The Road to Bedlam: Courts of the Feyre, Book 2 (14 page)

    "Five?"

    "All bunked off if you ask me. There's nothing for 'em here, is there?"

    "No?"

    "Not if you don't want to spend your days in yon call centre. More like one of them sweatshops if you ask me."

    "That would be the new building on the hill, I take it."

    "Monstrosity, it is. They work for nowt up there, not that it's any better down here. I'll go and get your sandwich." She bustled away.

    It was a local paper. The missing girls were the lead story, bracketed by a planning dispute about a road diversion and threatened job losses at the call centre. A sweatshop they might be but they were clearly a major local employer.

    The story about the girls was rich in speculation and short on facts. It implied that there was something untoward happening without actually saying what it was. One family was quoted as saying that their daughter had disappeared suddenly and unexpectedly. Another said that their eldest daughter had been doing well at college and asked why she would leave all her friends. The article called the disappearances spooky, but neglected to say why. The local police were noted as being aware of the situation but unwilling to investigate further.

    My bacon sandwich turned up. The woman nodded towards the paper. "It's a lot of flannel, that. Don't believe a word." She paused as if she expected me to make some comment.

    I thanked her for the sandwich. She turned and left me to eat it.

    Leafing through the paper, I ate my breakfast, then read it through a second time while I sipped the scalding coffee. There were no other stories about the girls, but in the middle there was space for local advertising and promotions. There were two ads there that repeated the information from the posters I had taken down. The same two girls stared back at me.

    On the events page there was an announcement from St Andrew's Church saying that a vigil was being held for the missing girls. People were invited to show their support for the families by attending the service and lighting candles. There was a contact number for the vicar, Gregory Makepeace. I copied the number down on to a napkin.

    When the lady came to clear the plate, I handed back the paper. "I'm going to be in town for a few days, is there anywhere you could recommend for a place to stay?"

    "Salesman, are ya? There's nobody buying round here, I can tell you that fer free."

    "I'm not selling anything. Is there anywhere?"

    She looked me over again, whether to discern my occupation or to discover if I was a suitable guest, I didn't know.

    "You could ask at the Dolphin Guest House at the harbour end of Dorvey Street. Tell Martha that Geraldine at the café sent you. She'll sort you out."

    I thanked her and paid, wondering what sorting me out meant.

    It was too early to go knocking on doors and seeking rooms, so I walked back up the hill to the church, perched on its shelf of rock. Its stone was weathered and pitted and streaked with gull droppings but the sign said St Andrew's, so this was the place where the vigil would be. There was no graveyard as such, the ground being far too hard for graves, but there were memorial plaques and stone vases clustered into the walled enclosure. I was grateful to whoever had chained the iron gates back against the wall. I could no longer tolerate the touch of iron. Something in my fey nature reacted badly with it. I had been burned before and had the gates been barred I would probably have turned away.

    The porch was open, but when I tried the door to the church, I found it locked. I scanned the notice board inside the porch. There were times for services, a rota for flowers, a crayoned advert for Sunday School. Nothing useful. I turned to leave and found the path blocked by a man in a dark coat outlined against the bright sunlight behind him. He looked imposing and yet I hadn't heard him approach.

    "Help you?" The accent was local. There was no threat in the tone and as I squinted into the sunlight I could see the collar he wore was round and white against the black of his shirt.

    "Good morning. I was just looking for details of the vigil service."

    "Step out for a moment, and I'll open up the church for you. Everyone's welcome in God's house, though we try and make sure that people don't take advantage of that welcome."

    "Sorry?"

    "Don't like locking it up, but things get broken or stolen."

    "Oh. I see. I'm not here to steal the hymn books." I stepped out of the porch so that he could enter.

    "Can see that. Clergy?"

    I looked down at my grey jacket and black silk turtleneck, then smiled up at him. "This? No, but I suppose it is a kind of uniform."

    He unlocked the door and turned back to me. It was his turn to squint into the light. He offered his hand.

    "Greg Makepeace. It's my parish."

    "Neal Dawson."

    He extended his hand and I took it. As we clasped I felt a sudden jolt. I snatched back my hand at the shock. He looked momentarily surprised and then apologised.

    "Static." He shrugged it off. "I pick it up wherever I go. Sorry about that."

    "No problem." I rubbed the heel of my hand.

    What I had felt wasn't static. It was power.

SIX

Blackbird was woken by a persistent tapping at the door. She groaned as she pulled the duvet to one side so that she could roll sideways and push herself slowly upright. "All right. Just wait, I'm coming as fast as I can."

    There was no sign that Niall had been back. What time had he been called out? Sometime after three, she thought.

    She slipped into the cotton robe from the night before. The tapping resumed.

    "Just wait, will you? I won't come any quicker because you keep on."

    She turned the handle on the door and peeped through.

    "I need to speak with you." Garvin stood in the corridor.

    "You'd better come in then." Blackbird stepped back, allowing the door to open so that Garvin could enter, then looked out into the hallway. Usually where you found Garvin, Tate wasn't far behind. There was no sign of him in the hallway but that didn't mean he wasn't close by.

    "Where's Niall?" she asked as she closed the door. There was no point in preamble.

    "I've sent him on an assignment."

    "I thought you didn't trust him for real work."

    "He went active last night. He'll be a few days, I expect."

    Blackbird went to pull a chair out to sit and then decided against it. She didn't want Garvin looming over her. She wasn't intimidated by his tactics, she just didn't like them. Instead she turned it so she could use it for support. The backache was constant now.

    "Where have you sent him?"

    Garvin ignored her question. "In the meantime, the High Court is convened and I need you to stay out of the way. Your meals will be brought to you and if you want anything you need only ask the stewards. Take some rest, you look like you need it."

