The only sounds in the room were Ceri’s voice and people’s pens scratching rapidly on notepads as she worked her way through the equations governing the ley line and the processes used to implement it. She knew that what she was describing was not actually that complex, but it was very advanced. Few systems in thaumatology worked in more than four dimensions. Moving to six, and beyond, did not actually complicate anything that much, but it was a leap in understanding which some would find hard. The main reason they were accepting it without question was that, simply put, it worked.
‘The two main practical difficulties for creating tunnels of the magnitude we used for the pilot project,’ Ceri said as she began to wrap up, ‘were the conditions in the area we were starting the tunnel from and the initiating pulse required. I can’t recommend the Hamburg area as a vacation spot, but it is survivable if you know what you’re doing and the ambient magic field there does help with the necessary power. Smaller tunnels are far safer and easier to initiate.’
She glanced at the small clock on the lectern. ‘We have time for a couple of questions… Second row there…’
‘Alex Taylor, Bristol University. How did you actually survive walking into an area like Hamburg? I’ve been in that area myself and the magic there is exceptionally dangerous…’
‘Well, I did a military survival course which is designed for Army personnel going into that area. I’m also naturally tolerant of high magic fields and wild magic. We don’t know why, but I developed my power after being hit with a huge amount of thaumic energy. The working theory is that that jolt sort of acclimatised me to those conditions.’ Ceri smiled. ‘I was also accompanied by my partner, who is a half-demon. She’s naturally immune to wild magic and has a talent for spotting strong magic fields. Between us we were able to avoid most of the problems.’
Ceri pointed at someone else, a woman on the other side of the room. ‘Billie Farmer, MIT. Uh, you know we have the large thaumic collider working now, obviously. I was wondering whether you’d considered creating a tunnel like this in a circular form?’
Frowning, Ceri looked down at the front row where Cheryl was sitting. Cheryl looked back, raising her eyebrows. Ceri looked back to the MIT delegate. ‘I hadn’t. I’m not even sure it’s possible… I’d need to work on that. My email is in the conference booklet, Miss Farmer. Would you please contact me about this? That’s a very interesting suggestion.’
‘Well, I should say it wasn’t exactly my suggestion. There’s… a boy I met. He’s not officially at MIT yet, but he visited the LTC building and we got talking.’ Ceri listened to her talking and began to suspect she knew who this boy was. ‘When I said I was coming here he said he had read about your ley line technique and thought of doing this. His name’s Martin. He’s going to be a really amazing thaumatologist.’
Ceri nodded. Martin William Whitaker, the first sorcerer Ceri had ever come across beside herself, and at the time she had been in no position to talk to him. He had won a scholarship to MIT and she had infiltrated the award ceremony in New York. ‘Well, you get in touch with me and when Martin starts you get him to email me too. I’m sure Doctor Macbay there will be keen to help with anything you may need if the maths works out.’
‘I’ll be in touch, Miss Farmer,’ Macbay called out and the young woman went bright red and sat down.
‘All right, that’s all we have time for because that was all pretty deep stuff and I went on a bit long. If anyone has any further questions, you all know my email address. See you at the Green Room tonight.’
Mayfair
Michael’s tongue was hanging out. Since he was in wolf form, that was some serious tongue hanging, but he felt he had good reason since Ceri was standing outside the elegant building which was the Green Room, Carter Fleming’s restaurant. Ceri was wearing a slim, white, strapless gown which currently had streams of thaumatology symbols floating over its surface; it was made from magically sensitive fabric. Werewolves tended to have low impulse control, they were closer to their animal nature in wolf form, and Michael was applying every ounce of self-control to avoid clawing Ceri’s dress off.
Mayhew was also looking rather good in a short, black dress, her hair pulled up into a tight bun. Her look of evening elegance was a little marred by the earpiece wedged into her right ear, but she scrubbed up rather well for a girl who seemed to prefer “frumpy librarian” over sexy.
