Mike Shevdon - Sixty-One Nails

"I said," the tall youth intoned for the benefit of his female companion, "you're lost, are ya?" He grinned at her. He was dressed in gothic style and would have been a punk had it been thirty years earlier. They were the type that always fell in with the darker fashions. He was upwards of six feet tall with strands of long black hair trailing around his face. His T-shirt said "Heavy Metal" in gothic script, visible between the dull gloss lapels of his leather coat. His face was curiously androgynous, clean shaven with eyebrows sculpted in an almost feminine shape. The similarity to his companion made me wonder whether they were brother and sister, or whether the likeness was contrived.

She was wearing marginally more eye make-up than he was, and her lips were fuller than his, though that could have been the purple lipstick. Her skin was deathly pale and I wondered if the pallor was also make-up or whether she simply never saw the sun. Her T-shirt proclaimed "No Rest for the Wicked", which might have been a band or just a slogan.

"I'm just having a quiet drink with my friend, so I wouldn't say I was lost, no." My brain banged on the inside of my skull.

"I think he's lost," he jeered. "If he wasn't lost he wouldn't be here, would he?" His companion apparently followed the intricacies of this negative logic, because she shook her head.

"You've strayed from the path, my lad, and now you've gotta pay." This time she nodded enthusiastically.

I was about to tell him to piss off before I threw up over them when his words about straying from the path rang a faint bell. "Path?"

"Yeah. You're in my stomping ground now, bumpkin, and you're not leavin' till you've paid the price." His companion nodded again. "What have ya got?"

He sat down opposite me, sliding into the empty seat with animal grace, his shoulders rolled under the leather of his coat in a way that wasn't quite human.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any spare change. I'm clean out. So you'll be better off going and pestering someone else."

"Ya hear that, Carris? He wants to buy us off with coins. Up in town to trade and he reckons he's got nothing, does he? He must take us for bumpkins like he is, eh?"

I was beginning to suspect that this was not the average yob out to intimidate the tourists into making a "donation".

"Look, mate. I don't have anything, so it's not worth your time, all right?" I tried to appear as uninteresting as possible.

"Well, if you've got nothing to give then we'll have to see what there is to take, won't we?" He made to touch my hand, but I snatched it away.

"Stay away from me," I growled.

"Or what, bumpkin? What ya gonna do, eh?"

"He's not the one you want to worry about." The familiar voice came from behind Carris. She spun around, stepping wide to brace herself for an attack, her movements lithe and graceful.

Blackbird walked around her blind side, navigating around the table so she could slide in behind the table next to me. She placed a pint of black liquid in front of me, the head creamy.

"Guinness. It'll help to clear your head." She explained it as though we weren't facing off with these thugs.

She turned back to the youth, who still looked expectant.

"You gonna pay up for him then?" he queried, hand out, making a grasping motion reminiscent of the gestures used by Gramawl. Blackbird made to touch him and it was his turn to snatch his hand away.

"No, Fenlock, I'm not going to pay up for him and you're not going to ask him again. Instead, you're going to apologise to both of us for disturbing our drink then leave us alone."

"And why would I do that?" His companion leaned forward over the table to add to the threat or simply to overhear the conversation.

"Because if you don't, I'm going to shout your true name loud enough for every goblin and nixie for miles around to hear," Blackbird stated calmly.

Fenlock hesitated, calculating, then recovered.

"You don't know it, do ya? Ya can't," he leered at her.

"Don't I? You need to be more careful who you tell it to then, don't you? Once a secret's told then you just know someone will find it out. Perhaps if you chose to mention it to someone who was more discreet…?" Blackbird arched an eyebrow and looked up at Carris, who was still leaning over us. Fenlock's expression darkened.

He spun around, tipping the chair onto the floor and standing in one movement. Carris staggered backwards, caught by the sudden reversal.

"Who did you tell?" His tone was quiet, but darkly threatening.

"Me? I didn't tell her. She's lying, she is. She can't know it. I didn't tell her." Carris eased backwards slowly towards the door. The whiteness around her too-dark lips had paled further and she was suddenly sweating.

"Who? Who was it?" He stalked towards her, accelerating.

She turned and flung herself at the door, Fenlock only a second behind her. The door slammed open then banged shut, leaving the bar in deathly silence. The other customers in the bar watched us for a minute to see if we would deliver any more surprises, then went back to their drinks.

"Drink up," said Blackbird, "We have to be long gone by the time he catches her." She lifted a glass of clear liquid and took a long swallow from it.

I lifted the glass and took a sip through the creamy head. The combination of the strong taste and the cold soothing texture was therapeutic. I took a longer swallow and wiped the foam from my upper lip.

"You don't know his true name, do you?" I called her bluff.

"Oh, I do. But not because of Carris. And if I once revealed it I'd either have to finish him or he'd hunt down everyone who'd heard it and kill them, so it would be a good idea to drink up." She nodded towards the Guinness.

"Doesn't that mean he'll come looking for you?" I spoke my thoughts aloud.

"Not if he thinks I won't tell. When he eventually catches up with Carris he won't know whether I really know it or not, will he?"

I had to admire her logic, though in my current state these mental games were too challenging. Instead I concentrated on drinking down the cold dark beer. I was beginning to feel a little better, though whether that was due to the beer or the respite, I wasn't sure.

I tipped the glass up to finish it, finding it had gone down easier than I would have believed.

Blackbird slid around the seat and stood up, so I followed her lead. My vision was steady and my knees weren't wobbly any more. I might drink Guinness more often if it did me that much good.

Blackbird took the empty glasses to the bar and joined me at the door. We exited cautiously, turning back towards the crowds and mingling with the gathering groups around the tube station before passing along the opposite side of the road and heading back towards Leicester Square. I looked nervously around for signs of Fenlock or Carris. The glare spilled onto the pavement from the shops along Long Acre and we had to step around early theatregoers who were checking out menus and taking advantage of special rates as we made our way.

"Are you going to explain what happened earlier?" I prompted.

"With Fenlock?"

"No, about what Kareesh said. What did she mean about my having another name?"

"I don't know, Rabbit. I've never heard her volunteer anything like that before. It's not like her just to come out with things."

Have you known her long?" I edged around the question of parentage as we crossed the junction with St Martin's Lane.

"Most of my life."

Only most of it? "You seem very close to her."

"She brought me up; she's the closest thing I have to family."

Close to family, but not family. What did that mean?

"Did I choose correctly?" I shied away from the question I wanted to ask.

"You did well, though I don't know if you chose correctly. Only time will tell us that."