Tenfold

by Mark Hayden

  TENFOLD

  The Fourth Book of the King’s Watch

  by Mark Hayden

  A Conrad Clarke Novel

  To Clare & Bee Christmas

  Who live in the house where it’s Christmas Every Day!

  Copyright © Paw Press 2019

  www.pawpress.co.uk

  Front Cover © Lawston Design 2019

  www.lawstondesign.com

  Images © Shutterstock

  Contents

  A Note from Conrad

  1 — New Friends

  2 — Old Friends

  3 — Newton’s Cradle

  4 — As Good as a Rest

  5 — A Rude Awakening

  6 — Homecoming

  7 — Secret Santa

  8 — Entr’acte

  9 — Batting Order

  10 — Welcome to the Party

  11 — Unto the Tenth Generation

  12 — You can Choose your Friends

  13 — To the Ends of the Earth

  14 — Of Dwarves and Coneheads

  15 — Family Time

  16 — One of our Own

  17 — ‘War by Any Other Means’

  18 — Gnome is where the Hearth is

  19 — Train-ing

  20 — Let’s go on a Dwarf Hunt

  21 — All ye who enter Here

  22 — Where there’s Life

  23 — As One Door Closes…

  24 — Another one Slams in your Face

  25 — Diamonds are not Forever

  26 — A Warm Welcome

  27 — Sitting on the Dock of the Basin

  28 — The first Day

  29 — Of the rest of our Lives

  Nine of Wands

  Author’s Note

  A Note from Conrad…

  Hi,

  Some of you have said that it might help if there was a guide to magickal terms and a Who’s Who of the people in my stories.

  Well, I thought it might help, too, and my publisher has been kind enough to put one on their website. You can find them under ‘Magickal Terms’ and ‘Dramatis Personae’ on the Paw Press website:

  www.pawpress.co.uk

  I hope you enjoy the book,

  Thanks,

  Conrad.

  1 — New Friends

  How do you know that I’m not dead?

  ‘Simple,’ I hear you say. ‘Turn to the end and see if Conrad is still telling the story.’

  The trouble is that I know a Witch in Lancashire who practises Memorialism: absorbing your essence into a tree or other object, and she’s not the only one.

  For all you know, this narrative could be posthumous. You’ll have to wait and see, though I should point out that I am very much against dying, and I’ll do my best to stay alive until the last full stop.

  For now, I’ll get back to where we were: driving down to London from the Lake District after a harrowing encounter with a very dysfunctional Lakeland family. We’d only prevented mass murder at the eleventh hour, and I was glad to see the back of the fells. The same was true of my partner, Vicky.

  Captain Victoria Robson – soon to get the Military Cross – is my partner in magickal crime-fighting and we both serve in the King’s Watch. You’ll find out more about the Watch in due course; for now, I’ll go back to telling the story.

  ‘Are these guys we’re going to see a part of your murky past?’ asked Vicky.

  ‘You could say that. I rented their cottage for a bit, and then their farmhouse got burnt down in an arson attack. I don’t like to dwell on the past.’

  ‘Trouble is, Conrad, you’ve got a lot of past to dwell on. I’ll find out one day, you know.’

  ‘I know. I can wait. Ribblegate Farm is at the end of this lane.’

  She looked up the lane towards the cluster of patched and improvised agricultural buildings. ‘Don’t tell me they’re real farmers. Howay man, I’m sick of the countryside. Nothing but evil and cowshit. And Dragons.’

  Vicky is a Geordie lass through and through, born and raised by the Tyne and thoroughly contemptuous of anything involving grass and livestock. Except football. She quite likes football. I kept quiet because I’ve worked with her long enough to know when she needs to vent and when she needs to be wound up.

  I drove into the yard, past the builders’ vans clustered round the farmhouse, and pulled up as close as I could get to the cowshed because I broke Vicky’s foot in the Lakes and she still needs a crutch. I got out, passed her wellies from the back of the car and held her door open while she struggled into them. I heard one of the small animals that inhabit farms skitter away from underneath the car. Vicky has a few phobias that I know of (tunnels and spiders), and I wasn’t keen to find out if she was afraid of rats, so I spoke up to cover the noise.

