The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

  ‘Oh, anywhere outside the village. Mixing with strangers is always an adventure.’

  ‘Please tell me there won’t be Maypole dancing or nothing. I’ve never stopped in a proper village for more than hour in me life.’

  ‘It’s March, Vicky, not May, so there’ll be no Maypoles, Morris dancing or cricket. Here we are.’

  The road sign told us that Clerkswell welcomes Careful Drivers, and I slowed down to point out the Inkwell pub.

  I opened my mouth, but Vicky got in first. ‘The Inkwell pub, which has beer brewed with water from the original Clerk’s Well at the bottom of your garden. You’ve told us about it enough times that I know it off by heart. I still think you live in a semi-detached with a water butt.’

  I turned right at the church and drove down Elven Lane. Two hundred further yards and I turned into Elvenham House. There’s an ancient yew tree by the gateless gateposts that masks the house all year, so you don’t see it until you pass the tree and trip the sensor, causing three spotlights to pick out the gravel drive, Victorian Gothic tower and rampant dragon.

  ‘Bloody hell, Conrad, it’s huge. How in Nimue’s name can you afford this on a squadron leader’s salary and a flat in Notting Hill? What are you not telling me?’

  ‘It’s the family home, that’s all. Clarkes have lived here since the first Queen Elizabeth, as my 11xGreat Grandfather will tell you when you’re well enough to summon his ghost.’

  There was a lot I wasn’t telling her, but I’d promised to tell my girlfriend first, and a Clarke’s Word is Binding. Literally binding. If I make a promise, I have to keep it.

  ‘Was that him?’ said Vicky, pointing to a window. ‘Was that Spectre Thomas?’

  I followed her direction. Vicky’s night vision isn’t as good as mine, but even so… ‘He’s not a cross-dresser. That’s Mrs Gower.’

  ‘Who’s she, and what’s she doing in your house?’

  I killed the engine. ‘You could call her a housekeeper. Sort of. She lives in the village and keeps an eye on things when I’m not there. Tonight, for example, she’s been in to put the heating on, make your bed and put some soup in the fridge. Let’s get you inside.’

  I climbed out of the car and saluted the dragon. Despite having destroyed a real one last week, our mascot seemed to bear me no ill-will. I limped round to the passenger door and opened it. Vicky gave me a weak smile and stuck out her hand.

  I levered her out of the car, and she rested on its roof for a second before taking a deep breath and stretching her arms. She leaned back inside and picked up her sPad tablet computer. Vicky is a Sorcerer: she can sense the Sympathetic Echo that all magick leaves in its wake. The tablet is her Focus and helps her sense even more. She used it to scan the dragon, then shook her head.

  ‘That cannot be right. I must be really, really tired.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll check again in the morning, but yes, there was once a complicated Work in that stone. It’s been discharged for years.’ She shivered. ‘Does Mrs Gower not open the doors for you?’

  Our front doors are big, metal-studded mock-castle doors. ‘Round the side,’ I said. ‘Let’s get in and I’ll fetch the cases later.’

  I led the way through a gate and round to the back door. Much of Elvenham House is due an upgrade and the kitchen is often the only warm spot. You should see my gas bill.

  Mrs Gower was waiting for us. ‘Welcome back, Mr Conrad. I’ve nearly finished.’

  ‘Thank you. This is Vicky, the colleague I was telling you about.’

  Vicky shuffled into the kitchen, nodding to Mrs Gower who responded and cast a critical eye over the patient.

  ‘I don’t know why you let him nurse you,’ she said to Vicky. ‘I’d have insisted on a proper health farm. Preferably one with lots of half-naked masseurs. That’d perk you up more than this place or his cooking.’

  ‘I, er…’ Vicky didn’t know where to look. At that point, Mrs Gower’s excitable Jack Russell bounded into the kitchen and skittered over the flags like a novice skater, barking furiously.

  ‘Hush, Nipper,’ said Mrs Gower to the dog. ‘What’s up?’

  I pulled out a chair and sat Vicky down while Mrs G tried to calm the dog. She gave up and turned to us. ‘I’ll just finish off in the living room and leave you be.’

  I filled the kettle and put it on the Aga hotplate. When Mrs Gower was out of earshot, Vicky said, ‘Why did she call you Mr Conrad and not Mr Clarke?’

  ‘Because my father is Mr Clarke and I’m only his son. There’s a few in the village who still talk like that.’

  In the distance, the great bell on the front door rang. I started to get the teapot ready. ‘I wonder who that is,’ I said conversationally. And then I remembered: the front door bell hasn’t worked for years. My heart stopped, just for a second, then re-started at full throttle, pumping adrenalin not blood. I dropped the teaspoon and ran out of the kitchen.

  I had to swerve round the back stairs before I could get to the hall, and in that time Mrs Gower had opened the door.

  The dog howled, Mrs Gower screamed and a silver shape shot past as I rounded the corner and took in the scene. The vast front door stood open, and Mrs Gower was cowering away from a giant, seriously huge snake which was rising up and flaring its hood: an Indian cobra. Nipper the dog was facing it down and Spectre Thomas was trying to manifest himself in defence of our home. Even I could feel the magick building up.

  The cobra hissed and jabbed its venomous fangs towards Nipper. To the dog’s left, Thomas Clarke had materialised enough to be opaque, and declaimed in his best Lincolnshire accent, ‘Begone foul serpent!’ He made a ghostly grab for the snake, which left off the dog and turned on him.

  And me? I’d reached for my gun and realised that it was locked in the car, along with all my mundane weapons. Not that my gun had any bullets anyway. I dashed forward, tugging off my coat and aiming to put myself between Mrs Gower and the cobra.

