Nine of Wands

by Mark Hayden

  A young lad carrying menus appeared and said that our table was ready. We didn’t get back to business until we’d adjourned to my room for privacy.

  Tomorrow, we were putting some Candidates through mental and physical tests. That was my department; Vicky had already put them through their magickal paces.

  ‘How many applied?’ I asked.

  ‘Eleven put in a formal application. I’ve whittled them down to six.’

  ‘How did you choose?’

  ‘Simple. I said, “Do they have the right magick stop Uncle Conrad getting stuck up shit creek without a paddle?”’

  ‘I can’t argue with that.’

  ‘Shall we take a look?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’d prefer to do it anonymously. We’ll give them a random numbered bib tomorrow then compare notes at the end.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘I am. And here’s your combat uniform. I’ve put the captain’s flap on for you. And the hat.’

  The Royal Military Police are known as the Redcaps because … yes, you guessed. I handed her a uniform and the bright red beret. The RMP have another nickname, but we won’t go into that here.

  She stared at the beret. ‘I am not wearing that.’

  ‘Tough.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘You’re an officer.’

  She stood up. ‘Fine, but under protest, OK?’

  ‘Noted. How’s the Jiu-Jitsu going?’

  ‘It’s bloody hard. She’s a psycho. Another year and I might last ten seconds before I get dumped on me arse. G’night, Conrad.’

  ‘This feels really weird,’ said Vicky when we arrived at Lester Howarth’s farm/boot camp.

  ‘Did I get you the wrong sized uniform?’

  ‘Not the combats – or the stupid hat – I mean this. The assessment. It feels like I’m going dating with you watching me chat blokes up. And me watching you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it like that, but I know what you mean. I don’t want to two-time you, either. Look sharp, here they come, and there’s Lester.’

  A minibus pulled into the farmyard as former SAS sergeant Lester Howarth emerged from the barn. He wasn’t smiling. He was saving that for later.

  He came across and shook our hands. ‘Morning, sir. Good to meet you, Ma’am. Everything’s ready.’

  ‘Then carry on, Sergeant.’

  I put my hand gently on Vic’s arm to hold her back as Lester got the Candidates into the barn and handed out the numbered bibs. We followed behind, and I got my first good look at them. The anonymity thing wasn’t going to work for one of the Candidates – I recognised Saffron Hawkins straight away. The other five were new to me, and we had a total of four women and two men. They were all individuals, all with different things to offer, especially in magick. Putting numbers on their chest didn’t make them less of an individual. In some ways, it helped. All I had to go on was what they did today.

  They were all between twenty-one and twenty-three years old. All were at the end of a four year course with the Invisible College. All had read my briefing note specifying hard physical activity, and all had dressed appropriately. That’s where the similarity ended.

  Number 1, a woman, was the shortest of the six. She had a lot of strength in those shoulders and a lot of strength in that chin. She’d been the first to grab a bib when Lester was handing them out.

  Number 2 was the tallest of the women and rather on the ethereal side. She had wide blue eyes and tended to hold her head as if listening to some unheard music.

  Number 3 was average. Average height (for the women), average build, average… you get the picture.

  Number 4, the first of the men, was the tallest overall. I had some sympathy with him, because unless I’m mistaken, his hairline is already receding. We’re probably both related to royalty.

  Number 5 was Saffron Hawkins, and I could see why she’d cultivated the big blond hair. Today it was tied firmly back, and without the distraction, her face was thinner, sharper and longer than I’d thought before.

  Number 6, the other male, was the second shortest of the whole group. He may even have some Gnomish blood in him. He was definitely mixed race, and had his hair cropped almost to his skull, a look that didn’t go with his earnest level of concentration.

  I’ve seen a lot of candidates – small “c” – over the years, and one thing I’ve learnt is that you can’t judge much from the first line-up. I fixed their size and shape in my mind for future reference and took a look round the room.

