by Mark Hayden
Vicky was going to make a joke about that cramping my style. I’m sure she was, until she saw Mina’s face.
‘Who is it?’
‘Stephen Bloxham. His wife is coming to the first meeting of Clerkswell Ladies on Sunday.’
Vicky didn’t notice my lack of response, and said, ‘I thought you’d had that, hence the name.’
‘I set up a Facebook Group to start with, and we voted. First IRL meeting on Sunday. Here.’
‘Myfanwy,’ I said, cutting across them. ‘Who suggested meeting here? Juliet Bloxham, maybe? You do know that their house is the biggest house in Clerkswell.’
‘Bigger than this?’ said Mina.
‘By far,’ said Myvvy. ‘The old manor house on the Winchombe Road. Yes, it was Jules who suggested meeting here. “More central,” she said.’
‘Can you do me a favour? If you show them round – and this is your home, so that’s up to you – Jules Bloxham might ask about the safe. Tell her the key has been lost for years, and no one knows for certain what’s in it.’
‘But I know what’s in the safe. You showed me. And where the key is.’
James Clarke, builder of Elvenham House, was a lawyer. He had a big safe built in so that he could work from home occasionally.
‘Just trust me on this one, and I’ll move the key. Then you won’t know where it is. Makes lying easier.’
‘Are you … Never mind. You know these people.’
‘And you’ll get to know them. I’ll explain soon. Promise.’
‘Right you are. More tea?’
Mina got changed and came down in something more comfortable. While the sad singletons got ready to go out, we curled up on the sofa, and I filled her in on McKeever and the Gnomes, then she told me about the temple in Bolton.
‘It was the same priest,’ she said. ‘Mundane? Is that the word?’ I nodded. ‘The same priest officiates at the mundane and magickal temples, and he has no magick himself. He said so when he gave me a lift. His wife is the Mage, and she put up Wards around the building, not that I could tell. I’d stood outside it, feeling a fool on Saturday. On Sunday, we went round the back. Very rich inside. A lot of gold, and a lot of very angry people.’
‘Are you okay? What happened?’
‘The third degree is what happened. I had a cover story ready, like Francesca suggested. I told them that I had seen magick in a road traffic accident, that I had saved the life of a Witch by doing first aid and calling 999. I said that I had been invited to the lakeside ceremony. That lasted less than five minutes. One of the men must be like Vicky. A Sorcerer. “She has been touched by Ganesh,” he announced. “A Nāgin has a lien on her fate.” It’s a good job I know what a lien is or I’d have panicked.’
I’ve got a lien, too, on the cricket ground. It means having an interest on property until a debt or obligation is discharged.
‘Then things got really bad,’ said Mina, squeezing my hand. ‘The Sorcerer pipes up, “I smell Nimue. You are an agent of the King’s Watch!” and he points his finger at me.’
‘Ouch, love.’
‘Very much so. I saw hands reaching for daggers, until the priest stepped in. “Tell us the truth, child, before Ganesh.” And I had to kneel before the altar and tell them about you. It was very dusty, and tucked in a corner. I had to tell them about us. Not much, just who you are and that we are … an item. I didn’t use that word, though, Conrad. Nor did I say “partner”. I said that our souls were bound together. I hope you don’t mind.’
I kissed the top of her head. ‘You told the truth. Why should I mind?’
‘Good. After that, the priest shouted at them. In Bengali. He took me to his private room and said, “Ganesh sees all, Mina. You should make puja in the mundane temple until he calls you to his secret gatherings. For today, you are welcome, though.” Then his wife and I made puja to Ganesh while they got ready a sacrifice to Shiva. The altar to Ganesh was only there because it would be rude not to have altars to Shiva’s wife and children. Shiva is their god. When we had finished, the priest’s wife dropped me at Lostock station, and I caught a replacement bus to Preston. I tell you, Conrad, the trains up there are terrible.’
‘So was the welcome at the temple. Do you want me to look into this?’
‘No. You have enough problems. Perhaps one day.’
Myfanwy knocked on the sitting room door and stuck her head in. ‘We’re off. Have fun.’
