by Mark Hayden
‘Ready when you are.’
Myfanwy raised her coffee cup and clinked it against the grille. ‘To the future, Conrad.’
I did the same. ‘To the future.’
3 — Newton’s Cradle
There aren’t many places where the magickal and mundane worlds come together. One of them is Newton’s House in Whitehall, London.
Mages usually arrive there from the Old Network of tunnels underneath the streets; mundane visitors check in via a modern door round the side of a suitably obscure government building. Ministry of Paperclips, or something like that.
I’d been allocated two tickets to invite mundane guests to the ceremony, and I’d have loved to invite Mina. I didn’t think the Prison Service would play ball with that idea, so Mum and Dad had caught the early flight from Valencia and were dawdling down the road towards me, gawping like tourists. I’d seen them coming because Mother is very, very tall, and this being a royal occasion, she was wearing a hat. I, of course, was in RAF dress uniform.
‘Hello dear,’ she said after a perfunctory hug. ‘I had no idea that this place existed.’
‘That’s the point. It’s a secret facility.’
‘I thought I knew all of them. Mind you, it’s been a while.’
‘Hello, son,’ said Dad, giving me a vigorous handshake. ‘Looking smart.’
‘So are you, Dad. Let’s get in before it rains.’
The modern doorway is unguarded and unlocked, because it quickly leads round the back of the Ministry to the ornate oak doors of Newton’s House. The original Queen Anne building is now completely surrounded by later additions, and much of Newton’s House is underground.
Today, the oak doors were open, and Maxine Lambert, Clerk to the Watch, was on meet & greet duty. I introduced my parents, and we were pointed to the corner where coffee and tea were being served to Vicky and her family by two women wearing the uniform of a catering contractor. I’d seen that uniform on many occasions – along with the women’s red photo-ID badges. Their employer has a contract to supply refreshments for high security events. Reassuring.
Mum and Dad wandered off, and I said to Maxine, ‘Are you security as well as hostess?’
‘Hostess! Only you would call me that. It’s a good job I know you, Conrad.’ She paused. ‘Why would we need security?’
‘They follow royalty like flies.’
She looked bemused. ‘No one knows the Duke of Albion is here except the guests, and this building is invisible unless you’ve got the Sight or the doors are open. I had to get here at nine to let the caterers in and put the flags out.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll catch you later.’
She gave me the conspiratorial grin of the fellow nicotine addict. ‘Smoker’s Corner is there, through the kitchen. I’ll see you outside.’
I made my way towards the hospitality table, which was next to the double doors where Maxine had pointed, not that you could see much table. When Maxine had said putting out the flags, she didn’t mean hoisting them up a flagpole, she meant drowning the table with them.
Newton’s House belongs to the Invisible College, and most of it is heavily magickal; the Occult Council meets in the lower levels, for one thing. Above ground is the Banqueting Hall and this space, the Duke of Albion’s Room. Vicky says that the Banqueting Hall is a riot of rococo frescoes, which some of the newer students would like to cover up. No such nudity in the Duke’s Room, but there is lot of Invisible College branding. The College crest is a golden sunburst on a blue background, and it features throughout the carpet. To say that our flags clashed would be an understatement.
The Peculier Constable has her own coat of arms, featuring a sword. It’s quite something. The Watch as a unit has a slightly bonkers coat of arms – a red shield with a white diamond in the middle, lying on its side, and that’s it. No crosses, lions or dragons, just a scary diamond. I’ll have to ask about it one day. Several large red and white flags had been draped over the hospitality table just to show that this was King’s Watch event.
We had been corralled into one corner of the Duke’s Room because the space is huge. Even the museum rope barriers were done in blue and gold, as were the velvet chairs laid out for VIPs and guests.
For reasons of history and HR, all Watch Officers are technically in the Army. Except me. I got to keep my commission in the RAF, and I get a lot of petty pleasure from the fact that Vicky – and Hannah – have to wear the uniform of the Royal Military Police on formal occasions, and that the whole of their officer training consisted of a visit to the military tailor, who also taught them how to salute. Badly.
