by Mark Hayden
The mural had misrepresented the layout of the grove to emphasise the stage, which was actually a side feature, no more than an awning to keep the harpist dry. This was a magickal place of ancient power, and that power radiated from the ring of stones surrounding the chimney. I could imagine the ancient Druids laying their Ley lines to the nest and making sure that the surplus power was discharged into the grove when there was no Dragon hatching underneath.
A cinder track had been laid around the stones and at the northpoint was the wooden throne. Still singing, Gareth carried the Pennaeth to his chair and placed him in it. Harry drew power and sat up straight.
He gave an instruction to Gareth, who walked gingerly between the stones then lit up like he’d been drawn by an enthusiastic animator. If Vicky’s academic gown had been a rainbow, Gareth’s workaday fleece had just transformed itself into the love child of a glitterball and a lava lamp. He did not look at all comfortable.
Slowly, he worked his way to the slabs that edged the chimney. Bending down, he knelt to approach the void in a crawl. Keeping his head well back, he reached out and grabbed at the empty air. Like the blaze of a lighthouse, a white glow swept round the stones, and Gareth’s hand wasn’t empty. No, he had hold of a thick staff of aged, yellow wood, and he was straining every muscle to pull it out of the chimney. With an audible pop, he dragged it up and staggered backwards.
Relief made his return to the throne a quick one. He bent the knee again, in honour not fear, and offered the Staff to his Pennaeth. Harry took it, pronounced a blessing and became the Druid he had once been. The woollen robes glowed green, the hair was black, and the hand was as steady as the logs it rested on.
Gareth straightened with a wince and stepped aside. The Pennaeth stood up, strong and resolute in front of his throne, and beckoned me forward. I think Vicky would have knelt, but I’m not Vicky. I came to attention, saluted, then bowed my head.
‘Welcome, in peace,’ said Harry.
‘In peace, I thank you,’ I responded, as expected. Beyond Harry’s shoulder, Gareth was heading to a low cabin in the trees.
‘Is Surwen really on the altar?’ asked Harry. I nodded. ‘Then in four days, there will be a storm. Lightning will strike, and she will become ashes. Will Gwyddno be able to attend the rite?’
‘No, sir.’
He looked round and saw Gareth returning, his red face made redder by the setting sun. We waited until Gareth had laid a steel tray on the path and poured three measures of clear liquid from a clear bottle into stemless silver vessels about the size and shape of a shot glass. Gareth picked up the tray and offered it to the Pennaeth.
‘Water,’ said Harry. ‘From the spring above the grove. The gift of life.’ He gripped his staff, looked up and passed his hand over the tray. Green sparks fell from his fingers and winked out as they hit the water.
Gareth took a vessel and intoned, ‘The gift of life,’ before downing it and offering me the tray.
The folklore of Europe has all sorts of warnings about accepting hospitality in magickal company. According to Vicky, these are all rubbish. Not only is it beyond rude to refuse, it is the most dangerous act possible for any kind of Mage to turn on a guest. I raised the vessel and said the words.
It didn’t have the power of Odin’s draught, the one that had healed my broken collar bone, but it filled my head with suppressed energy – the sort that you can sense in the woods at this time of year, just waiting for a little more sun to burst into spring. Harry drained the last measure, and Gareth disappeared back to the hut.
‘It’ll be dark soon,’ said Harry. ‘What’s this deal?’
‘It’s simple, sir. I have a plan to … leverage some of the people in play here. I think I can leave MADOC out of pocket, but not bankrupt. The risk is mine – if I screw up, you’ll be no worse off than you are now, and I’ll make that a promise. As any Chymist will tell you, a Clarke’s word is binding.’
‘Is it now?’ He studied me closely. ‘There’s more to you than I thought, Mr Clarke. What do you want from us?’
‘Three things. First, pronounce all six rogue Druids anathema. Expel them from MADOC and petition the Druid Council to put them beyond the pale. Hold the funeral for Surwen, but make sure that MADOC know you’re burning her reputation as well as her remains.’
