The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

  ‘Turn around first, and look up.’

  I swivelled and stared up. From above the door, the unsmiling countenance of the Virgin Queen watched over us.

  ‘It’s symbolic,’ said Vicky. ‘Something to do with limited tolerance and Queen Elizabeth watching over us. She’s supposed to have inspired this lot.’ She turned round and pointed to a series of men, hung the right way up.

  ‘John Dee. He convinced Elizabeth to take hold of Don José’s books. Don José did a runner when Mary died because there were a lot of Mages with scores to settle. His books formed the basis of the Queen’s Esoteric Library.’

  What was it about Library that rang a bell? Before I could capture the memory, Vicky moved on.

  ‘Francis Bacon. He was a Mage. He wrote book called New Atlantis, and that’s where the name Salomon’s House comes from. It was supposed to be an ideal house of learning. James I listened to Bacon, but he simply didn’t trust Mages enough, so nothing was done until after the Civil War.’ She pointed to the final portrait. ‘This is Robert Boyle himself. He proposed an Invisible College where Chymistry could be studied “for the glory of God.” The rest is really boring.’

  ‘Thanks, Vicky. That helps put a lot of things in context.’

  The more I looked at the carvings on the panels, the more they intrigued me. If you looked away, then back again, something would have changed. The mouse would eat the nut, and look fatter. The lizard would lift a leg and twist around. The skull would move so that its empty eyes would follow you. Perhaps I should get some for Elvenham House.

  ‘Come on. We’re expected,’ said Vicky, dragging me away from my contemplation.

  I had no idea what to expect beyond the Receiving Room. More of the same? A high-tech homage to Quantum Magick? What we actually got was a staircase – a big one, winding up and down around an atrium. There didn’t seem to be floors, as such, just lots of doors and openings at different levels. I peered over the banister and saw another image of the London sky above us. Below, it was a very long way down.

  It was only then that I noticed the people, because before then I hadn’t heard a thing. I still couldn’t hear footsteps or conversations, but I could see them sauntering or scurrying up and down, in and out of the doors. Most of them were young, and most of them were female; higher up the age range, the gender balance shifted towards the male end. The dress code was conservative, but there were no uniforms, capes or pointy hats. Shame.

  ‘Impressive isn’t it?’ said Vicky, when I’d got the measure of the place. She’d touched my arm before she spoke. ‘This is the Junction,’ she continued. ‘It took me a year to get the hang of it, and beyond here, it’s a complete nightmare. We’re going to see the Dean, via the Library. There might be another way, but I never found it.’

  We climbed the equivalent of two storeys, keeping to the left and attracting little interest. With another two storeys to go before the top, we turned through one of the larger and busier openings.

  The noise of people chattering knocked me back after the unnatural silence of the Junction. ‘Whoah!’ I said. ‘It wasn’t the carpet keeping things quiet out there.’

  ‘No. It’s a large scale Silence. You saw me put a personal one on Keira, remember? Sometimes they take it down, and the whole Junction echoes like St Paul’s Cathedral; that's why I touched you – so that you could hear me. This is the Library Rotunda.’

  It was round, high ceilinged and thronged with students, but none of them was reading. Drinking coffee, chattering, checking their phones, yes, and usually all three at once. Reading, not so much. I passed my observations on to Vicky.

  ‘It doubles as a common room,’ she said, then pointed to a security desk on the right and a series of doors on the left. ‘You check out your books there, and take them to the Silent reading rooms there. Only Fellows get to go into the Library itself, and never on your own until you’re a Doctor of Chymic.’

  I followed her direction as she pointed, and something caught my eye. I immediately developed a coughing fit to distract Vicky, and tried not to look at the portraits.

  ‘Very dusty in here,’ I said, turning away and taking a swig of water.

  We crossed the Rotunda and into a darker corridor. ‘This is the Dean’s Secretariat,’ said my guide. ‘Any other university would call it Student Services. The whole shebang at Salomon’s House is run by the Warden, and his deputy is known as the Chaplain. Next is the Dean: she’s in charge of education. I’ll save the rest for later.’

  None of the doors along the passage had labels – or none that was visible to me. It ended with imposing double doors which incorporated two blank shields into their carving. I pointed to one of the empty escutcheons. ‘Can you see anything?’