  Spectre Thomas put out a hand, and I could feel him drawing on his tiny reserves of magick. The snake rose up, hissed, and struck, digging its fangs into the glowing flesh of my Grandfather’s calf muscle.

  The snake was at least fifteen feet long, which is five times longer than a cobra should be, and it was five times thicker, too. Nipper is a true terrier: he saw the exposed flank of the snake and clamped it with his jaws.

  The cobra writhed in pain, whipping round to strike at the dog, and that was my cue. I dived forward, holding my coat like a shield and aiming for the head. Have you ever tried to catch a rabbit with your hands? They’re very quick, and a real cobra is even quicker – they have to be, or they wouldn’t catch any rabbits. This one was thankfully a lot slower, as I’d seen when it struck at Spectre Thomas.

  I got my coat on its head just before it could strike Nipper. Unfortunately, although a lot slower than a real snake, it was also a lot stronger. The cobra lashed its body, dislodging Nipper and taking my legs out from under me. The only good news was that the coat was still wrapped round its head.

  ‘Run!’ I shouted to Mrs Gower. ‘Run now!’

  She fled through the open door and Nipper covered her retreat. I rolled away from the snake and saw Vicky appearing, clutching the chain of Artefacts that hangs round her neck and is the store of most of her magickal power. If she tried to use offensive magick in her current state, her heart could easily stop again. I was not going to let that happen, and besides, I had a feeling that this snake’s business was with me alone.

  ‘Hold!’ I shouted. ‘Nāga! I know you for what you are.’ The snake stopped thrashing and lay still for a moment. ‘Hold still,’ I said. ‘I will remove the coat and you will appear in human form.’

  ‘Conrad,’ said Vicky, ‘are you sure?’

  I nodded and climbed to my feet, grabbing a console table for support. I saw Spectre Thomas clutching his calf and fading fast. ‘Grandfather? Can we help?’

  He looked at me. ‘I must go. I can’t be here no longer. Seek for me i
n the well.’ He turned to Vicky, fading by the second. ‘You too, sweet Witch.’ And then he was gone.

  The snake hissed a reminder of my promise, and I limped over to retrieve my coat, skirting a pool of snake blood and trying not to stand in the venom. I gingerly retrieved my coat and took a step back. The snake drew back, too, then raised its head.

  Vicky took a panicked breath and touched her Badge of Office again. I gestured for her to hold her fire, and the snake’s head rose further. Arms sprouted from its body and legs from its tail. In seconds, the cobra’s hood had become the wild black hair of a woman.

  She emerged from her snake form with her eyes closed, stretching out her arms and rising on her toes. As her tail finally disappeared into her lower spine, a wound appeared in her side and she staggered back as blood flowed. Vicky and I both moved to offer support, but the woman held up one hand to keep us at bay, clutching her side with the other. When she smiled, gritting her teeth, I caught a glimpse of fangs.

  ‘It’s Nāgin, not Nāga. As you can see, I’m a woman, though I can see you trying not to notice. My clothes are outside.’

  I kept my eyes riveted to hers as I edged towards the door; it’s hard not to stare at a naked woman who used to be a snake, especially if you’re worried she might still bite. Above her deep brown eyes, I noticed the red dot of a Hindu bindi on her forehead. It was glowing, slightly.

  There was a pool of fabric on the steps outside – the three parts of a ghagra choli (long skirt, top and scarf, if you’re interested). There was also a pair of soft boots and a long woollen cloak. There may have been underwear somewhere inside the heap, but I just gathered it all together and chucked it through the open door.

  I saw Vicky pick up the cloak, leaving the other garments, and pass it to the Nāgin, who was out of my sightline. I counted to three and stepped back inside.

  ‘She needs first aid,’ said Vicky. ‘Unless you’re gonna finish her off.’

  ‘Is that any way to treat a guest?’ said the Nāgin.

  She had a point. Assaulting a guest is only one step down from breaking your word in the roster of magickal no-nos. On the other hand… ‘I only attack guests who don’t appear in their true shape.’

  The Nāgin looked down. ‘You have a Ward on this house. It didn’t stop me coming in, but it stripped me of my human form.’

  ‘I have a Ward?’ I said blankly. ‘That’s news to me.’

  ‘Is your King’s Bounty here?’ said Vicky.

  ‘Aah…’ When I became a Captain of the King’s Watch, I was given a gold medallion – the King’s Bounty. I was told that it would protect your house in unexpected ways. I hope it works more than once.

  ‘I did not attack anyone,’ said the Nāgin. ‘I only defended myself.’

  ‘True enough. What do you want?’

  ‘My name is Pramiti, and I have come for a reckoning.’

  I nodded. ‘Then come in peace and be welcome. My partner will look after you until I get back.’

  Vicky looked alarmed on several levels, not least because she’d twigged what the Nāgin was doing here. ‘Why? Where are you going?’

  A freezing draught was blowing through the door. I heaved it closed and shot home the bolts, then picked up Mrs Gower’s voluminous bag from the console table and Nipper’s lead from a nearby chair. ‘I’m off to pour oil on troubled waters.’ Thankfully, Pramiti hadn’t spat venom on my nice new coat.

  Thanks…

  This book would not have been written without love, support, encouragement and sacrifices from my wife, Anne. It just goes to show how much she loves me that she let me write this book even though she hates fantasy novels.

  Although Chris Tyler didn't get to see the draft this time, his friendship is a big part of my continued desire to write, and thanks also due to the fellow members of Kendal Writers’ Café. Their critique of my opening chapters is always both merciless and justified.

  Finally, if you've made it this far, please, please, pretty please go on to the next page where Amazon will invite you to Rate this Book. I would be enormously and eternally grateful if you could leave a review. Thanks.