Sixty-One Nails: Courts of the Feyre (30 page)

    I picked the bill-hook up from the cloth, finding the oddly shaped blade lighter than it looked. I tested the edge with my thumb and it was sharp. The broad, flat blade reflected distorted scenes from the room. If it came from the Tower armouries, then it probably had a distinguished and honourable history.

    "It's unusual enough, but it's totally different to the original Quick Knife. It's just a blade."

    "We brought an expert from the armouries in to see if the Quick Knife could be mended, but apparently it is the wrong sort of metal."

    "Or the right sort," Blackbird added. "It's very likely to be made of some sort of iron. If it were pure then that would make it brittle. That's why steel replaced iron as the metal of choice, it's much more resilient. What's the other knife in the case made of?"

    "Some sort of alloy, definitely not iron. Would you like to see it?"

    "Maybe later." Neither of us wanted her to open the box with the Quick Knife in it. "The broken knife is the key. Once the Quick Knife was broken, the ritual was weakened. Each time the ceremony is performed with the wrong knives, it weakens a little more." She glanced at me. "A worm at the heart of the ceremony, do you see?"

    "There's nothing in the records saying that the ceremony must be conducted with a particular set of knives," Claire commented. "It just says that two knives must be presented, one blunt and one sharp, and must be tested for their qualities."

    "I'm sure you've carried out the ceremony according to the instructions you were given," said Blackbird, "but that in itself is not enough for the ritual to have power. I'm sure now that the knife is the reason the barrier is weakening and also the reason why your Remembrancer is missing. You know he's not coming back, don't you? "
    "He's not dead," said Claire.

    "That may not be the worst of it," said Blackbird. "It is in all our best interests to make sure the ceremony goes ahead with a new knife, and soon."

    "You want me to change the ritual, just because you say so?"

    "No, I'm not telling you to change it. I'm saying you have to put it back to the way it was, the way it was meant to be. If we don't then the consequences may go far beyond the fate of one Remembrancer and his clerk."

    "I don't know…"

    "Claire, we stand on the edge of something terrible. The breaking of the Quick Knife has changed things, weakened them. If things break down completely then the incidents you refer to could be the very least of it. We need to get the knife repaired or remade."

    "It can't be welded or fixed in that way. We tried. The only way is to get a new one made."
    "Can you do that?"

    "I can't, but perhaps you may be able to."

    "Us? Neither of us want to get anywhere near it."

    "It mentions in the journals, when the nails became too rusty to use. Two of your kind came and took them away and got them re-forged."
    "That's very unlikely, Claire."

    "Oh, I don't mean they did it themselves. I mean they took them to a smith and he did it for them. "
    "Where would the Feyre get a smith from?"

    "From the same place as always, the Highsmiths. "
    "The high smiths?"

    "The Highsmith family, the people who rent the Moors in Shropshire. They are the smiths to the Six Courts. Surely you know this?"

    It was our turn to admit we didn't know all of it. "I guess you are not the only ones to lose things," Blackbird conceded.

    Claire acknowledged this with a nod. It relieved some of her tension that she was not the only one fumbling in the dark.

    "The Highsmiths were the family that produced the new set of nails. All except for the sixty-first one. "
    "Why wasn't the sixty-first nail remade?"

    "It didn't need to be. It's made of a different metal to the rest and it hadn't rusted. It's like the Dead Knife, rather than the dark metal of the others."

    "I wondered about that when I read it in the leaflet," said Blackbird. "Ten nails for each horse-shoe and then another. I thought it must be a spare."

    "No, the sixty-first nail is different from the rest, though I've no idea why. Shall I get it? It's in the safe with the others, ready for the ceremony next week. "
    "We'd like to see it, thanks."

    Blackbird and I waited, both wrapped in our own thoughts, while Claire retrieved the nails. They were in a velvet case, a little like that used for jewellery, which she unrolled across the table. Each bundle of nails had a pocket and it was immediately clear to Blackbird and I that the nails were iron, though thankfully they didn't have the noxious aura of the Quick Knife.