  ‘There’s five Kirkhams,’ I said. ‘Dad Joseph and son David are the farmers, only David is called Joe.’

  ‘Why? Is that another piece of country lore?’

  ‘No. He’s the spit of his Dad, that’s all. He’s married to Kelly. I can’t remember whether she worked, but she’s nursing a new baby boy and a broken wrist. Kelly has a daughter called Natasha.’

  She carefully inserted her damaged foot into the Wellington boot. The splintered metatarsal had been magickally knitted but would need a week with only light pressure on it to heal fully.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked.

  ‘Just so you know. Briefing is crucial, even when visiting friendly premises.’

  ‘Shut up, pass me crutch and give me a hand. In that order.’

  I led Vicky into the cowshed, where the Kirkham boys were expecting us. On the threshold, she pointed to the forty or so pedigree Frisian/Holstein cows munching away in the pens.

  ‘Why are they all in here? Why aren’t they outside?’

  ‘It’s only the first week of April. Grass needs to be at least six inches high before they get turned out. There’s the boys.’

  I made the human introductions, and Vicky stared open-mouthed at the beasts. ‘They’re huge. I thought cows were cute.’

  The farmers smiled indulgently, like proud parents. ‘Size don’t stop ‘em being cute,’ said Joe. ‘You remember that cow we had in calf, Conrad?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘What?’ said Vicky.

  ‘In calf means pregnant.’

  Joseph and Joe took us over to a corner, being most solicitous of Vicky’s foot. I’m glad to say that the floor was pretty clean. The Kirkhams are good farmers.

  In a separate pen, a young bull calf was suckling its mother contentedly. ‘We’re keeping him,’ said Joseph.

  ‘Why wouldn’t you keep him?’ said Vicky.

  ‘Boys go for beef,’ said Joe. ‘This one we’re keeping to breed from. We’ll make money from AI that way. I said we’d call the bull Conrad…’

  Vicky laughed. ‘You’re having me on.’

  ‘… but we couldn’t face it, in the end,’ continued Joe, slightly offended.

  I was very offended.

  Joseph picked up the story. ‘So Kelly says, why not that writer bloke’s first name? Then we found out he were called Joseph Conrad.’

  ‘And there’s enough Josephs already round here,’ said Joe. ‘We wondered if you had any ideas.’

  ‘Nostromo,’ I said. ‘It means our man, and it was my mother’s favourite book. That’s why she called me Conrad.’

  ‘Nostromo it is,’ said Joe. ‘You said you had a job for us?’ I nodded. ‘Good. We wanted to offer you something, too, and Kelly wants a word. We moved back in to the kitchen last week. You can tell us about it over a cuppa, but come and have a look over here.’ He turned to Vicky. ‘It’s not far.’

  Joe led us to a shed against the yard wall, a rough lean-to structure that looked nothing on the outside, but h
ad been insulated and even had some old carpet on the floor. On a pile of old curtains in the corner was another mother, this time a border collie with her litter. She looked up, happy to see the Kirkhams, less so to see Vicky and me.

  ‘Now that really is cute,’ said Vicky. ‘They’re gorgeous.’

  ‘They are that,’ said Joe. ‘Conrad will know this, but you won’t. These are working dogs. Both parents have won prizes, and they’re worth well over a hundred pounds each.’

  ‘I can believe that,’ I agreed.

  ‘We wondered if you wanted one,’ said Joseph to me.

  The second he spoke the words, the back of my neck prickled and something shifted in the shed. These puppies were only a week old, eyes closed, barely moving. Except one. From the middle of the litter, one chap squirmed forward, out of the tumble of bodies and on to the straw that surrounded their bed. The mother looked up, concerned, ready to reach her jaws down and pluck him back to safety. Then he opened his eyes, way way ahead of schedule. One eye was blue, the other a vibrant green, and the eyes were staring straight at me in defiance of all the laws of evolutionary biology.