‘I can do that. It won’t make me popular in many places, but I can do it. Next?’
‘I need some paperwork. Gareth can sort it.’
‘Fine. What’s the third thing. Neither of those counts as a boon.’
‘Help me find the Dragon. Nothing can be resolved while that creature’s out there.’
‘How?’
‘How old is the oldest tree in this Grove?’
He pointed west, towards a substantial yew which was leaning over, and although still vibrantly green, had clearly seen better days. ‘That yew was old when the infernal Romans sealed the Nest.’
That was just about perfect. That tree’s roots would be very familiar with the essence of Dragon. I know that yew isn’t the best for dowsing, but this was no ordinary tree. I like to keep things simple when I’m making a pitch, and simple is usually good. However, this is Wales. They like butter on their bread round here, and if that’s not a proverb, it should be.
I raised my voice a little. ‘Pennaeth. As the bowmen of Wales did great service in a noble cause at Agincourt, let the Welsh yew do service again.’ I could see a sparkle in Harry’s eye. ‘As the yew made great bows, cut me a length to take into battle with the Dragon, a standard to bear.’
The Pennaeth responded in kind. ‘That tree gave me my staff, and all the Druids before me. I see you have Iestyn’s sword with you. He fell in the service of the Prince of Wales. Take his sword and take what you need. Bring it to me.’
I had to choose carefully. The branch couldn’t be too long or too short, and had to be old enough to have both sapwood on the outside and heartwood in the core. I looked at the tree carefully, then realised I was going about this the wrong way. I closed my eyes and span round three times on the spot. I raised the sword and let the tree draw me towards it. Keeping my eyes closed, I swung the sword down and hoped for the best.
A quarter of the way into the swing, the blade bit wood with a crack as loud as the Hammer firing a shot. On the ground in front of me was a metre of branch. I looked back to the circle as the last rays of the sun struck Harry’s face. He smiled, nodded and sat down.
Rick James was pacing up and down the car park when we returned with the branch firmly strapped to my rucksack. Harry had added his own blessing to the yew rod before we left. Gareth said it was something to do with passing safely through Welsh lands.
Reluctantly, Rick agreed to take charge of Gwyddno on one condition: I did the death knock for Iestyn’s parents.
‘If it can wait until tomorrow, then yes, I’ll do it.’
From the way his shoulders slumped, I’m guessing it was his first time, and that he hadn’t fancied it. He put Gwyddno in his car and we sat in the Volvo with the engine running as night fell. I repeated the story Vicky had told him.
‘I still can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘I thought Iestyn was King’s Watch through and through.’
‘He was naïve, sir. He was a good man, but he hadn’t the experience to know where to draw the line.’ I could have added that he should have been taught where to draw the line, but Rick James was still Senior Watch Captain. If he didn’t know, it would do me no good to tell him.
Rick nodded absently. ‘This is a real mess, and no mistake. Well done, Conrad. It wasn’t your fault you lost Iestyn.’
‘With all due respect, sir, I’ve never lost a man or woman in my command. This was Iestyn Pryce’s command, not mine. I didn’t lose him.’
I heard the sharp intake of breath. ‘Is that…’
Whatever Rick’s first thought was, he kept it to himself. Eventually he said, ‘I should see his parents.’
‘No. You should get back to London and lock Gwyddno
away before anyone tries to rescue him. Ever since Harry and his lieutenants left this car park, we’ve been vulnerable to attack by the Brotherhood. They’ll have sympathisers in MADOC who’ll tell them what’s going on soon enough.’
‘Right. One last thing: why did you send those kids up north?’
‘The same reason, sir. They need a safe, neutral space to recover, and so long as only the Watch knows where that is, they might be useful as bargaining counters.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘I bet you didn’t tell Vicky that.’
‘She’s not stupid, sir. She’ll work it out.’
‘Stop calling me sir.’
There was a list of things to work out: recovering Iestyn’s body, removing his car, when to contact the Archdruid and so on. By the time all that had been arranged, I was very grateful to find that the hotel where we’d stayed last night had a vacancy. I treated myself to a bath before dinner, and had nearly fallen asleep in the soothing water when Vicky made contact.
