Tenfold

by Mark Hayden

  ‘He’s alive, Mary,’ I said.

  Another two steps and we got to you. You were underneath the Warden, and he was gone. We pulled his left hand off your shoulder and rolled him off you. That’s when I saw his right arm. It had been burnt, barbecued from the inside out. His right hand was just … not there.

  I touched my hands to your neck and checked your Imprint. I know your Imprint very well, Conrad, and you’ll be pleased to know it’s 102% in good shape. Actually, that’s not a good thing. The extra 2% shouldn’t be there. An Imprint is like a 3D spider’s web made of different coloured silks, or that’s how I see them. Down in the bottom left corner, there was an extra few strands with a different texture and colour, as if another spider had snuck along and added a bit. Just a tiny bit, not enough to make me want to know more just yet. As you would no doubt say, ‘Priorities, Vicky,’ and the priority was the lattice of binding Lux, like a skein over your Imprint. I’ve seen that before. Healers do it as a magickal anaesthetic. The Warden must have done it as part of raising the shield.

  I rocked back on my heels to think about it, and a very loud voice shouted, ‘Help! Over here!’ It was Dean Hardisty.

  ‘Go,’ said Mary. ‘I’ll put Conrad in the recovery position and keep an eye on him.’

  I looked around in more detail. All the men were unconscious. You, Our Dads, your mate Baldy Kelly and the Watch Captains, Eddie and Oscar. That’s completely typical of men in general, but Eddie? He’s got the magickal constitution of a horse. And whatever you do, don’t tell the Earth Master we call him Baldy Kelly.

  All the women were stirring, more or less. Mam blinked, saw me standing up and went towards Dad. Dr Somerton was sitting up, clutching her ears. Maxine was on her feet and we both ran towards the Dean as fast as my foot and her lack of vision would let us.

  Behind Maxine, the doors were open again, and there was no sign of Desi, Rick or the Fae Countess. I did wonder why Rick wasn’t unconscious, but only for the two seconds it took to realise why the Dean was shouting for help.

  She’d been hit by a great chunk of wood panelling dropping from above, and full of flames if the black holes and raw flesh showing through her dress were anything to go by. That wasn’t the problem, though. It was the piece of metal sticking out of her abdomen that made me put on a spurt.

  ‘Stop staring and call a fucking ambulance,’ said the Dean. ‘I’m holding my insides together with magick, and that’s not a long term solution.’ She twitched.

  I glanced over to you, Conrad, because you’re always in charge of emergencies. You’ve often been the cause of them, mind, but today everyone was in my hands. I think the gods realised that this was not a good thing, and I heard the thump of Army shoes coming across the carpet. Hannah to the rescue.

  She clumped up, scanning around and taking it all in. ‘Bomb?’ she said to Maxine and me, ignoring the Dean.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said. ‘The catering staff were caught on the wrong side of a shield the Warden put up. He’s gone. Sorry. Everyone else is alive, but the Dean needs an ambulance.’

  ‘Everyone who’s still here,’ said Maxine with a frown.

  ‘Who?’ said Hannah.

  ‘I heard the main doors open while I was blinded by the flash,’ said Maxine, ‘and footsteps running away. Then I blinked and saw Tennille’s daughter. She ran after the others. The first two must have been Rick and the Fairy.’

  That made no sense to me, Conrad. None at all. Hannah opened her mouth, but the Dean got in first.

  ‘They can wait, Hannah. I can’t. Please?’

  Hannah did that half-squat she does in her uniform and touched the Dean’s shoulder. She turned to Maxine and said, ‘Call it in. Say there’s one victim of an industrial accident. Meet the paramedics on the street.’ She turned back to the Dean. ‘I’ll wake the sleeping beauties. They can get you out, Cora.’

  ‘Where’s Tennille?’ I asked. As you’ve noticed, I was having trouble getting my priorities straight.

  ‘Escorting the Duke of Albion through the Old Network. I had to check the tunnels before I came through here. Have you checked everyone else properly?’

  ‘Only Conrad. I think the Warden used some sort of anaesthetic lattice.’

  ‘Right. I’ll get to work. You need to help the Dean.’

  Hannah moved quickly to check on the men and tell our mothers that everything would be fine. The Dean beckoned for me to sit down.