  ‘Yes I can. It’s changed since I was last here, because the Dean has changed. Soon enough, you’ll be able to see them, too.’

  She knocked on a smaller door to the right, and we entered a boringly twenty-first century office, where a boringly efficient PA asked us to wait. Then I noticed the view.

  ‘Why can I see rolling green fields out of the window?’ I whispered. ‘And why is it the middle of summer?’

  The Dean’s PA must have very good hearing. ‘We have no windows in Salomon’s House,’ she said. ‘That’s very unhealthy, so we have these Skyways, as they’re called. The ones in the ceilings just show the actual sky above us, but wall mounted ones are more flexible. This is the view from my daughter’s window in New Zealand. As it was twelve hours ago, of course. Right now, it’s the middle of the night. Aah. Dean Hardisty will see you now.’

  I was expecting a grand study to match the imposing double doors, but we were shown into a completely bare box with corporate carpeting and no furniture whatsoever. There wasn’t even a Skyway – just recessed electric light.

  ‘Just to explain,’ said the PA as she prepared to leave us. ‘This is the Dean’s ten minute room. All meetings of less than ten minutes happen in here. She won’t be long.’

  I pointed to a second door, opposite the one we’d come through. ‘Does that lead to the twenty minute room? Does it have chairs?’

  Vicky kept her eye on the second door and whispered, ‘This is all new to me. Cora Hardisty was the Oracle when I first came, and she only got Dean last year. The real Dean’s study is fantastic.’

  The door opened and revealed a professional smile attached to a designer suit and designer hair –no long sweep of loose locks for the Dean. Somewhere underneath the gloss was a woman in her late thirties, which probably made her at least sixty. Senior Mages have ways of defying the clock when it comes to appearance, and I don’t mean optical illusions. The smile came forward and offered me her hand. I shook.

  ‘Dean Cora Hardisty,’ she said. ‘Welcome to Salomon’s House, Mr Clarke.’ She switched off the smile and turned her attention to my partner. ‘Nice to see you again, Vicky. How’s life in the Watch? Has Ms Rothman kept her promises?’

  Vicky was looking anywhere except at our host, but there was nothing to look at except white walls.

  I had once tried to intervene to help Vicky out, and got my shin kicked for my pains – my bad shin – so I wasn’t about to intrude on some teacher/student dynamic that went back years. On the other hand, I was being tarred with the same brush here.

  ‘From what I’ve seen, Dean, everyone in the Watch keeps their promises. Especially Dame Hannah,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sure they do, Mr Clarke. Has Victoria explained the procedure?’

  I had to concede that one: Vicky is very stingy with her explanations. And she hates being called Victoria. I shook my head. The Dean sighed.

  ‘Rules state that you must be an Aspirant to the Great Work before you can seek an office with the Watch. If you’re not already a Fellow, like Victoria is, you have to take the oath and demonstrate your worth. If you survive your induction to the Watch, you can take the test for Master of the Art. It’s a fairly easy test, but it does have a requirement that you show progression.’
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  ‘That’s clear enough,’ I said, ‘except for the part about demonstrating my worth. How many more tests are there?’

  The Dean was unfazed. ‘I’m sure the RAF had constant testing during officer training. And pilot training.’

  She had a point.

  When I’d digested this, she continued, ‘All I need to see today is that you can do some of the Work. When you’re ready, Mr Clarke.’

  The only piece of magick I can perform to order is igniting the petrol in my lighter, so that’s what I did. The Dean observed me carefully, then gave the most patronising smile I’d seen since I was accosted by a Stop the War activist on Remembrance Day. Up to this point, I’d been giving Dean Hardisty the benefit of the doubt. That smile tipped the balance completely, and now I disliked her intensely.

  ‘That’s quite satisfactory, Mr Clarke. I’ll fetch the royal arms.’

  When she’d turned on her three inch heel and drifted back to her real office, I opened my mouth to say something caustic.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Vicky. ‘Just don’t. Not yet.’

  ‘Sorry, Victoria, I’ll hold my … Ow!’ As soon as I used her Sunday name, she kicked me.