‘How are you? How are the girls?’
‘We made it in the end. Elowen finally realised that her sister needed her more than she needed to get at me. The further we got from Wales, the more they clung to each other. They actually fell asleep near Stoke on Trent.’
‘It has the same effect on me. Did you get a warm welcome?’
‘We did. It freaked me out a bit to see Mother Julia with only one arm, but she’s made her peace with Theresa and they took the twins down to their grove for me to break the news about their parents. They’re still down there now. I left them to it as soon as I’d done the deed. Their Healer is going to use the grove’s power to have a discreet look at Gwen’s condition, see if there’s anything legal they can do to help. I’m going to tell her about what her mother did to her tomorrow.’
‘Good luck. I’m not sure I’d swap jobs with you. I think I’d rather tell Mr & Mrs Pryce about their son than tell Guinevere about what her mother did to her.’
‘Why are you going?’
I told her about Rick. I said I’d tell her my plan for MADOC and the Dragon when we were face to face.
‘Excuse me,’ said Vicky in the middle of a yawn. ‘You can tell how tired I am because I’m not gonna pester you about how you met Adaryn, or whatever her name was.’
‘Imogen – Immy to her friend. She only had one. Definitely a story to be told over a drink. Goodnight, Vicky.’
At least Hannah waited until after dinner before calling me. It probably took her that long to get the report from Rick after she’d turned her phone back on, it being Shabbos today and all that.
‘I assume you didn’t tell Rick the truth,’ she said. ‘And don’t bother arguing.’
‘No, ma’am. Honestly, he has all the important parts. I only kept back the bits that will help me find the Dragon.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Then it can wait until Monday morning. Have a safe journey tomorrow, Conrad.’
‘Thanks.’
I was asleep by ten o’clock. At eleven, Hledjolf the Dwarf rang me. For Mr Shorty to make a voice call, it must be important.
‘We hear that you are away.’
‘I am, but I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘We thought you should know that the Mole has begun to disintegrate. We do not understand the chemistry, but he can no longer move out of his nest.’
I sat up straight away. Poor Moley. ‘Is he in distress?’
‘We owe him a portion of Lux in back pay. We are feeding it to him in a sufficient dose to keep him alive and subdue the pain.’
You’ll notice that Hledjolf had answered a different question to the one I asked. Dwarves are good at that. ‘How long?’ I said.
‘He will exhaust his supply on Monday.’
‘Then take 0.2oz from it and make a bullet. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.’
I didn’t get back to sleep until nearly dawn.
20 — A Time to Dig, A Time to Die
The only consolation was that he couldn’t smell it. I had to stop and gag half way down the tunnel to his nest. It was truly awful. I took a deep breath to get over the worst and pressed on. From the nest itself, I could hear a woman’s voice as I got closer.
‘Miss Bennet, you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with, but however insincere you choose to be, you shall not find me so.’
‘Your Worship?’ The woman’s voice stopped in mid-word, and I entered the nest.
Vicky had explained over the phone this morning that Moley’s mitochondria were going on strike. All over his body, newly human bits of DNA were refusing to take orders from Moleish enzymes. It sounded bad. When I got to see him, believe me it looked a lot worse.
Most of his hair had fallen out. His back leg was clearly broken and stuck out at a grossly unnatural angle. His left digging paw was twitching randomly, and the other would have done if he hadn’t rolled on to it. Worst of all, even worse than the fluid oozing from sores on his back, was his nose. Half of the tendrils had withered, the rest were limp. Only his eyes looked alive, and that was wrong. So wrong.
‘Hello, old friend,’ I said, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. ‘What are you listening to?’
‘Pride and Prejudice. The Dwarf told me you were coming. Thank you.’
‘I didn’t have you down as a Jane Austen fan.’
‘Neither did I, until I found myself with so much time on my hands. What have you brought me?’
