“Not really,” said Blackbird. “I never got the hang of it.”
“That explains it,” said Lesley.
Somehow, through a combination of cajoling and threats, Angela managed to find them all places. Yes, some were sleeping on the floor, or in the servant’s quarters in the loft-space, and some were cosier with their colleagues than they would like, but they did it. The converted office became Angela’s hub, and messengers were appointed to relay information back and forth. There was a buzz of excitement, an air of expectation. People were introducing themselves to each other, hesitantly and awkwardly. I heard Andy explaining to a bald guy from the North East with his hand stuck out expectantly that the Feyre didn’t shake hands, and why.
“That’s just rude, that is,” the guy said.
I left them to it.
Angela sent out a call to assemble before dusk at the front of the house, suitably attired for a walk. It mostly worked apart from the young woman in the yellow miniskirt who swore she only had heels. She had to manage in black knee-high boots, which were made her look very sixties. I was guessing that she was a city girl. There was a dark-eyed teenager all in black standing at the edge of the crowd. I watched Sparky sidle up to her and offer her a swig of whatever brew it was he had concocted.
“Long time, no see.” The voice came from behind me. It was low and soft but definitely female. I turned and faced a face I knew. “Megan?” I said.
“And a memory for names, too,” she said. “You’ll go far.” She looked exactly as I’d first met her in Covent Garden when I’d been on my way to Kareesh with Blackbird. She still wore the long hippy skirts and loose top, and her neck and waist were decorated with strings of small stones.
“How’s the jewellery business?” I asked her.
“Same as always,” she said. “Not been a great year for the market. Too many other things going on. I told you she’d find you,” she said, nodding towards Blackbird who was marshalling people with Angela.
“And you were right,” I said, “though that’s a story in itself.”
“And I understand you have a son,” she said. “I’m jealous.” It was said without any malicious intent, but in the way that the Feyre sometimes have of saying something completely true.
“Perhaps that proves it’s not too late for any of us,” I said.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “Isn’t that what this is all about?” She looked around the faces of the people gathered before the house. “We’re all looking for something.”
“If that something is a home — somewhere to be accepted for who you are, and what you are, without anyone judging you for not being something else, then yes,” I said, and I found myself believing it.
“You’ve changed,” she said, looking up at me. “The guy following Blackbird around in the market would never have said that.”
“Maybe I was looking for something too,” I said.
At that moment we set off, straggling into a long line, following each other into the dusk. I excused myself and headed up the line to join Blackbird. “We’re going to need sticks,” said Blackbird.
“I wish you’d mentioned that earlier,” I said.
“No, they must cut them for themselves.” It’s part of the ritual.
Angela walked down the line, handing out wooden handled hatchets and billhooks she’d found in the outbuildings to random people in the line. “Is that wise?” I asked her. What if one of them is an assassin?”
“If they’re an assassin,” she said, “they’ll have brought their own weapons.”
I watched as the tools were dished out. The woman in the miniskirt held a billhook as if it might bite her. No one held it easily and professionally, which was a cause of some solace to me. If they couldn’t hold a bill hook they’d make awful assassins. Blackbird led us across a field with brown stubble waiting to be ploughed under to a hedge along the back of the estate.
“I want each of you to select and cut a stick,” she said to the assembly. “It doesn’t have to be a big one, but you have to be able to beat with it, so choose something you can handle. Pass the tools between you until you all have something.”
There was a degree of hesitancy and then someone stepped forward and started hacking at the hedge. I walked down the line, helping out where people were unfamiliar with the tools. I saw Andy neatly sever a rod and tip and tail it with the billhook before gracefully presenting it to the women in the miniskirt. She took it from him as if it were a snake.
As an ice-breaker it was working, though. The challenge of equipping everyone with a stick to beat with meant that they had to speak with one another. At the back of the line I found Alex with a pole, almost as tall as she was.
“Where did you get that?” I asked her.
“It fell off a tree,” she said, lifting her eyes to the sky.
“Isn’t it a bit big?” I asked her.
“It’s fine.” She smiled, and I wondered what the joke was. “I’ll be able to walk with it.”
She seemed happy enough, and Blackbird was about to speak to them again, so I left her to it.
“We are beating the bounds of a new court,” said Blackbird. “In practice that means we are touching every inch of the boundary around the court. This is to protect us, both symbolically and with power. As a symbol it shows us as a united force, and as a warding it divides the court from the surrounding land. This will be the extent of the court that we form tonight. Each time we do this it will get stronger.
“You don’t have to know how to set a warding to join in, just touch your stick with everyone else and that will join your power to theirs. Those who can set wardings, add your strength to mine and we will forge a warding that will turn away those who are unwanted, warn us against those who would harm us, and protect us against the power of others.”
With that she set out, trailing her stick along the hedge so that the bushes rattled with dry leaves. The sound echoed down the line as others joined in, a low hum of chatter mixed with the clatter of sticks and the tramp of many feet. I waited while people filed past, watching Andy show the woman in the miniskirt how to set a warding as they went along.
When the back reached me, I found Sparky, the dark-eyed girl and Alex trailing from the end of the line. “You’re the back marker,” I told Alex. “Don’t let anyone get behind you and if you need help, shout.”
“We’ll be fine,” she said, shooting a conspiratorial smile to the dark-eyed girl.
“If anyone twists an ankle or trips over and hurts themselves, send someone up to the front and we can get them taken back to the house.”
“Stop fussing,” she said. I stopped fussing and went back to the head of the line.
Blackbird led the procession, guided by Angela who’d apparently been out and scoped the route earlier in the day. We startled a pheasant or two, and surprised a dog-walker who watched for a while as the procession of strangers walked down the edge of one field and then turned and went through a gate. He didn’t follow, and the dog stayed with him.
At least it didn’t start howling.
By the time we had completed the full circle and were back at the house it was dark. The evening was turning into one of those winter evenings where the sky clears, the temperature drops fast and by morning everything will have a layer of frost. A three-quarter moon edged in a halo of silver climbed over the horizon.
Everyone was frozen. Having been warned to take warm clothing, most people had still been unprepared. Megan passed me, her fleece zipped up and her scarf wrapped around her ears.
“At least we’ll have an appetite,” she said.
I waited until Alex and the other youngsters wandered in at the last.
“I’m freezing my rocks off,” said the dark-eyed girl in a broad Bristol accent.
“Nah,” said Sparky. “We’ve seen colder than this, haven’t we, Alex?”
Alex let them continue into the house. She was wearing a blue cardigan which barely covered her shoulders. “You must be frozen,” I told her.