The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

  These Lions, I discovered, are a form of Spirit, the sort that can be Incorporated and messed around with. The short version is that the Carthaginians kept them as guards in their sacred places, and the Builders of Light found a way of shutting them up in the Dragon nests to keep out the natives. As Vicky said, no nest, no Dragons.

  Because the nests were linked to the Ley lines, the Lions continued to draw Lux long after the Builders of Light disappeared from the scene (which is a story for another day). As far as we know, some of the Lions are still in place. Of the original twelve nests, four have been opened and explored. In all cases, the Ley lines had been destroyed, killing the Lions and deleting the nests as places of magick. In the case of Caerleon, the nest was identified in the Victorian era but the seals were left untouched. The Druids of MADOC planted a sacred grove on top of the hill where the nest was located and left the Spirit beasts untouched. Evidence from the tunnel under London would suggest that this is no longer the case, a conclusion that Hannah couldn’t avoid.

  ‘I’m delegating this,’ she said after we’d tossed around some scenarios. ‘I appointed Rick James as Senior Watch Captain to supervise activity outside the south east, and he can decide what happens. You can see him on Monday.’

  ‘Not tomorrow?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘Why the rush?’

  ‘Anything to avoid dinner with my sister.’

  Hannah and Vicky both gave me that look, the one which says Stop it Now, Conrad. Sometimes, I think they’ve both been to Spain to take lessons off my my mother.

  ‘No,’ said Hannah, ‘because you’re going to be busy tomorrow, Conrad. I’ve had Dean Hardisty on the phone, and the Invisible College wants you to demonstrate your expertise in the opening of locks tomorrow. Is he ready, Vicky?’

  ‘So long as he practises tonight, he should pass.’

  ‘I’m still here, you know.’

  ‘What for?’ said Hannah. ‘Get out, both of you, and take this.’

  I accepted a stiff invitation card and we left the Constable in peace.

  We had been squeezing in the odd lesson in Keyways since my induction, and I was fairly sure that I had enough Lux in me to manage a level 3. The locks didn’t get more complex with additional levels, you just had to find the right sequence of bits from the Stamp. The problem came from having less than half a second to activate all the components of the sequence in the right order. I just don’t have enough Gift to do it easily, but I’d done it several times already. It wasn’t impossible.

  Life got more complicated when I read the details on the invitation card and saw that I’d been summoned to a meeting of the Inner Council of the Invisible College to take my test. Alone.

  I showed the card to Vicky on the way back to the Watch Room. ‘I don’t know whether to feel relieved or guilty for leaving you on your own,’ she said. ‘Probably both. Put it this way, I’d give a lot to avoid appearing before the Inner Council. At least you’ll get to see the Dome.’

  ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘If you’ve got any sense, yes.’

  ‘Right. Alain was disappointed you left so suddenly last night.’ We stopped outside the Watch Room doors. ‘I nearly walked out of the pub when I saw him,’ she said. ‘That was mortifying. He’s seen what I look like under Glamour. He’ll think … The gods alone know what he thinks.’

  ‘He thinks you’re an attractive…’

  ‘…Stop. Stop right there, Conrad.’ She jabbed me in the chest. ‘If you want to risk your Badge involving mundane civilians, that’s your choice. Don’t get me involved, OK?’

  I held up my hands. ‘Sorry. Won’t happen like that again. Promise.’

  ‘Good. Now go home and practise your locks like a good boy.’

  The plan had been to practise on Wednesday evening and Thursday morning before going in to Merlyn’s Tower to get changed. The plan suffered badly when Mr Joshi sent me a text asking to be picked up from the Cairndale train.

  I forked out for the Congestion Charge and collected the old priest from as close as I could get to Euston Station. He used to be a mid-ranking civil servant before taking early retirement to become the (Hindu) priest of a small temple which we’d used as a safe meeting place when Mina was on bail and I was trying to keep my face out of surveillance photos. He lives in the leafier part of Clapham with his grown-up daughter and her family. He’s very good at chess, or at least he’s much, much better than me.

