The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

  ‘And doing a lot of business there,’ added Vicky with a smile. ‘Or so I’ve heard.’

  ‘Not everyone likes to deal directly with the Dwarves,’ said Octavius. ‘Last spring, I was approached by a group calling themselves the Lions of Carthage.’

  ‘Where?’ said Vicky.

  I offered the military perspective.‘A North African city. They lost the Punic Wars to Rome. Lost badly.’

  ‘They did a bit more than that,’ said Octavius. ‘I promise that I know nothing more of the modern-day Lions than this: that there are at least two women involved, and that they are both Welsh.’

  ‘What did they want?’

  ‘The Lions said that they wanted to get into a sealed tunnel. They had a clue to the Keyway, and could I find someone to crack it? I went to the Dwarves, and they quoted a sum that the Lions said was too high. I thought Hledjolf was being reasonable, but there you go.’

  ‘A code?’ I said. ‘Shame I wasn’t around. My mother loves a challenge.’

  Octavius paused. ‘Really? I’ll bear that in mind. The Lions came up with plan B – they would create a Particular and I would provide a team to harness it. Then we’d dig our way in.’

  ‘Harness? I think you mean enslave. And Mr Mole is a he, not an it.’ I gave the Gnome my best parade ground stare. Behind the closely shaved and well-moisturised cheeks, I detected a blush. Perhaps Gnomes do have something resembling a conscience.

  ‘Point taken,’ said Octavius, looking down. ‘We harness the horse to the plough, and that’s what I planned for their Particular. I chose my best journeyman Warlock and three lads from security.’

  Vicky got the picture from the phone shop and leaned forward to show it to the Gnome. He studied Vicky’s chest carefully, then glanced at the picture.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The Lions came down, created their Particular, and gave us the location.’

  ‘Didn’t you meet them?’ asked Vicky sceptically.

  ‘No. Their Zoogenist is one powerful Witch. She picked up a natural mole, doubled him in size, put him in the Old Network and did the rest from her hotel room.’

  Vicky sat up straight. ‘She created Moley when she was Discorporeal? That’s incredible.’

  ‘And a mistake. She bungled it. I’m no Zoogenist, but I believe she got too close. It can happen when you Discorporate. She left the Transformation open, so when my boys went down there…’

  ‘Moley killed your Warlock and absorbed some of his Imprint,’ said Vicky, finishing his sentence for my benefit. ‘What happened to the others?’

  ‘When they saw Mr Mole for the first time, the Warlock realised that they were in deep trouble. There was no way that they could attempt the mission, so the Warlock covered a fighting retreat. He got eaten giving the others a chance to leg it.’

  Vicky went slightly pale, so I took over. ‘If I’d been in your shoes, I’d have been pretty mad. Mad with Moley and mad with the Lions.’

  Vicky cleared her throat. ‘You were also a witness to a serious crime by their Zoogenist.’

  Octavius kept his face neutral. ‘That’s where the Allfather comes in. In a manner of speaking. I went to see for myself, and I could see that the creature – sorry. I could see that the mole was not going to live long, and that he’d acted in what he saw as self defence. There was no point in taking it out on him; he was dying. Shortly after, Hledjolf sent me a message saying that the Allfather had stepped in. Something to do with his debts, and something to do with you, Watch Captain.’

  ‘Me?’ I said.

  ‘The Allfather arranged for the tunnel to be blocked, although he didn't know about Mr Mole. Odin asked Hledjolf to arrange for an extra obstacle, and that’s when the Dwarf and the Mole got together. Mr Mole’s nest was originally further east – Hledjolf got him to move to the Mansion House and block the access tunnel. The Allfather wanted his … aspirants to face a substantial challenge before they got to Hledjolf’s Hall and won the contract to help the Lunar Sisters. Sort of a preliminary interview. You were the first to pass the test, and did it with no magickal resources whatsoever.’

  He said it with a smile. A very dangerous smile. I’d seen the headless corpses of three young women who’d tried to get past Moley’s blockade, and those girls had nothing to smile about. This was a different sort of test: could I deal with the realpolitik of magickal business or not? I smiled back. ‘The RAF selection process could do with toughening up. I’ll suggest single combat with giant moles as a good eliminator.’

