The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

  ‘Oh, and wear sensible shoes,’ I said as she left the flat.

  ‘Yes, Uncle Conrad.’

  4 — Of Moles and Men

  The warning signs were visible before I got to the Royal Exchange – a cloud of smoke was rising above Vicky. She’d started on the fags again.

  ‘Are you sure about this? I asked, squeezing in next to her and taking the lid off my coffee.

  She lifted her legs and waggled her feet. ‘Ninety quid I’ve spent on urban adventure shoes. Not going back now.’

  ‘Good. I was thinking last night – we might run into Mr Mole, and you should know what to expect.’

  ‘I thought you were his pal.’

  ‘I am, but he can get very friendly. He’s blind, obviously, and to get to know you, he has to nose you all over.’

  ‘We had a dog like that once, always sniffing.’

  ‘It’s more than smell, Vic. His nose is like a … radar, I suppose. He can’t be in the world without touching things. It’s like having a thousand giant maggots crawl over your face.’

  She went even paler than normal and just flicked her head, not trusting herself to speak.

  ‘Let’s get it over with, then,’ I said. We picked up our backpacks, dumped our cups and butts, and headed underground.

  I led us through the service entrance and pointed to the magickal door. ‘Is this a non-linear lock? You have to say friend in a silly voice before it opens. See?’

  The sound of my Bluebottle impersonation brought the smile back to her face. ‘I have absolutely no idea about this, Conrad, and I don’t propose to waste my life thinking about it. Let’s get down there.’

  I walked down the steps and powered up the lantern. I was about to offer her the spare LED torch I’d brought when she took out a stick about two feet long. I had to turn away and blink when the end lit up.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Should have warned you. This is full daylight.’

  ‘Even Moley will see that. How did you do it?’

  She shrugged. ‘This is the closest we get to a magic wand. It’s called a Lightstick, and I’ll put it on your curriculum for later. Much later.’

  The flood of bright light seemed to calm her further, and we made good progress until we got to the fork into Moley’s new diggings. From somewhere, water was getting in, and the tunnel was now both steep and muddy. Vicky had to lean on me to keep her balance.

  ‘This is gonna ruin me new shoes.’

  I was going to say something scathing until I saw the Lightstick shake. She was getting worried. ‘Not far now. The Roman tunnel should be dry.’

  By the time we got to the crossroads with the Roman diggings, Vicky was breathing heavily. She squatted with her back to the dry bricks and told me to put my lantern back on. She put down the Lightstick, which promptly went out, and dropped half the contents of her backpack on the floor. It’s a good job her sPad has a rugged housing. She finally found a strip of tablets and a bottle of water.

  ‘I was trying to do without,’ she said. ‘It’s being with you, you great psychopath. Didn’t want to look like a girl.’

  I gritted my teeth and did something I hope I won’t regret: I bent down and snatched the tablets before she could take one.

  ‘Hey! Conrad! Give them back.’

  I glanced at the packet: Xanax. I shoved them in my coat and dropped down to her level. I grabbed her hand, partly for reassurance and partly to stop her lashing out – wild magick can be very dangerous.

  ‘It’s too late, Vic,’ I said. ‘Believe me: I’ve seen it. I’ve flown lots of reluctant passengers in my time, and Xanax only works in advance. If you take it now, you’ll be in all sorts of shit. Trust me: I’m a pilot.’

  She managed a laugh. ‘If you say so. Give us a minute. And don’t let go of me hand just yet.’

  We sat next to each other in the gloom for a few minutes while she tried to get control of her breathing. With a big huff, she withdrew her hand. ‘What would you have done if I’d really freaked out?’

  I drew the magickal wirecutters out of my pocket, the ones I use to sever the chain of Artefacts that Mages have around their necks. ‘I would have whacked you, cut your chain to stop you hurting yourself, or me, then carried you out as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Do you think of everything?’

  ‘Only when my life’s at stake. Or yours. It’s called risk management. I’ll put it on your curriculum, along with strategic advantage and tactical withdrawal.’

  ‘I can wait.’

