Mike Shevdon: Strangeness and Charm

"You sound like Garvin."

"Yeah, well. Maybe it comes with the job," I said.

"To the man with a scythe, everything looks like grass."

"I thought it was hammers and nails?"

"A nail that's hammered is still a nail, with care it can be pulled and hammered flat and may be used again, but once the hay is cut, there's no re-planting it. Not every job needs a sword, Niall."

"Yeah, but there's never one handy when you need it, is there?" I walked to the door. "I'll be back later."

"Try not to get killed," she said.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." I closed the door behind me.

Angela's house looked like any other semi-detached built between the wars. It had bay windows and a small arched porch sheltering the front door. There were pins for the gate-hinges in the brick wall where the short driveway emerged into the road but unlike its neighbours, the iron gates which had originally fronted the other houses had been removed.

The house had skipped the fashion for whitewashed rendering and survived as plain brick. As I walked along the opposite side of the road I noted the net curtains hung for privacy, the shrubs in the front garden which had been recently pruned and the brass padlock on the side gate. It suggested cared-for and careful. There was no car on the front drive, but that was true of many of these houses in the middle of the day. It didn't tell me whether there was anyone home.

Strengthening my glamour, I diverted attention away as I reached the end of the street, then crossed to the other side. Reversing my course, I walked back towards the house. The gardens at the rear backed onto one another, providing a possible escape route for me, as well as for her. I wondered what Garvin would do in these circumstances, but then he rarely did anything this trivial and he didn't work alone. He'd have another Warder backing him up at least.

I began to wish I'd asked one of the other Warders to come with me and watch the back of the house; no amount of magic meant you could be in two places at one time. Still, this job didn't warrant a team. It shouldn't need more than one Warder for a lone woman with no history of violence. More than that would simply scare her, and scared people were irrational and dangerous — there was no reason to turn this into a fight.

Reaching the house again, I looked for signs of occupation. There were empty milk bottles on the step, but they could have been there for days. All the windows were shut, and given the heat of the day that would indicate that no one was home. Maybe I could let myself in and wait for Angela to return.

Movement at the upstairs window caught my eye — not empty then. There was a vague figure behind the net curtains. With my glamour concealing me I should not stand out, even for someone watchful. I continued walking until I reached the end of the street.

With the house occupied, it was more complicated. I couldn't guarantee it was Angela and I wasn't sure if there was more than one occupant. It increased the risk and added uncertainty. I could sneak around the back and try and see who was in, but I had no way of knowing whether she might have set wardings around the back of the house in case of unwanted visitors. The front was safer; anyone could approach the house from the front — milkman, postman, cold-callers. It made sense to stay where the traffic was.

I turned back on myself again, wondering if any of the houses opposite were unoccupied. I could let myself in to one of those and watch Angela's house from across the road. As I reached the house I noticed a change. In the front downstairs window of the house there was a white rectangle in the window. As I got closer I could see that a sheet of paper had been taped to the glass. On it was written, 'What are you waiting for?'

So much for stealth.

I brought the sword alongside my leg allowing my glamour to conceal it. If necessary I could draw it quickly. I turned into the drive.

As I reached the front door it opened. Angela's face appeared in the gap.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here," she said.

I glanced behind me, wondering if I was being followed by someone else. I was alone.

"You'd better come in, the kettle has just boiled," she added.

This was turning into a strange day.

She opened the door wider and allowed me into the dimly lit hallway. After the heat and brightness of the summer day outside, the cool of the tiled hall was welcome. Angela was careful to keep her distance.

"Shut the door, you'll let the heat in."

I pushed it closed behind me, wondering momentarily if I'd just entered a trap. My hand slid down to the hilt of my sword.

"Come through, I'm making tea, if that's OK?"

It didn't sound like much of a threat, so I followed her down the hall to the kitchen at the back. It would once have been small, but someone had put in a joist and opened it into the sitting room next door to make a kitchen-diner. There was a large French door looking out over a meticulously cultivated garden. After the dark of the hall it was light and airy, and still much cooler than outside.

"Is it?" she asked.

"What?"

"Is tea OK, or would you prefer something cold."

"A cold drink would be fine."

"I have some home-made lemonade if you would like?"

"Great. Thanks."

I watched as she opened the tall fridge and took a jug from the shelf.

"You knew I was coming?" I asked.

She glanced up, hesitantly, and smiled. "I thought you'd be here earlier." She poured the cloudy liquid into a glass and then added a spoon of sugar. "It's a little tart," she said.

"You know who I am?"

"I've known ever since I touched you in the isolation units under Porton Down. Take a seat." She gestured to the chairs around the dining table.

"I'd rather stand." I glanced at the chairs. "You knew I'd say that?"

She shook her head. "That's not how it works, but you already know that."

Placing the glass on the table beside me, she returned to the kettle and made herself a cup of tea.

"Lovely house," I said.

She smiled as she added milk to the tea, moving around the kitchen, watching me from the corner of her eye.

"Have you been here long?"

"I was born here. My mother had me in the bedroom upstairs. I was a home delivery."

"Is your mother here now?"

"She died."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It was a long time ago. She was an old lady."

I watched her reaction. "How old?"

"She was in her nineties, so she had a good span. I think she held on for grandchildren. Not to be, I'm afraid."

"You're married?"

"No. There's just me if that's what you're worrying about. You won't be needing a sword."

"What makes you think there's a sword?" I thought I had concealed it. I had been practicing carrying it without anyone noticing.

"It's in your posture. You stand like a dancer, but you're not here to dance."

I tried to look more relaxed without relaxing. I didn't work. "So you live here alone?"

"Company would be nice, but it's difficult finding someone who…" She shook her head. "Touch isn't really…" She looked up. "It's very limiting. I'm sure you understand. Even animals seem to pick it up."

I sipped the lemonade, looking out of the window at the garden, realising that she must spend a lot of time there. Plants were so much less complicated than people. They were living things you could touch without sparking visions of other people's lives.

"You'll start to remember soon," she remarked.

"Remember what?"

"What I saw, in the rooms under Porton Down. I've given you the memory."

"You've given it to me? How?"

"It's in the lemonade."

I looked down into the translucent liquid, then put the glass back on the table, wondering what she had poisoned me with and how long I had.