The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

  ‘Your statement is noted, ma’am. Could we enter and speak as equals before Nature’s law?’

  ‘No.’

  Vicky wasn’t expecting that. I stepped forward. ‘Aren’t those slippers a bit cold?’ I said conversationally. ‘Surely it’s warmer inside, for all of us?’

  ‘No. I am not extending hospitality or its protection to those without need. Say your piece and continue on your way.’

  Vicky touched my arm, and the same muffling I felt in the Junction at Salomon’s House fell over us. We were in a Silence. Vicky turned her lips away from the woman and said, ‘She’s what we call a non-juror. They refuse to acknowledge all forms of state authority in magick. So do most of the Circles, actually, but that’s not usually a problem because they adopt the Occult Council’s Orders without accepting its authority. If you see what I mean.’

  She had spoken clearly, in a normal voice. I couldn’t help whispering. Speaking at that volume with our target only feet away is just wrong. ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘I don’t know. This hasn’t happened before. Not to me. Let me look it up.’

  Vicky started to pull out her tablet. The woman looked scornfully at us and stepped back towards the door of her lodge. It was time to finish my introduction.

  I took the Hammer out of its holster and touched the Badge. Magick flashed. I made sure that she could see what the Badge was attached to. ‘This is…’

  The woman burst out laughing. ‘A no-Talent man with no bullets and a third-rate Sorcerer. Who do you two think you are? Don Quixote and Sancho Panza? Please go away and leave me alone.’

  Vicky looked crushed, and the woman had made a big mistake: no one gets to insult my partner except me. I leaned close and hissed in Vicky’s ear, ‘I’ve got an idea. Get back to the car and leave me to it.’

  ‘Oh, no, Conrad. We’re in this together. Besides, I’m completely stumped, so whatever you come up with is bound to be a learning experience.’

  The woman grasped the handle. She was about to leave us outside like unwanted cold callers.

  ‘Nice lodge,’ I said. ‘The only problem with wood – even treated wood – is that it burns very easily.’

  She let go of the door and gave me a strange look before turning to Vicky. ‘He does know that I’ve captured an image of this whole conversation.’

  Vicky grinned. ‘He doesn’t, actually, not that it would bother him. Unless you’ve caught his bald patch.’

  The woman turned back to me. ‘Your law would put you in that hell-hole under Blackfriars for arson, to say nothing of you not having the Talent to start a fire.’

  I looked at the lodge, bending down to check for a gap where the walls met the foundations. Having found what I wanted, I straightened up and lit a cigarette. Magickally. ‘You’re right. I have no talent for Pyromancy, but I do have the skills to make an IID, and that’s not a crime under Occult law. I might get a slap on the wrist from the Constable. That’s all.’

  For the first time, she looked something other than annoyed. ‘An IID?’

  ‘Improvised Incendiary Device.’

  Vicky followed straight on. ‘And as you know, ma’am, you can’t sue in the Cloister Court unless you acknowledge its authority and unless there’s magick involved.’

  The woman blinked. ‘I’m going to call your bluff.’ And she did, turning her back and walking through the door, leaving us in the cold.

  ‘Nice try,’ said Vicky. ‘What do we do now?’

  I gestured at the door. ‘Does this sort of thing happen often?’

  ‘No. They usually agree to talk as equals. We could arrest her, but we’ve got absolutely no evidence. We’d get more than a slap on the wrist for that.’

  ‘Come on, then.’

  I led us round to the buggy. Being used to complete privacy, the woman had left the key in it. ‘You drive. I’ll keep watch.’

  ‘You’re gonna steal her buggy?’

  ‘Borrow. If she attacks magickally, we can arrest her.’

  We climbed in, and Vicky broke into a grin. ‘Hold on tight. I’ve always wanted to play with one of these.’

  We shot off the hardstanding and across the grass. I twisted round to watch the lodge, but the woman held her nerve and stayed inside.

  Despite Vicky nearly toppling the buggy on a sharp bend, we were back at the bungalow in seconds. I could see why the woman used it. ‘What now?’ asked Vicky. ‘We’ve pissed her off, but we’re no nearer getting an answer.’

