Mike Shevdon - Sixty-One Nails

"They're not here yet," I remarked.

"Of course they are," Blackbird contradicted.

"I don't see anyone."

"You won't."

She looked around nervously, then ascended the short flight of steps and pressed the brass doorbell mounted by the door. No one came to the door. She waited a moment and then descended back to the pavement.

"They will know we're here now."

"I thought you said they already knew."

"Don't be picky."

We waited on the pavement in full view while people walked through the square on their way to meet friends, lovers or colleagues. We scanned each face for signs of our earlier visitors, but didn't see them approach. They appeared out of the random movements of passers-by. One moment there were a number of unrecognised people strolling through the square and the next they were there.

With them was a young woman with short, dark hair, wearing a pale grey silk shirt and trousers. Her eyes were as hard as glass. She had walked past Blackbird and then doubled back, cutting off the retreat. We knew she was one of them from the sword swinging from her hip which hadn't been there a moment before. The black lacquered scabbard gleamed with the dull sheen of constant handling. She watched us, and Garvin and Tate watched the square. Tate swung a long-bearded axe gently from one hand. It looked like a toy against his enormous frame.

"You're on time." Garvin's smile was noncommittal, as if it was all the same to him. "Tate you know. This is Amber. You will not call power unless it is directly requested, understand? Use power without permission and we will kill you without hesitation."

He moved down the pavement, staff tapping on the paving, away from the door where Blackbird had rung the bell. Tate and Amber moved in to flank us.

"Aren't we going inside?" Blackbird asked, gesturing towards the door where she'd rung the bell.

He shook his head. "There's no one in there. I checked."

He went down the row to another similar door, as anonymous as the first, and trotted up the steps. The door opened as he reached it and a fourth member of the team was waiting, wearing the same charcoal uniform. On his belt were two long knives, one on each hip. Like every other weapon they looked worn by frequent handling. He was shorter in build with a broad nose, a bull neck and shoulders that gave him the impression of being roughly square. His hair was ginger and he reminded me of someone I had seen recently. I was trying to recall who it was as we were shepherded inside. Then I remembered. He had the same broad flat nose and protruding eyes as Marshdock.

"Are they ready for us?"

"They're assembled," he said to Garvin. "But they have some other business to discuss. Fee is with them. She'll let you know."

Tate and Amber followed us inside. We were led through the house, past closed internal doors to what could only be described as a scullery at the back of the house. It had a range cooker that looked like it hadn't been used in decades and a large rectangular table in scuffed bare wood, scored with generations of service. A window looked out onto the back, but it was too shadowed between the buildings to see what was outside. Garvin didn't pause. He went straight to a side door at the back of the room and opened it.

"Down here," he said.

"What is it," I asked Blackbird as she descended the stairs behind Garvin, "about the Feyre and basements?"

"It's closer to the earth," she said, as if that should explain it.

The stairs had a bend in them and were quite difficult to negotiate, so that I wondered how Tate was going to get down them. They opened out at the bottom into two cellar rooms accessed through an open doorway. There was a faint musty smell and I noticed a tray left out on a chest with a number of wizened apples on it. They didn't look like this year's harvest.

Garvin strolled into the second cellar and waited for the rest to follow. Amber came down after us, followed by a scraping sound as Tate eased himself down the stairway and into the room.

"The courts are down here?" I asked Garvin.

He shook his head. "Follow."

He walked to the centre of the room, turned to face the back wall and stepped forward. There was a twist in the air, he shimmered and vanished.

"It's one of the Ways, is that it?" I asked Blackbird.

"There isn't a Way here," she said. "It doesn't go anywhere."

"Yes it does," rumbled Tate. "You next." He nodded towards Blackbird.

She stepped forward to the place where Garvin had been, orientating herself as he had done.

"Interesting," she said, then stepped forward and vanished.

"Now you." He nodded towards the spot.

I walked forward, remembering the last time I had tried this. I had become lost and had nearly broken my neck getting out again. Nervously, I turned to face the wall and then felt down below my feet. The sensation was different. When we had used the Ways before I had felt the flow of power beneath my feet like a raging torrent. This was more like a stream or a tributary, the same in nature but much less powerful. I looked at Tate, but he just nodded. Amber dropped her hand to her sword hilt for emphasis.

I reached down and felt for the connection. The Way swelled beneath me and rose. I stepped forward and felt it pick me up and rush me away. Unlike the wild ride of the other ways, this one had only echoes of the vast emptiness I had felt before and lasted mere moments. Then I was stepping into a brightly lit room which smelled neither damp nor musty. Blackbird was there with Garvin and I walked forward out of the Way across the stone tiles to allow the others to follow me. I turned around, noticing there were no windows, and realising there was someone behind me. The figure stood behind me was the size of a man. His pelt was brown like warm chestnut and his arms and legs were long under the dark grey cotton of his loose clothing. The long fur on his head fell forward over his face and there was the bright glint of dark eyes under the stringy fringe. He smiled, baring rows of sharp pointed teeth in a grin far too wide to be human. He was holding a short spear with a long, double-edged blade, held so the point angled down towards the floor. The blade looked clean and sharp and he was poised, like a dancer.

"This is Slimgrin. He's here to make sure only invited guests arrive this way."

"Where are we?" I asked Garvin.

"Somewhere else," he said offhandedly. He turned to Slimgrin. "When the others come through, tell Amber and Tate to follow us upstairs and have Fellstamp help you here. Close the gate as soon as they've arrived."

Slimgrin nodded. The way they used names was arrogant, as if it didn't matter that we knew them.

Garvin turned and walked towards the bottom of a stairway, gesturing us to follow.

The stairs were wider than those we had descended and doubled back on themselves to rise to an open doorway. At the top was a grand hallway of the type that might have graced a small country mansion or an upmarket townhouse. The tall ceilings gave the building a Georgian feel, as if ladies dressed in bustles and panniers would appear at any moment. There was an open door into a sitting room with armchairs loosely arrayed around a large stone fireplace. The curtains had been drawn across the large windows and a couple of Regency-style standard lamps were left on, providing a soft and unobtrusive light. The fire had been set, but was unlit.

Garvin escorted us into the room.

"Sit here for a moment until they're ready for you. It shouldn't be long."

Blackbird went to an armchair and sat on the armrest. I walked to the fireplace and turned to face the room. I was too nervous to sit. Garvin stood next to the doorway, not blocking the exit exactly but making it clear that we were to stay.

Amber and Tate appeared together. Tate went to the chair opposite Blackbird, the wood frame of the chair making protesting creaking noises as he eased himself into it. He rested his head on the back of the chair, placed the axe across the arms and looked at ease. Amber stood inside the door leaning back against the wall, the sword in her hand resting against the side of her leg. She watched me like a cat watches a mouse-hole.