by Mark Hayden
‘Eleven. The English Heptarchy and four others in north west England, Scotland and Wales. It’s bonkers, but the staff kingdom for Edinburgh is English, but the one for the Lake District is Scottish. Do you want to know where they all are?’
‘Is there a list and map on the Merlyn’s Tower server?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’ll leave it there for now. Thanks very much, Saffron.’
Saffron stood up again, and this time I didn’t object. ‘See you both later.’
Mina got up, too, and stretched. ‘You’ll want another pint, won’t you?’
‘Please. Let’s enjoy the peace, and the weather. No doubt you’ve got lots to tell me about the Bollywood party.’
‘I am still not sure whether having Hannah is a good idea, but I’ve forgiven you for inviting her.’ With that, she went to the bar.
When she got back, she grinned. ‘It’s not just the party. It’s the cruise and the Cloister Court I need to worry about first. Would you mind if we went to London on Wednesday?’
‘Not at all. So long as you remember that shopping is bad for my leg.’
‘Hah. You’ll be pleased to hear that I swallowed my pride and called Annelise van Kampen to ask about the dress code for the Cloister Court. She said that a dress and jacket would be fine.’ She scratched her nose. ‘She could be lying to wind me up.’
Annelise is both a Watch Officer and a lawyer. She assists Iain Drummond and is a bit of a flirt, I’m afraid. ‘She wouldn’t dare,’ I said. ‘It could be a sin of omission, though. Did she tell you to take trainers?’
‘Trainers? Why? She said medium heels.’
‘In court, yes, but it’s a half-mile walk to get there through the Old Network. The tunnels.’
‘Hmmph. Thank you.’
4 — All Rise
‘I see what you mean,’ said Mina as we emerged from the concrete, human staircase into the Dwarven tunnels of the Old Network under the City of London.
Not content with trainers, she’d brought a long coat to go over her new suit. The dress was black, with white panels down the sides and came from a designer with a franchise in Selfridge’s. That’s all I can tell you about it, I’m afraid. That she looked gorgeously professional you’ll have to take for granted.
She looked up and down the tunnel as far as she could in the light from the LED lantern and torch. Real Mages use Lightsticks. ‘If Dwarves are so short, why do they build such high tunnels?’ she asked.
‘It’s only their bodies that are small. They need these tunnels to fit their egos and their greed. It’s also good for business: remember, they can’t stand daylight. Their customers have to come to them. Can I show you something?’
I led her south for fifty metres and stopped. I took her hand and opened my inner eye. With our hands joined, she could see what I could see – a blue plaque with this legend:
This Section of the Old Network
was dug by the first
Lord Mayor of Moles,
who lived and died nearby, under Mansion House.
Erected in his Memory by
Watch Captain Clarke
I gave Moley a moment.
‘I wish I’d met him,’ said Mina. ‘It was kind of you to do that.’
‘He deserved more. Come on.’
I kept hold of her hand and led us north, past the staircase down to Hledjolf’s Hall. The Old Network is as old as Roman London, perhaps older, and was dug by Hledjolf the Dwarf. It all looks ancient, even the bit we were in now, which was only created when the tube network displaced the older system deeper underground. Some parts are very, very old, such as the junction we came to a few minutes later.
‘Salomon’s House is up there,’ I said. ‘And that totally blank piece of wall is where the Dragon’s egg was found. This whole area was once on the surface. That’s how the Dragon landed to lay the egg, two thousand years ago.’
Mina squeezed my hand. ‘Someone’s coming.’ Her hearing is much better than mine. She turned to face one of the many tunnels, and I heard it, too: running footsteps. A sweaty figure appeared: the Earth Master of Salomon’s House. He runs a lot, does Chris Kelly, and almost didn’t see us. When he did, he slowed, stopped, ran on the spot for a few seconds and finally came over with a big smile.
Chris is a Geomancer, an expert on Ley Lines and such like. He’s not a colleague, but he’s more than an ally. If he hadn’t taken a risk on me and held out a helping hand, I’d have been roasted by that Dragon. We’re not friends. Not yet. A point he soon made after we’d said hello.