  On her signal, we climbed up, and she re-lit the Lightstick. She looked at the door, and what had taken me half an hour took her ten seconds. ‘You’re right, it is Roman. There are no traps or Wards, just the back side of a concealment Glamour. We’ll do that in a minute after I’ve got me Focus out.’

  I know that Vicky’s sPad is a Sorcerer’s Focus, sort of like a digital crystal ball, but that’s all I know. She juggled the Lightstick and Focus, then scanned the chamber at the other end of the tunnel, walking straight in and examining the well in the floor. She stared closely at her Focus.

  ‘I thought it might be some sort of font. Like in a church,’ I ventured.

  She looked at me blankly. ‘You what?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  She turned round and looked down towards the door, then back to the chamber. Finally, she took pictures using the mundane features of her sPad.

  ‘This was some sort of repository,’ she said. ‘Something very powerful was put in that hollow, and it was there for nigh on two thousand years. It was removed less than a year ago.’

  I stared at her. ‘How did you figure that out?’

  ‘Which way’s north, and where’s Salomon’s House?’

  Without thinking, I pointed left, then half-left again.

  ‘Aye,’ said Vicky. ‘When you can explain how you did that, I’ll explain how I know what I saw in there. Let’s see what’s through that door.’

  I grabbed her arm. ‘Hang on. We’re going to have company.’

  The patter of giant paws got louder, and I wondered why Vicky hadn’t heard it. When Moley was about to burst into the tunnel, I called out a greeting. I heard him slow down, then he barrelled into view.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Your Worship, may I present Officer Robson of the King’s Watch?’

  He nosed me quickly and turned his attention to Vicky. My partner managed to hold it together until she smelt his breath.

  She backed away, gagged and bent double. I thought she was going to deposit her breakfast all over the Roman mosaic.

  Mole turned to me. ‘The little man has much Lux. What is the matter with him?’

  ‘Nothing, and she’s a she. She’ll recover. Any news?’

  ‘Mole digs. Mole has been turned down for a credit card. Ghaaeegh.’

  Vicky had recovered enough to join in. ‘What do you want with a credit card, Your Worship?’

  As well as looking whiter than the Snow Queen, a green tinge had appeared on Vicky’s neck. One of her Artefacts was obviously working hard. She manoeuvred herself round to Moley’s left, away from his mouth.

  Moley sniffed. ‘I like your stories, human. The Amazon sells such stories with voices. They will not let me listen without a credit card.’

  ‘I can get you one,’ I said. ‘You can pay me in gold. There must be some around down here somewhere.’

  ‘I trade all things I find to the Dwarf, for Lux. I can get much human currency for gold. Tell me when it is done. Mole must dig.’ With a final flick over both our persons, he scuttled away uphill.

  Vicky waited until he was out of earshot before saying, ‘Uggh. That was disgusting on so many levels, I don’t know where to start. For one thing, I could have sworn I smelled curry on his breath. Must be an olfactory illusion.’

  ‘No, that was real. I gave him some curry paste to put on the worms.’

  She gazed at the tunnel where he’d disappeared. She looked more wretched than I’ve ever seen
her, more wretched than incipient claustrophobia and exposure to Moley’s halitosis could account for. She touched my arm. ‘Conrad, I’m really, really sorry. He’s not stable.’

  I frowned. ‘His Worship is a bit of a fruitcake by human standards, but he’s quite together in his own Moleish way.’

  She shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean mentally stable, though we could argue about that. Whoever created him didn’t do a very good job, I’m afraid. It’s his holistic stability that’s the issue. Have you noticed any changes since you first met him?’

  I reflected on our brief acquaintance. ‘Yes. When we first met, he couldn’t pronounce “S” sounds at all. He can now, and his nose feels ever-so-slightly different. Less slimy.’

  ‘I thought so. He’s still morphing – his Imprint is changing and his body can’t keep up. Sooner or later, they’ll get so out of kilter that they’ll split. He can’t sustain himself as a Spirit, so he’ll just … die. Sorry.’