Vicky was juggling her crutch and a cup of coffee when she saw me coming. ‘Do I have to salute?’
‘Yes,’ I said with a grin. I outrank her, and we’re in uniform, so yes, she did have to salute.
‘Dad, take this.’ She handed off her hot drink and sketched a salute. ‘Happy?’
I returned the salute and shook hands with Erica and Jack Robson, Vicky’s parents. Jack has been a coal miner, an alcoholic and a long-distance lorry driver, in that order. Erica, his second wife, was – and still is – a domestic violence counsellor. The last time we’d met was in a hospital after Vicky’s involuntary cardiac arrest.
‘That’s a canny collection,’ said Jack, pointing to my row of medals. ‘I’ve got mine, see?’ On the lapel of his new suit was a black and white badge with gold lettering round the rim. ‘Season ticket holder at St James’s Park for forty year. I’ve probably suffered more to get that than you did for yours.’
‘John!’ said Erica. ‘Don’t be so disrespectful.’
‘He’s probably right,’ I said. ‘Let me introduce you all.’
Dad (my Dad) was coming over with two cups of coffee, and Mum, who towered over everyone except me, took off her coat and revealed her own gong, the bright blue enamel of a CBE.
‘It clearly runs in the family,’ said Jack, pointing to the medal, ‘and not just height.’
Mother frowned and drew her head back, then gave a rare, shy smile as she held up the gong. ‘This? I got it for sitting in a dark room staring at Russian codes and ciphers. Seems a lifetime ago now, and I only get to wear it at closed ceremonies like this one. I’m Mary, and this is Alfred.’
The four parents shook hands, and Jack said, ‘Is it Lord Alfred or something? Vicky tells us your house – Conrad’s House – is a mansion.’
Mum hooted. ‘Don’t encourage him, please. I married Alfred because of his smile, not his ancestral money pit.’
Vicky was brought into the fold, shook hands and then whispered to me, ‘Can I sit down? Me foot’s killing. I wanted to wear trainers but me Mam wouldn’t let us.’
I grabbed a chair from the side and settled her down.
‘Your parents are lovely,’ said Vicky. ‘You won’t believe how nervous Dad was about coming.’
Jack Robson’s voice is quite loud. We heard him saying, ‘You’ve got your own pool? No wonder you moved to Spain.’
‘Nice to see the older generation bonding,’ I said to Vicky.
She groaned and muttered at the group of parents. ‘Put a sock in it, Dad.’
‘Are you sure your brother doesn’t mind taking you to Clerkswell?’ I asked.
‘Why, nah. He and his lass are making a long weekend of it.’
Vicky was coming tomorrow, Good Friday, after having family time today. My parents were heading straight back to Spain so as not to miss the Fiesta. Me? I’d got a text from Annelise saying that I had to collect Myfanwy and deliver her to Clerkswell before the sun rose tomorrow at 06:24. That was a magickal deadline: more crucial for my personal wellbeing was meeting Mina’s train in Cheltenham.
There was movement in the far corner and two gowned figures came slowly across the ocean of blue carpet. In an instant, I was relegated to second tallest person in the room as the Earth Master of Salomon’s House approached, escorting the Keeper of the Queen’s Esoteric Library.
The Earth Master, Chri
s Kelly, has done me several favours, and is my only real friend in the Invisible College. He gave me a grin and moved the ropes aside to let through the Keeper, Dr Francesca Somerton.
I went to say hello, and got a warm greeting from Chris. Before I could stop her, Francesca had made a beeline for my father. I shuffled over just as Dad was sorting through his mental filing cabinet. They’ve met before.
‘Mr Clarke,’ said Francesca.
‘Have you still got that occasional table?’ he replied with a grin.
‘No. I gave it to my goddaughter. She gave it to someone else.’
‘It’s been passed round a lot, that table.’
‘Probably because it’s very ugly,’ said Francesca with a smile.
‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ said Dad. ‘It must be twenty years now.’