  ‘You know the old saying? A threat’s not a threat unless you’re willing to carry it out.’ I clambered down and pointed to the shed behind the bungalow. ‘Can you get the padlock off that?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously, Vic. We’re in this together, so which do you fancy? Robson’s Raiders or Clarke’s Commandos?’

  ‘Does it have to alliterate?’

  ‘No.’

  She went up to the shed and fiddled with the lock. I spotted a water butt. Handy. I tipped out a winter’s worth of water and rolled it up to the heating oil tank. I was busy disconnecting the pipe when Vicky offered me the padlock like a prize. ‘How about the Merlyn’s Tower Irregulars?’ she said.

  I took the padlock. ‘Thank you. We can think of Irregular code names later.’

  ‘Not so fast this time,’ I said. ‘I don’t want oil on my trousers.’

  I was sitting in the back of the buggy, holding on to a half-full butt of heating oil. The front passenger seat was now occupied by a sledgehammer from the burgled shed. Vicky drove us carefully back to the lodge, pausing to remove the Glamour for a second time.

  ‘She must have thought we’d gone for good,’ she commented. ‘It takes effort to rebuild something like that from scratch. Quite a bit of effort. Where shall I stop?’

  ‘The lodge is built on a slope, so pull up on the right. There’ll be a bigger gap under the floor.’

  The woman held her nerve as we approached, and there was still no sign of her when everything was in place. Vicky stood guard in front of the lodge. I took off my coat and lifted the sledgehammer.

  The bricks crumbled after the fourth blow. She appeared after the fifth, white with fury and carrying a five foot wooden staff, glowing with inlaid magick. ‘Get off my land. Get off now.’

  I rested my hand on the sledgehammer. ‘Or what?’

  ‘You would start a feud over this? You would risk the lives of your family after burning all the evidence you came looking for?’

  That stopped me. I wasn’t going to put my family – or Vicky’s – on the line over this. Rule Number One in Alfred Clarke’s rulebook is: never start a fight unless you can afford to lose. However, we hadn’t quite got to that point yet. I turned to my partner. ‘Vic? Do Dragons burn?’

  ‘No. If it’s still here, it’ll survive the fire.’

  The woman lowered the staff. ‘Are you insane? What Dragon?’

  ‘That’s what we’re here for,’ said Vicky. ‘We just want to find the egg. Or the Hatchling.’

  The woman looked at me. ‘A Dragon hunt? Is this the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you willing to swear that this wild goose chase is all of your business?’

  ‘Of course. As the Allfather is my witness, I swear that there is a Dragon’s egg in circulation, and that finding it is all of our business here.’

  She stepped away from her door and pushed her staff carefully into the bare ground, watched closely by Vicky. The woman clasped the staff and said, ‘On my staff, I swear that I have no knowledge of Dragons or their eggs save what I learnt at school. I have heard no word of Dragons these thirty years.’

  I put the sledgehammer by the wall and walked up to stand on the opposite side of the woman to Vicky. I took out my notebook. ‘Have you ever used these mobile numbers, or made calls to them from this location?’ I rattled off the digits.

  ‘What’s that got to do with Dragons?’

  I noticed that she was still wearing slipper
s, and that she was starting to sink into the mud. It was my turn to say nothing.

  She sighed loudly. ‘I swear that I have never owned or called from those numbers, or to my knowledge called them. I swear that I have never called them from here because I never bring my phone to the lodge. Ever.’

  That was interesting. ‘Then who visited you on the 7th July last year, and what was your business with them?’

  She looked disgusted, with what I couldn’t tell. ‘Are you sure about the date?’

  ‘I can get the Vodafone printouts. They’re in the car.’

  ‘Henry Octavius.’

  I jotted down the name. Before I could ask who this might be, Vicky spoke. ‘Is that the chief of Clan Octavius?’ The woman nodded. ‘He’s a Gnome, Conrad. We can get hold of him.’

  I wrote Gnome!!! in my book and said, ‘Thank you, ma’am. What was your business with him?’

  ‘Nothing to do with Dragons. That’s all I will answer to.’

  She had a point. I held up my hands in apology. ‘Did your guest leave the lodge to make or receive calls?’

