with the meeting with Secretary Carler.
“And you say that after all that he still claimed to be Secretary Carler?” she asked.
“He was evasive on the matter.”
“Hmm,” she said. “It may be the truth.”
“I had Sam check the records. There is no government department with a Secretary Carler, male or female.”
“Secretary,” said Blackbird. “Literally one who keeps secrets. Carler — from the word carl, a loyal bondsman.”
“So Secretary Carler is…?”
“A title, most likely, or a codename. It’s appropriate, don’t you think?”
“I wonder if his real name is De Ferrers?” I asked her.
“Why?”
“There are links to the De Ferrers family. Oakham Castle was owned by the De Ferrers.
“One of the Knights in your dream was called De Ferrers — it is a Norman name,” said Blackbird, “Probably from Ferrier, a Blacksmith, but it could also mean simply of iron.”
“An iron keeper of secrets?” I commented. “That seems a hell of a coincidence.
“Or it is no coincidence at all,” she said. “It’s a powerful combination and may offer some protection to the holder of that role. Still, it was resolved peacefully. A death today would be an inauspicious event, Niall. If you’d asked me, I would have recommended any other day than this. Such things leave a taint, which is not something I want to carry into the founding rituals of the Eighth Court.”
“I’d rather go into the founding ceremony knowing that the person who was trying to kill me is not still out there waiting for an opportunity,” I told her.
“There are always dangers,” she reminded me. “At dusk we will beat the bounds of the court to establish a boundary. It is an ancient ritual both among humanity and the Feyre, which in our case will place a warding around the court. We will finally have the beginnings of a secure future.”
“Do you think someone might try and prevent us?” I asked.
“It’s possible,” she said. “But we must establish our boundary for ourselves. No one can do it for us.”
“As a Warder, I’m bound to all the courts,” I said.
“I know. In time I hope you will join us, but until then you may not join in. It is only for the members of the new court. You may accompany me as my escort, but you may not join in.”
“I shall be pleased to escort you, Lady.”
“Just keep your eyes sharp,” she said. “There are those who would not see this come to pass.”
“I shall bring my sword.”
“And your wits,” she said.
They came in ones and twos, looking nervous and furtive. Some arrived in cars, complaining that sat-nav never worked for them. Others came down the Ways, tramping up from the village. No curtains twitched as they passed. There wasn’t even a face at the window of the house with Neighbourhood Watch stickers in the window. No one in the village saw them arrive. Alex surprised me by offering to direct them from the Way-node. I went into the village and hung around near the Maltsters Arms, the only pub in the village, so that I could offer directions to the lost. My directions to the couple looking for the road to Henley-on-Thames were probably less than accurate, but I expect they found their way eventually.
As the afternoon grew late and the light started to fade, I headed back to the house. Angela was at the door most of the afternoon, greeting those she knew and welcoming those she didn’t. Word had gone out, and the response was larger than anyone had expected. I joined Lesley and Blackbird in the sitting room as they watched the latest batch of arrivals climb out of a battered Citroen 2CV.
“I hope we’ll have enough food,” Lesley said to Blackbird.
“They’re still unloading round the back, and if there’s a problem, we’ll send out for takeaway,” said Blackbird.
Lesley looked horrified.
“It’s a joke,” Blackbird explained.
“Do you normally make jokes?” asked Lesley.