The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

‘I can’t forgive you. What you did was literally unforgivable, and I’m not a Christian. Try asking for mercy.’

  She lowered her head. ‘In the name of the Goddess, have mercy.’ She dropped to all fours and kissed the blade of the axe.

  The husband was appalled. His eyes bulged and his mouth opened. He looked down at his wife, and what he’d thought was a bit of New Age nonsense and girlie bonding became the brutal reality of magick.

  ‘Open your kitchens and cellars to my friends,’ I said. ‘Show some true hospitality and I will consider the debt paid.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she muttered.

  Voices could be heard approaching the hotel. ‘Get up,’ I said. ‘You’d better get a shift on, Clara. You’re going to be busy, and I hope for your sake that you didn’t send the staff away.’

  The husband shook himself and helped his wife get to her feet just as the first of the team wandered through the entrance. He led her quickly through a door to the back of the hotel.

  Gareth had stood back from my encounter with the proprietors, and now came forward. ‘I can see why you did it, Conrad, but why get the lads involved? We’re grateful for the night out, and all that, but you didn’t owe us anything.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I invited the team precisely because the Usk View hurt them as much – if not more – than they hurt me and Vicky.’

  ‘How do you figure that?’

  ‘Clara offended against Welsh hospitality. She needs to make reparations to her countrymen as well.’

  Gareth pulled his lip. ‘You could say that. You could also say that you’re making us complicit in an act of imperial domination, using us to keep the natives in line.’

  The lads were mingling in the entrance, unsure where to go and looking to Gareth for guidance.

  ‘There’s the exit, there’s the bar,’ I whispered. ‘You choose, Gareth.’

  He leaned in to whisper back. ‘This is my land and my people. I’ll not have it said we betrayed a guest.’ He straightened up and stepped forward. ‘Right, lads, listen up. The proprietor foolishly made a bet with Conrad here that we’d beat the Nigels in the Six Nations.’

  Translation: Wales would beat England at rugby. A voice from the back piped up, ‘Not so foolish. We did it two years ago.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t do it this year, did we? The bet was that the loser paid the bill tonight, so enjoy yourselves, lads, but don’t go daft. No ordering the most expensive wine just because it’s free, and you can leave a tip at the end if you want. The bar’s through there, and mine’s a pint.’

  I made polite conversation for half an hour, drank a symbolic glass and ate a symbolic steak sandwich. When I’d been for a smoke, I asked for silence and raised my glass. ‘Gentlemen, the Queen.’

  ‘The Queen!’ they responded with gusto.

  ‘And the Prince of Wales,’ added Gareth.

  I joined in the response, then slipped out before they started singing again.

  The hospital in Swansea was as good as its word and Vicky was discharged into my care just as the sun was setting on Sunday afternoon.

  ‘Why’ve you brought the skanky auld Volvo and not the Merc?’ she asked as I loaded her gear into the back.

  ‘Because you died in the Mercedes and because I sold it yesterday. Here – Happy St David’s Day. I didn’t get you a daffodil.’ I passed her a brown envelope stuffed with twenty pound notes. It was well over half what I’d been given.

  ‘Wow. I’ve never seen so much cash before in me life. I’ll pass on the daffodil, thanks. Do I have to pay tax on this?’

  ‘Only if you declare it. The Audi’s being delivered to Clerkswell on Wednesday. Now get in before you catch your death.’

  She stopped staring at the cash and gave me a grin. ‘Yes, Uncle C. It’s a good job I’m not on medication. You’d be a terrible nurse.’

  The consultant had taken a lot of persuading that Vicky’s cardiac event was a result of trauma rather than a genetic defect requiring surgery or lifelong treatment with drugs. After many tests, he’d concluded that a week’s rest was all she needed to make a full recovery.

  We were soon on the M4 and heading for England. ‘I can’t believe I’m gonna stay in your house,’ she said idly. ‘I bet it’s really just a four bed semi on a little estate. I reckon you’re not posh at all.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m like you, Vic, just a tradesman. You’ll see the house soon enough. Listen. I’ve had a wild idea.’