‘We have several field agents around the building,’ she was saying while she tried to avoid looking at Michael, ‘as well as the werewolves the Battersea pack has provided. They all know the scent of the explosives…’ She glanced at Michael and he dipped his muzzle in agreement. ‘…so if anyone gets near with a bomb, we should have some warning.’
‘You’ve told them not to engage?’ Ceri said to Michael. ‘I won’t have anyone blown up defending me. Let the agents deal with it.’
Michael gave a growl which said, Last resort.
Ceri nodded reluctantly. ‘I guess that’s okay. See to it that it doesn’t become necessary.’
‘You understand what he’s saying?’ Mayhew asked.
‘Wolf speech is less complex than human speech, but they can usually get the point across.’ Ceri grinned. ‘And when they can’t they can always change.’
‘Okay. Well, we should get inside. Uh… good hunting, Michael.’ Michael gave a soft growl before loping off down the street. ‘What did he say?’
Ceri turned and headed for the door to the restaurant. ‘He said you looked good in that dress.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, something like that, but a bit more, um, basic.’ Ceri was pretty sure that Mayhew was blushing behind her, but did not look to check. ‘Keep me informed if anything comes up. Otherwise I’m here to socialise.’
‘Of course. Enjoy yourself.’
Ceri smiled. ‘I intend to.’
~~~
The seating at the Cambridge conferences had always been on long tables with people arranged according to the rather cliquey nature of the Cambridge thaumatology teams. That had been changed considerably for this conference dinner. For one thing, everyone was on six-person tables and, while it had all been arranged so that most people sat near someone they knew, the organisers had mixed things up a fair bit. Ceri, Cheryl, and Ed were all on the same table, but with them were sat a young woman who had just moved into post-graduate work at Cambridge, and two rather wide-eyed men from the University of Paris. When the meal was over and the speeches done with, the woman slipped away to find her friends, but the two Frenchmen sat at the table in their hired suits still looking as though they were not sure how they had ended up where they were.
At least they were loosening up a little after two glasses of wine. ‘You’ll excuse me,’ Ceri said, ‘but I didn’t think any of the French universities studied thaumatology.’
The eldest of the two, a rather distinguished looking gentleman in his forties with a carefully waxed moustache under a rather large nose, was the most vocal. He had a fairly thick French accent which Ceri was trying hard not to think of as comical. His name was Adolphe, which did not help. ‘In truth, mademoiselle, you are not wrong. We here are the Département de la Science de la Magie of La Sorbonne. However, in the next year we will be beginning our first course pour étudiants. Before now we have done our study after the graduation, you understand?’
Ceri smiled. ‘Your English is a lot better than my French. So are the French finally starting to get over their fear of magic?’
‘Sadly, no.’ Adolphe really did seem rather sad about it. ‘The fées still hold sway in the east and are not uncommon, even in Paris. Our work is largely theoretical, but the government has finally decided that we must progress in the more scientific disciplines of magic to advance as a nation.’
Ceri nodded. France had been badly hit by the fae invasion which followed the Shattering. Its populace distrusted and feared magic; there were stories of witches being hunted down and burned which made it into the press in Britain
every so often. The techno-magical advances which powered progression in Britain, the Netherlands, America, and Australia had never happened in France and it remained a largely agrarian society. Which was useful since they produced a lot of food which helped supplement the produce for the British, but they could have produced a lot more if, as the British did, they employed witchcraft to increase productivity.
‘And you Léonard?’ Cheryl asked the younger of the two. He was a handsome, if rather shy, twenty-something who looked like he should have been writing poetry rather than equations. He looked a little like Michael with his long, untameable hair, though he was more skinny than muscled. ‘How did you get into thaumatology?’
‘It is a fascinating subject,’ he replied. He spoke English with a far less noticeable accent; just enough to give a little exotic sexiness to his voice. ‘I studied physics and then became Professor Blanc’s assistant when I graduated.’ He laughed. ‘If I had known how much it scared off the girls I might have picked a different subject and, after seeing Ceridwyn’s presentation today, I have much to learn. That is never a bad thing.’