  Although he looked tired when he got into the car, there was still a sense of calm around him that I’ve always found contagious. If good things can be contagious.

  ‘Thank you for the lift, Conrad, and for the first class tickets. I’m not sure that these old bones could have done that trip twice in one day without your help.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She is well, but she is very worried.’

  I tried to stay as calm as the London traffic would let me. Mr Joshi would tell me in his own time and in his own way.

  ‘That horrible woman – what’s her name?’

  ‘Sonia.’

  ‘Yes. Sonia. I saw her, and she saw me. When she saw me, you’d think that she’d seen something on her shoe. I haven’t come across that for a long time.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I walked out at the end. Mina can’t.’

  ‘Are things worse?’

  ‘Yes. This Sonia woman was convicted of racially aggravated assault. She was drunk, and attacked a waiter in Manchester after he asked her to leave his restaurant.’

  This did not sound good. On behalf of the silent majority of Englishmen and women, I felt very embarrassed.

  ‘This would be bad for Mina,’ he continued, ‘but what makes it worse is the number of Prison Officers who sympathise with this woman. Not many, but enough for Sonia to know who her friends are.’

  We got over the river and things moved a little more freely. ‘Does Mina have a plan?’

  ‘Sonia will be out in three months. Mina says that she can cope so long as the bullying stays inside the classroom. I think that what worries Mina the most is that the bullying might spread, that she might get marked down as a victim.’

  I drove in silence, turning this nightmare scenario over in my head. Mina has a core of steel, I know, but it’s wrapped in a very small, very vulnerable package. Statistically, the biggest risk to women in prison is themselves – self-harming is endemic, apparently. Actual prisoner-on-prisoner violence, especially at Cairndale, is quite rare, but knowing that Mina is at a very low risk is of no comfort whatsoever. It only takes one incident…

  ‘What can I do? What can we do?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing, Conrad, except be there for her. She made me promise not to call the Justice Department, and I know that she would never forgive you if you interfered. I will pray for her to Ganesha, and the best thing that you can do is to visit her every week if you can.’

  ‘I think that doing nothing is the hardest thing anyone’s ever asked me to do, you know.’

  ‘You may be right. Turn left here.’

  I pulled up outside his house and we turned to face each other. ‘The prison officers wouldn’t let Mina give me a note for you,’ he said, a smile creeping into his voice, ‘so I had to learn this by heart: You fight your Dragons, Conrad, and I’ll fight mine. One day, we’ll fight them together.’ He paused. ‘I got the impression that there was more to that message than a metaphor. Good night, Conrad. I shall pray for her every day until she is released.’

  15 — Master of the Art

  The Inner Council of the Invisible College did at least let Vicky escort me to their lair. She collected me from the Receiving Room at two o’clock, and even though she wasn’t allowed to remain during the meeting, she had put on a severely tailored black suit with trousers and a silk blouse. This was a step up from most days, but was nothing next to what she had on top. Technically it was an academic gown, but…

  ‘Do I call you Josephine, as in…’

  ‘A co
at of many colours. I know. Your jokes get worse when you’re nervous, and they’re bad enough when you’re in a good mood.’

  The gown was truly spectacular. All the colours of the rainbow moved like waves as the material swirled with her movements. If you looked closely, they became seven individual shades; together, they were a dance of hues from blood-red at the neck to blackest violet at the bottom.

  ‘Do I get one of those if I pass?’

  ‘’Fraid not. You need to be a Fellow to get this. All you get is a hood over a black gown, but I wouldn’t bother: you look better in that uniform. Oh – should I have saluted you?’

  ‘Erm, yes. I think so. Hannah’s new Order didn’t specify whether both officers had to be in uniform or just one.’

  She saluted, then moved her hand to her mouth. ‘I forgot about wrecking your cap. Did you get a new one on expenses?’

  ‘Yes. Let’s get going.’

  She escorted me up the Junction, past the Esoteric Library and Cora’s Den, and all the way to the top landing, just below the big Skyway that lit the whole space. Today it was showing thin cloud with some blue sky peeking through.