  There was a lot to digest in that. Henry Octavius sensed it too, and suggested that we take a break. Outside with a fag, I wondered again at the gods and how they deal with us. Vicky joined me, but declined a smoke.

  ‘I just wanted a break from Henry,’ she said.

  ‘Are all Gnomes as lecherous, or is it just him? That was awful for me, I dread to think what it was like for you.’

  She shuddered, both from the thought of the Gnome and from the wind blowing around her legs. ‘They don’t touch you unless you want it. They just look, and the younger ones hide it much better.’ She wrapped her coat tighter. ‘No one has ever seen a female Gnome, you know. If a Gnome has a child with a human, the first seven of his offspring are human. Only the eighth is a Gnome, and a male gnome at that. They can spread the load over more than one woman, believe it or not. Henry is rumoured to have had seven sons with Gnome blood, and according to legend, the sixty-fourth child will be a female Gnome … I would not like to be that receptionist in a couple of years’ time.’ She shivered again. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  I opted for tea when we got back upstairs; Henry had poured himself a scotch. I picked up the thread from where the Gnome had changed the subject. ‘So, your Warlock was dead, you’d seen a horrendous crime, and you still didn’t report it.’

  Octavius stared at me for a second, just to let me know that I’d overstepped the mark, and that he would forgive me. This time. ‘I was thinking of the Warlock’s family. The Lions paid the Wergild. The blood-price. There was no crime under the Old Law.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Vicky, to let Octavius know what she thought of the Old Law. Being completely ignorant, I reserved judgement.

  ‘Excuse me, Henry,’ I said. ‘Those last phone calls were made on the same day that you sold the manuscript.’

  ‘Another reason I’m talking to you. The Lions must have known what they’d done with Mole, and they still let my boys go down there, so that pretty much ended any obligation I had to them. I was sent the manuscript along with the location of Mr Mole. They told me to line up a buyer in case they needed the money. I went to see Stella Newborn on the day that my team went underground, and the Warlock had put me on speakerphone when they opened the doors. I heard him die.’

  ‘So, you rang the Lions, demanded the Wergild, and said you’d take it out of the proceeds of selling the manuscript.’

  ‘It was business. That Warlock was the first man I’ve lost in twenty years.’

  Vicky stepped in to move things along. ‘You sold the scroll, paid off the family and got Hledjolf to crack that code. Did you have any idea what they were looking for?’

  ‘No. I’d forgotten about it until Stella rang me last night and said something about Dragons. She’s a bit flaky, sometimes, but there’s nothing wrong with her hearing. What’s going on here? There can’t be Dragons, surely? Horrible things, apparently.’

  ‘So I believe,’ said Vicky, standing up. ‘Thank you for your time, Father Octavius. If you hear anything at all that may help us, I’m putting you under an obligation to inform the Watch.’

  ‘Accepted gladly. Nice to meet you both.’

  The wind is stronger and colder out of the City and we both shivered on the way to the Tube. ‘That’s another one to tick off,’ I said.

  ‘Another one what?’

  ‘I’ve met two gods, Dwarves, a Spirit, talking trees, a giant Mole and now a Gnome. What’s next? Trolls?’
/>
  ‘Extinct. We hope. A bit like Dragons. The last one in Britain was killed on Dartmoor in 1805, by Henry Octavius himself, would you believe. He’s got the morality of the Mob, Conrad, but he’s no coward. As for other Creatures of Light … sooner or later, you’re going to meet the Fae. There’s a lot more of them than there are Gnomes.’

  ‘Fairies?’

  ‘The Fae. They’ve never liked being called Fairies.’

  We paused to swipe our Oyster Cards at the turnstiles, and found a sheltered spot on the platform.

  ‘If Gnomes are the shady side of magickal commerce, what do the Fae specialise in?’ I asked.

  ‘Dreams. They’re into entertainment in a big way.’ She peered down the track in search of a train. ‘And drugs. After all, what’s more entertaining than a big high?’ She pulled a face. ‘You’ll find the best and the worst of magick in the Fae.’

  I remembered a lecture from the anti-narcotics officers before my first posting in Afghanistan, a long time ago, now. The Algebra of Misery, he’d called it. This was the equation: ΣV=(APxC)/S, where the sum of Violence (in all forms) is equal to Addictive Power times the Cost, divided by Supply. It stuck in the memory.

