The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

  Next was the priest, who opted not to attempt a handshake and bowed his head instead. ‘Chaplain to Salomon’s House and Deputy Warden,’ he intoned.

  Everyone else had been watching everyone else, except the next man, who had been annotating a pile of documents until it was his turn. He stuck his finger in the middle of a paragraph and said, ‘Steward of the Great Work.’ He nodded and resumed reading.

  ‘Oracle,’ said the young redheaded woman next to the Steward. I knew that Vicky liked her, and that she’d been appointed over a lot of older heads. Did I detect an Irish accent? I think I did.

  The woman next to her was wearing her hair in the distinctive Goddess Braid, something I associated with the Circles rather than with the Invisible College. She was mature, aristocratic and had nothing in front of her on the table. ‘Mistress of Revels and Masques,’ she said. Despite the odd title, I knew that she was a very powerful Occulter. Vicky had said, pointedly, that this woman was the only one who’d changed her title from Master to Mistress. No, me neither.

  Chris Kelly was next, announcing his title and repeating the encouraging grin.

  An old man, probably older than the Warden, announced, ‘Senior Doctor of Chymic,’ as if reporting for duty. There was something about his attitude which suggested that he might be ex-King’s Watch.

  We were now back to the woman on the Warden’s left. She was pale, thin, flicked her eyes around a lot and constantly fidgeted with her pen, book, spectacles and glass of water. She stopped moving and gave me a smile. ‘Clerk to the Great Work. I’m a non-voting member. Just so you know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Warden. ‘Let us begin Conrad’s test. Custodian, are you ready?’

  The woman in the smock, the Custodian of the Great Work, reached into a bag on the floor and produced a wooden box. It was the same size as the ones I’d been practising on, but all similarity ended there. This piece was not for the classroom. This piece was a work of art.

  ‘Silver on Black,’ said the Custodian. ‘Level 3.’

  I took the box and ran my hand over it. The surface was lacquered black and inlaid with silver tracings. Inlaid so smoothly that I couldn’t feel where the metal ended and the lacquer began. I tried to follow the silver lines, to make sense of the shapes they formed, but all I got was endless crossings and repeats, intersections and branchings that moved over all six faces.

  ‘It’s Dwarven,’ she said.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the box. ‘I didn’t know Hledjolf had it in him.’

  She laughed, a big chested laugh. ‘He doesn’t now, if he ever did. This was made by Niði up in the Black Country. He called it Ragnarok.’

  I forced myself to look up. ‘Thank you for letting me handle this. It’s a privilege.’ This seemed a good moment for humility, so I turned to face Cora Hardisty. ‘I’ve learnt a lot about the Great Work after you set me this challenge. It’s already made me a better Captain of the Watch.’

  The Dean smiled, because that’s what she had to do. Behind the smile, her internal abacus was trying to work out why I’d been nice.

  ‘The Stamp,’ said the Custodian, passing me the encoded metal. As much care had gone into this as into the box – bright green and red enamel instead of plain brass.

  There might be a catch in the catch, so I took it slowly. My fingers ached, but opening Ragnarok was no more difficult than the plain oak box that I’d been practising on. I opened the lid and looked inside, where a diamond nestled in black silk. It was flawed and uncut, but still the biggest gemstone I’ve seen outside the Crown Jewels display at the Tower of London. ‘I take it the diamond is not a prize.’

  ‘No,’ said the Custodian. ‘It’s part of the box. It’s meant to symbolise the heart of a Dwarf.’

  This whole piece was creative, symbolic and as much a work of art as any human artefact, even if I didn’t understand it. How could this Niði be of the same species as Hledjolf? I closed the box, locking away the diamond and my curiosity about the nature of Dwarves.

  Dean Hardisty sat up straight to say something, but the Provost beat her to the punch.

  ‘Could I ask if the Custodian has brought the other box?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but why?’ she answered.

  Having gained the initiative, the Provost pressed on. ‘Warden, before we accept Mr Clarke as a Master of the Art, we can’t ignore Item 9 on the agenda – do we support Hannah Rothman’s bid to arm the Watch?’