We did. I don’t know what time they got back, because we were asleep by then.
‘I don’t want to do this, Stephen, but you can see the problem,’ said Ben. It very much looked as if Stephen Bloxham couldn’t see the problem. In his head, he’d been to practice, he was the current chairman of the club and he deserved to play.
Now that I’ve had Spectre Thomas’s testimony, I know that the Clarkes really are the oldest family in the village, but we’ve never been the richest. For a long time, that honour fell to the family of the knight who got all the land when Winchcombe Abbey was dissolved. His descendants built the Big House, Clerkswell Manor, and quietly got on with the job of being rich and oppressing the peasants for generations. Until World War One. That did for three of them, and the widow sold up. Four families have lived there since, and the Bloxhams for nearly thirty years. Stephen’s father was a builder, though Stephen prefers to call himself a property developer. I know, I know. Stop being such a snob, Conrad. I could almost hear Vicky getting on her high horse when I thought it.
‘Does that sound fair enough?’ said Ben, desperate to get Stephen’s buy-in for the eliminator.
‘When did you last play?’ asked Bloxham.
‘In Afghanistan, before my injury.’
Bloxham looked at Ben, as if to say Give him a game some other time. Like when I’m at my villa in Greece. Credit to Ben: he stood his ground.
‘Look, Stephen, I can’t bat against you because everyone knows that Conrad is my mate.’ This was code for We’re proper locals. The implication was not lost on Bloxham. Ben continued, ‘You choose one of the team to face two overs from each of you. If it’s too close to call, you play today. Fair enough?’
Bloxham held up his hands. ‘Fine. Let’s get it over with.’
Half the team was here for morning nets. The other half was at Tesco’s, delivering children to parties or at work. Bloxham looked around, and suddenly we were on our own. The others had seen what was going on and made themselves scarce, leaving only one: Ross Miller, teenage fast bowling prodigy. He was watching from a distance, already padded up. Bloxham frowned, looked around, and turned to Ben. ‘It’ll have to be Ross,’ he said.
Ben called Ross over and said, ‘Give it your best shot, to both of them. You could do with the practice against spin bowling anyway.’
‘Yes, skip,’ he said and went to collect his bat and helmet. I took a few moments to stretch my back and legs while Ben got some wicket keeping gloves.
‘Heads Conrad goes first, tails it’s Stephen,’ said Ben, tossing a coin. It came up heads. I took the ball off him and measured out my run up.
For the first over, Ross played a very straight bat. I appealed for LBW on one ball and Ben said, ‘You’d have been given out for that, Ross.’ On the last ball, Ross cut my delivery sharply to leg. ‘Runs there,’ said Ben.
Ross played much the same during Bloxham’s first over, trying to get his eye in. Bloxham didn’t get a wicket.
The home of Clerkswell CC is known as Mrs Clarke’s Folly, and it was very good to be back here, in the spring sunshine. You really could forget that somewhere underground in the Black Country was a Dwarf who had had dealings with my 11xGreat Grandfather, and who was part of a magickal situation that had already cost … how many lives? More than a dozen, if you included the Dragon, and a lot more that we don’t know about yet.
It was my turn again. Ross opened up his bat and tried to score some runs. Exactly what a batsman would do at the end of a game when time was running out. I clean bowled him once, had one go to slip
and probably a couple of fours conceded. Not bad, but Ross is not a specialist batsman. Then it was Bloxham’s turn.
Not only did he fail to get through Ross’s defence, he was hit all over the net. Ross was vicious. Bloxham didn’t wait for Ben’s verdict, he just headed for the changing rooms.
‘What was that all about?’ I asked, when Ross had gone.
‘You won’t know, will you?’
‘Know what?’
‘The reason Ross’s dad left was that he caught his wife with Stephen Bloxham. To be fair to Stephen, that was before he married Juliet. I try to keep Ross and Stephen apart at practice, and Jules tries to keep Stephen on a short leash. Well done, Conrad. See you at the game.’
18 — Gnome is where the Hearth is
We won the match. Just. I played my part, but I wasn’t man of the match by any means. That would be Ross Miller. On Sunday, Myfanwy, Mina and Vicky hosted the Clerkswell Ladies, and I did the shopping.
