Tenfold

by Mark Hayden

  ‘Please don’t. What?’

  ‘How do you feel about Myfanwy?’

  ‘Eh?’

  Vicky turned to look out of the window while she mulled over the question. A few weeks ago, Vicky’s heart was stopped. Deliberately stopped by a Druid. I was able to restart it, but only with help from another Druid, Myfanwy Lewis. Myfanwy is currently in the magickal prison, Blackfriars Undercroft. Before becoming a magickal paramedic, she’d been part of the gang that attacked us.

  ‘Grateful,’ said Vicky. ‘Profoundly grateful. And sorry for her. And then I remember why she’s locked up and I get angry. Then I feel guilty and I’m grateful again. It keeps going round in circles.’

  ‘Look, Vic, I talked it over with Mina this morning, and she’s not wild about the idea, but she can see where I’m coming from. How would you feel if I offered Elvenham House as a place for Myfanwy to serve out her time?’

  ‘Oof. That’s a curveball. Has no one else stepped up to the plate?’

  I paused. ‘I didn’t know you were a baseball fan.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Curveball … stepped up to the plate. They’re both baseball metaphors.’

  ‘Shut up and answer the question. And don’t you dare say that you can’t do both.’

  ‘No. The Northumberland Shield Wall are still the only group to have offered sanctuary. You said you wouldn’t wish them on her. If you can see a better alternative…?’

  She sighed. ‘No. I can’t. We’ll just have to hope that Hannah is in a good mood when we get there. She won’t be after you tell her that.’

  ‘I’ll win her round.’

  ‘Careful, Conrad. I know you like to flirt with her, but have you ever thought it might be mutual?’

  ‘What? I don’t flirt…’

  ‘…Yes you do. Have you thought that the reason she’s so against Mina is that she wants you for herself?’

  That was a stumper. I opened my mouth several times to say something. I suppose it was possible. I thought Hannah’s attitude towards my girlfriend was down to Hannah being an ex-copper of high moral standards, and Mina being a convicted criminal. I ran the possibilities round in my head.

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I’m too much of a goy for a nice Jewish girl like Hannah.’

  ‘Maybe. Can you pull in to Knutsford Services? I need the loo, and you need a fag.’

  ‘I do, but that’s unusually thoughtful of you.’

  She grinned. ‘You need to fortify yourself. When we set off again, I’m going to torture you until you tell me all about how Kelly Kirkham gave you a makeover.’

  I sighed and indicated left. It was going to be a long drive.

  2 — Old Friends

  ‘How’s your foot?’ asked Hannah as Vicky clumped across the office at the top of Merlyn’s Tower. The Occulted (magickally hidden) headquarters of the King’s Watch is in an off-limits part of the Tower of London. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘The journey didn’t help,’ said Vicky. ‘I think it’s swollen. Conrad’s leg is none too good either,’ she added in a heroic gesture of partnership.

  My leg did hurt, though. Vicky’s fracture would heal fully in a week; my shattered tibia and its supporting titanium rod were only going to get worse as the years passed.

  Hannah sniffed. ‘He’s a big boy.’

  Tennille Haynes, Hannah’s PA, had been listening and brought in the tea tray. ‘Don’t stop him hurting though, does it?’ she said, staring at Hannah.

  Our boss rolled her eyes and kicked one of the comfy chairs further into the room so that I could stretch my legs and enjoy the view of lights coming on along the Thames. London always looks better at night.

  Tennille placed the tray, and said, ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Thanks, yes,’ said Hannah. ‘I’ll go straight to Newton’s House in the morning and catch you later.’

  Tennille wished us all goodnight and pulled the doors closed behind her.

  Hannah’s grumpiness lasted as long as it took to pour the tea. She flopped down into the third chair and reached a finger under her black headscarf to scratch round the plate in her skull. As I said, she was very badly injured.

  She grinned at me. ‘Welcome, Special Constable Clarke. Did you know that you’ve arrested more murderers in two days in the police than I managed in ten years as a copper?’

  I’m a squadron leader in the RAF, really, though I do have a Lancashire & Westmorland Constabulary warrant card, and I am a Special (unpaid) Constable. Long story.