  She groaned. ‘No. Stop it. I’m convalescing. No more wild ideas for a bit, OK?’

  ‘How about we propose Helen Davies as the next Watch Captain of Wales.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. She’s got even less magick than you, and you need me to hold your hand. She wouldn’t last five minutes.’

  ‘It was something the Allfather said – the demise of the Brotherhood has left a window. A moment when things can be different. What if some of their loot was used to create an Artefact, a special Artefact for Wales. As well as allowing Helen to do the job, it would be a symbol of commitment to Welsh magick.’

  She looked impressed, and so she should. It was one of my better ideas. She nodded her head in approval, then fiddled in her bag and pulled out her tablet and her new phone. ‘D’you mind? I couldn’t get any sort of signal in that hospital room, what with all them machines around us. There’s a lot of folks who need to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Go ahead, so long as you don’t mind me having the radio on.’

  ‘Fine.’

  I listened to the Classic FM chart and she started texting and emailing. Suddenly she jerked upright. ‘What the hell? Conrad, pull over. Quick.’

  We were nowhere near a junction, so I pulled on to the hard shoulder and as far up the verge as I could. ‘What is it, Vic?’

  She tapped the screen and moved the tablet between us. I saw a shaky video of a corridor being filmed through the narrow crack of an open door. The angle changed and I could see the backs of two women, one in the blue uniform of a prison officer, the other pushing a trolley.

  ‘Mina!’ I blurted out, and though the woman with the trolley was definitely not Mina, she was familiar. ‘That’s Sonia,’ I added for Vicky’s benefit.

  The video had scratchy sound, but it was clear enough when Sonia knocked at a door across the corridor. The PO unlocked it with one of her many keys and stepped back because prison doors all open outward. The door swung back and Mina herself stepped into the corridor, and my heart nearly stopped.

  She was wearing a red tunic and black leggings from the stash I’d bought in Primark, and she’d spent time on her makeup. It was almost as if … yes. She moved to the side, forcing Sonia to turn in profile. Mina knew she was being filmed, and wanted the camera to capture as much detail as possible.

  ‘I’ve only met Mina when she was sitting down,’ said Vicky. ‘She really is tiny, isn’t she?’

  Before I could think of a sensible answer to that, Sonia dragged our attention back to the screen.

  ‘Dinner,’ said Sonia, lifting a covered tray off the trolley. ‘It’s your favourite, Mina. Beef.’

  ‘Oh. Shit,’ I said. ‘This isn’t going to end well.’

  We watched Mina turn to the prison officer. ‘Everyone in here knows that I’m on a Hindu diet,’ she said with far more reasonableness than I’d have been able to muster.

  The officer put her thumbs in her belt. ‘Sonia? Do you have an alternative to suit our foreign guests?’

  ‘’Fraid not, Kathy.’

  ‘Then take it or leave it,’ said the officer.

  Before Mina could say anything, Sonia took the cover off the tray and hurled it through the open door into Mina’s cell. ‘That’s no way to treat your food,’ said Sonia.

  The officer took her keys in one hand and pushed Mina through the door with a great shove. ‘If you’re going to start a dirty protest, you can spend the evening locked up, Mina.’ She slammed the door closed and locked it with a snap of the key. The video wobbled and stopped.

/>   Sweat was pouring off my forehead and I was gripping the steering wheel as if we were at Silverstone and not on the hard shoulder. I stared at the blank screen until Vicky moved it away.

  ‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘There’s a message, too.’ She offered me the tablet, but I found I couldn’t let go of the steering wheel.

  ‘You read it,’ I said.

  Vicky glanced at my face, then turned back to the screen. ‘Hi Vicky, it says. I’ve sent this to you because he won’t use a smartphone and I know he can’t always get to his laptop when you’re out saving the world. Tell him that Mr Joshi has the video, too, and he’ll be contacting the Home Office first thing tomorrow. Tell him I’m OK. I’m really OK, but I might have a debt to pay later. Hope you’re both safe and enjoying Wales.’ She swiped the screen. ‘There’s another one straight after. And tell him that I love him, and that Desais push back.’