  There was only one exit at the top, a big pair of double doors in black oak, unmarked by the phantom sculptor who’d made the Receiving Room so creepy. Vicky touched them with magick and they opened towards us.

  ‘This is the Warden’s Parlour,’ she said, pointing inside. ‘They use it for functions and stuff.’

  Beyond the threshold was a lightly furnished open space with a bar to the left, a platform to the right and dead ahead an intricately embellished wrought iron spiral staircase that glowed a faint green in the gloom. Vicky led me towards a group of chairs near the bottom of the spiral. I wasn’t that keen to get close because there’s something about phosphorescent green that makes me think of decay and radioactivity.

  ‘Why so dark?’ I asked.

  ‘The whole room’s panelled in Skyways, but they darken them when there’s not a function.’

  ‘Have you been to any?’

  ‘Oh aye. A few. One year we were stood in the middle of Stonehenge, and someone even supplied the smell of grass. Another year they showed a 360 view from the top of the Empire State Building. Visitors are very impressed, which is the point, I suppose.’

  We sat down and waited, Vicky’s gown the brightest thing in the room. ‘What’s in the bag?’ she asked.

  My adjutant’s case was bulging more than normal. ‘The Hammer. Chris Kelly’s dowsing rod. Bits and pieces.’

  The air moved behind me. I started to turn before Vicky noticed, and saw the walls parting to reveal a lift with a woman in it. ‘They’re ready for you,’ she announced.

  ‘What about the stairs?’ I whispered to Vicky.

  ‘Special occasions. You’re not special.’

  The woman was in her fifties, smartly turned out and had the easy politeness of an experienced functionary. ‘I’m the Council Recorder,’ she said. ‘When we get upstairs, I’ll walk slowly back to my desk, then announce Ms Robson. She will then present you to the Council.’

  ‘Why slowly?’

  Before answering, she gestured at the doors. They closed silently, and the lift began to rise in equal silence. Very impressive all round. The Recorder smiled at me. ‘The dome can be quite unnerving the first time you see it. It certainly was to me. Oh, and don’t worry about damaging the floor. It’s not as delicate as it looks.’

  ‘Is there somewhere I can stash my case?’

  ‘Just leave it outside the dome.’

  The lift stopped, the doors opened, and I was very grateful to the Recorder for her thoughtfulness. Every time I see something new in Salomon’s House, it blows me away.

  The rooftop was rectangular with the lift housing in one corner and the top of the spiral staircase in another. Filling most of the space was the Dome – twelve slender columns holding up a circular roof. The wind cut through my uniform as I stashed my case, and both women shivered until we stepped across the border into the dome. Inside the columns, despite the complete lack of walls, there was no wind, no traffic noise and no puddles from the earlier rain.

  My eye followed the pillars upwards, about four metres, to the domed ceiling. Black, a night sky, stars…

  ‘Do you recognise it?’ said Vicky.

  I sought out north. ‘There’s Polaris. Where’s Ursa Major… oh.’ I double checked. ‘That’s what the sky would look like if the sun didn’t shine during the day. Like now, in fact.’

  ‘Full marks, partner. Now check out the floor.’

  It was polished jet, gleaming and covered in golden designs. Around the edge, a metre wide, was a border marking the divisions of the Zodiac. Each segment had a picture of the astrological symbol. A picture that moved. Under my feet, an angry goat was chasing a woman with a pitcher of water. Behind the goat, a bearded centaur notched an arrow and fired at the animal, who turned to face his antagonist. Inside the astrological border, a spider’s web of lines pulsed and faded, connecting nodes and forming a pattern. Were these the stars of the Zodiacal constellations? No, they were something else.

  ‘Warden, I have Watch Officer Robson, a Fellow of the Great Work,’ came the Recorder’s voice from across the floor.

  My head snapped up to look at the human population of the dome. They were in the middle, seated at a round table and all staring at me.

  ‘Approach,’ said an elderly man who faced us directly.

  Vicky set off, crossing the gleaming web and trailing me in her wake. She’d tried to brief me as much as she could, but the Inner Council hadn’t made it easy for her because they weren’t wearing name-tags.