  The barn was divided into sections, and we were starting in a briefing room complete with maps on the walls and wipe-clean boards. We waited to one side as Lester got them standing in a line. Four of the Candidates were taller than him, and the other two only a fraction shorter, but they were all being wary, keeping him in sight at all times. I don’t blame them, and part of the effect came from his not having said a word yet: he’d just handed them a bib and pointed to a line on the floor.

  He stood in front of them for a good thirty seconds before he spoke. That’s a long time. A very long time when you’re already nervous. They were watching him so closely that when he drew breath to speak, they did the same and stood up straighter.

  ‘Good morning and welcome to Whitewater Farm Boot Camp,’ he said. He made it sound like a threat or sentence for bad conduct. ‘Normally, you lot would be a bunch of social workers from Preston or a sales team from Manchester, and I’d lay into you and shout a lot for effect. Not today.’ They were now very, very nervous. ‘I have no idea what division of the funny brigade you’re joining, but your lives could soon be at stake. And so could your comrades’.’

  He pulled two red berets from his pocket and twirled them around, one on each hand. ‘At the end of today, two of you will go home with these. Possibly. If Squadron Leader Clarke thinks you’re good enough.’ He stopped twirling and put the berets away. ‘From the moment I say “Go” until the moment I say “Stop”, you will be assessed. Some of it will be obvious. Some won’t. Some I have no idea about. If you want to leave at any time, just go. Put your uniform in that bin there and knock on the farmhouse door. My wife will run you back to Waddington. Is that clear?’

  They nodded.

  ‘The first exercise is the Advanced assault course. Listen carefully. In the changing room are six uniforms and six lockers. Get changed. Put your spare kit and all electronic devices in your locker. Find your way to the start of the Advanced course and line up. Go!’

  He turned and walked out before they’d even reacted. They looked around, bewildered, for some sort of clue. One of the lads, Number 4, pointed to a door and said, ‘Changing room!’ as if he’d found the Holy Grail. Five seconds later, we were alone.

  ‘Does he scare you as much as he scares me?’ said Vicky.

  ‘More. I’ve seen him in action.’

  We set off and took a path away from the buildings, towards the woods. ‘Lester’s over there,’ said Vicky, pointing right.

  ‘And the Advanced course is over there,’ I replied, heading left. ‘As you’d know if you’d checked the map, like I did yesterday afternoon when I dropped off the uniforms.’

  ‘Is it going to be like this all day?’

  ‘No. It’s going to get worse. For them.’

  Four of the Candidates appeared together, still fastening their combats. They saw Lester and jogged over to him. The last two Candidates came out and came over to us, casting nervous glances at their comrades. Their faces broke into big grins when they heard Lester shouting at the others.

  When all six were together, Lester gave them the instructions for the assault course. ‘Your first pass will be timed,’ he said. They looked at each other. They’re not stupid. They’d all heard first. He didn’t give them a chance for questions, he lined them up and said, ‘On my mark, with a twenty second gap. Ready. Go!’ Number 1 went. We split up and took positions at various points to keep an eye on them.

  The course had beams, nets, monkey b
ars, hurdles and tunnels. We lost our first Candidate at the water tunnel.

  She was catching up with Number 2 when she saw the sign for the tunnel:

  Length 10m

  Height 1m

  Depth of Water 75cm

  She pulled up. ‘I can’t do that.’

  It was me on duty. ‘Never mind, Number 3,’ I said. ‘You can find your own way down, can’t you?’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Number 4, one of the men, caught up with her and dived into the tunnel. He was followed by Saffron Hawkins, who stopped and said, ‘Bea? What’s up?’

  ‘I can’t go through there.’

  Saffron looked at the tunnel, at Bea and at me. I was looking at my stop watch. She patted Bea on the shoulder and said, ‘It’s shit, isn’t it?’ before following Number 4 into the tunnel. I gave Saffron a bonus mark for that.

  Bea took off her goggles and slumped back down the hill.

  ‘And again,’ said Lester as Number 2, now in the lead, finished her third circuit. Her eyes widened, but she started off at a slow jog. They’d got the message about not being timed.

  ‘Why?’ said Vicky. ‘And how many more times?’

