Mike Shevdon - The Road to Bedlam

She fanned herself with her hand instead.

The train rattled on to the platform a moment later, but she didn't move immediately. She waited until the alarm for the train doors closing was beeping and then stepped out on to the platform. At the far end she saw a tall man lingering where the departing passengers left the platform. As she jumped between the closing doors, she saw him move quickly through the remains of the crowd and jump for the door. She watched carefully as the train departed, hoping to see him stranded on the platform, but he wasn't there. That meant he was on the train.

She looked around in the carriage. The seats were all occupied and no one offered to give up their place to the obviously pregnant woman. She moved down the car, stepping between the feet to get one door further away from the far end of the train. At the end of the car there was a group of six young men, hair cropped tight to their heads, tattoos on their arms. The nearest one wore a baseball cap while they all wore hoodies. The surly way they viewed other passengers meant that they went unchallenged for their end of the car, even through there were a number of spare seats between them.

"Wanna sit down, darlin'?" The nearest one leered at her.

To some men pregnancy was not a barrier. For some it was an attraction. She was about to tell them to get lost when an idea occurred to her.

"Are you boys patriotic?" she asked, noting the wavy Union Jack tattooed on the arm of the lad sprawled in the far corner.

"What's 'at about?" asked the one in the baseball cap.

"She wants to know whever you lav your country," said the one in the white hoodie across from him, grinning.

The pronunciation of the word "love" as "lav" almost made Blackbird smile.

"I lav my country as much as the next bloke, dun I?" said baseball cap.

"It's just…" she said. "Never mind."

"What?" he said. "You don't fink I do? I do, dun I?" He challenged his mate to deny it.

"It's just… there's a man, clearly a foreign gentleman, following me. He was walking behind me down the street and then he jumped on the train as soon as he saw me boarding."

"Where?" said hoodie. He stood up in the carriage, making Blackbird stand back.

"He's in one of the carriages towards the front of the train, a tall, dark-haired man in a black suit. Do you think he might be following me?"

"Sounds like a bit of a perv to me," said baseball cap.

Hoodie agreed. "I don't care if he's foreign or not, he shun't be following you about, should 'e? That's pervy, that is."

Hoodie squinted up the carriages, failing to see beyond the next car. "'Ere, we're coming into Victoria. Let us off first, and we'll walk down the train and 'ave a look." He spoke quickly to the rest of the bunch and they gathered around Blackbird protectively.

"This is really very good of you," she said. "I'm just a bit nervous, what with being in my condition."

"That's all right, darlin'," said the one with the tattoos. "Never let it be said that chivalry is dead in England."

Blackbird smiled her thanks while recalling that chivalry was introduced into England by the French and realising that this probably wasn't the time to mention that to them.

They rumbled into the platform at Victoria and rolled to a halt. As the doors opened, the group tumbled out on to the platform, jostling each other and laughing loudly. They moved up the train, making a complete pantomime of acting natural. Blackbird waited a moment and then followed them.

As soon as she stepped on to the platform, the suited man stepped off at the front and began walking towards her, merging into the group of people at his end of the platform heading towards the exit. When he reached the exit he paused, as if remembering something, so that the group dissipated around him.

The lads took this as a sign.

"'Ere, what's your game?" shouted Hoodie. They picked up speed as they got closer, urging each other on, the testosterone levels rising like a flash flood.

"Get out of it, pervert!" shouted baseball cap. They gathered round him, penning him in, shoving and pushing him towards the exit.

The alarm for the closing doors sounded and Blackbird reversed her direction and jumped back on the train. As the doors whirred closed behind her she heard an outcry as the conflict suddenly escalated. The train lurched and started accelerating. As she passed the exit door she saw Hoodie hurtle through the air and land sprawled across the platform. There was a blur of tangled bodies as she passed and trundled into the tunnel and they were out of sight.

She fanned herself with her hand again. "Hooray for chivalry," she murmured to herself.

At the next stop she changed for the Piccadilly Line. She didn't know how long it would take for the suited man to follow, but she was counting on London Underground to intervene. With any luck the Railway Police would be involved. If the man in the suit was fey that wouldn't slow him down much, but now she was at least one train and one connection ahead of him. She knew where she was going. She hoped that he didn't, otherwise the distraction wouldn't work and she would have to try something else.

She got off the Piccadilly Line train at Covent Garden and waited near the lifts until the coast was clear. The door down was a problem. She couldn't unlock it with magic and the CCTV cameras were everywhere. When she tried the door, though, it was open. Was she expected?

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.