‘If you’re serious about accepting our hospitality, we should make a date,’ he said.
Chris has asked me – us – round to dinner on several occasions. Being a Watch Captain does not make it easy to plan in advance, but there was an edge to his voice that made it sound like he thought I was trying to avoid him. Anything but.
‘I am serious, Chris. When are you around?’
He looked deflated. ‘We’re off to Germany for most of August.’ He brightened up again. ‘How about the August bank holiday? Saturday night?’
‘Couldn’t be better. There’s no cricket until the Monday. We’ll be there. Apocalypse permitting, of course.’
He nodded slowly, as if I’d just given him a Nobel prize. ‘That’s very good. I’ll text you our address when we get back.’ He looked at us properly, from my RAF uniform in a suit carrier to Mina’s tights and trainers combo. ‘I’m sorry. You must be on the way to the Old Temple. Everything okay?’
‘It will be for him,’ said Mina. ‘He takes things like this in his very long strides. I look forward to seeing you and … Tamsin, isn’t it?’
The funny look came back into Chris’s face. ‘Yes, it is. Good luck.’
When Chris had jogged off, I pointed to a tunnel leading due west. ‘That way.’
‘Is it far?’
‘About ten minutes. Well, fifteen.’
‘Fifteen with my little legs, yes, I get the message. Is there no entrance nearer?’
‘Loads. Bank Station is the only one I have the key to. Come on, at least it’s cool down here.’
Eventually the Network branched, and we turned south west up a rising tunnel. We stopped at a pair of doors. A proper pair of iron-bound bog-oak doors, with a grille for the gatekeeper to peer through and enough magick to deter anything except a Dragon. And Moley. He’d have got through.
‘Do we knock?’ said Mina.
I checked my watch. ‘Any second now.’ On the stroke of eight thirty, the sound of bolts being drawn back came through the door, and footsteps came from the tunnel behind us. The doors were heaved open and I did a double-take.
The gatekeeper was a young woman, dressed in the navy blue and royal red costume of a Yeoman Warder (or Beefeater). They are the crew who guard the Tower of London, and whom I pass every time I go to Merlyn’s Tower. The Yeoman Warders are an excellent bunch, but they’re all over forty and ex-service. The Cloister Court must have adopted their dress. Or vice-versa.
‘Mina, this is Deputy Bailiff Stephanie Morgan. She’s normally to be found avoiding her father in the Undercroft.’
Stephanie gave me the eye and shook hands with Mina.
Mina said, ‘Your Wardroom Cake recipe is excellent. It’s already being traded at the Clerkswell WI.’
‘I should ask for royalties. Mind your backs.’
The footsteps behind turned into the Merlyn’s Tower posse of the Boss, Iain Drummond and Annelise van Kampen. I saluted. Mina made namaste and checked out Annelise’s footwear (trainers). A grim smile spread across her face. Annelise would pay for that sin against the sisterhood one day.
Through the doors, we found ourselves in a functional ante-room lit by LEDs and with wooden lockers on one side. The other side had coat hooks framing a full length mirror.
‘We’ve been asking for a separate female robing room for some time,’ said Annelise dryly. ‘The rule is gentlemen first.’ She saw my suit carrier. ‘Do you need us
to give you privacy?’
I took my civilian jacket off. ‘Not unless you’re more easily offended than I thought.’
‘Another rule is no swords in court,’ said Stephanie. She looked pointedly at my belt. ‘It doesn’t say No Guns, but we can assume that.’
The women turned away while I swapped my trousers and Iain Drummond put on his advocate’s bands and gown. We left them to it and I followed Drummond into the lobby of the court.
This was more like it. The ceiling was much higher and Lightsticks glowed above the oak panelling. The doors to the Cloister Court itself were still firmly closed, the royal arms above reminding us that this might be a magickal court, but it was very much part of the state, something that many Mages refuse to accept.
The Court entrance wasn’t the only opening. Stephanie Morgan had moved to lurk by a door marked Bailiff, and a corridor to the left had modern signs for washrooms next to it. Further doors were marked for Witnesses and Lay Counsel. The furniture was both functional and intimidating: green leather benches round the walls and two tables with hard chairs. Nowhere looked comfortable. I know, because Myfanwy had told me, that prisoners are brought directly into the courtroom from Blackfriars Undercroft.