The other three parents were looking very curious. I saw Erica take her husband’s arm to stop him putting his foot in it. Francesca introduced herself by name, and gave her job title as, ‘One of Victoria’s former tutors.’ Chris did the same.
I managed to peel Francesca away from the group before she said anything else. She, of course, is the current holder of Spectre Thomas’s former office, and she is the latest in a long line of Keepers to have gone to Elvenham House looking for the missing books. It was time for a confession.
Before I could say anything, she gave me a frosty glare. ‘You haven’t been honest with me, have you?’
My face must have said who snitched, because she softened her glare and held up a hand. ‘Constable Rothman told me this morning because she said we might not get the chance to talk at the ceremony, and she because she trusts me. I think. The Royal Occulter is going to give me a lift down on Tuesday. He’s good fun.’
The thought of Francesca and Li Cheng hanging out together was rather alarming, but at least we were now set for the summoning. Vicky, Cheng and Francesca should have more than enough oomph between them to bring my ancestor out of the well.
More guests drifted in. Desirée Haynes, daughter of Tennille and Vicky’s BFF from the Invisible College, was accompanied by two of the young Watch Captains whom I’d only met once and were definitely there under orders. They were followed by two members of, if not actual royalty, then the magickal equivalent – the Warden of Salomon’s House, Sir Roland Quinn, and the Dean of the Invisible College, Cora Hardisty.
Sir Roland is effectively the senior Mage in England. Even those linked to the Circles of magick rather than the College respect him and acknowledge his authority. Cora Hardisty is in charge of education and research at the College, a formidable operator and (when you get to know her), a nice person. Still not sure I completely trust her, though.
Sir Roland is both a powerful Mage and a successful academic politician. He’s also getting on in years, and it’s widely discussed that he will be retiring in the near future. The manner of his ‘retirement’ is quite complicated, but he’s definitely a senior citizen, and today he was using an elegantly carved mahogany walking stick to get him across the room. The head was shaped like a lion, and there appeared to be gold inlay running down the body. He and Cora had no doubt arrived in Whitehall by chauffeur driven limousine rather than schlepping along the tunnels from Salomon’s House. Cora wouldn’t have got very far along the passages of the Old Network in those heels, believe me.
She made a beeline for Vicky, once her student in Sorcery, and I intercepted Sir Roland, asking if he wanted me to get him a coffee.
‘In a minute, lad. Just wanted to offer you my personal congratulations on defeating that Dragon. You’ve seen something I never will. Not in this life, and I hope not in the next.’
This is what I meant about his retirement. He’s going to perform something called the Final Projection – leave his earthly body behind and become a Spirit. Apparently, he’s only hanging on to make sure that his successor is up to the job.
‘I’m certainly not in a hurry to meet one again, sir.’
‘I believe that Cora wants you to lead a seminar on it.’
‘She does. I met an old friend of yours recently.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Theresa, up in Lancashire.’
Sister Theresa is the Witch who does things with trees. It was her who told me about the Final Projection, too.
Sir Roland was taken aback. ‘Theresa? Really? She mentioned me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I must get up there.’
That was alarming. ‘She’s in a closed order of Circle Sisters, sir. She only mentioned you in passing.’
Sir Roland frowned. ‘I know where she is and what they do. She wouldn’t have mentioned my name if she didn’t want me to hear about it. Something’s up. Thank you, Conrad, I’m much obliged.’
I glanced around the room. Hannah would soon be escorting the Duke of Albion into the room, and it was time to consider who wasn’t there.
The Inner Council of the Invisible College has eighteen members and five were here (six if you count the Duke). This meant that twelve had chosen not to attend. Granted, the College was closed for Easter, it was short notice, and tomorrow was a bank holiday, but twelve members could now say that they had boycotted a King’s Watch official ceremony. Don’t forget, we were getting these medals for saving the country from a rampant Dragon.
‘Let’s get a coffee,’ said Sir Roland, ‘and I can get rid of this stick for a bit. An old man is allowed a little vanity.’