  The tiny puppy blinked, and I knew that he was a he and that his name was Scout. He collapsed back on his puppy legs and his mother swiftly grabbed him back to the fold.

  ‘Bugger me,’ said Joe. ‘What happened there?’

  ‘I think Conrad’s just been adopted,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Eh?’ said Joseph and Joe together. I knew what she meant, in principle. I’m sure she’ll tell me the details later.

  ‘I’ll take that one,’ I said. ‘Give me a shout when they’re ready to leave mum.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Joe. ‘Shall we get some tea?’

  The farmhouse, on the other side of the yard, had been almost gutted in the arson attack. When Joe said that they were back in the kitchen, it was definitely the opinion of someone who didn’t have to cook there.

  What they had done was nail planks to the unit holding the sink, rig up scaffold batons for a table and put more batons on top of the kitchen units that hadn’t been completely destroyed by fire or water. The only thing that stood resolutely undamaged (if a little singed) was the Aga. Cockroaches and Agas, both indestructible in times of nuclear war.

  In fairness, the plastering had been done, so I’m sure the kitchen fitters won’t be far behind. Kelly, Joe’s wife, was poring over drawings on the ‘table’.

  ‘Hiya, Conrad. Is that…?’

  ‘Mina? No. This is Vicky Robson, my work partner. Vicky, this is Kelly.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Vicky stretching over the planks to shake hands.

  ‘How’s Natasha and the baby?’ I added.

  ‘Tasha’s fine. Got a playdate at a friend’s house. One with a proper kitchen. I am going to owe so many favours by the time we’re finished renovating. The baby’s doing well, and so’s that weird plant you sent over.’

  She pointed to a far corner, near a window.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Vicky.

  That Witch I mentioned, the one who does things with trees, had cast a spell over a tiny cutting. The cutting was from another Witch’s plant, a Viburnum opulus bush. I’d left the cutting with the Kirkhams – specifically the female ones – to look after, a few weeks ago. It was now half the size of the original bush.

  ‘I’d better get that home, before it evicts you. Thanks for taking such good care of it.’

  ‘Natasha watered it every day,’ said Kelly. ‘I had to help her pot it on twice. What does it do, apart from grow very quickly?’

  ‘It’s supposed to help with cramps,’ I said.

  ‘Specifically menstrual cramps,’ added Vicky, ‘but he’s too much of a bloke to say that.’

  Kelly cast a particularly sceptical eye on the plant and stood up to put the kettle on the hot plate. ‘Tea?’

  Vicky looked alarmed, and whispered to me. ‘Where do they get the milk from? Is it safe?’

  ‘They get their milk from ASDA, same as everyone else. Unpasteurised milk at body temperature is something you only drink if you have to. I once had tea with warm goat’s milk upcountry in Afghanistan. It’s an acquired taste.’

  ‘Eurgh.’

  The door banged open and the boys came in. We settled on the singed chairs around the planks, and while Kelly made the tea, Joe explained to Vicky that AI had nothing to do with artificial intelligence.

  Kelly sat down and fixed me with a mother’s gaze. ‘What’s this favour you’re after, Conrad?’

  The subtext was clear to me: is it dangerous? Kelly blamed me for the bother they’d got into because I was a much more convenient target than her husband or father in law.

  ‘It’s simple,’ I said, placing my hands on the table in a non-threatening gesture. ‘Pick Mina up tomorrow morning and take her to Preston station.’

  The Kirkhams shuffled on their seats and looked at Vicky.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Vic knows all about Mina. She’s even met her in prison.’

  ‘HMP Cairndale, in’t it?’ said Joe.

  ‘Yes. She gets turfed out at eleven and the train’s at twenty past twelve.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Kelly, ‘I’ll go up with Joe and bring her here for a cup of tea. It’ll save waiting at the station.’

  Vicky looked confused. ‘Do you know her?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Kelly, ‘but we’ve heard all about her. I even helped Conrad with his wardrobe when he was trying to chat her up. Standards have slipped since then.’

  Vicky snorted into her tea. ‘You’re jokin’ me.’

