The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

  ‘…I know, I know. Hear me out. Please.’

  I folded my arms to show how receptive I was going to be.

  She placed her palms on the desk. ‘The Vicar of London Stone has refused to pursue my request to authorise your weapon. I’ve taken advice, and none of the Orders of the Occult Council will allow me to designate you as a firearms officer. According to the Vicar, this would represent an unwarranted escalation of institutional violence.’

  I pointed at the damage to her head. ‘Tell that to the enemy.’

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Conrad.’

  ‘Seems like I’ve run out of luck. Ma’am – Hannah – you survived terrible injuries. The last time we had this conversation, you passed the buck to the Allfather, and blamed him for me blundering around with no protection. I’m your officer now, and so’s Vicky. Are you going to send us after a Revenant with no shield and no sword?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then how much do you need me? I can go and set up on my own.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Don’t even think that. I need you inside the tent, but I can’t just click my fingers and make it right. With the Vicar’s help, this could have been sorted by now. With his opposition, I’ll have to go the Occult Council on my own and get a new Order. That won’t happen until St David’s Day, and it’s not a done deal. For one thing, I need Salomon’s House on board, and you haven’t exactly made a friend of Dean Hardisty, have you?’

  ‘When Dean Hardisty goes chasing Dragons, I’ll be her BFF, ma’am. Until then, what?’

  ‘Keep a low profile. It’s not all doom and gloom. I did reach a compromise with the Vicar. You can keep the Hammer, and use the Ancile and Badge. However, I’ve promised to hang on to all the ammunition until the Council can debate my motion.’

  ‘You’re joking. Ma’am.’

  Her irritation was starting to spill in my direction. ‘Take it or leave it. Literally. You can keep the Hammer and your status, or I’ll take it off you and rusticate you until the vote. Without pay.’

  It was the proposal of rustication that swung it. I didn’t want to get out of the loop so soon after being brought in. ‘Very well, but if you put me to counting paperclips, I reserve the right to change my mind.’

  ‘I’m not having you under my feet, or Maxine’s.’ She opened the folder she’d been staring at and took out a note. ‘I’ve been on to Hledjolf. He says that he sold you thirty rounds.’ She put it down and stared at me. ‘Did you live fire any last week? I want the truth.’

  ‘No, ma’am. I still have all the rounds. Some are in my locker. I’ll go and get them.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She pressed the intercom. ‘Tennille? Can you get Vicky now, and put the kettle on.’

  I had a brain-wave, and lifted my case while Hannah was busy signing papers. I shot out of her office and down the stairs as quickly as I could so that I was waiting for Vicky when she emerged from the ground floor rooms. I put my finger on my lips when she saw me and motioned for her to close the doors.

  She came over and whispered, ‘What’s gan’ on?’

  I took out the Hammer, removed the clip and thumbed out two rounds. Hledjolf had given me three for testing, and I was now very glad that I’d only used one. Had the Dwarf deliberately misled Hannah when he said that he’d sold thirty, not mentioning the other two? Or was he just being literal because two were freebies? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Conrad.

  I pressed the rounds into Vicky’s hand, as Hannah had pressed the King’s Bounty into mine. ‘These are a gift. Feel free to use them as you see fit. Especially if I’m about to be eaten by a Dragon. And don’t say a word, obviously. Get upstairs and I’ll explain later.’ Before she could speak, I was on my way down to the basement.

  Back in Hannah’s office, in front of Vicky, I made a great show of counting out twenty-nine rounds then emptying the chamber of the thirtieth. ‘Ma’am, I have no further magickal rounds.’

  She passed me a receipt and moved the meeting to the comfy chairs. ‘How was Northumberland?’ she said to Vicky.

  ‘Cold. I was actually glad that Conrad made me buy all that outdoor gear.’

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ I asked.

  ‘Up in the Cheviots with the Shield Wall.’ She shook her head. ‘And to think I nearly asked to join them. Mad as a box of frogs, all of them. The only time they listened to me was when I said that Odin had once been your patron.’ She grinned at me. ‘On behalf of the Northumberland Shield Wall, Conrad, you are invited to their Hall as a guest of Honour. Do us a favour, will you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you’re mad enough to go, make sure it’s when I’m in Tenerife, OK?’