We sauntered over to the table and I said, ‘Do you want me to put it in the kitchen, sir?’
‘Just shove it under the table. If you could bend down for me…’
‘Certainly.’
I was distracted for a second when Maxine heaved the doors closed with a thump as the last two guests arrived.
One of them was Rick James, Senior Watch Captain. He’s a good bloke and had come from the West Country because it was the right thing to do. The fact that he is another of Vicky’s former lovers (or ex-shags as she would say) might have played a part, too. The room went quiet and the floor sloped a little as the centre of gravity shifted towards Rick and his companion.
I’m speaking metaphorically, but everyone, male and female, young and old, leaned towards the stunning vision of lithe blondeness on Rick’s arm. Everyone except Sir Roland, that is, who said, ‘Put your tongue away, son. It’s only a Fairy. How in Nimue’s name did he get invited?’
‘He???’
‘Ask Victoria later, and don’t talk to him before then. Stick, Conrad?’
‘Sorry, sir.’
My leg was a lot better this morning, and I didn’t have too much trouble kneeling to pull up the yards of spare flag pooled on the floor. I lifted the edge, hooked it back and glanced underneath.
Oh shit.
I spent a long time in Afghanistan, and not just on military bases. I’ve attended a lot of Threat Briefings. I’ve even seen them in the flesh. I know exactly what an Improvised Explosive Device looks like, and I was looking at one under the table. A big bottle of clear liquid had a detonator dangling inside it from the tape round the neck, and the detonator led to a black box.
‘Clarke, is that what I think it is?’ whispered Sir Roland, trying to keep his voice down.
On the other side of the table, one of the catering staff, trying to be helpful, bent down and lifted her side of the flag. As soon as she saw the IED, she screamed. Very loudly.
I dropped the fabric, and…
4 — As Good as a Rest
Captain Victoria Robson FGW MC KW RMP
I’ve made this recording because when you wake up, you’ll need to know the basics, Conrad. I imagine your Mam and Dad will be there, so you’ll know they’re all right, and I know you’ll be worried about everyone else, too. Basically, they’re fine. I think you know who isn’t. In fact, your biggest problem is going to be how to fit everyone in at Elvenham House. I’ll get to that later.
I wasn’t watching you, Conrad, before the explosion happened. I was talking to Dean Hardist
y and I had my back to the hospitality section. We heard the scream, and I looked over. The last thing I saw before the flash was the Warden lifting his walking stick and spreading Works around the room.
Thanks to you, you big oaf, I’ve been locked up, shot at and attacked by lions. Now I can add this to the list.
The flash blinded me, the sound made me drop to the ground and curl up in a little ball. I must have screamed, too, because afterwards I had a sore throat. Mind you, everyone screamed, I think. Except you and the Warden.
I dropped to the floor because it was instinct. If it hadn’t been for the Warden putting up that shield, I wouldn’t have been dropping anywhere, would I? I’d have been flying across the room in bits.
After the roar of the explosion, all I could hear was screams, and all I could see was white blobs floating in front of my eyes. It was the smell that got me moving. That and the bits of burning stuff falling all around me. It’s a good job that Salomon’s House carpets have a fire suppressant Work built into the weave.
I used my crutch to lever myself up and took a couple of steps towards you, and then my eyesight cleared and I stopped still.
There was a hole in the floor, punched out like a die stamp. You and the Warden were just in front of it, all in a heap, but that wasn’t what made me stop. It was the wall behind the hole.
A load of the panelling had been blown away back to the brick. Bits of it were scattered across the room, smouldering, along with bits of table. Next to that gap in the panelling was a red and black smear. It was the waitress. The Polish one. The other one was off to the side. Broken. I put my hand to my mouth and heaved. Just once. I swallowed it back down and looked around.
Our Dads were out cold. My Mam was feeling round the floor, blind. The only other one moving was your Mam. She was trying to stand up and get to you.
I limped over and grabbed her arm to help her up. We leaned on each other, and as we got closer I drew some Lux and extended my Sight to check for your Imprint.