    The last nail in the roll had a pocket of its own, though. Claire extracted it and held it up so I could see it, unsure of my reaction. It was the same size and shape as the other nails, a square section about two or three inches long, narrowing sharply along its length to a fine point. "Any ideas?" I asked Blackbird.

    "No, I don't see why that one should be different from the others. It's not iron, or anything like it, is it? Is there nothing in the journals about it, Claire?" she asked. "Nothing obvious, no. The nails were taken back to the Highsmiths about a hundred and fifty years ago, but the sixty-first was returned with the rest, unchanged. "
    "Well, the problem is with the knife, not the nails. Do you have an address for these Highsmiths? "
    "I can get it for you."

    She replaced the nail and rewrapped the bundle, taking them out again while Blackbird and I considered what we had learnt. For my part, the revelation that there had been regular, if infrequent, meetings between humanity and the Feyre was an eye-opener. It had never occurred to me that such things might be going on, but why would it? People didn't generally notice things they weren't looking for.

    "Somebody knew this was going on," said Blackbird, her thoughts following the same lines as my own. "Claire obviously does, and presumably the Remembrancer, if he's alive?"

    "No, I mean the Feyre. I'm beginning to see another hand in this."
    "What do you mean?"
    "Do you remember I said yesterday that I wasn't following you, but it wasn't random chance that put me there either?"
    "Yes, you said it was fortune."
    "I chose my words carefully. I really wasn't following you, but I was waiting for you."
    "For me?"

    "Not for you specifically, but for someone or something. Kareesh sent me a message, which she does from time to time when she an errand to run or maybe a message to be delivered. She said: 'Be at the southern end of the Leicester Square tube station platform at the morning peak on Thursday and make yourself useful.' She didn't tell me what to do or why, but that's pretty standard for her. I waited there to see what would happen.

    "And then I collapsed down the stairs onto the platform."

    "I was waiting on the other platform, but it didn't take me long to realise what was going on. "
    "So did she mean for you to save me?"

    "It's hard to tell with her. You, of all people, know what the visions are like. Did she know what would happen or did she just know I should be there? "
    "As you say, it's hard to tell."

    "But what if she did know? What if she knows what's going on better than we do?"
    "Then why doesn't she just say?"
    "I think they're ashamed, all of them."
    "Ashamed of what?"

    "Of doing dirty back-door deals with humanity. Of needing humans to make a barrier strong enough to hold back the Seventh Court. That's why there's no record, no stories. To keep the Seventh Court from stealing their babies and possessing their dead, they stooped low enough to strike a deal with humanity, and now they won't admit it."

    "Why not? What's so terrible about wanting to protect your children?"

    "The courts rule absolutely, Rabbit, but they rule by consent, not force. The Feyre agree to be bound to the courts for protection and survival. They agree to abide by court law for the good of all. But if someone like Marshdock was able to implicate the rulers of the courts in conspiring with humanity then it would show them up as weak, ineffectual and incapable of protecting anyone. The whole structure would be undermined. Knowledge like that could earn you a lifetime of favours, Rabbit. A Feyre lifetime, not a human one. If you were to share this with Marshdock, for instance, he could become very influential, able to grant favours to those he owed for his position and power. That makes such knowledge dangerous. Those in power would do almost anything to keep the information out of the hands of Marshdock and those like him. Eliminating a couple of half-breed Fey who were poking into things that were none of their business would be the least of it. When the stakes are that high there isn't much they wouldn't do."

    "Nobody knows we know about it, though, do they?" I pointed out.

    "Claire knows some of it, now. But she's in as much danger as we are."

    "Then we have to make it clear to her that she's not to mention this to anyone."

    "I don't think she would anyway. Secrecy is her default position."
    "What about Kareesh?"

    "She can't be certain and anyway, she started all this. I'm sure of it now. I'm just not sure what we're supposed to do about it."

    "Can we leave it as it is, pretend we don't know?"

