Mike Shevdon - Sixty-One Nails

"Thank you. We appreciate it."

"No problem. Let me know if you need anything."

He walked away down the corridor, unconcerned that he'd just let two complete strangers into the hospital and given them his lift key. We walked in the opposite direction, finding a service lift with wide doors.

"Is that what you did to me, in Trafalgar Square, that first morning?"

"Same gift, different application."

"What does he think he's doing?" I asked her.

"I'm really not sure, he was just being helpful. You'd have to ask him for the details. I created a reality for him where we were a normal part of his routine. I created just enough so he would believe it and then let him fill in the gaps. It's much more convincing if you let people do the hard work for themselves."

"So he thinks we come here every day?"

"Or often enough to make it unremarkable. He'll remember it in the same way he remembers what he had for lunch or what time he got into work. Not enough to make it stand out."

We came to the service lift and Blackbird pressed the button to summon the lift. A red light indicated that it was coming.

"So, in theory, I could still be having coffee with you in Trafalgar Square. All this could be a reality you created for me. Is that right?"

"In theory, yes, though if you start down that road then you'll never figure out what's real."

The lift doors juddered apart making a grinding noise that did not inspire confidence. Blackbird stepped inside and inserted the key, turning it to the priority setting. I followed her in and she pressed the button for the fourth floor. The door stuttered closed behind me.

"But this could be all in my head, like a dream." The lift jerked into motion.

"Your world is always in your head, Niall. It's the only world you will ever know. If you start to question everything you see then you are undermining your own foundations."

"But you can make me believe whatever you want."

"The further it gets from reality, the harder it becomes. Small changes are easy. That is what glamour does. It alters the perceptions of those around us to make them see us differently. It makes them perceive us as we want to be perceived. What I do is an extension to that, but it is fundamentally the same."

"So how do I know I'm not dreaming?"

"You don't. None of us ever do. All that we see or seem-"

"Shakespeare?"

"He knew what he was talking about. Everyone creates their own reality, Niall. It's just that the Feyre are better at it."

The lift jerked and shook and then halted, the doors sliding open on a hallway.

She strolled out, her power sweeping before her, making us unremarkable. It was late and all the visitors were gone for the night, but the nurses and medical staff didn't look at us twice. There were porters with trolleys and cleaners polishing the floors. None of them gave us a second glance.

At a hallway junction, a lone police officer watched where the three corridors converged. Blackbird smiled at him as we passed and he nodded distractedly in acknowledgment. The way he casually glanced away told me he wouldn't have any recollection of our passing.

The hospital had helpfully numbered all of the rooms, so finding suite four fifty-two was just a matter of following the sequence until we reached our goal. When the numbers came close it was obvious we had found it, because of the two policemen hanging around the nursing station at the junction where the corridor to the private suites branched off from the main walkway. They were engaged in casual conversation with the medical staff, but instead of facing the people they were talking to, they watched the corridors.

These officers were more vigilant, since the one facing us was taking notice of our approach. As we came nearer, though, a breeze sprang out of nowhere, flipping papers from the desk and strewing them around. The officer went to hold down a pile of sheets next to him only to have them whirl up around him. In a moment, they were all engaged in trying to hold down the flying sheets. We walked on past and I waited for one of them to call us back, but no one did.

"You could get anywhere like that," I told her. "You could steal the crown jewels or raid the Bank of England."

"And why," she asked me, "would I want to do that?"

"But you could have anything you wanted."

She turned in front of me and brought me to a halt, her hand resting on my chest. The numbers on the doors showed we were close, now.

She looked up into my face. "I have what I need, Niall, and I don't want for much more than that. The things I do want, though, can't be bought or stolen. They must be given freely."

For a moment there was something in her eyes that reminded me of the conversation we'd had over breakfast that morning and, for once, it was she who looked away.

"Blackbird?" I asked. "What are we going to do?"

She chose to interpret my question in the immediate, rather than the general sense.

"We're going to find the Remembrancer and see if we can help. What else can we do?"

She turned back to the doors and counted down the numbers towards room four fifty-two.

When I realised she wasn't going to wait for me, I followed.

Blackbird led the way down the corridor towards the suite that held the Queen's Remembrancer. She stopped at a door half-glazed with frosted glass.

"Here it is."

She turned the knob and eased the door open, peeking around the jamb, and then opened it more fully to allow us both into the room.

There was a white-framed hospital bed, head against one wall. A heart monitor sat silent on the far side, a jagged green line tracing the pulse of the man on the bed. He looked sallow, eyes closed, the lines on his face etched into the skin. Beside the bed, a thin young woman with tied back auburn hair looked as if she'd been startled awake by our entrance. She pushed loose strands of hair back from her face in an unconscious gesture. Another woman, sitting with her back to us, much older than the first, turned to us, her worried expression turning to mistrust when she realised we were not medical staff.

She stood up. "Can I help you?" She glanced from Blackbird to me.

Her hair was grey, but her fair skin and the way she brushed her hair from her cheek spoke of the close relationship between her and the younger woman. They had the same thin-boned frame that left the tendons stark on the backs of their hands, the same carved cheek-bones leaving no doubt that they were mother and daughter. She had the determined look of a woman who would do something, if only she knew what to do.

"We're looking for Claire," said Blackbird.

"She's just stepped out for a moment. She went to meet someone."

"She was expecting us," Blackbird confirmed. "Do you mind if we wait for her?"

The hardening of her mouth and the slight stiffening of the shoulders said she did.

"There's a rest room across the hall," she said. "You can wait there."

"Has there been any change?" Blackbird asked.

"My husband is seriously ill." She emphasised the word "husband", confirming her place at his side and our place away from it.

Blackbird started to move towards the bed, but she stepped in front of her. "I think you had better wait outside," she said firmly.

Voices from the corridor distracted them both and there was movement outside. I stepped sideways, out of the way of the door, as vague outlines appeared on the other side of the glass.

Claire's voice was clear, speaking to a companion.

"…doesn't work like that. They'll come when they're ready and not before," a male voice replied in low tones as she pushed the door open, still looking back at the person in the corridor.

"They're not that sort of people-" She came to a halt at the sight of us standing in the room.