  ‘Let’s find our Dragon first, before we meet the Fae. If that’s all right with you, Vicky.’

  ‘That’s fine by me.’

  A train rattled towards us. ‘Tell you what, Conrad, I’ll go and talk to Desi if you’ll write up today’s report.’

  ‘Deal. Text me if you learn anything.’

  14 — Cream Cakes and Red Wine

  There is a wonderfully retro dial telephone in the Watch Room at Merlyn’s Tower. The King’s Watch jumped straight from the 1950s to the new Millennium when they installed a VOIP telephone system, and instead of ripping out the old switchboard, they just cut the external lines and left it to carry on connecting internally. Much of this may have been because there was a direct line to the Deputy’s office that way.

  I took one cream cake from the box and put it on a plate, leaving the other one in the fridge. I filled the kettle and dialled 101 for Maxine. She arrived just as I was squeezing out the teabag and eyed the cake with suspicion.

  ‘What do you want, Conrad? I only met you ten days ago, and it’s a bit soon in our relationship for bribes.’

  ‘Call it an investment. If you have a preference for pastries, cakes, bottles of gin…’

  ‘Fresh cream cakes will do nicely, but not on Mondays, Fridays or in the week when there’s an office birthday. Where’s Vicky?’

  ‘At Salomon’s House looking into something we discovered today. There’s one thing you can help me with while you enjoy your cake.’

  She sat down and tucked in with relish. ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll see it in my report – when I’ve written it – but someone paid 7,000oz for a manuscript. Is that unusual?’

  Her reaction was pretty much the same as Vicky’s. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Henry Octavius has no reason to lie. If anything, he probably understated the price.’

  ‘Goodness me. Seven thousand. Mmm.’ She demolished the rest of her cake and waved her fork in the air. ‘Most Mages turn their Lux into Artefacts of one sort or another, like most people turn their cash into assets – property, cars, pensions, investments. Of course, many Mages pool their Lux in covens, brotherhoods and so on, like some people are partners in businesses.’

  I mulled it over. ‘I think I see what you mean.’

  She took her cup and plate to the sink. ‘Quite a few individuals and businesses in the mundane world have assets of seven million pounds, don’t they? But how many have seven million in the bank? That was a serious purchase; I’ll look forward to that report. Thanks for the cake.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ There was an awful lot going on here: Stella Newborn’s access to vast quantities of Lux; the nature of that manuscript; the real agenda of Clan Octavius. However, none of those would lead us to the Dragon. Only the Lions of Carthage could do that. Everything else could go in our report to Hannah, and she could worry about it. That is her job, after all.

  I wrote the report and printed a copy after emailing it to Hannah and Vicky. I took the printed copy and the other cream cake upstairs to Tennille, who accepted both with a smile.

  ‘That’s very good of you, Conrad. You shouldn’t be buying these for a woman on a diet.’ She tapped the box. ‘I ain’t joking. No more, unless it’s a very special occasion. Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  She lifted the lid. ‘There were two cakes in here. What have you done with the other one?’

  Blimey. I didn’t think her rivalry with Maxine extended to jealousy over cakes. ‘I had to eat it,’ I lied. ‘I couldn’t face writing that report on an empty stomach.’

  ‘That’s all right, then. Thank you.’

  My phone rang as I was heading to the battlements for a smoke. It was Vicky, who said that she had some news.

  ‘Do you fancy telling me over a well-earned drink?’ I suggested.

  ‘Yes, but not until a bit later.’

  ‘I’ll see you in the Churchill Arms at half past five. It’s not far from Salomon’s House.’

  She hesitated, assuming that I was trying to trick her into a long walk. I even think she was Googling the pub while she kept me on hold. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘See you at five thirty.’

  What I didn’t tell her was that I was meeting Alain at a quarter past.

  Walking up from Merlyn’s Tower, I noticed that it wasn’t quite dark. There had been plenty of snowdrops at the Tower, too, and the daffs weren’t far behind. A little thing, perhaps, and not a big deal to most Londoners, but it made me feel a lot better. I don’t know if Alain felt spring in the air, too, or whether he felt guilty for not getting his round in, but there was a very nice red on the table when I arrived. We swapped envelopes surreptitiously and raised a glass.