There was an edge to his question, but I took it at face value. I’d actually brought a chicken curry, but I didn’t think that was a good idea. ‘Can you eat?’
‘No. The Dwarf’s potion takes away hunger, but Mole must drink.’
‘Then try this.’ I placed a dish in front of him and poured neat 15yr old Macallan malt whisky to cover the bottom. ‘I’ve got water if it’s too strong.’
He was just about able to lap up the scotch with his tongue. ‘Aaah. So that’s what Mole has been missing. More.’
I poured more. I also unfolded the camp stool I’d brought and made myself as comfortable as possible. I took a measure of scotch for myself and lit a cigarette. ‘It wasn’t a Spirit who created you, Your Worship, it was a human person.’
‘Have you found him? If you bring him here, I can use what’s left of my magick to punish him.’
‘She did other things, too, just as bad as what she did to you. I shot her.’
‘Good.’
He rested for a second, then lapped up some more whisky. ‘Thank you for this gift. I’m also still wearing your first gift to me.’
It was a bit of tat, a fake chain of office to go with the title I’d given him. He’d taken it seriously and added a Dwarf-made medallion. ‘So I can see.’
‘It is my only Artefact,’ he said. ‘I name it to you.’ Before I could say anything, he rushed on. ‘Will you listen with me to the end of the story?’
‘Of course.’
The sound of Rosamund Pike’s voice filled the nest. We sat quietly as we listened to Jane Austen giving Lizzie Bennet the happy ending that had been denied to Mr Mole by Surwen’s incompetence and by the brutal reality of magick. When the music played at the end, we both had tears in our eyes.
I activated my Ancile, just in case, and stood up, moving to a spot behind his head.
‘Will it hurt?’ said Moley.
I slipped on the ear defenders, took aim and fired.
‘No,’ I said. ‘You didn’t feel a thing.’
I took his chain of office and left everything else for Hledjolf to sell or use in exchange for giving a dignified cremation to the first – and last – Lord Mayor of Moles.
21 — Overture and Beginners
I looked like shit. I know this because people kept telling me so when I arrived at Merlyn’s Tower on Monday morning for my debrief with Hannah. Here’s a sample:
‘Who’s died?’ — Maxine.
‘Oh. You look … I’ll come back later.’ — Annelise van Kampen
‘Your soul carries a heavy burden today.’ — Tennille
And finally, from Hannah, ‘You look like shit. Where’s Vicky?’
Well, I didn’t join the Watch for a hug, did I?
‘She’s at the City Police with your sister, tracking down Adaryn Owain aka Imogen Jones. After that, she’s going to Salomon’s House.’
She gave me that evil grin. It’s a special grin, only available to siblings. ‘You mean with my older sister. That was neat work by Vicky. Have a comfy chair.’
Things have come a long way since I had first set foot in Merlyn’s Tower. Hannah now trusted me enough to dispense with Vicky’s version of events, which is a good job because Vicky needs a lot more practice in lying. I was about to confess to Hannah that I’d used magickal bullets twice over the weekend, and the reason I was doing so was to divert attention from our possession of the Quintus Julius manuscript. If Hannah got a sniff of that, we’d have to hand it over.
When we’d sat down, she surprised me by leaning forward and saying, ‘Hledjolf’s been in touch. I’m sorry about Mr Mole.’
‘Thanks. He’s out of pain, poor sod. Surwen’s other victim – her own daughter, for goodness’ sake – has only just found out that she’s got a lifetime of pain to come.’
Hannah rubbed the wound under her scalp and pointed to my bad leg. ‘You, me, Mother Julia, Guinevere. At least we’re alive.’
I managed a smile. ‘That should be my line. Thanks, Boss. Is the Senior Watch Captain coming?’
She stared at the Thames. ‘I thought Rick was a safe pair of hands. He as good as offered his resignation last night.’
That put me in an awkward place. What I said next could have an impact on the future of the whole Watch, including me. And Vicky. Mina, even. ‘Has he let you down before?’
‘No.’
‘But he’s never had to deal with a Dragon and a terrorist operation before, has he?’