  ‘This should be a bit more congenial,’ said Hannah, pointing to a folder. ‘It’s…’

  She was interrupted by Tennille knocking on the half-open door and bringing in a sheaf of papers. ‘I just got this from Ruth Kaplan. It’s the report on that phone. You said it was urgent. I’ve emailed a copy, too.’ She put it on the table in front of us and went back outside.

  Hannah looked at the door, the folder, and finally at me. She traced her finger round the plate in her skull and sat back. ‘I literally don’t have anyone else to pursue this, and it’s your case by right of discovery. I can’t stop you chasing it up, but I can order you not to approach any potentially dangerous situations. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Message understood.’

  She turned to my partner. ‘Vicky, you are to keep him out of trouble. OK?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Don’t you start with the ma’ams, already.’ She picked up the papers which Tennille had brought in and gave them as much time as it took to eat a biscuit. ‘There’s not much to go on. Should keep you both out of trouble for a while.’ She put them on the table. ‘I’ll forward the email. Good luck.’

  Vicky looked at me. ‘You take the paper copy. I can read it on me tablet.’

  ‘Thanks everyone,’ said Hannah, rising to end the meeting. We did the same and were on our way out when Hannah held up a flimsy, yellowing piece of paper. ‘I had a good laugh this morning. I asked Maxine to check out the archives to see if the Watch had anything on Dragons, and this is what she came up with. It’s dated 1967 and is the official protocol for dealing with the event of a Dragon attack. You’ll appreciate this, Conrad, in view of the Vicar’s views on the aims and values of the Watch.’

  She held the paper up for me to read. ‘Very droll, ma’am. I promise not to put it into action without your permission. Unless I’ve had a very bad day.’

  She hesitated, the antique memorandum fluttering in the draught. ‘You mean that, don’t you?’

  I smiled by way of an answer and bowed my head in farewell. Vicky had been craning her neck to see the protocol, and couldn’t wait to pester me for details. I made a point of thanking Tennille for the refreshments and waiting until we were on the stairs before answering her question with a question. ‘Have you ever been on a tiger hunt?’

  Vicky went to kick me, but she was on the wrong side. ‘Howay, man. You ask the most weirdest questions ever. “Have I flown a helicopter?” “Have I fired a Kalashnikov?” “Have I been on a tiger hunt?” No, Conrad, I have not been on a tiger hunt, and I sincerely hope that haven’t either, and what has that got to do with killing Dragons?’

  ‘Tiger hunting was a big thing in the Raj.’

  ‘Where’s the Raj?’

  ‘Not where, what. The Raj was the name for the British Empire in India. And Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Burma … all those bits. To kill a tiger, you tie a goat to a tree, climb the tree and wait.’

  She stared at me. ‘I don’t somehow think that’ll work with a Mature Dragon.’

  ‘Granted, but I think the guy who wrote the protocol might have been an old colonial hand. For a Dragon, he says we evacuate all the livestock in a thirty mile radius of the Dragon’s lair, deploy fighter aircraft to discourage it from flying further afield and wait until it ge
ts hungry. Then, while it’s sleeping, we truck in a herd of beef cattle and pen them up.’

  ‘Great. Then what? We all hide in nearby trees?’

  ‘No. We wait until it attacks the beasts and use a tactical nuclear warhead.’

  ‘Man, that’s brilliant! Devastate half the country and give the rest radiation poisoning. Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘You haven’t heard the best bit yet.’

  ‘It gets better?’

  ‘Oh, definitely. There was also advice for the Royal Occulter. It said, It is difficult to conceal an atomic explosion or to blame a foreign power. The bomb should be admitted as an accident.’

  We’d had this conversation standing half way down the stairs. Vicky laughed, and moved to continue our journey. I touched her sleeve.

  ‘It’s still the best idea, Vic. A small tactical nuke wouldn’t destroy much more than the farm it was used on. Mind you, it wouldn’t do much for local property prices.’