  I was hopping on one leg when the Dean returned, a small jewellery box in one hand and a plaque sporting the royal coat of arms in the other.

  She ignored my pain, put the box on the floor and held out the heraldic shield. ‘We used to swear on the Bible, but sadly that’s not an option.’ The wooden plaque had a niche from which she removed a card.

  I laid my right hand on the shield and read from the card, ‘I Conrad Clarke, do solemnly swear my allegiance to Queen Elizabeth, her heirs and successors, and do solemnly swear to use my Gift in accordance with such laws over Nature as she and her ministers may make, and I swear to promote the wellbeing of the Commonwealth.’

  ‘Good,’ said Cora, picking up the box to show a tiny Doodad, about the size of a penny. ‘This is your Token of Aspiration. It will allow you to see Salomon’s House and to get through the front door. After that you’ll need help to get beyond the Receiving Room. I’m sure Victoria will oblige, especially with directions for our entrance to Hledjolf’s Hall.’ She paused until Vicky had given a weak smile. ‘Now we come to the Proof of Mastery. I shall recommend to the Inner Council that you be accepted for Master of the Art when you have completed your induction to the Watch, and when you have demonstrated that you can use a Keyway. It should be within your compass, Mr Clarke.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Vicky. ‘I’ll bring him up to scratch.’

  My partner was already backing towards the door, but I stood my ground. The Dean of the Invisible College is never going to like me, so I decided to put down a marker. I held out my hand to shake goodbye, forcing the Dean to shuffle the plaque and card. When I’d got her in my grip – lightly – I said, ‘It’s Squadron Leader Clarke, if you’re going to be formal. And Captain Robson. Vicky worked hard to get the Queen’s commission. Thank you for admitting me. We’ll be back in due course.’

  I let go of her hand, nodded, and left, making sure that the Dean heard me thank the office staff for their help, just to prove that it was personal.

  ‘You walk on the right,’ I said to Vicky in the corridor.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That way you can’t kick my bad leg. What a horrible woman.’

  ‘She’s the Dean of Salomon’s House,’ said Vicky, hissing in my ear. ‘Every Chymist in England is dependent on the good will of the Invisible College. When I leave the Watch, I’m coming back, and it will be up to her to re-admit me. The same goes for every other Officer of the Watch except the Constable. And you.’

  We were approaching the Library Rotunda again, and I needed to finish this conversation before we got there. I stopped, leaned against the wall and rubbed my bad leg. I also loosened one of my shoelaces slightly.

  ‘I’ve got a plan for that,’ I said. Vicky looked at me as if I’d gone mad. ‘What we need to do is recruit from the Circles.’

  She laughed. ‘Conrad, five weeks ago you were completely ignorant of the magickal world. You still are. One day you’ll find out why you need to build a bridge back to Dean Hardisty. I’ll give you this, mind. She’s a snotty cow and no mistake.’

  ‘Gender based epithets are sexist, Vicky. No calling people cow or bitch. I learnt that on a course.’

  I’d left my flank exposed, and she took full advantage to deliver a whack to the bad shin so painful that I had to lean against the wall to recover. Hands on hips, she surveyed the results of her footwork and nodded with satisfaction. ‘Can you make your own way out of the front? I need to pick something up from the Artificers.’

  ‘Vicky, there’s something I need to show you first. In the Rotunda.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Yes. When I stop to tie my shoelace, look at the portrait next to me and then move on. Don’t say anything until we meet up outside. Please. It’s important.’

  ‘Why aye, man. You don’t need to ask twice.’

  I hobbled through the Rotunda, stumbled near the wall and repaired the knot in my bootlace. I could hear the intake of breath from Vicky above me and she shot off towards the Junction at speed.

  Back in the genuine daylight of Frederick’s Place, while I waited for Vicky, I took the time to thread the Dean’s Doodad on to my neck chain, where it nestled against the Persona from Mother Julia. Two more different women in positions of authority you could not get. I turned round and, yes, it worked: I could see the Invisible College in all its glory, and I could see Vicky emerging with a holdall.

  ‘Coffee,’ I said. ‘And I need a fag.’

  Only when we’d put a safe distance between us and Salomon’s House did I ask who the subject of the portrait was, the one I'd made her look at in the Library.

