Sixty-One Nails Part 26

"Yes, but if you have to close your eyes every time you use magic, you are going to end up walking into a lamppost." I acknowledged her point with a smile. "Or get stabbed," she added.

The smile faded. "Do all you people go around stabbing each other?"

"It can be quicker, cleaner and faster than using power," she pointed out. "If it is a test of strength then you would use power and prove yourself. But if it is life or death, choose life by whatever means."

"Does using 'whatever means' include what I did to Fenlock?"

She hesitated, her lips forming a thin line. The pause was a long one. Then she nodded.

"I apologise," she said.

"For what?"

"For what I said about what you did to Fenlock. You did the right thing. You survived, he didn't. "

"You said it was obscene," I reminded her.

"I was upset. It brought back a lot of things I thought I'd dealt with long ago. I have apologised."

She said it in such a way that told me she wasn't going to repeat it. She had formally accepted my apology when I had asked her if she were a witch. It occurred to me that, maybe amongst a people who settled disputes by stabbing each other, it was important to know whether your apology had been accepted or not. "Thank you. I accept."

She nodded, soberly. "Time to try again," she said. "Watch me."

She shrugged and her appearance melted. Beside me sat a young woman. It wasn't the woman from the square but another, younger woman, much more casually dressed in a tight T-shirt and denim skirt. Her hair was ash blonde and straight down her back. She was long limbed and slightly built, with skin so pale it looked almost transparent and eyes that were the most startling lavender under her pale lashes. I found myself thinking how attractive she was, how she would stand out in a crowd. It was disturbing when I knew, or thought I knew, what lay underneath. I had to remind myself I still had no idea what Blackbird really looked like. She shrugged and was Blackbird again. "You see?"

I didn't really, but I took a deep breath to steady myself and tried again. I reaffirmed the mental image I had chosen and tried to imagine myself that way, believing it was my face, my image. It was very hard not to close my eyes. I lifted my palms to see them flicker, their appearance shifting as I tried to control it. I forced it to stabilise, hardening the image by force of will. The air chilled suddenly, the leaves whipped from their piles by a sudden gust of wind, to whirl around us in a miniature maelstrom.

"Gently," she urged. "You're encouraging a flower to bloom, not yanking a chain."

I concentrated on reinforcing the image. I had my hands steady, but now my clothes shifted. I let out a sigh of exasperation, releasing the image and letting my appearance slip back to normal. The leaves fluttered to the ground around us.

"I can't get it stable, it's too complex. You make it look so easy."

"You're going about it the wrong way. By trying to force it you are using far too much power and focusing all your attention on it. Just let it happen."

"If I let it happen then nothing happens."

She smiled encouragingly. "Once more. This time stop trying to will yourself different and just let it become."

I tried again.

"Nothing's happening."

"Give it a chance. Feel your skin. Feel the way it defines your sense of self. Recognise the weight and texture of your clothes and the way they fit. In a moment you're going to shift it, all at once, like trying on a new jacket, a new jacket that will fit so perfectly that you're going to keep it, wear it, and live in it. Now, shift." The lull of her words helped. I stopped trying to force the change and let myself accept it. I felt it change, felt the weight of my clothes alter, the tightness of my belt easing. I discovered how unexpectedly comfortable it was, how easily it became real. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

I looked at my hands. They still looked like mine, though I now wore a ring that was my father's. I had borrowed a canvas jacket I liked from a friend and it rested across my shoulders with comfortable warmth. I was wearing jeans and trainers, where before I had been wearing trousers and boots. At this thought, the trainers flickered and became boots again. I fought to get them back, and as I did, the whole thing unravelled and I sat as before.

"d.a.m.n! I thought I had it then. I let myself think about my boots and it started to come apart. "

"Stop trying to bludgeon it into submission and let it come. Once you have the image, let it become established. If you start thinking about how it was, the old image will start to rea.s.sert itself. It's only following your thoughts. Once more, you can do it."

I tried again, finding it easier to slip into the comfortable jacket and the jeans now I knew what they felt like. I steered my thoughts away from what had been, letting only the new image dwell in my imagination. I acknowledged small sensations, the way my ring had calloused my finger and how I needed to brush my longer hair back from my face.

"Just sit," she advised. "Let it settle."

I lifted my hand to my face, feeling the smoothness over my chin where stubble had been. A residual scratchiness appeared, reminding me not to think about what had been but to focus on how it was now. The smoothness returned.

"I could get used to this. I might never shave again," I grinned at Blackbird.

She took my comment seriously. "Don't be tempted to disregard the needs of the image you're wearing. If you would need to shave for that image, then shave. Otherwise you'll get lazy and people will start to notice. I still wear make-up sometimes, even though it's a pain, just to make sure it looks real. I can do make-up with glamour, but if I didn't remind myself regularly how it really looks, imperfections and all, then it could end up looking too perfect to be true."

I stood and turned around slowly in front of Blackbird. "How do I look?"

"Not bad," she encouraged. "Your own mother wouldn't recognise you."

"That was the idea."

"Your hair looks a bit black for someone with your skin colour."

"I could have dyed it," I pointed out.

"You could have, but men of your generation are not known for their familiarity with hair products. There, that's better. That's more of a dark brown. "

"I didn't do anything."

"Your glamour adapted. I told you, it's like riding a bicycle. If you think about it, you'll fall off. "

"If I don't think about it, will it revert?"

"Not now, I think. We'll walk slowly and let you get used to it."

She got up, brushing the back of her coat where she'd been sitting on the step. She walked gently around the base of the statue, looking up at the bronze and I fell in beside her. As we strolled, I took the opportunity to ask her about what the security guard had said.

"What did he mean about a quit rent? You were interested as soon as the security guy mentioned it. "

"It's a form of payment from medieval times. A quit rent was paid, usually in goods or services, to be quit of an obligation. Let's say you were obliged to raise a levy of soldiers to fight for your baron. You could pay a quit rent of horses or fodder and be quit of the obligation to raise the levy. Do you see? "

"How do you know all this stuff?"

"I'm attached to Birkbeck College at the University of London. I lecture in medieval history there." I suddenly recognised the manner. Should I be offended that while teaching me to use my glamour she'd been treating me like one of her recalcitrant students? We made our way slowly around the side of the church towards where the road narrowed again and a crossing led over to the entrance of the Royal Courts of Justice. "Do you think the quit rent could have anything to do with the vision?"

"I don't know, but it's worth exploring. Kareesh said the vision would show you the way to find something that was lost, something of value that would be worth your joining in the courts. If the land on which Australia House stands is paid for by a quit rent, then that must go back to medieval times, perhaps dating back to whenever it was that the thing we are looking for was lost? "

"It's a bit of a long shot. "

"Do you have any other ideas? "

"No."