The Road to Bedlam: Courts of the Feyre, Book 2 (28 page)

    She slipped through into the dully lit platform beyond and waited on the stairs for her eyes to adjust. Then she made her way down the spiral stairs until she reached the tunnel near the bottom. The arch of the tunnel extended into the gloom beyond the light until the green and white of the walls merged with the darkness. She stepped forward confidently and then paused, returning to the steps.

    "No good arriving with this, is it?" She dipped into her bag, extracted the horseshoe and laid it gently under the bottom step where it would function as a warding but not be noticed by anyone coming down the stairs.

    As she turned back to the corridor, a huge shaggy shape materialised out of the dark.

    "Gramawl!"

    She ran forward and nearly tripped, but giant hands snapped out and caught her. She was swept off her feet, gathered up into huge shaggy arms.

    There was a thrumming sound, low enough to vibrate the marrow in her bones. She grabbed handfuls of fur and hugged him close.

    "Gramawl, I've been so scared."

    The mountain of fur shifted, settled down crosslegged on the cold tiles and cradled her in its lap, stroking her hair from her face with one massive gnarled finger. She pressed her face into the fur, breathing easy at last.

    There was a rumbling sound. Blackbird looked up.

    "You want to feel?"

    Golden eyes the size of saucers gazed down on her. She grabbed hold of two of his fingers in her hand and moved the hand around until it rested against her belly. The hand curled around the curve of the bump. She sighed, relaxing under his hand.

    There was a low "Humph!" from Gramawl.

    "Oh! Did you feel him? He kicked."

    A sound like grating granite filled the tunnel. It resolved slowly into a gentle huffing that was Gramawl's laughter. She laughed too, like a descant over heavy bass.

    "There! He did it again. He can hear you."

    Gramawl removed his hand and took Blackbird's hand in his. He held her hand open and then tapped rhythmically on her palm with the pad of one finger: pat-pat, pat-pat, pat-pat, pat-pat.

    She looked up. "Is that his heart? You can hear it?'

    He held out his hand as if he was dangling a sweet or holding a mouse by the tail, then folded in his thumb and closed his fist. Finally he wrapped one hand around another.

    "Small but strong, safe inside," she said. She took his hand and opened it again, pressing it to her belly, folding her own hands over the top. She relaxed into him. A low purring sound reverberated within the tunnel, soft and deep, and for a while she rested against him.

    Eventually she stirred, shifting in his lap. He turned his face down to her and she stroked her hand down the side of his face. "Is she awake?"

    Gramawl nodded slowly and allowed Blackbird to climb from his lap before rising easily, filling the tunnel again with his bulk. He turned and led the way into the darkness. Blackbird followed, her footsteps sure despite the lack of light. He would not lead her astray.

    The tunnel curved then straightened, and she could see the dim light from the steps spilling down from the side tunnel. He stopped on the far side of the tunnel, eyes gleaming in the dark. She reached up to pat his cheek, then mounted the steps carefully, holding the handrail so she would not falter, up to the half-landing, turning back on herself. She could see the opening above, the lamps in their metal shuttered cowls, the smell of cloves mixed with new turned earth.

    "Who is it?" The voice was crackly, but clear. Blackbird smiled in the dimness.

    "It's me. I've come to see you."

    "Girl? Is it you?"

    As she mounted the remaining steps, she could see dark rich hangings in heavy Persian designs draped across the opening,

    "Yes, Kareesh. I'm here." She put her hand into the gap to part them.

    "One in two. Two in one." The voice had changed.

    "Isn't one and isn't two. Two and one. Knit together, entwined and entangled, made together, pulled asunder."

    Blackbird hesitated, caught between going to help and making it worse. Kareesh's high delicate voice cracked as she spat out the words.

    "All together, all apart. Two made one, made three, now two, make two, make one. One to shine, one to rise, one to live, one to die…"

    Blackbird could hear the stress rising, the words tumbling like stones in a stream. She was shouting now, punching words out so that Blackbird could hardly separate them.

    "…One is two, and two is one, then one is none, all is gone, so many gone and all is won and lost and gone for all that none can be alone…"

    Blackbird hurried down the stairs, away from the shouting. As she descended it slowed and quietened a little.

    "One and one and two by two. One is son and sundered son. Two is son and one shall rise. Sun shall rise and shine for all. Then all shall fall…"

    When she reached the bottom, Gramawl was waiting. He moved her gently to one side, gesturing for her to wait down the tunnel, then stooped into the stairway and quickly mounted the stairs. Using her hand against the wall to guide her, Blackbird slowly made her way back along the tunnel to the light.

    She was sitting on the stairway when Gramawl returned some time later.

    "Is she all right?" she whispered.

    The question hung in the air between them.

    Gramawl lowered himself down again and sat in the corridor. She stood and went to him.

    He made a stirring gesture, then patted his palm, then touched his forehead, his eyes and his lips. For once he looked tired and sad.

    "I know she's old, and it's not her fault. She sees what she sees. I know that."

    He repeated the gesture with his lips.

    "It doesn't matter whether she means it or not. It's not her saying it, really, is it? It spills out of her and there's nothing any of us can do."

    He reached out and touched her belly gently with a finger then rocked his head between his hands.

    "You think so? You may be right. Having two lives so close together, the new one with so many futures, it could send her crazy like that."

    They were silent for a moment.

    "She said, 'One to live, one to die,'" Blackbird said quietly.

    Gramawl touched his nose, his head and his ears in quick succession, then opened his hands.

    "No, I suppose you're right. It may mean something else entirely. There's no way of knowing."

    He rose to his feet and she stepped in, burying her hands up to her elbows in fur as she hugged herself close to him, breathing in the scent of new-turned earth, resting against the solidity of him.