  I breathed out and peeled my fingers off the steering wheel. ‘We’d better get going before the police turn up to see if we’re okay. I don’t fancy explaining the arsenal in the boot.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ said Vicky. ‘Can you drive?’

  ‘Yes. I know when I’m not safe.’ I drove carefully down to the hard shoulder, then accelerated until I could rejoin the motorway. ‘Do you mind if we stop? I’m fine to drive, but I could do with getting out of the car for a bit.’

  ‘Aye. Of course.’

  Vicky gave me time to think in the ten minutes it took us to reach the services. Of course I was worried about Mina, and not being able to do anything made it worse, but at the same time I was thrilled. Mina had been a victim of other people’s wars for years, and to see her pull a stroke like that was amazing. If she could survive the next twenty-four hours…

  Vicky had to keep as warm as possible, so I installed her near a radiator deep within the Costa Coffee franchise and got us some drinks.

  ‘I can’t believe what we saw,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’ve seen some bad stuff in pubs on a Saturday night, but never anything like that. She is one brave woman, Conrad.’ She smiled. ‘And you’re a lucky man.’

  ‘Don’t I know it. Do you mind if I take a walk around the car park?’

  ‘Course not.’

  I marched round the floodlit wasteland of the service station, smoking and letting my nerves calm down with the movement and the chill air. In the end, the only way I could clear the last knot of stress was to send a text to Mr Joshi: Let me know if there’s anything I can do.

  His reply came back as quickly as he could type it: Be there for her, Conrad. I have already made an appointment with an old friend from the chess club who’s at the MOJ (not the Home Office). He’s seeing me at ten tomorrow and Ganesh will look after her until you can take over. You’ve been very patient. It will work out.

  I showed Vicky the messages when we got back in the car. ‘Hmm, invoking Ganesh could be a can of worms, right enough, but the main thing is that she’s got you and Mr Joshi on her side.’

  She stowed her laptop away and settled back in her seat. Vicky had the recuperative powers of the young, but it would take a while to rebuild her energy levels. When we got to the Severn Bridge, I glanced over. She wasn’t asleep.

  I pointed to the sign saying Welcome to England. ‘We’re home. It shouldn’t feel like that, but it does.’

  ‘It helps that this is your home county,’ she replied grumpily. ‘I don’t feel very much at home here.’

  ‘You’ll love Clerkswell. Especially the pub.’ I put on a casual tone. ‘By the way, did you open Hannah’s email? The one headed Despatches?’

  ‘Nah. I thought she wanted me to write a report. That can wait.’

  ‘Do you remember saying that you might have to kill me if I won a medal? Have a look at that email.’

  She picked up her phone and scanned through the text. ‘Oh my god! We’ve both got one! A Military Cross! Mam and Dad will be over the moon.’

  ‘Nothing less than you deserve. She rang me about it yesterday – after sunset, of course – and said she didn’t know whether to recommend us for the Bishop’s Cross.’

  ‘I’ve heard of that. I think. Wasn’t it abolished?’

  ‘Technically, no, and technically it’s a higher honour than the MC, but it has to remain secret. Only Watch Captains and the Constable get to know about it. I told her I wanted it to be as public as possible because it makes a statement about what we do. Your parents deserve to know how brave you were, and the crew at Salomon’s House need to appreciate the risks we take to keep them safe. Besides, there’s another reason for having it presented formally.’

  She looked at me suspiciously. ‘Oh, aye?’

  ‘I do love to see a girl in uniform.’

  ‘Hah! You wait. You just wait, Uncle Conrad. I’ll get me own back for that, you’ll see.’

  I let her have the last word because I’d met two sets of parents recently. Mr and Mrs Pryce would get their son’s MC at his funeral, and I hope it helps them come to terms with their loss.

  John and Erica Robson will get to see their daughter pick up her award in person. You can’t ask for more than that.

  The End.