  Poor Mole. That was just cruel. ‘He says a Spirit created him.’

  ‘He’s wrong. He probably couldn’t tell the difference when he was first metamorphosed. What’s been done to Mr Mole has all the hallmarks of Zoogeny. That’s the branch of the Work that deals with animals, specifically with tinkering around with their form and fate.’

  I was silent, trying to absorb what she was telling me.

  Vicky doesn’t like silences, much. ‘You pretty much have to be born to it,’ she continued. ‘Even a powerful Chymist like Dean Hardisty wouldn’t know the first thing about something like Mr Mole.’

  ‘Is there a … zoogenist? A Zoogenist at Salomon’s House? Could she do anything for Moley?’

  ‘I’m really, really sorry.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s a serious offence to create a Particular from an animal, almost as bad as what Deborah Sayer tried to do to her own daughter. Someone has shoved human intelligence on to Moley’s natural Imprint and injected Lux to make his body adapt. Is Moleish a word?’

  ‘It is to me.’

  ‘Well, the Moleish part of his DNA is stable, but he’s had chunks of homo sapiens grafted on to it. It would be an offence to continue tampering, so the Queen’s Zoogenist would just watch over Mr Mole until he became distressed, and then put him down.’

  That was harsh. Very harsh. Moley is not an abomination, he’s a creature, he is his own Mole. Some human did this to him, and as a species, we owe it to him to put things right.

  However, I hadn’t missed the warning: if I joined the Watch, I’d have to follow the rules. To avoid the issue, I flicked my lighter – there was enough of a draught to have a smoke and a drink, so we did.

  I pointed to the door. ‘Is it locked?’

  ‘Aye, but not from this side. The Romans made good locks, and their Keyways are most definitely non-linear. Whoever came for whatever was in that chamber must have had the original Stamp, which is unlikely, or they made one from a schematic. We’ll see where it leads in a minute, but I want your thoughts first. Try to think about the Work and what’s been done here.’

  Was this an official test or an informal piece of staff development from my partner? I suspected the latter. I smoked and speculated. ‘Moley was dumped not far from here. Was he created to dig down to this place? Was he abandoned half-finished because they found another way? He’s been around since before this door was opened. Too much of a coincidence otherwise.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that, and I was thinking about the tunnel and chamber, actually.’

  I gave her a grin. ‘That’s why we make such good partners.’ I gave it some more thought. ‘I’ve learnt enough to know that magick needs a supply of Lux. The sacred grove at Lunar Hall has a constant presence of Sisters to keep the supply going, but no one’s been here since the chamber was sealed. That means it must be drawing a supply from somewhere. And the only protection we know about so far was a Glamour, so probably not that much power.’

  ‘I think so, too,’ she said. ‘And I'll bet they're connected to the Ley lines. Let’s get that door opened – I’ll do it.’

  ‘No, Vic. I’ll do it. You need to be on guard for whatever’s on the other side. Until I get my piece from the Dwarf, you’re the one with the firepower, not me.’

  ‘You’re the expert.’

  Opening the door was very hard. Not only was it physically very heavy, it was stuck with two millennia of dust, and the magickal catch was bloody stiff. I was panting when I drew it back, and Vicky needs to develop more of a sense of danger, because all she did was peer round.

  ‘I’ve been here,’ she exclaimed. ‘See?’

  Beyond the door was something like a roundhouse: a domed chamber with several exits, well maintained stonework and a series of lines painted on to the floor. I noticed that the thickest line led away from the centre to a large tunnel which could have been built as the continuation of the Roman construction behind us.

  Vicky slipped through the door and pointed to the right. ‘Salomon’s House is two minutes up that way. We were brought down here for a lecture.’

  ‘I’m guessing it wasn’t your favourite topic, not with it being underground.’

  ‘You’d be right. I spent most of the lecture hyperventilating and squeezing Desi’s hand.’ She took a few more steps and stood on the spot where the lines came together. ‘I hope there’s a simple answer to what was in that chamber, because if there isn’t, we’re gonna have to talk to the most boring man I’ve ever met. Even more boring than me Uncle Geoff.’