  ‘Six in total,’ said Lester. ‘As to why, it’s to test their willpower. They have to keep going, even though they don’t know when they’ll be allowed to stop.’

  Vicky shook her head and walked back to her station at the scramble net.

  ‘Stop!’ said Lester to Number 6 as he finished his last circuit. He collapsed into a heap with the others. Lester continued, ‘You now have a break. The kitchen is at the back of the barn. Mine is tea with two sugars. The officers take it without sugar because they’re sweet enough already. Weak or cold tea will be heavily penalised. Go!’

  Vicky burst out laughing when they were out of earshot. ‘This is beyond cruel, Conrad. I didn’t have to do any of this.’

  ‘Yes you did. You had to prove yourself in Wales, and look what happened. You died.’

  ‘Aye. Fair point. You’re still enjoying it far too much, though.’ Lester and I grinned at each other.

  When the tea arrived, on a tray, with biscuits, Vicky grinned. ‘On second thoughts, I could get used to this.’

  Lester took his tea and headed to the armoury.

  ‘What’s next?’ said Vicky.

  ‘Hard core paintballing,’ I said. The tea was very good.

  ‘Is that a metaphor, or are there rocks in the paint?’

  ‘It’s like a normal paintballing game, but they don’t have guns.’

  ‘How does that work?’

  ‘It’s to simulate a situation where they don’t have Anciles, but we do.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Lester doesn’t know magick, and I’d rather keep it that way. He’s going to brief them on their mission, then take up a position out of sight with a radio. I’m going to listen to their planning and follow them through the woods. You’re going to be in the woods next to a flag, armed with a paintball gun. You shoot anything that comes for you.’

  ‘That sounds like fun. Why does Lester need a radio?’

  ‘This exercise has strict casualty rules. If you hit anyone, they have to fall down immediately and the others have to radio for advice. He may order them to bind up someone’s leg or retreat and re-group.’

  ‘So how are they gonna succeed?’

  ‘They’re allowed to use magick. So are you. And I will definitely be using my Ancile, because I know that you will be tempted to shoot me.’

  ‘Spoilsport. Give us a hand up.’

  The door to the briefing room closed with a soft click as Lester left us to it. He’d explained their objective, and his parting words had been, ‘Squadron Leader Clarke will give you the rules on weapons.’

  The five remaining Candidates, all wet and in various stages of exhaustion, turned their eyes to me.

  ‘Captain Robson will be defending the flag. She has two paintball guns. You will have none. You may use magick. Any magick that will not hurt her. I will be here to listen to your planning and then to observe in the woods. From this point onwards, I’d like to remind you of what the Constable said in Newton’s House. She wants the Watch to be part of the solution, not part of the problem. Any questions?’

  Number 4, put his hand up. ‘Will Captain Vicky be using magick?’

  I gave him a death stare. Number 6, the other lad, elbowed him in the ribs. ‘It’s Captain Robson. And say sir.’

  I made a mark on my clipboard. A plus for Number 6. He’d had very few points either way so far. ‘Captain Robson will use any magick she sees fit. Anything else? No? You have ninety minutes. Your time starts now. Go!’

  ‘Right,’ said Number 1, ‘Andy, you get the map…’

  Their biggest problem, which Number 6 soon realised, was lack of time. He got several plus points for that. I wasn’t assessing their plan, as such, for a good reason. These Candidates are all intelligent young people with powers over the universe not granted to the mundane world. That is no preparation for a live mission. Their plan was rubbish.

  What I was looking for was whether they had any idea of risk factors, and if they did, whether they spoke up when someone said something patently stupid.

  Number 1 was not doing very well on that score. She seemed to think that leadership was about getting her own way. It may be in certain circles, but we’d made it as clear to them as we could that lives were at stake here.

  When they’d agreed their plan, they took themselves up to the “drop zone”. This was a circle, out of sight of the woods, from which they had to begin their mission. Essentially, they’d been told that the big red rose flag of Lancashire in the woods was a hostage, and their mission was to retrieve it in one piece. Lester had told them that the printouts in the briefing room were an “intelligence report”. No one thought to ask how reliable it was. It wasn’t. The map showed the location of a white rose, Yorkshire flag. Their only advantage was that Vicky didn’t know their map was rubbish, either.