  ‘Yes, he did. He answered one phone inside, and it didn’t look like good news. He went out, finished the call on the first phone and took out a different one to make a second call. All of this I swear, and I think we’re done here.’

  She took her hand off the staff and was about to pull it up when Vicky stepped forward and said, ‘Not yet. You need to say the words. We will, too.’

  The two women locked eyes for a moment. Vicky was not the first to look down.

  ‘Go in peace, our business done,’ said the woman.

  ‘We leave in peace, our business done,’ echoed Vicky. ‘You too, Conrad.’

  I repeated the formula, then picked up my coat. The emotional temperature plummeted from flash-point to cold fury as the woman surveyed the damage I’d done to her lodge.

  ‘Careful with that barrel,’ I said. ‘It’s full of heating oil. And you’ll need someone to fix the pipe at the bungalow.’

  She curled her lip. ‘You’re nothing but a thug with a badge. Nothing but an ignorant Witchfinder.’ She turned her scorn to Vicky. ‘Traitor. You should know better than to pander to him. I’m going to call my handyman and call an estate agent. You won’t find me so easily again.’

  It was starting to get dark as we walked back to the car. ‘Did you find her online?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, aye,’ said Vicky. ‘The registered owner of the bungalow and surrounding land is Ms Stella Newborn. I’ll get Ruth Kaplan to check the DVLA and the Passport Office. We’ll find her again if we need to.’ She walked in silence for a moment, replaying the scene in her head. ‘I’ve heard of Don Quixote. I think. Who’s Sancho Panza when he’s at home?’

  ‘Don Quixote is a foolish old man, and Sancho Panza is the loyal sidekick who gets him out of trouble.’

  ‘That sounds about right. I still prefer the Merlyn’s Tower Irregulars, though.’

  ‘Me too. Where do we find that Gnome?’

  ‘The Octavius Clan is based at the Olympic Park in London. They moved there in 2012.’

  ‘Tomorrow, I think.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  13 — Gnome from Gnome

  Protocol dictated a briefing from the Watch Captain whose patch covered East London, which Vicky volunteered to handle because I had business underground first. I paid a quick visit to Hledjolf, who agreed to top up Moley’s pre-paid debit card on an as-and-when basis. I left the Dwarven Halls and stood in the antechamber, gazing into the blackness of the tunnel which led south-east towards the Fleet Witches and other parts of the Old Network that no one wanted to tell me about. Chris Kelly had mentioned somewhere called the Water Margin. It must be down there, too.

  It was tempting. Very tempting. I could just wander down and see whether it branched. With a sigh, I turned my back and climbed the stairs. I have too many responsibilities these days to be wandering off.

  One of the responsibilities is Mina. I had paid for a first class return so that Mr Joshi could visit her tomorrow, and told him some of the pressures she was facing. As Vicky would say, he’s a canny auld fella, and I trust him to do what’s best.

  Less enticing was a supper invitation from Rachael to have a proper talk. She wouldn’t let me put it off any later than Thursday.

  I got to the top of the stairs and took a moment, then it was off to Mr Mole’s nest. The first odd thing was the light attached to the wall above his pile of gadgets, because moles don’t need lights. I suppose it could be for Hledjolf’s benefit. It was dim enough to be Dwarf-friendly, and Hledjolf had said he’d delivered and set up a sound system. Very nice it was, too. I wish I had speakers that big.

  His Worship was resting on his bed of straw, and only got up slowly to nose me. ‘Are you OK, old chap?’ I said.

  ‘Mole digs long hours. The Dwarf pays well, but Mole must rest. Have you got the card?’

  I explained how the debit card worked, and used his laptop to register it with Amazon. When he came over to examine what I’d done, he moved slightly differently. Yes, he nosed forward, but he was using the light as a beacon, aiming towards it and slightly to the right of his actual destination. There was no doubt: Moley was acquiring vision.

  I found it hard to swallow, harder still to speak. He was anxious to buy some audio books, and didn’t notice that I left rather abruptly. If I’m going to save him, I’ll have to work faster.

  ‘Vicky! You look…’

  ‘Don’t. All right? Just don’t.’