While I was gone, the Ladies elected Juliet Bloxham as their Chair, and she did indeed ask Myfanwy about the safe. When Myvvy asked me why, I changed the subject.
The rest of the long weekend shot by in a flurry of plans for the garden, eating, drinking and an away cricket match on Monday. We lost that one. ‘Stephen can bat much better than you,’ said Ben ruefully.
‘I’ll be at work next weekend,’ I said, diplomatically.
After the away match, Myfanwy invited Ben round to Elvenham for a drink during the week. I know this because she said to us, ‘I give up. I can’t go out of the village, he won’t go to the Inkwell and he said he’d feel funny coming here, what with it being Conrad’s house and all that.’
‘Get him to give you a one-to-one coaching session,’ said Mina, stirring something aromatic. ‘That way you can get hands-on in the nets. Does this need more wine?’
I didn’t mean it to happen. Honestly. I had it all worked out: Mina would catch the 12:15 to Cairndale, and we’d park up for an hour until Hannah’s train arrived at 13:00. Vicky drove the Volvo so that I could help Mina with her case and kiss her goodbye. If there wasn’t a free drop off place, Vicky could dump us and circulate.
There was a space, and Mina and I were saying goodbye when she pushed me away and stepped to the side. ‘Namaste, Constable.’
Oh dear.
‘Ms Desai,’ said Hannah. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but I got the early train. I was going to call, then I recognised your car. I didn’t realise that you had company, Conrad. I’ll get in with Vicky. Have a safe journey, Ms Desai.’
‘That is without doubt the most awkward moment of this year,’ said Mina. ‘Why doesn’t her sister tell her that she looks like a clown with that wig, and even I think it’s too hot for boots. She has strong eyes, though. I will miss you, Conrad. Just twenty days.’
‘We should go away. Anywhere you like.’
‘You mean anywhere that I’m allowed to travel by the probation service. No, that would be good, and try not to get killed before then.’
Hannah was discussing routes to Earlsbury when I got into the car. According to Vicky, her only comment about Mina had been, ‘She’s a lot smaller than I thought.’
I’d never been to Earlsbury before. None of us had. I went to Birmingham fairly often before I joined the RAF, but my knowledge of the Black Country is very limited. It even feels strange to call it that, but the locals are insistent. If you can understand them.
The RAF is drawn from all over the UK, and you have to get used to hearing twenty different accents before breakfast. Without doubt, the two most impenetrable are rural Northern Ireland and the Black Country. Earlsbury isn’t as big as its northern neighbour, Dudley, but it does have its own centre, as we saw when we drove up the high street and past a quaint little Saxon church that wouldn’t have been out of place in the Cotswolds. It looked rather forlorn on top of the hill.
Sparkshave Engineering and Metalwork has the biggest premises on the King’s Common business park, and unless there was more magick in Earlsbury than London, most of the space must be devoted to mundane operations.
‘Do they know we’re coming?’ I asked.
‘No. I’ve got a list of the directors, and Mack’s notes did say that the clan chief is Wesley Flint. He’s the Exec Chairman of Sparkshave Holdings.’
We were parked down the road from the squat grey buildings, and a heavy lorry rumbled past full of scrap metal. It headed on to the site and disappeared round the back.
‘Not here,’ I said. ‘Gnomes like to keep their businesses at arm’s length. Are any other companies listed?’
Hannah flicked through some papers. ‘Sparkshave Developments. Sparkshave Services. They’re both registered at an address back in Earlsbury town. Flint House.’
‘I’d start there. I’m sure there’s any number of the clan out here, but not the chief.’
‘Good point,’ said Vicky.
‘Fine. Take us to it.’
There was no market on today, and plenty of spaces in the high street. When I saw the old coaching inn, I remembered that Earlsbury had featured heavily in one part of the Operation Jigsaw story. I might have to get in touch with Detective Chief Inspector Morton if we were here much longer, though I doubted that even Tom would have come off best against a clan of Gnomes.
‘Down here,’ said Vicky.
