Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

“You’re late,” he said, as we approached. He flicked the end of the cigarette into the bushes.

“We were finishing our breakfast,” said Garvin, calmly. “Are we ready to start?”

“Petersen.” The Scot acknowledged my presence. I don’t think he liked me any more than I liked him.

“I’d like to return the greeting,” I told him, “but I don’t think I know your name?”

He grinned at me. “Do I look stupid?” he said.

“Ah, already the difficult questions,” I said.

His smile faded. “You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face by the time all this is done,” he said.

“I’m not laughing,” I said.

“Shall we go in?” said Garvin.

We entered the great hall and the, by now familiar, taint of the horseshoes enveloped us. To my sharpened senses it was like having everything muffled, a dulling of the sensation of sound. It made the room feel uncomfortable and unnatural.

Secretary Carler stood to greet us. We did not shake hands. He was flanked by two men in dark suits. The Scot filed in behind us and closed the door, standing with his back to it so he could listen in on the meeting.

There were three high-backed chairs arrayed along each side of the table, and Garvin and I took two of them.

The secretary sat in his grey suit in the central chair opposite Garvin and shuffled a small stack of papers before him — expenses claims, perhaps, or maybe his tax return. The two men behind him remained standing. “You called our meeting, today,” he said without preamble. “Would you care to explain the urgency? It’s a busy time of the year and we would have preferred more notice.”

“Something came up,” I said.

Garvin frowned at me and turned back to Secretary Carler. “It’s good to see you well,” said Garvin. “We were a little concerned when you were absent at our last meeting.”

“I was detained elsewhere,” said the secretary. “Your concern is appreciated,” he said, without smiling. “If we could move on the matter at hand?”

“It concerns a potential treaty violation,” said Garvin.

“Indeed?” said Carler. “In what respect? I am not aware of any violations, and I would normally expect to discuss such matters with one of the Lords and Ladies. That’s normally the protocol,” he reminded us.

“It’s a security violation,” said Garvin. “One of my Warders was injured.” While Garvin talked I was extending my senses into the room. It was extremely difficult when surrounded by so much iron. I was trying to pinpoint something, but the sense of it was being smothered by all the iron.

“Injuries happen all the time,” said Carler. “It’s a dangerous business.”

“That’s true,” said Garvin, “and made more dangerous when someone is providing one side with access to weapons they would not normally have.”

“What kind of weapons?”

“It’s well understood that our kind have a susceptibility to iron,” said Garvin, looking around at the walls of the great hall. “Someone supplied an assassin with iron tainted bullets.” He dipped into his pocket. The two dark suits behind Carler reached under their jackets.

“Steady,” said Garvin. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

He slowly brought out his hand, revealing a small leather pouch. The dark suits didn’t remove their hands. He upturned it over the table and two small slugs dropped onto the table. He dropped the pouch on the table and the dark suits removed the hands from their jackets.

Carler reached forwards and picked up one of the slugs. “Where did you get these?” he asked.

“They were given to a man named Sam Veldon,” said Garvin. “They’ve been fired since then,” he explained.

“Interesting,” said Carler. “Who gave them to him?”

“We’re not sure — we thought you might know,” suggested Garvin lightly.

Carler dropped them back on the table. “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid. They could have come from anywhere.”

My hands were in my lap, with my sword resting between them. I grasped the scabbard and the hilt. “I was shot with them,” I told him.

“How unfortunate,” he said. “I’m pleased to see that it did no lasting damage.” The edge of his mouth twisted when he said it, and his eyes were too steady, they lingered on mine too long. Did he know something?

Garvin glanced sideways and realised where my hands were. It was now or never.

I burst upwards from the chair, hefting the edge of the table upwards and throwing it into Secretary Carler’s face. Garvin, half-expecting something, launched himself backwards in a graceful somersault. The table hit Secretary Carler as he went backwards and collided with the two suits behind him, knocking them backwards. I grabbed Carler’s legs and hauled him towards me under the table so that he was laid on the floor where the table had been. By the time the dark suits had their weapons drawn, the tip of my sword was at Carler’s throat. A glance at Garvin behind me showed me the Scot, his hands held high, one holding the pistol he’d managed to draw, but unable to bring it to bear with Garvin’s sword-point over his heart.

“If the policemen outside start shooting through this door,” he reminded the Scot, you’re going to be riddled with bullets.”

“Hold your fire!” he shouted. There were shouts outside, a short burst of machine-gun fire, and then silence.

“Niall, it’s your show,” said Garvin.

“Let him go,” said the closest dark suit, his pistol aimed at my head. The furthest one had it aimed at my body.

“On the contrary,” I told him. “I just went to a lot of trouble to get him where I want him. Now, slowly and carefully put the guns onto the floor,” I told him.

Carler went to say something, but it was choked off when I pressed the point home. “Two things can happen,” I told them. “I’ve already survived being shot — maybe you already know that. You might just get lucky — I may get shot again, but I guarantee that you’ll all be dead. So will the officers outside. You’ll have a massacre on your hands and there’ll be a lot of explaining to do back at head office.” I let that sink in. “Alternatively, you can both place your guns where I can see them and we can all take a step back.”

I waited, counting to thirty in my head. The man on the ground was unarmed at present, so the priority went with the closest armed man. I readied myself and my power. I’d been trained for this. I could take them.

Slowly the second dark suit lifted his pistol and placed it on the stone floor. The second one waited and then did the same. I regarded Carler, who looked less like a bank manager with a sword at his throat. I moved slowly around, putting him between me and the suits, reached down and flipped open his jacket. There was a similar pistol in a holster under his arm. I lifted it out with the tips of my fingers.

“Garvin?”

“We’re clear,” he told me. “I have the gun.” He backed the Scot around until he was joining his colleagues behind the upturned table.

I stepped back and let Carler get to his feet. “This is an outrage,” he said. “The Lords and Ladies shall hear of this.”

I passed the gun from Secretary Carler to Garvin while I watched the Scot and the suits. Garvin removed the clip and neatly ejected the chambered round, holding it carefully up to the light by the brass case. “Not this one,” he said.

He took the pistols from the floor and did the same with those. “Not these either. I hope we’ve not gone to a lot of trouble for nothing,” he mused, casually.

“What about him?” I said, nodding towards the Scot.

Garvin popped the clip from the Scots weapon and ejected a round onto the floor. I knew immediately when he picked it up that we’d found what we had come for.