  With sixteen people around the table, it was impossible to capture all the responses. The Dean and the Warden were too good to give anything away. Some of the others were annoyed (at what?) and some were anxious. The only one who played her hand openly was the Proctor, who nodded vigorously in support of the Provost.

  The Warden pursed his lips and said, ‘And how do you think this is relevant?’

  The Provost folded his hands. He’d been waiting for this moment. ‘With all due respect to Mr Clarke, if it weren’t for him, the Constable would not be seeking to obtain an Order of the Occult Council. By admitting him as a Master of the Art, the Invisible College is giving him access to Salomon’s House and acknowledgement of his authority. Without that acknowledgement, I believe that the Constable would withdraw her proposal to arm the Watch. I propose that we should set the bar higher, to show that anyone who might carry guns has sufficient Talent to be part of our community, not just an instrument of oppression from outside. We’ve had good governance in magick in the past because Merlyn’s Tower and Salomon’s House have been close. Let’s keep it that way.’

  Several hands went up to speak. The Warden chose the Chaplain to go first.

  ‘The Provost has raised a number of issues, and I think we should avoid discussing Item 9 while poor Conrad is sitting here. I propose that we postpone a final decision on his admission as Master of the Art until the Occult Council has met. If they authorise firearms, we can think again.’

  The Custodian was next. ‘That’s hardly fair on Conrad. We shouldn’t leave him in limbo. Could I ask how high the Provost wants to set the bar?’

  ‘Provost?’ said the Warden.

  ‘I asked the Custodian to bring the Lock of Knossos, something I would expect any Chymist worth the name to be able to undo.’

  I didn’t like the sound of that at all. Knossos meant the Minotaur’s labyrinth, and that sounded suspiciously non-linear. I’d failed dismally at non-linear locks, something the Council could probably see in my face.

  ‘Dean?’ said the Warden.

  Cora Hardisty placed her hands on the table. ‘I set Conrad a task in good faith, and he has learnt a lot, relatively speaking. However, that was before I knew he’d commissioned his own magickal artillery. I am happy to be guided by Council.’

  That seemed to be the end of it – and me. The Provost made a proposal setting the bar higher, the Proctor seconded it and the Warden asked for a vote. Six voted in favour, none against and nine abstained. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Chris hadn’t stuck up for me, or encouraged that Cora had abstained.

  ‘Over to you, Conrad,’ said the Warden. He kept his voice as neutral as his vote: he had also been an abstainer.

  ‘Point of order, Warden,’ said an unexpected voice. Chris Kelly drew all eyes to him, and when the Warden signed for him to continue, he said, ‘The resolution does not specify the actual test, and I for one would not have been able to tackle the Lock of Knossos until after my Fellowship.’ He paused, and several of the abstainers nodded in agreement. Kelly pointed beyond the boundary of the dome and said to me, ‘Conrad, is that the dowsing rod I lent you?’ I nodded. ‘Could you get it?’

  I stood up. The Provost started to speak until the Warden silenced him with a raised hand. I collected the tube with the dowsing rod and returned to the table.

  ‘What do you think the floor represents?’ asked the Earth Master.

  The lines were still glowing and fading, but unlike the stars above, they hadn’t rotated since the start of the meeting. Given
who was asking the question, the lines in the floor must be a map, and the obvious answer was Ley lines. I followed a few and they mostly converged on a bright spot in the opposite quadrant. I pointed to the glowing nexus and said, ‘Ley lines. That’s London, and this table is in the North Sea.’

  ‘Very clever,’ muttered the Provost with some sarcasm.

  Kelly turned back to the Warden. ‘I propose that the illuminations on the map are dimmed and that I randomly rotate it. If Conrad can find London using his Sight, then he’s met the higher level.’

  The Warden lifted a finger to silence the Provost before he could interrupt, then said, ‘Conrad, are you willing to try?’ I nodded, and the Warden turned to the Clerk. ‘Could you verify this test for us?’

  The Earth Master stood up, as did the Clerk, who walked up to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘I see what you see,’ she said.