  ‘Who would that be?’

  She sighed. ‘The Earth Master. I hate Geomancy. I really, really hate Geomancy. It was the only paper I had to take three times.’ She saw me move. ‘Stop! Don’t close that door or we’ll never get back in.’

  I remained in post, holding back the heavy timbers.

  Vicky scanned them quickly, and said, ‘Superb craftsmanship. When that door closes, even you won’t see it. Listen, Conrad, I don’t think I can take much more down here. If I go up to Salomon’s House, through the basement, I can find Desi and ask her to look up what this tunnel and chamber are all about. I’ve never seen anything like this before. While I’m doing that, you can see the Dwarf. You don’t need me for that.’

  ‘Are we allowed to do contact Desirée? I don’t want to upset Tennille.’

  She waved her hand. ‘The Invisible College have to help us. It’s in their charter and it’s in their best interests. It’s up to us who we ask. If Desi can’t find out, she’ll pass it on.’

  ‘Great. Well done, Vicky. And thank you. This morning meant a lot to me.’

  ‘Aye, you’re welcome. It’s what partners do. I’m just sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I’ll be in touch.’

  I waved goodbye and retreated to the Roman Tunnel. Poor Moley, caught in the twilight world between human and animal. He is gross, he is unnatural, and he’s already killed four people. I just can’t help liking him, that’s all. We’ve cleared our debts to each other – if anything, he owes me – but if I can help him by bending the rules but not breaking them, then I’ll do it. I took a last look around the tunnel and followed Mole’s paw prints uphill for my appointment with Hledjolf.

  5 — Ecce Dwarf

  The Dwarf led me deeper into the Hall than I’d been before: through the conference room, down a passage and into a vast domed space that disappeared into the dark. I could see a table in front of me, at human height, with a portable ramp next to it, like a wheelchair version of the steps to a light aircraft. In the distance, a shadowy scarecrow stood sentry.

  Hledjolf climbed the ramp. ‘Behold your weapons.’

  ‘No one says Behold any more,’ I responded, bending to examine the goods. My original Sig P226 was there, now gleaming from a thorough clean, with the clips lined up next to it.

  Ear defenders were at the back. Front and centre was an ornate black case made from something like polycarbonate, edged with aluminium. Very professional looking. Even more interesting was the glimmer of Lux.

  ‘Impre
ssive,’ I said.

  ‘We thought you would want the same protection as other Watch Captains, even though you did not ask for it.’

  You can’t say that the little stone robot’s customer service isn’t first rate. ‘Thank you, Hledjolf. I owe you one.’

  ‘You owe us 0.5oz to be precise.’

  Fair enough. ‘What do I get for that?’

  ‘The case has a lock keyed to your Imprint, and the Forgetting Rune embedded. If you did not know, that rune allows you to deposit the case with any human, and they will forget it’s there, and so will their colleagues. They will not seek to examine it. Certain Works will counteract this effect, but they are rare. In addition, only you can discharge the weapon. Please, examine it.’

  I touched the lid casually, and felt nothing. I had to give it a magickal nudge before the lock clicked open – no magnets, just a sturdy pair of latches.

  Inside, the handgun was snug in its black foam and looked exactly like the original on the table next to it, except that it seemed somehow perfect. I couldn’t tell you how, or why, but Dwarven crafting is just flawless. There were differences – the grip had two insets, one empty and one with an Ancile. I was staring at it in admiration, unwilling to spoil the moment. Hledjolf thought I must be unsure.

  ‘We have made the case over-sized,’ he said. ‘In the lid is a compartment for magickal rounds, with room for your human badges. ID cards you call them.’

  ‘Useful.’ I pointed to the stock. ‘I thought the Ancile only worked if you touched it. I can’t carry a gun in my hand all the time.’

  ‘Nor a sword, nor an axe. This is the finest Ancile: you activate it by touch, and so long as it remains on your person, you are protected. You should deactivate it unless you are at risk, because it puts a drain on your Lux.’

  ‘Right.’