  Hannah leaned over to offer Vicky the plate of biscuits. When Vic had commandeered the last of the chocolate Hobnobs, Hannah put down the plate and said to me, ‘And on that note, Special Constable Clarke, I have more good news. You’re booked on to the Met firearms course at Gravesend a week on Monday, twentieth of April.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ I said, grabbing a custard cream.

  I have a gun: a Dwarven copy of the 9mm SIG P226. It has my Badge of Office embedded in the grip, and it fires magickal rounds capable of penetrating an Ancile, the magickal shield that most Mages use to protect themselves. Well, it would fire magickal rounds if they weren’t all locked in Hannah’s safe until I complete the firearms course.

  ‘How long is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Two weeks. Firearms in week one. When to deploy in week two. You’re excused the two weeks after that because they’re all about armed pursuit in vehicles, and you don’t need that to get your ammo back.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She crossed her legs and folded her hands. Hannah’s wardrobe, as far as I know, consists entirely of heavy white cotton blouses, denim skirts and brown or black boots. I don’t know what she’ll do when the weather warms up. The blouse was still crisp, but now rather creased. She picked at a false nail on her left hand, the one with more scarring. ‘Nice as it is to see you both – and well done in Lakeland, of course – why am I still here instead of at home checking the TV guide while the microwave cooks my dinner?’

  Vicky coughed. Perhaps the Boss really does eat TV dinners. I doubt it.

  ‘It’s what’s not in the report, ma’am,’ said Vicky. We’d agreed that she’d take the lead.

  Hannah massaged her forehead. ‘I knew it, and now that Tennille’s gone, I can’t get to the painkillers. What have you done now?’

  ‘One of the principals in the Lakeland business is a Diviner, ma’am.’

  Hannah’s eyes snapped open. ‘What? Hashem preserve us. What did she say?’

  Vicky is a Sorcerer – she can sense the patterns of magickal energy, of Lux, that they call the Sympathetic Echo. I say they because I can’t feel a thing. A Diviner is a very special Sorcerer who can see both deeper into the past and also how that past might affect the future.

  ‘It’s about the First Rusticant, ma’am,’ said Vicky.

  Hannah’s eyes bulged and she turned to me. ‘Your ancestor?’

  ‘The same.’

  The principal magickal university is known as the Invisible College. It’s based at Salomon’s House, and at its heart is the Queen’s Esoteric Library. That library is older than the Watch, and much older than the College itself. The Queen in the title is Elizabeth I, just as the King in King’s Watch is James I. Sometimes the world of magick has difficulty moving on.

  The second Keeper of the Queen’s Esoteric Library was my eleven times Great Grandfather, Thomas Clarke. He was suspended – rusticated – when he became betrothed to a Witch, a big no-no in the 1610s. Apparently, he “borrowed” some magickal books when he moved to my home village of Clerkswell, and because he’d falsified the records, no one knows what he took. The Keepers have been looking for them ever since.

  What they didn’t know was that for all those years of searching, Thomas Clarke’s Spectre had been happily haunting Elvenham House, and he’s still there. As Vicky’s already said, Spirits of all kinds need Lux, and sadly, Spectre Thomas’s supply has dwindled to the point where he’s barely coherent as an entity, and he can’t
access his memories. To preserve his essence and the details of what happened, he’s asleep in the well at the bottom of my garden. The well where he drowned in 1622.

  ‘Go on,’ said Hannah.

  I kept quiet, and Vicky said, ‘The Diviner hinted that Thomas may be … associated with something bad. Conrad and I both think it’s linked to Project Talpa.’

  Hannah delicately massaged her temples. ‘Why?’

  Vicky pressed on, not catching the tone in Hannah’s question. ‘The sudden increase in the magickal death rates particularly in Watch Captains – points to a source.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Hannah. ‘I meant why me? Conrad? What do you reckon? Project Talpa was your idea.’

  ‘Possibly. Very possibly, though you can understand me wanting to give Thomas the benefit of the doubt, what with him being an ancestor. Vicky is off field work for at least a week, and I’m going to Gravesend. We could summon my grandfather, charge his batteries and find out once and for all. Either way, we can then spend a week on Project Talpa, and I have a couple of suggestions.’