Hannah looked like she always does, but Vicky had dressed down, sporting a pair of walking trousers, trainers and a baggy top. Gnomes are almost human, but not quite. And they’re nearly all male. Very male. On our first encounter, she’d dressed differently. Taking one for team, she’d called it. If a woman had eyed me up the way she’d been surveyed by Henry Octavius, I’d be in therapy. They’re not all like that. Well, they are, but the younger ones hide it better.
It started out looking like a normal narrow street between Poundland and a charity shop, both occupying converted original buildings. By the time we’d got past their delivery doors, the road had narrowed to about an inch wider than the average van. One side was a featureless wall; the other was an elaborate monstrosity in smoke-begrimed red brick and limestone that had been subject to years of acid rain. There may have been carvings, once. If you’d asked me to define it, I’d say the building was the bastard child of a Lancashire cotton mill and the Old Curiosity Shop. Dickens would have loved it.
The alley curved slightly to allow the building to have railings and a drop down to the basement area. Up the stairs, the door was imposing, black, and had a bronze boss in the centre, featuring a grimacing gargoyle. I was getting the impression that the Flints were a very traditional clan. To the right of the door was the only polished object in sight: a brass plate with just two words: Flint House. Underneath was a wooden board with the names of the registered companies, so faded that they might as well be anonymous.
Vicky pointed to the wooden board. ‘Haven’t seen that in a while.’
‘You’re right,’ said Hannah.
‘And you’ve lost me,’ I added.
‘See that company?’ said Vicky. ‘Sparkshave 1926? While you were getting bowled out for a duck yesterday, I was keeping my eye on the ball and doing my homework. That company was only incorporated a year ago. They’ve used a Work to deliberately age the board, make sure the place looks abandoned.’
‘I was unsighted. A plastic bag blew in front of the sight screen.’
‘Well done,’ said Hannah. ‘And there’s no doorbell or knocker, either.’
‘Not even a keyhole,’ said Vicky.
‘We don’t have one,’ I said. ‘The front doors at Elvenham don’t have a lock. Why have a lock when the servants can unbolt it from the inside?’
‘Is he like this at home?’ said Hannah.
‘Only when he doesn’t get his own way. Most of the time he’s quite normal. You should have heard the row when Myfanwy wanted Radio 1 on.’
‘And are we going to stand here all morning?’ I said.
Hannah looked at Vicky. ‘Is my hair straight?’ Vicky nodded,
and Hannah said to me, ‘Use your Badge of Office. Strike the door boss three times. Lightly.’
Vicky’s Badge is stamped on to a golden pickaxe round her neck. It’s purely ornamental. Hannah’s Badge is Caledfwlch itself, and only comes out of the Tower on special occasions. It’s not easy to carry on the train, either.
I took the Hammer out of its holster, ejected the clip and cleared the chamber. You don’t use a loaded gun as a doorknocker, no matter how gentle you are. I tapped three times. Slowly.
‘In the name of the King, open!’ said Hannah in her best beat bobby voice.
I reloaded while we waited.
Hannah didn’t jump. Vicky didn’t jump. I did.
‘Who’s there?’ said a voice from under our feet. I peered over the railings and saw a Gnome staring up at me from a hidden doorway.
‘The Peculier Constable,’ said Hannah, gathering her skirt to stop him looking up. I’m not saying he would, but…
His black eyebrows shot up and he emerged from the doorway to stand back at a more respectful angle. ‘Constable! Welcome. Do you want to come down? It’s a lot quicker.’
‘We go through the front door,’ said Hannah. ‘As it is commanded. Sorry and all that.’
‘Won’t be a tick,’ said the Gnome, his Black Country accent coming out. He disappeared and we went back to waiting. It took a lot longer than a tick. It took nearly two minutes, and it was getting cold out there. I doubt they get sunshine even in July.
There was a crack as paint ripped, a groan as timbers shifted and a whoosh as the great door was pulled back. The Gnome from downstairs had been joined by an older relative to help him get a grip, and we waited until it was fully open before following the Constable over the threshold.
‘Welcome, Constable,’ said the older Gnome. ‘I am second in Clan Flint. To what do we owe the honour?’