  When I’d parked my backside, she grabbed my hand and grabbed a stream of Lux. I got a taste of her pain on the back channel. It was even worse than when I felt how bad your leg can get.

  ‘Let me know if you’re going to faint,’ said the Dean. ‘I won’t stop drawing Lux, but I will make sure you don’t bang your head.’

  I turned away to avoid staring at the metal spike in her stomach. I think it was a piece of table. Hannah placed her hand under Eddie’s shirt and frowned. ‘Damn,’ she said and looked at me. ‘It’s not a lattice, it’s a net. I thought you studied Fraternity magick at Salomon’s House.’

  The Dean snorted. She, of course, is intimately familiar with my less than stellar academic record.

  ‘I had to re-take my Geomancy exams,’ I said to Hannah, ‘so I missed it out, and not having a Y chromosome, I didn’t think I’d need it.’

  Hannah shook her head and got on with it. Right now, the important thing is that the Warden used it help with the shield that saved all those lives, including yours, and then it hit me really hard.

  The Warden only taught one undergraduate class, and that was Fraternity magick, and someone else will have to take over now. He’s gone. I barely knew him as a person or as a Mage, Conrad, but he was like a living breathing foundation stone in Salomon’s House. Sometimes it seemed like the whole place had been built with the sweat off his back, and the person who would miss him most was sitting next to him, holding his hand.

  You twigged that the Warden and the Keeper were close. You don’t know the half of it. Dr Somerton was sitting, sobbing, and your mother was trying to comfort her. I’m guessing that comforting doesn’t come naturally to your Mam, Conrad, but she did her best. With your mother otherwise engaged, mine kept shuffling between our Dads, checking and looking at Hannah impatiently. She was taking her time getting Eddie back in the game.

  Next to me, the Dean let out a huge sigh. ‘Thank you,’ she said, with a bit less psycho in her voice. ‘I should be okay now.’ She didn’t let go of my hand, but the drain of Lux slowed down to a sustainable trickle.

  ‘Did you see anything?’ she asked.

  ‘A flash. A big bang.’

  ‘Victoria! You’ve been spending too long with the half-Mage.’

  That would be you, Conrad. The half-Mage. It’s not a nice thing to say, nor is calling me Victoria. I hate it when older people use my full name to make a point about their power. I don’t like it when you do it to take the piss, but you’re allowed, as you’re almost family. The Dean might be having a near-death experience, but it hasn’t made her a better person. I’ve had an actual-death experience, and it bloody well changed me. I’ll let you decide if it made me better or not.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Do you mean the Dragonslayer, Dean?’

  ‘Please don’t tell me you call him that. The man’s ego is big enough to start with; he doesn’t need acolytes.’

  ‘He’s my partner, so I get to call him what I like. He prefers Watch Captain Clarke. Or Conrad.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry.’

  I hope you’re taking notes, Conrad, because that sounded like an actual apology.

  ‘That doesn’t excuse you neglecting your Art. Use your Sight and tell me what you see.’

  That would be a No, then. Strike it off your list: not an actual apology. One day, maybe.

  Do all teachers forever think of you as a student? Would you get the same from your old RAF instructors?

  She had a point, though. Since the explosion, I’ve been behaving like you, Conrad, and not like a Fellow
of the Great Work of Alchemy.

  You’ve never asked me what it’s like to be a Sorcerer, probably because you don’t think it can be put into words. I’d have agreed before, but being locked in that Limbo Chamber and losing my magick helped me see what you see, or rather, what you don’t see.

  When we went to the Sacred Grove at Lunar Hall, you saw a wood. When it comes to magick, that’s all you see – a wood. My Sight lets me see the trees, the branches and how they connect. A really gifted Sorcerer, like the Dean, can see the veins in the leaves and the petals in the blossom.

  I opened my Sight to the room. I saw the blurred Imprints of the six other Mages, all of whom wear Personae. You’ll note I said six, not five and a half. I saw our parents more clearly. You can’t see any secrets or nothing when you do this, you just see more vivid colours – my Mam’s smile is sweeter, for example. Your Mam looks even taller, and that’s quite a scary thing. I also saw a fading red pulse against the wall as the proto-ghost of the waitress dissipated. By the doors, I saw a line of glitter. Fairy dust. I concentrated on the hole in the floor. Wow. That was weird.