  He spread his hands, and the glowing lines went completely blank. He looked at his watch, made more gestures, and then offered me the floor. I got out the dowsing rod and dried my hands on my uniform.

  I stumbled when I tried to move, my bad leg going into spasm. Of all people, it was Cora who reached out to steady me. When the pain had subsided, I walked to the edge of the dome, raising my senses and the rod. Nothing. Don’t Panic, I told myself. You’ve got plenty of time. I started to move anti-clockwise, slowly and carefully. Still nothing.

  By now, I had a feel for the curvature of the dome, and there was a slight chill near the open sides to guide me, so I closed my eyes and continued my slow progress. There. I’d found it – the first line.

  I turned left and tracked the line to a small nexus, keeping my eyes closed. From here I chose a dead end, nearly losing the trail completely. The next line was stronger, and I got a sense of size as well as direction of flow, and then I was on a highway of Lux that either led to London, Oxford or Cambridge. I chased down the highway until I heard gasps of breath, very close. I stopped moving, but kept my eyes closed.

  ‘Should we move the table?’ asked the Warden.

  ‘Let me know if I’m going to hit something,’ I said, and set off again. The highway led to a bigger nexus, but not big enough to be the capital. I circled round it and found a magickal motorway to the right, away from the crowd. Five steps later, I hit the jackpot and stopped. ‘Here,’ I said and opened my eyes.

  The Earth Master gestured, and the floor lit up. Bingo. I was standing plumb in the middle of the brightest spot under the dome.

  Murmurs of appreciation broke out in the Council, most of whom were now standing. I got a full-on wink from Chris Kelly. The Clerk took her hand off his shoulder and said, ‘I certify that this Work was completed fairly by both parties.’ She returned to her seat and said something to the Recorder.

  The Dean was not about to let the Provost upstage her again. While I was still walking back to the table, she said, ‘Warden, I propose that the candidate has more than demonstrated the level required for admission as Master of the Art.’

  It was a clever call on her part. She’d probably been watching the others while I completed my task and knew that she would win, but the Provost wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘Perhaps we should take this opportunity to formalise things and pass the issue to the Academic Sub-Committee,’ he said.

  Oh no. Death by sub-committee. I’m not joking – I think a good percentage of the names on our national war memorials are only there because of some sub-committee somewhere. I did not want to join them (there’s an Honour Board in Merlyn’s Tower, I believe. Haven’t seen it yet).

  ‘You do it,’ said a new voice. It was the Senior Doctor of Chymic, addressing the Provost directly. ‘If you think that what this fellow did wasn’t good enough, you should show us how easy it is.’

  The Provost burned a deep red, a nuclear fusion of anger and embarrassment. Cora turned her most patronising smile on him and lifted an eyebrow. The Provost gritted his teeth and said, ‘Warden, this isn’t a personal matter. We must consider the principle of admission, or rather, the Academic Sub-Committee should consider it.’

  The Warden seemed to be enjoying himself. He signed for the Senior Doctor to continue.

  ‘It’s very personal,’ said the old Chymist. ‘Conrad Clarke is here in person, and our Dean has proposed that we admit him. I second that proposal. Let’s vote and move on before I formally propose that you repeat the Earth Master’s test.’

  The Provost waved a hand to the Warden. It was an admission of defeat.

  ‘Anyone else have anything to say?’ asked the Warden. No one did. ‘As is traditional, the vote is Unanimous. Congratulations, Conrad. Dean, would you like to do the honours?’

  Everyone stood. Cora reminded me of my oath, formally awarded me the honour and handed over a new medallion to go on my chain. I was now allowed to come and go in Salomon’s House without an escort. It felt good.

  The Recorder had disappeared during the ceremony and emerged from the lift with a hospitality trolley. I was invited to stay for a cup of tea while they had a break. The first thing I did was offer the dowsing rod back to Chris Kelly.

  ‘Keep it for now,’ he said. ‘You must get your own. Really.’

  ‘I will. When funds permit.’

  ‘If you can get wood from a sacred grove – legitimately – I know a guy who can do a much better job than any Dwarf. There’s no creature better than a Dwarf at working gold, but they’re pretty poor when it comes to wood.’