  She blinked. ‘You lived with stuff like this every day in the RAF, didn’t you? No wonder you’re mad.’

  I started down the stairs. ‘It takes a President or Prime Minister to start a nuclear war. Round here, any two-bit Zoogenist can create a giant talking mole. You tell me who’s mad.’

  12 — On the Scent

  We set up camp in the Watch Room and started on Ruth Kaplan’s report. It turned out that Hledjolf’s capacity for accessing phone data wasn’t as big as he liked to make out. The Dwarf clearly had access to some of the masts, but not to the network providers’ data sets. I’m sure the Camelot Committee will be reassured.

  The police, on the other hand, can get everywhere. Ruth’s report showed that our phone had been bought from a London shop in June last year, not long before the guy using it was killed by Moley. And that was our enemy’s first mistake: if you’re going to be a criminal, never buy your phones retail. Even though they’d paid cash and given a false name, the purchaser’s image had been captured by the store’s CCTV. I showed the picture to Vicky.

  ‘Ever seen him before?’

  ‘Nah. Was he the guy underground?’

  ‘He’s got the same build. Don’t forget, Mr Mole ate his head, so a positive ID is difficult.’

  ‘Eurgh. Bet that did wonders for his halitosis.’

  We turned to the detailed call logs. Our phone had been used in a cut-out pairing: all its calls had been made to one other number, and that number had only been used to call ours. This is basic stuff, but you need to be truly paranoid to get the next level right.

  People are so attached to their phones now, that they can’t live without them. The dead guy had called his contact, but his contact needed to talk to other people. The late Sir Stephen Jennings had numerous phones for the Jigsaw empire, but he never used them in the same place. He would take a call on one, then drive somewhere else to use one of the others. And he never travelled with them switched on. Our enemy hadn’t been so clever.

  On several occasions, the second phone had been used in a remote area, and immediately after, from the same mast, further calls had been made from a third number to a fourth number (both, alas, a dead end). This gave us two locations to start with: the whole of Newport, Wales, and the middle of a field in Buckinghamshire. We looked up at each other. ‘Spot the Occulter,’ I said.

  ‘Not a very good one,’ said Vicky. ‘A halfway decent Occulter would never allow their phone to ping off the nearest mast.’

  ‘Assuming our target didn’t actually stand in the middle of a field, they might have been visiting someone, and relied on that someone’s camouflage. There might be an entire community there. Can we check?’

  Vicky tapped her tablet for a while. ‘There’s nothing showing for that location. According to Cheng, less than ten per cent of magickally occulted properties are known to us, so I’m not surprised.’

  ‘I brought the car up last night. Fancy a field trip?’

  She put her tablet down. ‘Aye. Of course. But, Conrad, the Boss was serious. We don’t get into any situations. No stupid heroics.’

  I met her eyes for a second. ‘Hurry up, Vic. If we leave before twelve thirty, we can claim lunch on expenses.’

  ‘You’re such a romantic, Conrad. No wonder Mina fell for you.’

  During the drive, Vicky gave me a bit more background on Occulting – the magickal art of hiding things from the mundane world. ‘Most Mages don’t live in completely Occluded houses, Conrad.’

  ‘Hang on, Vic, so far I’ve seen Lunar Hall, Merlyn’s Tower and Salomon’s House, all of which are completely Occluded, to say nothing of Hledjolf’s Hall. I doubt that Mark Carney knows that there’s a Dwarf living under the Bank of England.’

  ‘He does, actually.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s very rare. None of the Mages from Salomon’s House that I know of live in total Occlusion. Not even Dean Hardisty.’

  ‘Are you speaking from personal experience?’

  ‘Aye. Christmas party at her place. Very nice it is too, even if it is South of the River.’

  I could see that. Hardisty would definitely go out of her way to get her students in an informal setting to see what they were like. She’s the sort of woman who picks winners and plays the long game. ‘Does she have a family.’

  ‘She does. Her husband is a retired builder. He retired when their son was born. Nice bloke.’

  ‘He has my sympathies.’