  ‘Thomas Clarke, second Keeper of the Queen’s Esoteric Library. Also known as the First Rusticant because he walked off with some books. I’m guessing that there’s a good reason for all this.’

  ‘There is. He’s also my eleven times great grandfather, and his Spectre is haunting my house in Gloucestershire.’

  ‘Well bugger me.’

  ‘Yes, those were my thoughts, too. He’s rather faint, I’m afraid, and there’s something troubling him. He said that I need to take a Necromancer down there and that’s not something I’m going to discuss in Salomon’s House. Thomas Clarke may have questions to answer about his overdue books, but he’s family. We need to keep this on the QT until we know more.’

  ‘Start from the beginning, Conrad.’

  So I did, leaving nothing out (except the bit about Amelia and the rug). Like me, Vicky was most worried about Thomas’s reaction to Helen of Troy, and she agreed completely that this was a matter for Merlyn’s Tower, not Salomon’s House.

  She sat in silence for a moment. ‘If it’s definitely a Spectre, I think I could bring him out.’

  ‘Are you sure? I’d rather tell Dean Hardisty than put you at risk.’

  ‘Leave it with me, Conrad. I’ll ask around. How much Lux have you got? It’ll need at least an ounce.’

  ‘I’m good for that. There’s something else.’

  ‘My life, man, you’re not even on the books and you’re causing trouble.’

  ‘Can you come with me on Wednesday when I go to pick up my piece from Hledjolf?’

  ‘I was gonna show you Hledjolf’s front door, via the basement of Salomon’s House. What’s the problem? I can’t help with the Dwarves, you know.’

  ‘Nothing to do with Mr Shorty.’

  ‘Hey. No heightist comments, neither.’

  ‘Hledjolf is not Warwick Davies or Peter Dinklage. Hledjolf isn’t human at all, so if I want to call him an overgrown garden gnome, I will do.’

  She laughed. ‘Fine by me. Just don’t call a Gnome a Dwarf. They get very upset.’

  ‘There are Gnomes?’

  ‘Hell, aye, man. They mostly run the Chambers of Occult Commerce, but that’s for another day. What were you go
nna say about Hledjolf?’

  ‘I wasn’t. It’s something that Moley came across in the Old Network. It might be nothing, but I’d like your opinion. Anyway, I’m not walking back into Salomon’s House until I’ve got my Badge of Office.’

  Vicky looked at the sky, the traffic, the stationery shop across the road and finally at me. ‘I don’t like tunnels.’

  I nodded. Phobias should never be dismissed lightly. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘I can do a few minutes if I take a pill first. Are there any doors?’

  ‘Only one. In the Tube station. The temple-thingy I want your opinion on is about ten minutes’ walk from the entrance.’

  She tried to pull herself together. ‘Temple-thingy? That definitely sounds like a case for the crack team from Merlyn’s Tower.’

  ‘Thanks. What now?’

  ‘That’s enough for today. I need to go back to the Tower and get a lesson plan ready.’

  ‘Oh? What are you teaching? To whom?’

  ‘To you, and I’m teaching Keyways.’ She hefted the holdall she’d brought from Salomon’s House. ‘It’s a practical course. You’ll find out tomorrow.’ She hesitated. ‘Can we go to your flat? If no one’s gonna be around.’

  ‘Of course. No problem. I’ll text you the address. Do you use the Tube?’

  ‘Aye. The Tube’s alright, most of the time. It’s busy, it’s well lit. You don’t notice you’re in a tunnel. I’ll get an Uber tomorrow. See you about ten?’

  We stood up and got ready to leave. I had one final thing to say. ‘I wasn’t being noble about Spectre Thomas. I don’t want to put you in a dangerous position just because this is family business.’

  ‘I know. I’ve had to trust you, Conrad, quite a few times. Starting today, it goes both ways.’

  3 — A Magickal Education

  After my tenant left for his job at the Air Ministry, I cleaned and aired the flat, then took a stroll to the nearby deli to stretch my leg and get something nice for lunch. And breakfast, in Vicky’s case. She was waiting for me on the doorstep, and began by apologising profusely for being early.