    "Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special."

    "You're not my girl."

    "Nor ever likely to be. Do you have a girl, Garvin?" She raised one eyebrow in enquiry.

    Garvin didn't speak and his expression didn't change.

    "I didn't think so. Telling Niall that his daughter was better off in an institution wasn't very kind, was it?"

    "It may be true."

    "Even you do not believe that. He will go after her, you know that. It's the kind of man he is."

    "He needs to stay away from her, at least for now. We have other problems."

    "Such as?"

    Garvin was silent again.

    She sighed. "You may as well tell me. I will find out regardless."

    "With the Court in session the staff will be rushed off their feet. Try not to make too much of a pain of yourself. Once the session has finished we can look into finding you somewhere permanent to live."

    "What are you not telling me, Garvin? That's unusually evasive, even for you."

    "I'll have Fionh come up and place a warding on the doors and windows. You should be safe enough in here."

    "Safe from what?" She waited for an answer. "Or would you rather I go and find out for myself?"

    "The Seventh Court are here. They're in session tonight. Raffmir is here with Altair along with another wraithkin, Deefnir. They're in negotiations with the other courts."

    Blackbird stood up straight, no longer leaning on the chair. "You weren't going to tell me that, were you?"

    "I'm telling you now. Stay out of the way and there'll be no trouble. Altair's vouching for their conduct."

    "Oh, well, that's all right then. If the Lord of the Untainted says they will behave themselves then that must be true, mustn't it? What did he actually say?"

    "He assured me he'll take full responsibility for them while they were here."

    "He's the Lord of the Seventh Court. He's responsible for them if they're on the moon. Are you serious? I killed Raffmir's sister. Do you think for a moment that he is not going to want revenge?"

    "Raffmir has sworn by fey law to do you no harm. He can't hurt you without breaking his vow."

    "That's such a comfort."

    "They'll only be here a few days. Until they go, you need to keep a low profile. Stay in your room. I'll have the Warders patrol the halls whenever we have someone free. With wardings on your doors and windows, you should be secure enough."

    "I want a weapon. Bring me a knife. Nothing too long, but sharp."

    "I am not arming you, Blackbird. You're pregnant. What are you planning to do, stab them?"

    "I can defend myself."

    "You won't need to. The best defence is to stay away from them. We'll keep them away from you. They'll be gone soon enough."

    "Don't leave me with nothing."

    "You're more likely to harm yourself than anyone else. Stay calm. I'll have the stewards bring you some books, or a newspaper perhaps?"

    "I want Niall here. Where is he?"

    "Niall's on assignment. He'll be back soon. You have to get used to him being away. Warders go where they're sent."

    "They go where you send them, you mean."

    "Quite. Get some rest. I'll send the stewards up with some breakfast for you." Garvin turned to the door. "Do you want anything else?"

    "A weapon."

    "No, and don't pinch the butter knives. You'll only upset Mullbrook and then we'll all suffer."

    "I don't like this, Garvin."

    "I'm not delighted with it myself, but they have the right to be here. We'll make sure their visit is short and trouble-free. Trust us."

    When Blackbird didn't respond to that, he nodded and left.

    "Jumped-up…" She let the word hang and then pushed her hair back from her face, sighing heavily. "Well, it's no good standing here in your nightwear, girl, is it?"

    She went hunting in the clothes drawers. "What are we going for today?" she said to herself. "Is it the beached-whale look or are we going all-out for the crashed blimp?"

    She laid out trousers with an elastic waist, a T-shirt and a smock top – it wasn't the most elegant attire but then her choices were limited. She collected underwear and socks and set them to one side. In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and then collected a toothbrush, toothpaste and hairbrush and wrapped them in a cotton flannel.

    She looked up and saw her vague reflection in the misted mirror. She turned away, but then stopped and turned back. She breathed gently on the edge of the mirror and it misted lightly, then slowly cleared. The mist in the centre of the mirror was still there, though. It didn't clear. She wafted at it gently with her hand. It remained unchanged. She placed the back of her hand softly against the mirror, testing the temperature in the centre and at the edge.

    "Why would the mirror be colder in the centre?" she asked herself. "Shit!" She pressed her hand over her mouth.

    She left the bathroom and went to the other mirror over the dresser. It was clear. She breathed soft on the mirror until it misted and then watched it slowly clear. Then she breathed on the edge of the mirror. It cleared much faster there. Both of the mirrors in the room were colder than they should be.

    She shook her head and whispered to herself, "Don't they tell you in the Seventh Court that it's rude to spy on a lady?"

    She went and collected a shoe from the floor and hefted it in her hand. She walked over to the mirror and held the shoe up ready. A tap from the door stopped her.

    "One moment."

    She replaced the shoe and went to the door. "Who is it?"

    "Steward. Mister Garvin said that you would take breakfast in your room."

    Blackbird opened the door cautiously, finding the steward, a trolley and no one else.

    "How long have you been a steward here?" she asked the girl in the white apron and double-breasted jacket.

    The girl looked uncertain. "Two years, or thereabouts. Is there a problem?"

    She opened the door. "Maybe not."

    The steward propelled the trolley into the room, took a cloth from the bottom shelf and draped it over the table with a flourish.

    "A beautiful morning, isn't it?" she said.

    "Is it?" said Blackbird. "I haven't been out."

    "Makes you feel alive, a morning like this." There was a trace of an Irish accent in her voice. "Would you like the balcony windows open? It'll let some of the fresh air in."

    "Maybe later," said Blackbird. "When I've dressed."

    The steward laid a single place, setting out pastries, toast and a small dish and then a pot which she placed on a warmer. "Mr Garvin said that you might like to try the porridge, and to bring you apple rather than orange juice as you weren't to have anything too sharp."