Cheryl grinned at him. ‘Get yourself an English girlfriend. They aren’t scared off by a hint of magic.’
‘Or Welsh,’ Ed piped up. ‘Welsh girls are better.’ He was wearing one his more mischievous smirks.
‘Hey!’ Cheryl said. ‘Ceri, come to my defence.’
Ceri smirked too. ‘Well, y’know, born in Wales…’
Cheryl huffed. ‘You’ve been living in England since you were practically a baby.’
‘Ah,’ Ed said, ‘you can take the girl out of Wales, but you can’t take Wales out of the girl.’
Ceri giggled. ‘I still use Welsh for a lot of my incantations. I’m not good enough for the flowery stuff I do sometimes.’
‘You seem quite the powerful practitioner,’ Adolphe said. ‘You find this helps with your science?’
Ceri nodded, but it was Cheryl who spoke. ‘Oh, it is. She has a far more intuitive grasp of the subject than I do. She gave me a glimpse of what she can see once, at Stonehenge, and that helped me optimise my transducer system.’
The older man nodded. ‘I have been attempting to persuade the university authorities to allow me to employ someone with the talent to assist our research. It is… an uphill struggle?’
‘Good luck then,’ Ceri said. She frowned at her empty wine glass. ‘I think there’s wine and dancing in the bar upstairs. Léonard, any good at dancing?’
Léonard went a little pink around the cheeks, but he rose to his feet, smiling, and offered Ceri his hand. ‘I would be honoured to do the best I can, mademoiselle.’
July 13th
The band was playing light jazz to wind down the evening when Ceri spotted Mayhew talking to her wrist at the side of the room. She headed that way, keeping her movement casual, and arrived just as the analyst stopped talking.
Mayhew looked up at her, frowning, and spoke quietly. ‘We found out what they did with the explosives.’
‘I haven’t heard anything blowing up.’
‘You wouldn’t. They packed it into a light plane. Looks like they were planning to crash the whole thing into this building.’
‘That would be suicide. The pilot changed his mind?’
‘No, he crashed into the river about two miles east of here. City Airport was tracking it, and starting to get worried since they couldn’t contact it, and then it just… fell out of the air. People on the site say it looks like the bomb wasn’t armed yet. It looks like something ripped the tail-plane off the thing.’
‘Weird. Structural failure? It is Friday the thirteenth.’
‘Unlucky for him, lucky for us. Even luckier, we think we have a lead on where he came from. We’ve got an armed response team headed for the location now. It’s an old farmhouse down near Maidstone.’
Ceri had a sudden urge to be in on that raid, but she had had more than a few glasses of wine and she doubted the AR team would wait. ‘So, this could all be over by morning?’ she said instead.
‘Yeah. Looks like the last day of the conference it’ll be safe.’
Ceri winced. ‘Did you have to say that?’
Soho
Despite Mayhew’s attempt to jinx the rest of the conference, the last day had gone off without a hitch. Ceri stood near the bar of the Jade Dragon, working her other job and oddly happy to be back doing something normal.
More or less normal. It was the thirteenth and a Friday, so Carter had organised an anti-bad luck party. Ceri was beginning to think he just enjoyed any excuse to dress his waitresses in less clothing. Actually, no, she was sure he took any excuse to do that, though she did not really mind that much. This time around he had had them covered in silver body paint, and they were wearing mirrored pasties and silver heels; mirrors warded off the Evil Eye. Apotropaic magic, Carter had described it as. Lily had suggested that he had made four good luck charms for perverts.
‘Ceri?’ Carter said as Ceri watched her tables. ‘Put them on table twelve.’
She looked around and smiled. John Radcliffe and his wife, Lorna, were standing at the lectern waiting to be seated. John was tall and attractive with short dark hair. He looked fit, strong, and kind of sexy in his black suit. Next to Lorna he just looked ordinary. Pale skinned, model-attractive, almost as tall as her husband, slim, but with a substantial chest, she was wearing a simple, white, sheath dress, short enough to show off her long legs. The one and only thing wrong with Lorna was that she was a vampire.