  ‘You’re going to pull a fast one, aren’t you?’ Before I could deny it, she raised her palms in an eloquent and very Jewish shrug. I’m something of a connoisseur of shrugs, and this was a vintage one. ‘What do I care?’ she added. ‘Go on. Tell me.’

  ‘Have you had a quote from the Dwarves to create the new Badge of Office for Wales?’

  ‘Eh? Yes. This morning. I had to ring up and check. It was three times what I expected.’

  ‘The Gnomes have said the same. The magickal economy has a problem, and I’d like to bring in outside help, both on the summoning of Spectre Thomas and widening the scope of Project Talpa. We need it.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have countenance a joint venture with the Invisible College.’

  I was planning more than a joint venture with the College, but I didn’t mention that. I’d said outside help and if Hannah chose to interpret it that way… I pointed to Vicky. ‘My partner’s influence. I’ll approach the College tomorrow at the ceremony, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Fine. And I know who can do the summoning. It should be well within Li Cheng’s capabilities.’

  Vicky choked on her Hobnob. I stared at the opposite corner, from where the elephant in the room trumpeted loudly. Vicky and Cheng have, shall we say, a history. A history that I let slip to Hannah one day.

  ‘Anything else, team?’ said Hannah demurely. ‘You both do look tired, and it’s a big day tomorrow.’

  That was my cue. I cleared my throat. ‘Myfanwy Lewis. She should go to Clerkswell.’

  Hannah stared at the unloved and unwanted plain digestives. She looked up at me. ‘You’re right. She should. Sending her to the Shield Wall would be worse than close confinement. I’ll put the wheels in motion.’

  I coughed. ‘Forgive me, ma’am, I took the liberty of asking Annelise van Kampen to meet me at the Undercroft. Tonight.’

  All three of us jumped as Vicky’s phone revved up. Literally, with the sound of an unsilenced motorbike.

  ‘Sorry. It’s me brother. He’s just arrived at the staff car park.’

  ‘Go,’ said Hannah. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Conrad? Quick word.’

  ‘Ma’am.’

  While I opened the doors for Vicky and watched her down the stairs, Hannah disappeared to her inner-inner sanctum. When she came back, she had a suit cover draped over her arm and was carrying her uniform cap. Whatever she had to say wouldn’t take long.

  ‘I’m sending Cheng down to your place because this summoning could be dangerous, for all that Thomas Clarke is your ancestor.’ The lines around her eyes creased, and she pursed her lips. ‘I wish we could wait until after you get back from Gravesend, but you’re right. This needs doing quickly. I got this from the Dwarves. A private commission.’

  She held out her cap, upside down. Rolling around the silk lining was a single round of ammunition. ‘If you use it, you’ll still be in trouble, but I’d rather you were in trouble than dead. The same goes for Vicky, Cheng and whoever else you rope in.’

  I took the round and quickly stowed it away.

  ‘Thank you, Hannah. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Goodnight, Conrad.’

  I was half way to the door when she added, ‘I’m not going home to the microwave, you know. I’m babysitting for Ruth. I don’t know which is sadder.’

  ‘I think you do,’ I said. ‘Give your sister my regards.’

  I didn’t close the door behind me.

  Annelise van Kampen, Mage and solicitor, was cooling her Dutch heels outside Blackfriars Station when I arrived. We don’t get on at the best of times.

  ‘This had better be good,’ she said, before I could get out an apology, ‘because I’m freezing. And it had better be quick because I have to be somewhere at eight o’clock.’

  She was doing me a favour, so I resisted the temptation to say that she should have worn a longer, heavier coat. And that gloves would have been good, too. ‘Sorry,’ seemed the safest word.

  ‘Hunh. Come on.’

  She had to wait out in the cold because you have to be escorted into the Undercroft by a key holder. I have neither a key nor the magickal strength to open the enchanted lock. She took great delight in reminding me of this all the way down in the lift to Blackfriars Undercroft, the magickal prison.

  One of the deputy bailiffs stuck her head out of the Wardroom and said Hello. Annelise wrote our names in the visitor log before marching off down the corridor as fast as her heels and her skirt would let her. I smiled at the bailiff and asked for coffee, if she wouldn’t mind, then lengthened my stride to catch up with Annelise.