  ‘We’d better go,’ I said, before things got really embarrassing. I took out a white box covered with Apple logos. ‘This is Mina’s phone. I’ve charged it.’ There were a couple of twenty pound notes underneath the box that Kelly took charge of, stuffing them into her jeans.

  I stood up and brought Vicky’s Wellingtons to the table after checking the soles. ‘I’ll be back in a few weeks if not before. To pick up Scout.’

  ‘Scout?’

  ‘The puppy.’

  While Vicky put on her boots, I passed a badge to Joe. He stared at the design of a mediaeval tower and twisted it to read the words. ‘Merlyn’s Tower Irregulars. Who are they?’

  ‘You’re one, for starters. I thought the name Team Conrad was a bit vain given that Vicky and I are partners.’

  Vicky gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I’ve tried to stop him, but he’s like a big kid sometimes. Ignore the badge, or give it to Natasha. There’s a number on the back. If anything happens to us, and you’re worried, give that number a call.’

  Kelly grabbed the badge in alarm and stared at the phone number. ‘Is anything likely to happen? Should we be worried?’

  ‘No,’ said Vicky. ‘My role in life is to keep him out of trouble.’

  Kelly turned the badge over and pushed it away. ‘Right. Safe journey, Conrad. Nice to meet you, Vicky.’

  As we left the kitchen, I heard Joseph saying, ‘I’m tellin’ you. It’s one eye were green. Never seen a dog with a green eye before.’

  The satnav said that it was nearly a five hour drive to London. Vicky had that look on her face: she was going to use every minute to generate maximum humiliation. I decided to get in first.

  ‘What happened in that dog kennel?’

  ‘You’ve been adopted by a familiar.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know they were a thing.’

  ‘Hell, aye.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’

  ‘Oh, no. It’s a mark of status. Very few Mages get them, and even fewer Watch Captains.’

  ‘Is there a central agency for these things?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. You should know enough about Spirits by now to work it out.’

  ‘That dog looked nothing like Helen of Troy, or Madeleine. Tell me about familiars.’

  ‘There are a lot of Spirits about. They can’t always access a good source of Lux, they get attacked, get trapped. A Spir
it, no matter where it’s come from, can easily find itself starting to dissipate. At that point, a lot of them will bind themselves to a lesser vessel, lesser in that sense meaning not human. Animals are favourite, but machines work in a sense. Cheng is convinced that they’re starting to appear in the Internet.’

  ‘Whoah! A ghost in the machine. This is a windup, Vicky.’

  ‘I wish. That’s for another day, though. In your case, some Spirit has tagged along after you, draining a tiny bit of your Lux, not enough to notice. Word has got around, you know, about the Dragon. One lucky Spirit was in the right place when Joe Kirkham offered you a puppy.’

  ‘I think it’s been following us. Following me. I’ve heard random animal sounds near the car a few times.’

  ‘Sounds about right. When it saw its chance, it dived into the dog and merged itself.’

  ‘Merged?’

  ‘Don’t forget, humans are hugely, wildly more magickal than dogs. That Spirit…’

  ‘Scout. His name is Scout.’

  ‘Right. Scout has become something less than human but much, much more than a dog. We won’t know exactly what he’s going to become until you get him home and he’s grown up a bit.’

  ‘That’s something to look forward to, as is our conversation with the Boss.’ Vic and I answer directly to the commanding officer of the King’s Watch, who is known as the Peculier Constable.

  Vicky groaned. She’s convinced that I make Hannah’s life a misery on purpose. Hannah Rothman was in the Metropolitan Police until something happened to enhance her magickal powers and she joined the Watch as a Captain, like me. Shortly after, she suffered appalling injuries and lost her husband. She’s now the Peculier Constable and a very good boss.

  The problem is that she thinks – or pretends to think – that the universe owes her a quiet life, and that I’ve been sent to test her patience. I’m sure she loves me really.

  ‘What now?’ said Vicky. ‘I thought we were supposed to be good boys and girls.’

  ‘We are. In fact, I’m going to make her an offer.’