‘Good evening,’ Ceri said as she stepped up to the lectern, ‘I’m Ceri and I’ll be your ward against the Evil Eye this evening.’
Lorna grinned wide enough to show her fangs. ‘You’re very…’
‘Naked?’ John suggested.
‘I was going to go for “silver.”’
Ceri smiled. ‘No Kate this evening?’ She turned and started into the club, followed by the couple.
‘She decided she wanted an evening on the couch with some sort of romantic comedy,’ John replied. ‘She also said, “Take your damn wife out on your own for once, we see enough of each other.”’
Ceri gave a giggle and stopped at the booth which was table twelve. Vampires tended to prefer the booths since their eyes were sensitive to light; the booths were specifically set up to be more shaded than the tables in the main room. ‘What can I get you?’ Ceri asked as John slipped onto the bench seat beside his wife.
‘Red wine for me, and… Dragon’s Blood?’ Lorna nodded at his suggestion. ‘I also have a message from the Chief. We’ll be coming by High Towers in the morning. He wants you to take a look at something. Lily and Michael too. Kate was dropping in at Battersea to tell him on the way home.’
Ceri raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh? What?’
‘He said not to tell you. Fresh eyes on the problem.’
‘Intriguing. I’ll be right back with your drinks.’ She strutted off toward the bar, picking up some empty glasses and tip money from table nine on the way.
Lily was there, leaning casually against the counter. ‘Something up?’
‘Something.’ Ceri looked across the bar to where Alec was waiting for the order. ‘Red wine and a Dragon’s Blood, please.’ Lily was obviously waiting for more. ‘Early morning tomorrow. We have police work to do. John wouldn’t say what, just that they wanted some fresh eyes on it.’
‘Intriguing.’
‘That’s what I said.’ Ceri grinned and picked up her tray. ‘Well, it’s something to keep us occupied on a Saturday morning and the weather’s supposed to be miserable.’
‘Oh well, in that case, bring it on. I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.’
Hollingbourne, Kent, July 14th
The farmhouse smelled of burned timber and wet ash. Ceri’s nose wrinkled as soon as she got out of the car; what Michael was feeling with his better-than-human olfactory senses she dared not think.
‘Mayhew said that they thought the Scientists were holed up in a farm near Maidstone,’ she said
as she looked around. ‘I take it they put up a fight?’ DCI Barry, standing beside the other car, just looked at her. ‘This seems a little excessive, even for an armed response team… Why are we here?’
‘This is how they found it,’ Barry said. ‘Aside from the fact that parts of it were still burning and we’ve removed the bodies.’
‘Someone killed them before the ART got here?’
‘We were called in since it’s no longer a security issue, but it is still a Met case. Take a look around, tell us what you think. I don’t want to give you suggestions.’
Michael grunted. ‘The place stinks, but I’ll see what I can do. Is the structure stable?’ He began pulling off his shirt.
‘Fire department pulled down anything dangerous,’ John replied, ‘but be careful.’
The werewolf sat down on the back seat of the car to take off his shorts. ‘I always am.’
Ceri and Lily walked over to the front of the building. What had been a small, single storey cottage was now a burned out shell. The large front window was almost entirely gone, the door was a couple of bits of charred wood attached to the hinges, the interior and half the roof was blackened. The remains of furniture could be seen dotted around the room and there was another shattered door at the back, probably leading into the kitchen.
‘No sign of magic,’ Ceri said. She glanced at Lily.
‘Nothing,’ the half-demon agreed. ‘I’m sensing nothing at all.’
Ceri walked over to the window frame as Michael slipped into the room through the open door. He sniffed and then his lips pulled back from his teeth in a pained grimace, but he kept going. Ceri reached down and pulled a fragment of glass from the frame. It looked melted at the edge and, looking into the room, she could see more slagged glass littering the floor.
Thaumatology 09 - Dragonfall Page 6