  ‘I’ll go to the foot of our stairs,’ I said. Out loud. I cringed, waiting for it.

  ‘Don’t tell me he encourages you,’ said the Dean. ‘You’re not at the football now.’

  ‘Conrad promotes all forms of diversity, Dean, including Geordies. He may draw the line at Mackems, but we’ve not met one yet.’

  Her breath caught and she squeezed my hand almost as hard as you squeezed my foot when you broke it. Little spots of light flashed in my eyes and I started to keel over. The Dean stopped breaking my fingers and pushed me upright.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I lost concentration. Tell me, what do you see over there?’

  ‘It’s what I don’t see. There’s no magick. None. That really was a bomb. A mundane bomb.’

  ‘Good. Who was the target?’

  ‘My money’s on the Duke of Albion.’

  ‘Think it through. Do you really think a mundane terrorist planted the bomb?’

  I thought about Newton’s House. ‘A Mage could have told them about the presentation ceremony. We both know that some Mages have dangerous associations.’

  ‘They do, and any Mage who knew about this event would know that the Duke wears an Ancile. She would have been protected. So why no magick in the bomb?’

  ‘Because one of us would have sensed it. In that case, the target must have been someone without an active Ancile: Conrad, Dr Somerton, Professor Kelly, Mrs Haynes, Desirée, the waitresses and our parents.’ I looked at the piece of metal sticking out of her. ‘And you, Dean? What happened to your Ancile?’

  ‘Vanity, Vicky. I didn’t want to spoil the line of my new dress. But I only made that decision this morning. If it wasn’t me, who does that really leave?’

  ‘Conrad or Dr Somerton.’

  The trace of a smile twitched on the Dean’s coral lips. ‘Or Hannah,’ she said.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘This is a King’s Watch event. There are going to be a lot of people with their knickers in a twist over this. Hannah is going to be up to her neck in some serious shit and the world of magick is going to be in turmoil now there’s no Warden at Salomon’s House.’

  There was a pause then, because there was nothing that I could say to the Dean. She, of course, is the hot tip to become the new Warden. For just a moment, all I could hear was the sound of Dr Somerton crying.

  Hannah gave a grunt and said, ‘Come on you great lump. Wake up.’ Eddie gave one massive snore, like a volcano, then woke up and cried out in fear.

  And then Desi ran in, minus the new shoes and holding her dress round her thighs. Things got proper mental after that, especially when Annelise appeared from the Old Network with Myfanwy at the end of a silver chain like a prize sheep.

  I’ve got to go, Conrad. You can find out all the other stuff when Hannah sees you. If she hasn’t been banged up in the Undercroft.

  I’ve saved the most important bit until last. I called Mina. She knows there’s been an incident, and that you were not seriously hurt. She’s decided to carry on to Clerkswell, and I had to find out from your Mam where the spare key and the alarm code were so that she could get in.

  I’ll be seeing you soon, partner. Take care.

  5 — A Rude Awakening

  … And the floor reached up to smack me. I span round like the rotors on a chopper, and up was down. I spasmed, but I couldn’t move, and the room flew backwards in a carousel of nausea.

  ‘Get him out of here. Quick.’

  There was a wet sock in my mouth, and I couldn’t breathe. A woman cried out. The spinning got faster until I hit a brick wall, and …

  … And the sock was yanked out, and I vomited generously into a handily placed bowl, decorating the man holding it.

  ‘Easy, Conrad,’ said a familiar voice. A male voice. I focused on the now ruined white shirt of the man holding the bowl. It zoomed in and out for a second until it crystallised, and I could anchor my vision on the little white buttons. I breathed.

  My head was raised and to the side, and I came to know that I was propped half up on a bed. I tried to reach for a handkerchief and I couldn’t move my hand. It wasn’t paralysed, it was restrained. Handcuffs.

  That made me convulse. Everything was restrained: arms, legs, ankles, chest. The convulsion made me throw up again.

  ‘Easy, Conrad. Try to relax for a minute. We’ll undo the buckles as soon as the convulsions have stopped.’

  The voice. I knew the voice. It was the Earth Master, Chris Kelly.

  I flopped back and stared at the ceiling LEDs. Too bright. I closed my eyes and tried to swallow. Ugh.

  ‘Water?’ I croaked.