    "And what about the consequences? What happens when the barrier falls and the Seventh Court come through to settle the score? And even if I choose to stand aside and let that happen, you can't. This is where your vision leads. You bargained for a gift, Rabbit. You gave her the stones and in return she showed you your future."

    "There are many futures. You said so yourself."

    "Yes, but in the one she showed you, you survive. You're able to see it because you survive. It wasn't some random sequence of images that she showed you. It was your own future. Who knows in how many other futures you are killed, or lost, or eaten. "
    "Eaten?"

    "I don't think the Shade outside your bedroom door wanted to tuck you up and read you a story. "
    "So I have to carry on."

    "You're taking a terrible risk if you don't."
    "I'm taking a terrible risk if I do."
    "But the vision tells us you survive."
    "For now."

    The discussion was put on hold as Claire returned with the address.

    "This is where they lived about one hundred and fifty years ago." She offered Blackbird the slip of paper. "A hundred and fifty years is a long time. Do you think they'll still be there?" Blackbird handed me the address. It was a farm near a village called Eardington in Shropshire.

    "They farm the land paid for by the Quit Rent. That's why they're there. They've been there since twelve hundred and something, so I doubt they will have moved. If anyone knows how to fix the knife, it will be them."

    "We're grateful for your help, Claire, but you mustn't tell anyone we've discussed this. Your life may depend on it," I told her.

    "What do I tell the police? They'll be here in half an hour." The nervous edge was back in Claire's voice. "Tell them about the calls. Tell them what you knew before we came, but don't mention anything about the Quit Rents ceremony unless they ask. As far as they're concerned it is just an official duty of the office. "
    "And what about Jerry? "
    "The Remembrancer?" She nodded.

    "I'm sorry, Claire, but I think he's probably dead."

    Her eyes filled and she turned away, fishing a rumpled tissue from her jacket pocket and removing her glasses to dab at her eyes. "We don't know," she said. "There's still hope."

    "I suppose there is a chance that he's just delayed or something," Blackbird admitted, though the sour note in her voice told me she didn't believe this herself, "but you must prepare for the worst."

    "I'll do what I must," she told us, replacing her glasses after her moment of weakness, squaring her shoulders. "The bad news is that if the Seventh Court find out it's you and not the Remembrancer that ensures the continuity of the ceremony–"

    She folded her arms as if a chill had suddenly taken her, looking from Blackbird to me. "Then I'll be next."

SiXTeen

    Claire stood in the office, her arms held tightly around her. Despite her years of service, the reality of her role was only just hitting home. "We have to go, Claire," said Blackbird. "What can I do?" she asked.

    "Maybe you could stay with some friends until this blows over?"

    "I can't leave the office. What about the police? What about Jerry?"

    "I don't think he's coming back," she suggested gently.
    "What if they come here, after me?"
    "Don't be here. They don't know you're involved and we won't tell them, but if they figure it out or if they get it from Jerry…"
    "He wouldn't tell them."
    "He may not have a choice. He won't be able to lie to them."
    "I can't leave."

    "There's no one to be clerk for, Claire. Either he comes back from wherever it is he's gone to or… "
    "Or what?"

    "Or he doesn't. You have to make sure the ceremony happens in either case. Otherwise things will get worse, not better."

    "There are arrangements that will need to be made."
    "Then make them. We'll be in touch when we know whether the knife can be fixed. In the meantime don't take strange phone calls and spend as little time alone as you can."
    "I don't have anyone I can… That is…"

    "Don't go where you're expected to go. Find some where else, someone else. Don't be alone."
    "I don't have anyone…"
    "Then find someone."

    Blackbird's words came out harsh, but well meant. Claire's expression clearly said it wasn't as easy as Blackbird made it sound, but she simply nodded, accepting the principle.

    "You need to take this with you." Claire retrieved the dark wooden box with the knives from the side table and passed it to Blackbird who accepted it reluctantly. "Take care of yourself," Blackbird advised, slipping the box into her shoulder bag and zipping the bag closed so it wouldn't fall out. "I'll try."