  I had no idea what Vic would do. A big dirty grin had come on her face when Lester showed her how to use paintball gun. The Candidates could be in for a hard time.

  Before leaving the drop zone, they all tried to adopt magickal camouflage. Killing sound waves is not that difficult, and even I can manage a Silence. Visuals are harder, and a complete Glamour of invisibility is nigh-on impossible for even the most powerful specialists.

  Number 1 and Number 4 could do a very good chameleon, as I soon discovered. They could stand very still and fade into the background way past the point of detection, unless you were looking very hard, or were a gifted Sorcerer like Vicky. Number 2 opted for a kaleidoscope, where three slightly fuzzy versions of herself appeared. That was tricky. Number 6 turned himself into a version of me. It was very good, too. I wondered if Vicky would notice he was limping with the wrong leg. That left Number 5, aka Saffron Hawkins.

  I don’t think that Glamours are her strength, judging from some of her comments in the planning session, and I was impressed how she used her limited abilities. When the group spread out, she was last. When no one was looking, she turned herself into Lester’s wife, and ambled along as if she was going for a walk. She was the right height, similar build and same sex. It would make Vicky think twice, especially as she stuck to the obvious path, just like Mrs Howarth would do. I gave her a head start and followed. There are a lot of brambles in those woods: another reason to stick to the path.

  They were about half way to the (wrong) target when I heard a thwack thwack from the left. We all had earpieces, and mine burst into life. ‘Man down, man down,’ said Number 4.

  ‘Control to team. Identify yourself. Over.’

  ‘Number 4 to Control. Number 1 has been hit on the leg. Over.’

  ‘Above or below the knee? Over.’

  ‘That’s above the knee. Over.’

  ‘Control to Number 1. You are seriously injured and cannot move. Control to Number 4. You
have a twenty minute first aid time out. You must protect Number 1. Control to all team. You must make sure Number 1 gets out at the end. She cannot move on her own. Control out.’

  We’d allowed the Candidates one advantage. Vicky had no radio at all, and they had their own channel for communications that neither Lester nor I could hear. We had told them it would be taped, though, and that a review of the recording would form part of our assessment. The crackle from my earpiece told me that they were talking to each other. I pulled it out and listened. Idiots. Number 2 had forgotten to modify her Silence, and I could hear her loud and clear. So could Vicky. Thwack thwack…

  Ahead of me, Saffron carried on her walk up the path as if nothing were going on. Chaos broke out over the public channel as it was soon realised that Number 2 had a chest shot. She was declared dead. Saffron reached the Yorkshire flag and had one hand on the flagpole when she realised her mistake. She patted the flagpole and turned round to head back to the farm. When she got to the trees, she stopped and pretended to receive a call on her mobile. Over the public channel, she said, ‘Number 5 to team. That’s the wrong flag. It’s a white rose. I checked for Glamour, and it’s genuine. We’ve been given the wrong location. Over.’

  ‘Number 4 to team. We retreat and re-group. Over.’

  ‘Number 6 to team. There’s no time. Over.’

  I decided to put them out of their misery. ‘Base to team. Updated Intelligence report. Hostage location has been confirmed as four hundred metres south south west of original location. Over and out.’

  ‘Saffron, switch to the private channel,’ said Number 6, earning him a minus point for breaking radio protocol and a plus point for realising they were making idiots of themselves.

  About a minute later, Saffron abandoned her disguise as Mrs Howarth and legged it past me and back to the first flag. She’d seen there was a path from there running in the right direction, and she ran down it. I jogged along to keep her in view

  When she sighted the red rose, she summoned her reserves of energy and broke into a sprint. Vicky shot her in the chest. Twice. They had two minutes left, and got nowhere fast. Lester broke the news over the radio and told them to report to the barn kitchen, where lunch would be waiting. Vicky and I ate in the farmhouse, and the Howarths left us alone to compare notes.