  ‘Rinse first,’ said Chris.

  I opened my eyes to see a water bottle and took a long draught, rinsed and spat as delicately as I could into an empty bowl. Another draught. Swallow. Breathe. Time to speak.

  ‘Either I’m alive, or Valhalla is not as I imagined it. No offence, Chris, but I was hoping for a Valkyrie.’

  ‘Will I do?’ said another familiar voice.

  ‘Myfanwy? What?’

  ‘Give us a hand,’ said Chris.

  Shadows crossed the lights, and I felt the restraints being released.

  ‘Don’t sit up,’ said a third, less familiar voice. A voice that spoke of the sea. Aah… It was Septimus Morgan, Bailiff and Sergeant at Arms to the Cloister Court. That must mean…

  ‘Why am I in the Undercroft? What happened?’

  I was able to move freely and brought my hand up to my face to give it a rub before I looked around. Yes. I was in the antechamber to one of the cells in Blackfriars Undercroft. There was a hammering on the door to the corridor.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Myfanwy.

  She pushed the door slowly out, and my mother ran in, stopping short of the trolley when Septimus put a gentle hand on her arm. ‘Give him a sec.’

  ‘Oh, Conrad,’ said Mother. ‘Thank God you’re awake. Goodness me, I’ve never been so worried.’

  Chris was still holding the water bottle. I took it off him and drank. It was coming back to me now…

  The King’s Watch flags draped over the tables. The glass bottle. The detonator. The black flash of dark sunlight, and one flame standing against the darkness, until it guttered and died. The Warden.

  How…?

  I looked Mother in the eye. ‘The others?’

  ‘All alive, bar three. The poor catering staff didn’t stand a chance, and Sir Roland died saving the rest of us, apparently. That Cora woman is in surgery, but expected to recover.’

  There was an awful lot not being said, and Mother’s face was a collage of suppressed anger, fear, suspicion, concern and curiosity. I looked around at the others.

  ‘You’ve scrubbed up nicely,’ I said to Myfanwy. The stained tracksuit had been replaced by a royal blue tunic, leggings and new boots (one unzipped for some bizarre reason).

  Myfanwy flicked a g
lance at Mother. ‘Well, I thought I was going to start a new job today, didn’t I, and not as a nurse, that’s for sure.’

  Septimus coughed. ‘Lie down, Conrad, and we’ll push you to the Wardroom.’

  I stopped to button up my shirt, then lay back on the trolley and tried to relax as they wheeled me down the corridor to the more homely surroundings of the Bailiff’s Wardroom. With help from Chris and Septimus, I made it into an armchair.

  ‘This way, Chris,’ said Septimus. ‘I’ll lend you a clean shirt and give you a plastic bag for that one.’

  ‘I’ll make tea,’ said Myfanwy, retreating to the galley and leaving Mother to perch next to me.

  She fiddled with the bottom of her jacket. ‘They used to say that my grandmother was a witch. Mother’s mother, from the fens.’ She looked up. ‘I had no idea. None. Vicky’s mother did. Erica suspected that there was a world of magick, and that Vicky was a witch.’

  I made an effort and reached out. Reluctantly, she took my hand. ‘Vicky’s a Mage,’ I said. ‘Capital “M”, not a Witch, capital “W”.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘I’m just glad that you ended up on the side of the Angels.’

  I coughed, and was about to clarify the Angels business when she held up her hand. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘My life won’t be enriched by knowing the details.’

  Fair enough. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘In Denial. That’s a magickal term, according your CO. Hannah said that it was common for us ordinary people to reject a close encounter with magick. The same thing happened to Jack Robson.’ She smiled. ‘Currently, your father is trying to convince Jack that a complete news blackout is in the public interest. He’s quite a man, is Jack. He doesn’t want the deaths of those poor women to be brushed under the carpet by an establishment cover-up. How are you feeling now, Conrad?’

  I paused. ‘Better.’ Myfanwy came over with two steaming mugs of tea. ‘Better for this,’ I added.

  ‘Not for me, dear,’ said Mother, standing up. ‘Mr Kelly is going to help me collect Alfred and we’re going to catch our flight. Alfred needs to be kept away from you for twenty-four hours at least, to help him adjust. Vicky is being driven to Clerkswell by her friend Desirée for the same reason: to keep her away from Jack.’