The Eighth Court (The Courts of the Feyr - By Mike Shevdon Page 0,119

you always turn up.”

“That’s like accusing firemen of always turning up at a fire,” I said. “It’s nonsense.”

“Were either of you involved in this?” asked Secretary Carler of the two dark suits. They both shook their heads. “Very well,” he said. “This is an internal matter,” he said. “I can only apologise for my colleague’s ill-advised actions.”

“Hey now,” said the Scot. “You’re not burning me for him, surely? He needs taking down.”

“We would like to restore the meeting to some order,” said Carler. “You,” he addressed the dark suits. “Arrest that man. Take him into custody. Hold him until I tell you otherwise. If he has accomplices I want them held as well.” They stood watching him. “Now!” he barked.

“Are you nuts?” shouted the Scot. “Do you know how many deaths this guy has caused? Take your scabby hands off me, you moron.”

We watched as they manhandled him out of the room. There was a difficult moment when they tried to take him outside. Apparently there was a stand-off outside between the Warders and the police. It wasn’t resolved until Garvin went outside with Secretary Carler and together they ordered everyone to stand down.

While they were busy I collected all the weapons and put them safely out of reach, ejecting the rounds from each gun and paying special attention to the pistol used by the Scot.

“I can only apologise,” said Secretary Carler when they returned, “and assure you that such an operation was not authorised.”

“I’d like to believe that,” I told him, looking around at the broken chairs and scattered furniture.

“I wish I could say something to reassure you,” said Carler.

“There is no Secretary Carler, is there?” I asked him.

“I’m sorry,” he said calmly. “I’m not sure I understand you.”

“I checked. There is no Secretary Carler anywhere in Whitehall.”

“What makes you think I work in Whitehall?” he said.

“Then where?” I asked.

“Better not to go into too much detail. It only makes things more difficult.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Cheltenham, a big building, locally known as the ‘doughnut’. How am I doing?”

“I really couldn’t say,” he said. His face was studiously blank.

“The way I see it, you owe me,” I told him. “After all, you’ve been spying on me and my family and you ran an operation to try and kill me.”

“I don’t think I want to comment on any of that,” he said, “but if you want to trade information, I’d like to know what you did with the safe that was taken from the Royal Courts of Justice.”

“You think I took it?” I asked him.

He smiled. “Now who’s being evasive?”

“OK,” I said. “I did not steal anything from the Royal Courts of Justice, especially not a safe or what was in it. If you know anything about us at all, you’d know we’d find it difficult to lie about something like that.”

“You were seen,” he said. “You attacked one of the staff on the same day the safe went missing.”

“I was asked by the Remembrancer’s clerk to go there,” I told him. “I went to protect the safe and the clerk.”

“So why did you kill the clerk?” he asked.

“I didn’t,” I said. “Now it’s my turn. Who is De Ferrers?”

He went suddenly still. “I can’t say I know what you’re speaking of,” he said.

“Which is an interesting way of phrasing it,” said Garvin.

We were rejoined by one of the dark suits who nodded confirmation to Carler and stood waiting at the door.

“I came here last night after dark,” I told Carler. “I was looking for a link between this place and GCHQ at Cheltenham.”

He was better at hiding it this time. “You didn’t find anything,” he said.

“Instead, I found that this castle was owned by the De Ferrers family.” I looked around slowly. “A castle hall lined with horseshoes, used by you and your predecessors for meetings with the Feyre, all arranged under the name, De Ferrers.”

“What does that have to do with Cheltenham?” he said.

“A very good question,” I told him “How would you describe the purpose of GCHQ?”

“I’m not sure I would,” he said.

“To keep the secrets of the Kingdom, perhaps?”

“What an odd phrase,” he said, his face carefully neutral. “Quite archaic, don’t you think? If you didn’t kill Ms Radisson, then who did?”

“Honestly, I didn’t see,” I said, thinking back to the events in the National Archive. “I thought I knew who took the safe, and who killed Claire, but now I’m not certain. You need to ask yourself, though, in whose interest is it that