  I raised my coffee cup in salute. ‘Thanks for what you did, Chris. I don’t know if you’ve made an enemy of the Provost, but you’ve made a friend out of me.’

  He waved it away. ‘No one here considers me important enough to be a friend or an enemy. You can buy me a pint some time though.’

  ‘I look forward to it. What do you think will happen when Item 9 comes up for discussion?’

  He pointed to an intense conversation between the Dean and the Senior Doctor. ‘I think the answer is over there. Whenever those two get together and reach an agreement, they usually get their way. Hang on, here comes Cora. I’ll leave you to it.’

  The Dean approached and congratulated me again.

  ‘Thank you, Dean. Your intervention was timely.’

  ‘Cora, please. Unlike the Senior Doctor, I’m not a member of the King’s Watch fan club. Nor am I its enemy. You earned your MA, and I shall be backing the proposal to support Hannah.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘You’re not going to get a licence to kill: you’ll have to follow the rules. That’s why I agreed to support the Doctor, you know. You respected the rules, and you listened.’ I think that’s as close as I’m going to get to a compliment. She even added to it by saying, ‘The RAF trusted you and decorated you. Who are we to disagree?’

  It’s a good job they don’t have access to my unredacted file, that’s all I can say.

  ‘Council, two minutes,’ said the Clerk in a loud voice.

  I slipped quietly away. I’d got what I came for and I could find out who the rest were later, if I needed to know. I was collecting my case when the Keeper of the Esoteric Library emerged from a previously hidden door. I caught a glimpse of sinks and mirrors before it closed behind her. I thought the Keeper would hurry back to the meeting, but she stopped to shake my hand.

  ‘I’m Francesca Somerton. I’m sure you remember my title.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Or Madam Keeper. Or…’

  ‘Dr Somerton, or Keeper, but I do prefer Francesca.’ She looked at the Council table where cups were being cleared back to the trolley.

  ‘Tell me, Conrad, is a Clarke’s word still binding?’

  ‘Still? Have you met one of us before?’

  ‘Your father. You remind me of him a lot.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She patted my arm. ‘He was very nice, considering that I was casing the joint.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m not the first Keeper to visit Elvenham House incognito in search of
the lost books, and I’d be very surprised if you didn’t know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘I have been made aware, yes. And I promise you that I have no idea where they are.’ As I said that, I wondered if my 11xGGFather had kept an especially low profile during the Keeper’s visit.

  ‘I bought a hideous chair from your father because I felt guilty,’ she said. ‘One day, someone needs to have a good look at that well in your garden, to say nothing of the dragon stone.’

  ‘It’s on my agenda. My long-term agenda.’

  ‘Good. You were away at boarding school when I visited. If any Clarke were going to be here, I’d have bet on your sister. She saw straight through my story, even though she was only six.’

  ‘Count yourselves lucky. Salomon’s House is not ready for Rachael Clarke.’

  The Warden’s voice carried over from the table. ‘Hurry up, Franny.’

  ‘Good luck with the Dragon hunt, Conrad.’

  ‘Where in Nimue’s name have you been?’ said Vicky when I emerged into the Warden’s Parlour. The new Doodad had given me the ability to see a set of glowing buttons in the lift. Unlike the Recorder, I had to reach out and touch them.

  ‘You could have warned me, Vic.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘That the Inner Council is a nest of vipers. Let’s go somewhere we can get a drink and I can get a smoke.’

  ‘I’ve got a surprise for you. I shouldn’t, but I will. This way.’

  One floor down from the Warden’s Parlour was a small door that led to a balcony with a view down Ironmonger’s Lane and a big ashtray. Vicky stood upwind of me while I told her the story.

  She rubbed her jaw when I’d finished. ‘You might get your bullets back, then.’

  ‘Eventually. So long as it’s not too late. Thanks for your lessons, Vicky. I didn’t realise just how important this was at the beginning. It’s not much, but here you are.’ I passed her a bottle of Champagne from my case.

  ‘Taittinger Reserve. Good choice, Conrad. Gods, is that the time?’