  The whiteboard outside the only occupied cell had the name, Myfanwy Lewis, and the number of days since her imprisonment. Annelise didn’t even check the one-way mirror to see if Myfanwy were decent; she just yanked open the outer door and sashayed inside. I did pause, and saw the prisoner jump up in surprise, knock crumbs off her shapeless tracksuit and reach for the remote to turn off Coronation Street.

  The antechamber to the cells is big. Big enough to accommodate a hospital trolley for sedated prisoners. It’s separated from the living area by a heavily enchanted steel grill, sort of like a portcullis. You get a good view of the space beyond, and it’s better appointed than most hotels, barring one thing. The enchantment is on the grill to keep all magick out of the cell. They call them Limbo Chambers, and that’s what the real punishment is. The impact on the soul/spirit/psyche/mind of the Mage inside is huge. Many are driven mad or take the short route of suicide.

  Myfanwy blinked at us as the heavy lights of the antechamber came on.

  ‘Watch Captain Clarke would like to speak to you,’ said Annelise. ‘Are you content?’

  Myfanwy ignored her. ‘Hello, Conrad. Been in the wars again?’

  I leaned against the metal door frame. ‘You know me. Another day, another scar.’

  Myfanwy turned to Annelise. ‘Just checking it wasn’t bad news. He wouldn’t look so cheerful if was bad news. Yes, I’m content to speak to him.’

  Annelise turned to me, said, ‘I’m leaving in fifteen minutes,’ and clicked off in the direction of the Wardroom.

  While we waited for coffee, Myfanwy and I looked each other up and down. By Thor’s Hammer, she’d aged. Her bedraggled blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, which did nothing to disguise the puffiness in her face. The day she’d brought Vicky back to life, Myfanwy had passion in her cornflower blue eyes; today they were grey. Losing Lux is terrible thing to a Mage (or Druid in her case).

  She hadn’t lost the Welsh lilt though. ‘I must look a proper sight, Conrad. I’d say I’ve been to the gym, but the fluffy slippers are a bit of a giveaway. None of my other trousers fit, for some reason.’ She tried a smile. Unsuccessfully. ‘It is a bit better, you know. After I pleaded guilty, they let me go outside for an hour a day. One hour to drink in the Lux. It’s like being stuck in the Sahara
Desert for twenty three hours and being airlifted to a water park in Majorca for sixty minutes. And I can’t stop rambling. Sorry. How’s Vicky?’

  ‘Still alive, thanks to you. Sends her thanks, obviously. I’m going to sit down now.’

  There are comfy chairs either side of the grille, and matching side tables. They even have a brass funnel for pouring coffee through the mesh. The deputy bailiff appeared and did the honours – she’s had a lot of practice.

  When the bailiff had closed the door behind her, I looked Myfanwy in the eye and said, ‘I felt a bit sorry for you before, out of empathy. It’s different now. I was locked in a Limbo Chamber last week, so I know exactly what the effect is. I also know that it’s worse for some. Vicky didn’t cope at all well, and I broke her foot when we escaped.’

  ‘Escaped? How? No. Don’t tell me now. That can wait. Why are you here, Conrad? Not that I’m not glad to see you, and all that, but you’re a busy guy.’

  ‘I need a housekeeper.’

  For a moment, she couldn’t process what I’d said. She blinked. She put her cup down and frowned. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Elvenham House, in the parish of Clerkswell in the county of Gloucestershire needs a housekeeper. I think you should apply.’

  ‘Housekeeper? Really? You’re having a giraffe.’

  I put her out of her misery, saying, ‘You wouldn’t have to clean or do the laundry, but you would have to organise it. Cooking we can share. That’s all.’

  She sat back. ‘Oh.’

  I leaned forward. ‘I know you’re a Herbalist. You can have free rein organising the landscaping of the gardens, subject to my approval, and have your own patch to do what you want.’

  She sat up. ‘There’s room for both of us in this house, is there?’

  ‘We won’t be under each other’s feet.’

  ‘And there’s Lux?’

  ‘Oh yes. Not a vast amount, but yes.’

  ‘And Vicky’s happy?’

  ‘Vicky’s happy. Even the Peculier Constable is happy.’

  ‘Deal.’

  She stood up and pressed a blue button on the wall, next to a large red button. Annelise’s voice came over the intercom. ‘Yes?’