  The guy facing us was clearly the Warden, the CEO and vice-chancellor of Salomon’s House. He was small, white of hair and long of nose. His eyes were blue, as blue as my father’s and twice as sharp as my mother’s. The same blue swirled in his gown, and if Vicky’s gown was a rainbow, the Warden’s was a supernova. The colours were so bright and morphed so quickly that I had to look away.

  With a round table, the senior posts are opposite the boss. Directly opposite the Warden was an empty chair. On either side, turning to face us, were two women, with my sparring partner, Dean Cora Hardisty on the left. The other woman was Cora’s stylistic opposite. Where the Dean was pressed creases and pointed elbows, this woman was a rumpled smock and meaty fists. Before I could take in the others, we had arrived at the table. Vicky cleared her throat.

  ‘I have the honour of presenting Watch Captain Conrad Clarke, Aspirant to the Great Work, for his examination.’ She bowed and blinked.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Warden, nodding his acknowledgement. ‘The Council is grateful for your contribution. Aren’t we?’

  At the Warden’s prompt, some of the Council voiced a clear Hear, hear, some muttered, and some lowered their heads a fraction, hiding their lips. The Warden turned to his left and said, ‘Unanimous,’ to a woman who was making notes. The woman nodded and turned round to a table near the far edge of the dome where the Recorder was doing just that: recording.

  Vicky bowed, took a step back and turned to walk away. I came to attention and saluted.

  A grumpy man on Cora’s left said, ‘Warden, why is he in uniform?’

  Of all the assembled Chymists, only the Warden had a gown, though one of the men on my right was wearing uniform of a sort – a clerical collar and pectoral cross. The Warden turned to the man who’d objected to my uniform. ‘I imagine that he’s proud of it and that it’s a mark of respect to Salomon’s House and this Council. Is that right Mr Clarke?’

  Cora Hardisty gave a thin smile. ‘I imagine he’d prefer you to use his rank. It’s Squadron Leader Clarke.’

  The Warden pointed to the empty chair. ‘Sit down and take your cap off. Then we can call you Conrad.’

  I did as he requested. This was definitely one of those occasions when one does not speak unless one is spoken to. Now that I was seated, I could see properly around the table, though for the moment I res
tricted myself to noticing the Belisha Beacon bald head of the Earth Master, Chris Kelly. He gave me an encouraging smile and a nod.

  The Warden spoke again. ‘You’re going to be tested, Conrad, not as a Watch Captain or decorated RAF officer, but as an Aspirant Chymist, which is why I’m using your first name. As an Aspirant, you should know who’s judging you, so if we could just introduce ourselves by title? I’m the Warden, as you know, and this is…’

  He turned to his right and smiled at a woman in her sixties who was wearing a green twin-set. Her chair was a little closer to the Warden’s than was necessary. ‘Keeper of the Queen’s Esoteric Library,’ she said.

  The introductions continued, moving anti-clockwise from the Keeper.

  ‘Senior Fellow of the Great Work,’ said a man in his forties, keeping his expression neutral.

  ‘Master of Synthesis.’ An Afro-Caribbean woman in an expensively subdued floral dress. She was notable for having the only non-white face in the room.

  ‘Occult Physician.’ Another woman, the only one apart from Cora Hardisty to have short hair. She looked a lot like my GP in Clerkswell.

  ‘Proctor,’ said a bulky woman in a black suit jacket. She frowned, and I knew why the undergrads were so afraid of her.

  ‘Provost,’ said the man with the attitude about my uniform. That would be the guy that Vicky says doesn’t like the King’s Watch.

  ‘Dean,’ said Cora.

  I was next, and after Cora had spoken, the Warden said, ‘We are missing two Members. Our Rector, Her Grace the Duke of Albion, does not often attend meetings. We should also have a Guardian, but the position is vacant.’ He nodded to the woman on my right, the one in the smock.

  She immediately broke protocol by shaking hands and earning a sniff of rebuke from the Warden. She made no secret of trying to nose out my Talent when she touched me. ‘Custodian of the Great Work and Master Artificer,’ she said.