  ‘What did you find?’ I asked.

  ‘There are lots of Miltons in Cornwall, but none of them are rich. I looked as ’ard as I could, but without a full name, nothing. The other one was easy. Lady Kirsten of Lotch Ulfa is very rich, very beautiful and very ’igh profile.’

  It took me a second to realise what he’d said: Loch Ulfa. ‘It’s pronounced Lock Ulfa, not Lotch Ulfa.’ Alain nodded to show that he’d understood. ‘Tell me, in one sentence, where she gets her money from.’

  ‘Land. And ’ospitalité. She ’as a big ’oliday park on ’er big estate by the lochhhhhh.’

  ‘Very good. Thanks, Alain. I’m seeing Rachael tomorrow, and if we haven’t murdered each other, I promise that I’ll ask her about a placement for you. Hang on, I’m just going to get another glass.’

  Vicky had arrived, and was giving me a serious frown. We had a brief whispered conversation in the middle of the bar while Alain looked on.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ she hissed.

  ‘He’s a Merlyn’s Tower Irregular but he just doesn’t know it yet. Can I mention Merlyn’s Tower? We could say that it’s a nickname.’

  ‘No. Everything with a capital letter has to stay secret.’

  ‘Sit down, Vic. Have a drink. Relax.’

  She looked at the bottle and licked her lips. ‘Go on then.’

  She took her coat off, causing Alain to check out the red and black dress, and recalibrate his opinion of her. He stood up to make room for her and poured her a glass of wine.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Vicky,’ he said. ‘Is this just social, or do you two ’ave a job for me.’

  ‘I’ve got some news for Conrad,’ she said, emphasising my name and Alain’s status as an outsider.

  He looked a little put out, as well he might – he’d bought the wine. He gave one of his master-shrugs, the one that said You can play your games, it does not bother me. He got up and said, ‘I am going for a cigarette. You ’ave to wait, Conrad.’

  Vicky leaned forwards and took a small book and printout from her bag. She passed them to me and said, ‘The Lions of Carthage
isn’t a random name. You can read about it in these, but basically, it’s down to the Romans. When they conquered Britain, they had to deal with the Dragons. To do that, they brought these hybrid creatures and sealed a group of them in each Dragon’s nest. No nest, no Dragon, see?’ I saw. ‘There was a nest in South Wales near the Roman garrison of Caerleon, and now there’s an order of Druids based there. Caerleon is near Newport, where all the mobile phone signals led to.’

  I was digesting this when Alain sauntered back. Vicky didn’t see him coming, so I slid out to go for a smoke, leaving the two of them alone. When I got back, Vicky had disappeared.

  Alain shrugged one of his many women! Shrugs. ‘I know less about ’er now than when I first met ’er. She is a “closed book”, and she is very quiet.’

  ‘She can be quiet. Sometimes.’

  He poured the last of the wine into our glasses. ‘Forget about work, Conrad, and let’s talk about your sister.’

  For the first time in my life, I thought this was a good idea, and sat back to tell him about Rachael Clarke.

  I did my homework, Vicky wrote her report, and Hannah read it. She agreed that it was a top priority for someone to visit the Most Ancient Druidic Order of Caerleon (MADOC), but who? When we gathered in her office to discuss it, I could see that she was sorely tempted to give the job to someone else, and that was because of the Lions. Not the Welsh people calling themselves The Lions of Carthage, but the original Roman ones.

  Try to imagine that you have seen your god, that he pays regular visits to your city, that he demands frequent child sacrifices, and that his priests are Mages of great power. That was life under the watchful eye of Ba’al Hamman in ancient Carthage. According to the Romans, anyway.

  Whether the Romans’ version is truth or malice, we may never know for certain because history is written by the winners, and the Carthaginians lost big time. When the triumphant legions of Scipio Aemilianus marched their thousands of slaves and bags of treasure out of the ruined city, the Builders of Light brought up the rear, leading their own captives in covered wagons: the Lions of Carthage. If you’re expecting the Latin names for all this stuff, I’ll spare you. I’m going to call the Roman Mages Builders of Light, and that’s that.