Mina and Hannah emerged together. The Boss had put on her uniform jacket and was still fiddling with a new headscarf. This one was black silk, with the Peculier Constable’s shield embroidered at the front. ‘Is that new?’ I asked.
‘Birthday present from Tennille.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘She and Ruth are the only ones allowed to know when my birthday is.’
Mina looked nonplussed. ‘But Ruth is your twin. Doesn’t that make your birthday rather obvious?’
Hannah dismissed such quibbles with a wave. ‘It’s boring to celebrate your birthday on the day you were born. Especially when there’s two of you.’
‘Okay,’ said Mina.
Drummond returned from the washrooms as Annelise emerged from the Crown Robing Room (which is what it said on this side of the door). Annelise’s heels were definitely high rather than medium. Another black mark for the girl from Gendt. That’s in Holland, and not to be confused with Ghent or Genk in Belgium.
‘We’ve had a change-round,’ said Drummond. ‘I’m going to speak in the Wessex business, so Annelise will lead in the Flint Hoard. Do you want to go through anything?’ he asked, looking from Annelise to Mina.
‘Ja, for certain,’ said Annelise. She moved to one of the tables, taking a nervous Mina with her. Drummond drifted off to talk to Stephanie.
‘Where’s the new addition?’ said Hannah with a grin. She paused long enough for me to get uncomfortable. ‘The dog. Your Familiar Spirit.’
I gave her a look. ‘Scout is at home, with my magickal half-sister. He can draw Lux from her, and he’s big enough to be without me for a couple of days.’ I pointed to the court doors. ‘I checked the rules. Bonded Familiars are allowed. One day.’
‘And Sofía?’ She said it softly, like an old friend, giving me the chance to change the subject.
‘Gardening. Thinking. Crying. Cora got in touch. Thanks very much for that; I’m seeing her later.’
‘Here we go,’ said Hannah, nodding towards Stephanie.
The Deputy Bailiff picked up her monstrous blue hat and donned it. If you haven’t seen one, and can’t be bothered to Google, it looks like the chopped off funnel of an American steam locomotive, with added brim. White gloves completed the outfit.
Stephanie opened a tall cupboard next to the Wardroom and took out a long-handled battle axe. As soon as it left the cupboard, it shimmered with magick until she ran her gloved hand over the face of the blade. We fell back as she approached the inner doors. She turned to face the room.
‘The Court of the Queen’s Cloister is now in private session,’ she announced. ‘Only officers of the court and interested parties may approach.’
I had no idea why, but I was an interested party: it said so on the list outside the doors. So was Hannah. We stepped forwards, leaving the others behind.
‘Miss Desai, you are an officer of the court,’ said Stephanie. ‘You may approach.’
Mina did her frightened rabbit scuttle and joined me. ‘What’s this about?’ she hissed.
‘You’ll see,’ said Hannah.
Stephanie banged the axe three times on the floor, and the doors opened of their own accord. ‘We sit on the left,’ said Hannah.
We processed into the court and I took a good look round. With the name Cloister, I expected something monastic, but I was looking at the wrong name. The Court of the Queen’s Cloister can sit anywhere, but this building is known as the Old Temple, and that’s what it is: an old Roman temple, small but perfectly formed. A row of columns down each side demarcated the courtroom, and it was lit not with Lightsticks but a burst of natural light from above. I craned my neck, expecting a Skyway, but no, it was a long way up to a glass roof with wrought iron struts.
The side aisles beyond the columns had walkways and seating, and we headed left. The main body of the temple had been fitted out like a regular courtroom, with a few differences. For example, there were no tables or fittings for lawyers; they had to stand at lecterns.
The bench for the judge(s) was long, because up to five of them sit for a contested case. There is no jury in the Cloister Court, and the biggest difference of all was behind the bench: a ten foot high block of stone, roughly carved and bound with rusty iron. I pointed to it.