  ‘If you say so, yes.’ I’d been moved to speak when she appeared at the Tube station in quite a short dress with a vivid red geometrical pattern, something quite at odds with her normal work wardrobe. As far as I know, we aren’t meeting Rick James today, so…?

  On the train to the Olympic Park, she told me that Gnomes look human, have a stable Imprint and often lead completely human lives, apart from the fact that their life-expectancy is somewhere north of three hundred years. According to the Watch Captain, Henry Octavius was definitely around during the French Revolution, and now leads his Clan of around a dozen members from a base in East London having moved up from Bristol after the Second World War.

  ‘Listen carefully,’ she said as we approached Stratford Station. ‘Under no circumstances can you make Gnome jokes. No “This place is very Gnomely” or “Gnome is where the heart is”. Got that?’

  ‘More than my life’s worth.’

  ‘Don’t you forget it.’

  Henry Octavius & Sons LLP occupied the whole of a two storey new build office a couple of streets from the Tube. They even had their own parking. We were offered coffee by a very attractive young receptionist in killer heels who had her nose in a stack of bridal magazines when we arrived, and to which she returned with relish.

  We got the call before we’d finished our coffee, and the receptionist took us upstairs in a lift. We were shown into a spacious man-cave of an office, and the receptionist took us all the way to Henry’s desk before announcing our names.

  Octavius shook hands, blatantly watching the woman’s arse as she walked back to the door. He seated us at a low table, making sure that he got a good view of Vicky. Aah. Now I understood the dress, and she went even higher in my estimation. Knowing what she would face, this can’t have been easy for her.

  If I’d met Henry Octavius in the pub, I wouldn’t have guessed that he was anything but a successful small businessman (emphasis on small: I towered over him). Underneath the well-cut suit, he was in late middle age, well padded and affable.

  ‘What can I do for the Watch?’ he asked, after providing fresh coffee (it was very good. I wouldn’t have had the second cup otherwise).

  I began. ‘What can you tell us about your client, Stella Newborn of Whitchurch, Buckinghamshire?’

  ‘I can tell you that she’s been on the phone, reminding me of the confidentiality clause in our contract.’

  Vicky slowly crossed her legs and brushed some fluff off her tights. I
turned slightly, so that I didn’t have to watch her flaunt herself.

  ‘Did you tell her that clause doesn’t apply to the Watch?’ I said mildly.

  ‘I did. She wasn’t happy.’ He went to get an envelope from his desk. ‘I acted as agent for the sale of a unique manuscript, well over fifteen hundred years’ old. She bought it from my client, and don’t ask what was in it because I only know the title: Of the Lady of the Fountain, and her adventure with Owain ap Urien.’

  ‘Welsh?’ I said, mostly to Vicky.

  ‘Cumberland,’ said Octavius. ‘The ancient Brythonic kingdom of Rheged, I believe. I delivered it in a sealed tube. She paid half, broke the seal, examined it and paid the balance. She seemed happy enough.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Seven thousand Troy ounces.’

  ‘Seven thousand?’ said Vicky.

  Henry smiled. ‘One of our biggest transactions this century. And why do you think I’m telling you?’

  ‘Because it’s better to co-operate with the Watch?’ I suggested.

  ‘Usually, I’d just lie,’ said Octavius. ‘Usually, you’d have no idea what I was up to.’ He snorted. ‘Stupid woman. That Stella Newborn spends a fortune occluding her shed, then she doesn’t bother to mask the mobile signals. If she didn’t want me talking to the Watch, she shouldn’t have hung up a big neon sign saying Secret Location.’

  I made a point of not looking at Vicky when I said, ‘One day, the magickal world will fully enter the digital age. Until then, I’ll take what I can get. Now, about those phone calls.’

  Henry Octavius fidgeted in his chair. When he’d made himself comfortable, he spoke directly to Vicky, finally acknowledging her as a person. ‘Gnomes have a conscience, you know. I’ve been wrestling with this since last summer.’

  ‘But not enough to actually pick up the phone,’ said Vicky.

  He turned back to me. ‘When the Allfather and Hledjolf got involved, I decided to step back.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Your young colleague will tell you, if you didn’t know already, that we – the Gnomes – started underground, like the Dwarves, but we prefer the surface now. That doesn’t stop us having an affinity with the Old Network.’