    "I have to go."

    A giant hand stroked her hair, holding her for a little longer.

    She disentangled herself and drew her hair back from her face. She collected the horseshoe from below the step and stowed it carefully in her bag.

    "When she wakes?"

    Gramawl cocked his head.

    "Tell her… tell her I wanted to see her. Tell her I'll bring the baby, after it's born. Tell her I'll try."

    Gramawl bowed low, a low rumble filling the space and echoing down the tunnel.

    "You too. Take care."

    She mounted the stairs, climbing back to the world of men.

FOURTEEN

I'd thought they would have records in the library: archives of town newspapers and local history. I was disappointed. A fair-haired young man who looked as if he needed a good meal told me that the rest of the records were kept in the County Record Office in Northallerton. If I wanted more, I would have to go there. He glanced meaningfully at the rain running down the windows, suggesting that I might stay a while out of the rain.

    I settled for scanning through three or four books on the history of the area. They were better than I had expected. They followed the town from its beginnings as a Bronze Age settlement, showing monochrome photographs of Victorian men in bowler hats with shovels and picks posing as archaeologists over the trenched out remains of an Iron Age long barrow. Having met one or two modern-day archaeologists, I knew exactly what they would think of this particular brand of institutionalised vandalism. These were fortune-hunters at best, and kept no record of the placing, distribution or arrangement of their finds, being only interested in their value as antiquarian treasure.

    The books followed the community through mediaeval times under the priory at Bridlington into the inevitable conflict of civil war and the Industrial Revolution. The coming of steam meant larger vessels with deeper draught, and the shallow harbour fell from use as a shipping port into fishing and light trade. Nowhere was there any mention of dark deeds or missing women. Rather, the community supported itself through the best and worst of times, rising to each new challenge and meeting each change with determination and vigour. If there had been women going missing on a regular basis, I would have thought some sort of mention would be made, even if only as a passing reference.

    Since it was still raining hard, I made use of the free internet access to Google a search for Ravensby. It threw up the usual discount offers and, with some perseverance, I found the reports of the five missing girls. If there was a long list of missing women from Ravensby, though, it wasn't on the internet. I also used the image search to look for the symbol I'd seen on the truck waiting near the hospital where Alex had been taken. The nearest I could find was a hazardous load symbol for a biohazard, but that symbol was subtly different. A further hour of browsing brought me no closer. I found companies that could provide transport for hazardous material and there were lots of theories as to how certain diseases had found their way into the population, but nothing that would lead me to Alex.

    Just out of interest, I googled 'Feyre'. The list of hits that emerged mainly led to Sainte-Feyre in central France, making me wonder whether the place had any fey significance. There were no references to creatures by that name.

    "Are you all right with that?"

    The young man appeared by my side, making me cancel the search quickly before he noticed what I'd been searching for.

    "I'm fine, thanks."

    He smiled thinly and moved away. He probably thought I was using it to look at pictures of naked women. Putting my wet coat back on, I thanked the librarian for his time and asked him where I might find further local history to fill out my picture of the town. He directed me to the local newspaper, saying that he thought they kept their own archive. I picked up my umbrella and left.

    The woman in the newspaper office was far less helpful. As soon as she realised that I didn't want to buy advertising space, she lost interest. Yes, they probably did have back copies of the newspapers in an archive but no, I couldn't look through them. Had I tried the public library? When I said I had, her expression didn't change. Two words were on the tip of her tongue and one of them was "off".

    That left me with one more avenue to try before a trip to the record office became necessary. The local museum was a small affair and survived from a combination of local authority support and donations from tourists who must have got lost to end up there. The sign outside proclaimed that the Maritime Museum was open, though the windows were dark and there was no obvious sign of life.

    When I pushed the door open, a small bell jangled, the sort that graced shop doorways and announced customers to men behind counters wearing brown overalls. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Inside was a small hallway, the wall festooned in trawl netting and blown-glass floats.

    "Put wood in t'hole."

    I hadn't noticed the gentleman sitting behind the desk in the room off to my left, not because I didn't see him, but because he looked like an exhibit.

    "Sorry?"

    "The door, lad. Shut it, before t'weather comes in."

    I closed the door behind me. The bell jangled again.

    "Is the museum open?"

    "Y're in aren't ya?"

    "I suppose so."

    "We're open then."

    I looked around. The museum appeared to be two terraced houses knocked into one, with an arch between them to access one house from the other. Almost every surface was covered in items of differing size and in various states of disrepair or assembly. Museums I'd been in before had display cases with carefully controlled temperature and humidity. This one had shelves and tables, desks and chairs, all covered in what could only be described as… stuff.

    "It's three quid," said the man.

    A sign on the desk said that all donations were purely voluntary and gratefully accepted.

    I looked meaningfully at the sign.

    "You get naught for nowt round 'ere," he said. "I've got change."

    I delved in a pocket and came out with the money. He accepted the coins with a nod and carefully wrote me a receipt. It was unreadable.

    "You pay tax?" His look said that I probably didn't. "We can claim the tax back if you do."

    "No," I said. Since I'd lost my job, I didn't get paid a salary anymore, so I didn't pay tax either. If I needed money, I was given some, though I had little enough to spend it on.

    "Thought so."

    "Is there a guidebook?" I asked.

    "It's another pound," he said.

    I handed over a further coin. He passed me a bundle of photocopied sheets that had obviously been read before.

    "These aren't new," I pointed out.

    "We'd like 'em back when you've finished. Recycling."

    I took the sheets and wandered on into the house, looking at all the objects strewn randomly around. The guide was interesting enough and talked about the history of the town and the people that lived there. It provided no clue as to the origins and purpose of most of the things in the museum. I figured you probably had to be born here to know that.