Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

“It’d be better if we could lock it, but there’s no lock so that’ll have to do,” he whispered. “I daren’t put a light on in case it draws attention.” In the darkness they felt around.

“Oi! Pack that in,” said Vicky.

“Sorry,” said Sparky. I can’t see a damned thing. I was exploring with my hands.”

“Well explore somewhere else,” she said firmly.

She didn’t sound too cross, though, and Sparky was beginning to think he might have fallen on his feet. There were coats hanging from pegs along the wall. They smelled musty and faintly of wet woodland walks and stale dog. Sparky started going through the coats one by one.

“What are you looking for?” asked the girl.

“You never know what you might find and I figure anything useful is good news. It’s all gone a bit pear-shaped, you know?”

“You’re not kidding,” she said. “How long do you think we need to stay in here?”

From beyond the door, there was a long shriek which ceased quite suddenly. “We’re not out of the woods yet,” said Sparky.

“Is it me, or is it getting lighter?” said the girl.

“It’s your eyes, getting used to the dark,” said Sparky. “No, hang on a minute, it is getting light.”

A voice spoke from the darkness at the end of the row of coats. “Perhaps your search would be more productive if you had a little more illumination.” The tiny room chilled sharply, and the room filled with dappled moonlight.

“Aw crap!” said Sparky.

“Where are you?” called Raffmir softly into the dark. “Come out, come out.”

He could hear distant screams already in the house, echoing down the stairs. Perhaps they thought he wouldn’t be able to find them in the dark? Perhaps they simply imagined that if they couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t be able to see them either. Of course, if he absorbed enough power he’d be able to see them behind furniture and through walls, but where was the fun in that? He would find them all eventually. They were like rats in a barrel, they had nowhere to go.

Walking slowly through the parlour, he checked behind the sofa and upturned the chairs. “Hmm,” he said. “Not here.”

Moving quietly through the passages, he left the public part of the house and entered the area reserved for servants and underlings. It amused him that any of them would choose to hide here — he found it strangely appropriate. The door to the kitchen and scullery was beyond. They forgot, he already knew the layout. He knew where all the hiding holes were. He’d scoured the hallway niches. He’d checked the space under the stairs. Disappointingly he’d found nothing yet, but there was plenty of time.

Stepping gently into the darkened kitchen, he could hear the copper pans hanging from a battery above the table clinking gently as if disturbed by a night breeze. He lifted his sword and then ducked sharply just as the skillet whooshed past where his head had been.

Clang! It crashed into the battery, sending pots and pans tumbling noisily across the floor.

He stepped sideways. Clong! The skillet swished back and hit the wall.

He stepped in, grabbed the handle and wrenched it from his assailant’s hand, tossing it aside. He twisted her around; he had his arm around her throat, her hand pinned against her side. Instead of struggling, she reached upwards and touched his face.

“I saw you before,” she said, breathing hard. “You were wreathed in white fire beneath the labs at Porton Down. “I wanted to touch you then, but instead I touched Niall.”

“Now you have your chance,” he said. “What do you see?”

“Death.”

He palmed the long kitchen knife from the worktop behind her where it had scattered with the cutlery.

“It’s Angela, isn’t it? Whose death do you see, Angela?” he asked.

“Yours,” she said. “Uh!”

The knife slipped between her ribs. “Wrong again.”

Her knees went first and she slumped to the floor.

He went to the sink and ran some cold water over his hands, carefully dipping the edge of the frilled cuff from his white shirt in the cold water where it had soaked up some of the blood. “I’ll never get the stains out of this,” he said. “Might even have to have a new shirt.”

Collecting his sword he regarded the body on the floor. “Shame, we were just getting to know one another.”

He went to the kitchen door. “This is too easy. Now where’s my delightful cousin? There are a few things we need to settle between us.”

He walked back towards the parlour.

Two people crashed through the scrub and brush. “It’s here somewhere,” said the first.

“For God’s sake, Hathaway, I’m not kitted out for tramping around in the woods. We did that earlier.” The woman struggled after, sliding on the mud as she tried to keep up.

“I could find it in the light,” he said, “but it all looks different in the dark.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “It’s usually the other way around.”

“That way,” he said, suddenly. “It’s over here. I told you I could find it.”

She caught up with him. “At last,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.” She slid down the bank, staggering as her she missed her foothold.

“Wait,” he said. “It’s supposed to be guarded.”

“You see anyone, Hathaway? I’m not hanging around for anyone. Let’s get out of here.”

She heard him scramble down after her to the dip where the leaves had gathered in deep piles. “I know it’s here,” she said. “We just have to locate the spot under all these leaves. You try over there.” She looked up. “Hathaway?” She was the only person in the dip. She could have sworn she heard Hathaway follow her down. “Stop messing about,” she said. “This isn’t funny.”

There was a sound — a soft thud. She looked down to see blood welling out from the blade protruding from her chest. “Oh fuck,” she said, and toppled forward.

A dark figure outlined in a nimbus of white stood where she had been. Retrieving the sword, he wiped the blade carefully on a kerchief and returned the blade to its scabbard.

There was a rustling from the Way-node. The trees shivered and the cold wind turned, catching twigs and whipping the whispering dry leaves into a spiral of fluttering movement. He moved forward to see what was causing the disturbance and something dived out of the Way-node, rolled and sprinted away up the bank. He chased it for a short distance, but having quickly lost sight of whoever it was in the shadows between the trees, he returned to the Way-node. Anyone heading towards the house was in for a nasty surprise in any case. He needn’t worry.

He returned to the Way-node, looking for shadows and keeping a close eye out for any other disturbance between the wood. All was quiet.

Thumph ! His head rolled away into the leaves, dead eyes staring until they fell into dust.

Amber strolled back through the trees. “There’s only one left on guard,” she said. “They always were an arrogant bunch.”

Tate shook his head. “We’re spread too thin not to do the same.”

“I’ll stay,” she said. “Let them know I’m keeping the Way open. We’ll get as many clear as we can.”

“Assuming there are any left,” said Tate.

He strode into the trees, while Amber melted into the shadows.

“Hey, is someone there?” The figure climbed up the loft stairs. “We’re getting people out.” There was silence. “It’s only me,” she said. Her heels clacked on the wooden stairs as she rose into what was once the servants’ quarters. The orange dress glowed in the moonlight coming through the windows set in the gable ends.

“Here,” said a voice. Andy stepped out from behind some packing cases. “Where’s everyone else?”