The Aftermath of the raid

The Ministry officers filed out. Wilson waited until the last of them had left and then leant in close to Bob.

"It's only going to get worse, you know," he said in a voice that wouldn't reach the ears of Amanda's solicitors. "It's all going to shit, and you're standing right in front of the fan." He gave a nod towards Dawn, the only Fae left in the pub. "They hate you. Your own kind hate you. You can be sure we hate you. Close up and piss off, and that's the best advice you're going to get. 'Cause if some patriot doesn't firebomb you, the fairies will. And we'll be devastated. There'll be tears and everything." He shook his head. "I don't understand you, honest I don't. You know what they're like. You saw enough of it when you were in the job. Why you choose to be such a traitor, and for them as would kill you as soon as look at you, well, it's beyond me."

"Will that be all, officer?" asked Bob, his voice loud enough to carry around the pub.

"Watch your back, is all I'm saying. You want to commit suicide, there's ways that won't inconvenience people." Wilson turned, nodded at Amanda and her legal team and sauntered out.

After the door closed Bob silently counted to three, then let out a long breath.

"Ladies, cover your ears," he said.

"What complete and utter bastards!" spat Amanda. She slammed a fist on the counter. "What utter, utter ..." She waved her hands in the air, searching for a curse strong enough. "Bastards!" she screamed.

Dawn said something in her own language. It was long and complicated, but the gist was clear. Bob wondered if fairies could actually lay curses on humans. The experts all denied it, but the venom in the voice could have poisoned a reservoir.

"Okay," said Bob. "Perhaps the gentlemen should cover their ears." He lifted the flap and put four glasses on the counter. He picked a fifth and waggled it at Dawn. "I know you don't normally, but...?"

"Hell yes," replied Dawn. She was shaking and her face was white. Whether from fear or anger Bob wasn't sure. Perhaps it was both.

Bob took a bottle of ten-year-old single malt and splashed it into the glasses, not bothering with the measure.

"Gentlemen," he said, pushing the glasses towards the solicitors. "I know you're on duty but I've never seen a lawyer yet who didn't drink, and by God you earned it today. Amanda?"

Amanda grabbed a glass and downed half of it in one, then nearly coughed it up again.

"It's so unfair!" she said, her voice trembling with rage. "They weren't doing anything. Not a thing. But they just come in and walk all over them. The utter, utter..." Again she couldn't find the words to adequately express her feelings.

"I don't think you're going to find an argument here," said Bob. "Thanks for the assist, by the way."

Amanda waved it away. "No. Thank you. It's so blatantly racist, though. I mean, they didn't even pretend they'd done anything. They were after elves, did you notice that? They were after elves, which is bad enough, but when there weren't any, they just went straight for any Fae. Any Fae at all. It's just so wrong!"

Bob rolled the whiskey around his mouth, trying to savour the taste. It was a mistake, breaking out the good stuff. He should have used the normal stuff in the optics and then they could have all just got raging drunk. It went against his soul to neck good whiskey though.

"Dawn, flip the signs, will you? I doubt we'll get any trade now."

Dawn went over to the doors, flipping the 'open' signs to closed and dropping the catch on the doors. Bob noted the shaking of her hands.

"I'll get you a cab," he said, reaching for the phone.

Dawn nodded, returned to the bar, picked up her drink and retired to a corner table. Amanda took a step towards her but Bob caught her eye and shook his head. The last thing she wanted in a room full of humans was one to invade her personal space, no matter who Amanda's father was or how well-meaning she was.

"City cabs," said a bored voice on the phone.

"Yes, this is the Lion and the Lamb. Can I have a cab to Shadwell, please."

"The Lion and the Lamb? Hang on a mo."

A moment later a different voice came on the phone. "Who's it for?" The voice was male and had an east end accent.

"This is Bob from the Lion."

"Yeah, but who's it for?"

"One of my staff."

"Fae?"

"Yes."

"Sorry, can't do it."

"When can you?"

"Said I can't do it." The line went dead. Bob looked at the phone for a long moment. How often had he used them? He practically kept them in business.

"Hang on," he said to Dawn. "They, um, they're busy. Let me try someone else."

He dialled another firm.

"Tony's cabs."

"Yeah, the Lion and the Lamb here. Whitechapel. Can I have a cab for Shadwell please?"

"Human or Fae?"

He hesitated. IF he said human, would the cabby refuse the fare when he arrived? Of course he would.

"Fae," said Bob, already knowing what the response would be.

"Sorry, we don't do pickups in that area."

Bob stabbed at the phone, hanging up.

"Don't worry about it," said Dawn. "It doesn't matter."

"It bloody well does," said Bob. "I'll walk you home if I have to."

"Yeah, that would be a good idea. Me walking through the streets with a human into Shadwell. Brilliant idea. Who's head would they kick in first, do you think? Mine or yours?"

"It won't come to that," said Bob, wondering if it would. Jesus! All he wanted to do was make a quid or two selling booze. What had politics got to do with that?

"We have a car," said one of the suits. "Shadwell's only around the corner."

"It's okay," said Dawn.

"No it bloody-well isn't! You're either going home in his car or you're going to walk hand in hand with me. You think the Ministry isn't going to be about looking for trouble? You think they wouldn't want to pick up my favourite employee?"

"I'm your only employee."

"That's why you're my favourite." For a moment Bob was rewarded with a wan smile. "Seriously, Dawn, I've worked with solicitors. You never get a free offer from one like that. Take it and tell your grandchildren about it."

The solicitor shrugged. "It's okay. We'll bill for the ride. Even solicitors don't charge as much as cabbies."

"My God. A solicitor with a sense of humour. Seriously, Dawn, you need the ride home. You're shaking like a leaf and I meant it about the Ministry. And take the night off. I'm not opening again. Not today. Who's going to want to drink here tonight anyway? Okay?"

Dawn stared at her drink and nodded.

"Thank you," Bob told the suit. "I appreciate it."

"No worries. Miss?" The solicitor put his glass down and held his arm out in invitation. Dawn downed her drink, shuddered and rose. As she passed Bob she paused.

"You need to leave, you know that, right? You're a stubborn git, and that's sweet, but they'll beat you in the end." She placed a hand on his arm. "You're okay, for one of them, but this isn't your town anymore."

He watched her leave with the suits. He looked at his glass. Somehow, when he hadn't been looking, the whiskey had evaporated. Amanda's glass was empty too. He uncorked the bottle and poured himself a large measure. He held the bottle up to Amanda, expecting to have to persuade her, but she shoved her glass forward for a refill.

"Things are getting hairy, right?" he said, refilling her glass.

"They think just because there's more of them, they can do what they like." She took a sip and grimaced. "Well, they're bloody wrong. If they think I'm just going to lie down and take it they've got another think coming." She took another generous sip.

"I can believe that," said Bob. "But, if you're not going to lie down, how about sitting down? And maybe a cheese roll?"