  Conrad and Vicky’s story continues in The Eleventh Hour, Third book of the King’s Watch, available now from Paw Press on Amazon. Turn over to find out more.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading this book; I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please leave a review on Amazon. It doesn't have to be long. Reviews make a huge difference to Indie authors, and an honest review from a genuine customer is worth a great deal. If you've read The 13th Witch as well, please review both books – even if you’re in a hurry to read the extract from the next one that follows this note.

  The King’s Watch books are a radical departure from my previous five novels, all of which are crime or thrillers, though very much set in the same universe, including the Operation Jigsaw Trilogy that Conrad himself refers to as part of his history.

  If you’ve only just met Conrad in this book, you might like to go back the Jigsaw trilogy and discover how he came to be on the M40. As I was writing those books, I knew that one day Conrad would have special adventures of his own, and that’s why the Phantom makes a couple of guest appearances.

  A book should speak for itself, especially a work of fiction. There is, however, a certain amount of philosophy underpinning the fantastical elements of The Twelve Dragons. If you’re interested, there are a few words about this on the Paw Press website at Paw Press (www.pawpress.co.uk).

  Other than that, it only remains to be said that all the characters in this book are fictional, as are some of the places, but Merlyn’s Tower, Hledjolf’s Hall and Bardsholm are, of course, all real places, it’s just that you can only see them if you have the Gift…

  The Eleventh Hour

  The Third Book of the King’s Watch

  By Mark Hayden

  Turn Over for extract

  1 — Homecoming

  ‘Did you ever meet Prince William?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘He flew helicopters in Wales, didn’t he? So did you.’

  I gave my partner a pair of severely raised eyebrows. ‘When he was posted to RAF Valley, I was in the middle of a double tour of Afghanistan, so no, not to talk to. Where did that come from?’

  ‘It’s hard to think about serious stuff when you’ve come back from the dead. Me mam brought us a copy of Hello magazine into the coronary care unit. I hid it when you came to visit me.’

  It’s funny what you learn about people when the chips are down. Up on a Welsh mountain, I’d learnt that Vicky Robson, my partner in magickal crime fighting and apocalypse avoidance can keep her head in the most extreme situation possible: imminent violent death. And now I’d learnt that she has a royal thing going on underneath. Neither of these facets makes her a better person, but the courage does make her a better partner.

  ‘You didn’t come back from the dead,’ I told her. ‘Your heart stopped for a bit. That�
�s all.’

  ‘Eight minutes! I wouldn’t call that “a bit”. Anyway, are we nearly there yet?’

  We were driving home from a close encounter with a Dragon, and Vicky had only been discharged from hospital three hours ago. She may have been joking about are we nearly there, but I could see that she really, really needed to lie down and sleep.

  We weren’t even driving to her home – we were heading for my home, Elvenham House in the village of Clerkswell, just east of Cheltenham in the Gloucestershire countryside. Home for Vicky would be a flat in Camden or her parents’ house in Newcastle. She’s a Geordie, as you’ve no doubt guessed, but for reasons she’d kept to herself, convalescence on the Tyne didn’t seem to be an option.

  She didn’t look well, not that she’s a picture of health at the best of times. Vicky is young, yes, and has the unlined open glow that comes with being twenty-three and not having had to gut chickens for a living. She also has the pallor of northern genes and a life spent mostly indoors. It was too early to tell whether the experience would age her or whether her infectious smile and pointed sarcasm would bring her fully back to life. As she keeps pointing out, I’m fourteen years older than her and pretty much a physical wreck. I hadn’t died on the Welsh hillside, but I’d lost what little hair I had left to a third degree burn. We both needed some time out from danger.

  ‘We’ll be home in less than five minutes,’ I said. ‘I wonder if the dragon will still be there.’

  She looked confused. ‘What dragon? I know you don’t mean a real one, ’cos that would be cruel.’

  Why should she remember? I only mentioned it once, in passing, ages ago. ‘We think the oldest part of the house is the limestone carving of a dragon over the front doors. The rest of the house is brick. We always say hello after coming back from a long journey.’

  She adjusted her seat into the upright position and blinked herself awake. ‘What counts as a long journey to you lot?’