  If we’d been going to Whitchurch, Shropshire, or Whitchurch, Cardiff, I would have had time to pursue the private lives of noted Mages, but we were headed for Whitchurch, Bucks. It was time to put a plan together.

  As the one with the Badge, I had to speak first. When we arrived at the village, we were still arguing about what should happen next. I pulled up next to a grass verge and we got out to look around.

  ‘That’s clever,’ said Vicky. She pointed to a compact bungalow at the end of a track. Beyond the building, the land dipped out of view.

  ‘What’s clever?’

  ‘I think that our guy must own the bungalow and use it as cover to keep a foothold in the village. I can see a Work anchored to the bungalow that spreads backwards and out of sight. Best of both worlds.’

  ‘Let’s see if there’s anyone at home.’

  I drove up the track and parked behind a compact hatchback. We took a note of the number plate (or Index as Ruth Kaplan insisted on calling it), as well as the house name. Vicky said she’d do a search of some local records to see who was registered as living here.

  The bungalow was empty but not deserted: an oil fired boiler was ticking over to keep it warm and lights were showing from a back room. My impression of the owner, based on the soft furnishings, was definitely female, but not a Witch.

  ‘Why not?’ said Vicky.

  ‘No chintz. Let’s see what’s round the back.’ There was no road, but there was a covered area at the side of the house under a canopy. ‘See that? It’s an electric charging point. I bet she uses a golf buggy. We’ll have to walk.’

  ‘At least I’m dressed for it today.’

  It took us less than two minutes to find a Ward built into a gate and its surrounding hedge. Vicky examined it magickally and said, ‘I can’t see any defences. This is a simple Glamour and Compulsion to keep the mundane world out and make them carry on the path round this hedge.’

  She was about to unhitch the gate when I spotted something in the grass. ‘Hang on.’

  ‘What?’

  The path to the gate, and a few metres further along, was chipped stone. I’d gone to check where it led. I beckoned Vicky and pointed to tyre tracks in the grass. ‘You don’t take your buggy along here if there’s a nice dry gate to go through. I think that Glamour is a well concealed trap.’

  She looked at the boggy puddles and the gate. She wasn’t going to get wet without a good reason. I decided that it was time to raise my Ancile: if Vicky was going to tamper with a potential booby trap, I wanted protection. I hadn’t raise
d it before because I’d discovered when practising at home that it gave me a bad headache after a couple of hours.

  She stood well back and stared at the gate. Finally, she got out her tablet and looked something up. ‘That’s really clever,’ she said in disgust. Without explaining, she splashed off round the hedge. I caught up with her at a second gate, and even I could sense the Glamour around it.

  Vicky raised her hands. The metal bars of the gate began to shimmer with rainbow colours, finally coalescing into a green which matched the grass. The steel structure sparked green for a few seconds, grew brighter, and then grass, gate and field all disappeared, leaving us with tyre tracks and view of a stand of trees. ‘I didn’t think she’d want to get off the buggy to open the gate,’ said Vicky. She gave me a smile. ‘I’m starting to think like you, see? Come on.’

  The path led through the trees at an angle, and we were soon in sight of our target. Our woman was standing on the steps in front of a log cabin, the golf buggy parked on slabs to the side. This was not the sort of log cabin you see on Swiss postcards, more the sort you find on a holiday lodge park. The building was wooden, yes, but it had come here straight from the factory in sections, as had the double-glazed windows and door. The owner was standing with her arms folded, a frown clearly visible.

  The rest of her came into focus as we approached, and was very ordinary by magickal standards – a fleece, a sweater, jeans and slippers. She looked about sixty, and the only feature you wouldn’t see on the dozens of similar women in Clerkswell was the long ponytail.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ she said when we got closer.

  The red file had a section on formal introductions, and so for the first time in my new career I took a deep breath and said, ‘Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Conrad Clarke, captain of the King’s Watch, and this is Watch Officer Victoria Robson. Could we…’

  ‘No,’ said the woman. ‘I do not recognise your law or accept your authority. You are nothing to me.’

  That wasn’t in the red file. I looked at Vicky, who was clearly annoyed but not surprised. I took a half step back to let her take over.