‘The original London Stone,’ whispered Hannah. ‘Officially, it’s known as the London Palladium, but no one calls it that any more because of the theatre of the same name. Palladium means protective Artefact. It’s very powerful.’
A door banged in the darkness behind the London Stone.
‘All rise … no, don’t,’ said Stephanie. What?
Heels clicked on the tiles, and the Honourable Mrs Justice Bracewell appeared, wearing a simple blouse and black trouser suit. Her hair was up, badly pinned; she was clearly undressed, with robes to follow. She passed by the steps to the bench and came to sit with us. In the background, I saw Stephanie place the axe in a holder.
‘Good morning Constable, Watch Captain,’ said the judge. ‘Good to see you again, Ms Desai.’
‘My Lady,’ said Hannah.
Mina and I nodded, letting the Boss answer for us. We’ve met the judge before, in her chambers at the Royal Courts of Justice where she also sits in mundane cases. She is human, and happily married, but you have to look very hard to see it.
‘All four of today’s cases are a first for the Cloister Court,’ she began. ‘That’s not something I’m entirely comfortable with, because as we lawyers say, hard cases make bad law.’ She looked at some papers. ‘Later, we have our first video link, we have the first appearance by the Peculier Auditor and we have the first sitting of a Staff Court since the Restoration in 1660.’ She hadn’t looked up as she rattled off the list, but she read the sudden tension in Mina’s body when her title was announced. ‘Don’t worry, Ms Desai. I appointed you to be Peculier Auditor, and I’m not going to throw you to the wolves.’
Mina swallowed hard. ‘Thank you, My Lady.’
The judge nodded. ‘And our first first is another matter entirely. Never before has the Old Temple seen a family court. That’s why I’m half-dressed and you didn’t have to stand up.’ She looked at Stephanie. ‘I’m not sure the axe is appropriate for a family court, but as the girls aren’t here, we won’t quibble.’
Girls.
The girls. Wales. The Dragon.
There were a lot of casualties at the end of the Dragon Brotherhood affair, including one of the principal Druids responsible for hatching Welshfire – a woman called Surwen. I have many reasons to hate her, and she’s the only person I’ve killed who I thought got off lightly. As well as releasing the Dragon, she also created the Lord Mayor of Moles, and did such a bad job that she condemned him to an early, unpleasant death.
Surwen’s husband, Gwyddno, is locked up, and she left
twin girls behind. Those twin girls are the reason for the family court and for the total privacy. Surwen did something terrible to one of the twins, so terrible that I don’t want to go over it again here. Judge Bracewell had had to seek the advice of a colleague, and this was her judgement.
She cleared her throat and began. I’ll spare you her reasoning and skip straight to the end.
‘Finally, there is Guinevere’s condition to consider. To have the best chance of developing into any form of healthy adult, she needs medical and magickal help. The Gathering of Caerleon, where the twins grew up, is not a fit community for them now. I have therefore decided to place them in the foster care of Watch Captain Helen Davies of the Swansea gathering, under the supervision of the Daughters of the Goddess.’
She looked up. ‘How did I do?’
‘Why Helen?’ I asked.
‘We consulted her. She’s met the girls, and she volunteered. She fits all the criteria.’ The judge took off her glasses. ‘The Daughters of the Goddess will support and advise, but they’re acting for the Court. The reason you’re here, Mr Clarke, is that Helen Davies wants you to be her safety valve, in case she needs help or advice beyond that needed by all mothers of teenage girls.’
Was that the wry smile of experience? I think it was.
She replaced her glasses. ‘They’re keeping their names, and one day their father may be back in their lives. As regards Myfanwy Lewis, you’re not to tell her anything until September, understand? The girls will be starting secondary school then, and word will get out anyway, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, My Lady.’
‘Good. Out you go. I need to get changed and my clerk has to set up the video link.’
We all stood up (without being asked) and nodded our respect to the royal arms over the bench. Stephanie retrieved the axe and led us to the doors in silence.
Poor kids. I hope they get a decent shot at life, and I can think of no one better than the Davies clan to give them that chance.
The doors parted and we returned to the lobby. Mina bumped into me when I stopped abruptly.