Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

“And?”

“And then they came back. They knew I’d been through your files. They knew what I knew, and a lot more besides.”

“Did they say where they got that information?”

“Don’t be daft. They said you were a problem. They said you were a loose cannon and that sooner or later, someone would have to deal with you. I volunteered. They gave me the bullets. They were issued for the firearm I already had, so they’d done their research. I didn’t care. I just wanted you dead.” He stared at me, and there was hate in his eyes.

“I didn’t kill her,” I repeated, shaking my head.

“I don’t fucking care!” he shouted. “Ever since you arrived it’s all gone pear-shaped. Everything is screwed up and fucked over. If you didn’t kill her, then you made it happen, I just know it.”

I didn’t challenge that view. I wasn’t sure I could. “She knew it was risky,” I told him. “She was braver than you are.”

“Too fucking right,” he said, taking a good mouthful of scotch.

“What were their names?” I asked him.

“They didn’t introduce themselves. You learn not to ask too many questions.”

“So you have no idea who they were.”

“They knew what they were looking for, they had clearance to see what I was checking on the system, they had the authority to commandeer a meeting room. They were spooks. That’s all I needed to know.”

That didn’t sound quite as true as the rest of it. “If you start holding out on me, Sam, I’m going to leave you to Amber.” Amber smiled sweetly at him.

He sighed. “I overheard something between them. They were talking between themselves. They mentioned a couple of names.”

“What names.”

“A codename, and his secretary.”

Amber and I exchanged a glance. “Tell me.”

“I can’t remember. It wasn’t important.”

“Try and remember.”

“As I said, at the time it wasn’t important. An odd name, obviously a codeword, and some woman.”

“Was it Secretary Carler?” I asked him.

He looked up over the glass. “Yeah,” he said. “That was her. Carla, that was her name. You know her?”

Amber caught my eye and shook her head very slightly. I wasn’t ready to let it go, though.

“The other name, what was it?”

He shrugged. “I only remembered it because it was odd. It sounded like ‘deference’ — something like that. These guys love their codes and ciphers.”

“You’re going to do me a favour,” I told Sam.

“Like hell I am,” he said.

“The choice is simple. You can do what I ask and you walk. Either that, or I’m leaving you to Amber, and I won’t look back. Which is it?”

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

I stood up. “I can find him myself if I have to. It will take me longer, but I’ll do it.”

“Find who?” said Sam.

“Secretary Carler,” I told him. “It’s a he, not a she, and I think he and I need to chat.”

“Find him yourself; it’s nothing to do with me.”

“Fair enough. Amber, I’ve finished with him. He’s all yours.”

“Hey,” he said. “I told you everything I know. That was the deal.”

“No, Sam. The deal was that you get to live as long as you’re useful to me. You shot me. Twice. Now you find out the true cost of those two bullets.”

Amber took out a long knife. The edge glinted in the dim light of the bar.

“Hey!” he called. “You can’t leave me with her. She’s psychotic.”

“What did you say to me, Sam?” I called over my shoulder as I reached the door. “Enjoy the rest of your life, for the short time you have left.”

I left the pub and a moment later, Sam was dragged out of the door by Amber. He was swearing and kicking, but Amber was calm and relentless. Everyone in the bar carried on as if nothing was happening. They simply didn’t notice that someone was about to be murdered on their doorstep, even though he was screaming for help. She had his arm pinned behind his back and painfully twisted, and the long knife held up against his throat, restricting his ability to twist out of her grip without cutting his own throat. She marched him past me.

“Bye,” I called after him. I’m not normally cruel, but maybe Amber was right.

“Wait, wait! I’ll do it!” he shouted.

Amber paused. “He’ll turn on you as soon as you let him go,” she said.

I walked up to him slowly. “Is that right, Sam? Will you turn on me?”

“No, I swear,” he said, through gritted teeth. His words rang with falsehood.

“I want you to remember something,” I told him. “I can find you, wherever you hide, no matter who you pretend to be. I don’t even have to be there. I can creep into your dreams and kill you in your sleep. You know it’s true. The only reason I’m letting you go is because I want to know who Secretary Carler is, where he works, where he lives, who he works for. Do you understand?”

Amber pressed the edge of the knife in tighter. “Yes,” said Sam.

“The other name I want information on is De Ferrers,” I spelled it for him. “That’s what you thought you heard, isn’t it?”

“Could have been,” he admitted.

“Find me that information and meet me back here in an hour.”

“An hour?”

“Either that or start running, and you better not stop. Ever.”

Amber released him and threw him forward onto the ground. He sprawled out like a drunken derelict.

“I can’t get that sort of information in an hour,” he said. “You have to give me more time.”

I shook my head, and tossed him back his wallet, mobile phone and the card wallet. “No Sam, time’s up. You have an hour.”

Amber and I walked away into the winter sunshine and the Embankment. I threw a glamour around us, and to Sam’s eyes it must have looked like we’d just vanished.

“Would you like a hand?” Alex asked from the doorway.

Blackbird, who had the baby naked on the bed, a wipe in one hand and a clean nappy in the other, wasn’t really in a position to refuse. “You could put that dirty one in a sack and put it in the bathroom for now. I’ll take it down to the bins later.

“They’re very un-ecological, you know,” said Alex. “They just end up in landfill in the end.” She put the heavy nappy in the disposal sack and tossed it into the bathroom.

“I’m not in a position to wash terry nappies myself, said Blackbird, “and it seems a poor reward for the care and comfort that we receive from the court staff to present them with a pile of dirty nappies to wash every day, don’t you think?”

“I s’pose,” said Alex. “Mum used disposables with me, too, when I was little, but we didn’t think so much about the planet in those days.”

“It’s a very recent phenomenon for people to be concerned about their environment,” agreed Blackbird. “And not a moment too soon, in my opinion. Is that what you came to see me about — to remind me to be conscious of the socio-environmental impact of our lifestyle?”

“I came to see if you needed any help,” said Alex, looking slightly hurt but sounding disingenuous.

“I see,” said Blackbird. “Well that’s very thoughtful.”

“And to ask you a question,” said Alex, almost as an afterthought.

“What kind of question?”

“About magic. I was wondering,” she mused, “whether you would you be able to tell if someone was casting a spell on you?”

“Casting a spell?” said Blackbird. “What a quaint idea. We don’t cast spells, Alex. We exercise power over ourselves, our environment, and others. Is that what you mean?”

“Kind of,” she said.

“Would you like to be more specific?” asked Blackbird.

“What if someone laid a glamour on you, or on themselves, so they would appear… different?”