Tenfold

by Mark Hayden

  ‘Thank you for your welcome,’ said Hannah, leaving a slight pause before she continued. ‘I require an interview with your chief.’

  The subtleties of this were beyond me, but I know a power play when I see one. Of course the chief of Clan Flint would see the Constable, but she was requiring it. She must know what she’s doing.

  ‘As you say,’ said the older Gnome. ‘Please, follow me.’

  The hallway behind the never-used door was a beautiful example of high Victorian decoration: chessboard black and white tiles, Lincrusta panels under the dado rail and a gloomy flowered wallpaper above it. There was even a green baize door at the back, standing ajar. Half way down each wall were oversized doors that looked as little used as the one we’d just come through. The only furniture was a pair of scroll backed chairs close to the front door. Thirty years ago, my father would have given his eye teeth for those. Was the whole above-ground portion of the building just a shell?

  We got our answer when the clan second led us through the servants’ door and into a brightly lit, modern corridor, running parallel to the alley. He hurried us past an office with windows on to the corridor, an office with modern desks, computers and a mixture of staff. I say mixture, because you can spot a Gnome from a long way away. They are all short. The human men and women were all taller.

  Past the office, the corridor opened out into the hallway I’d expected: airy, open plan and relaxed. It also had the biggest thing missing from the false hall: a staircase. I didn’t want to be rude, so I didn’t try examining for magick, but I couldn’t work this place out. Had it been built as a shell originally, or converted into one? I didn’t get time to inspect the plasterwork, because we were off up the stairs.

  The first floor accommodation was much more Gnomely. The large landing had a Barbie clone at a reception desk, guarding three highly decorated pairs of doors behind her.

  ‘Louis XVI,’ I whispered, pointing to the doors while the clan second spoke to Barbie.

  ‘You what?’ said Vicky.

  ‘Downstairs was all Victorian, and this is all pre-Revolutionary France. Weird.’

  ‘Knowing the difference is weird.’

  ‘Shh,’ said Hannah.

  ‘One moment,’ said the Gnome. I reckoned that Hannah would give him twenty seconds.

  He disappeared through the central doors and I started counting. I’d got to fifteen when he reappeared, opening both doors to let us into an antechamber. That’s the only way to describe it. Louis XVI himself would have been proud of it.

  There was a generous skylight, but no windows to break the white panels round the room. Barbie’s older sister was sitting in a corner, behind a tiny desk that had only a telephone and a stack of papers on it. If she got bored, she could always look at herself in the mirrors or recline on one of the chaises longues. Behind her was a badly concealed hidden door, and if I know Gnomes, her real workplace would be through there, as would be the kitchen.

  The matching doors opposite us were already open, so Hannah strode straight through into the clan chief’s lair, and we were back in the land of Dickens.

  If the building were as old as it pretended, then this room was original, right down to the small fire burning in a large hearth to our left. Was that …? Yes. They were using sulphur coal, illegal in a smokeless zone. A pair of two-seater couches sat perpendicular to the fire, and were an island of calm and good taste. From there on out, chaos slowly took over, reaching its zenith at a metalworker’s bench against the right hand wall.

  Nuggets of gold were interspersed with crucibles, half-finished spring-driven contraptions and several black glass bottles. I could feel the heat from the coal fire on one side and the deeper warmth of magick radiating from the bench. Everything looked yellow, and that was either a side-effect of the magick or the consequence of lighting your room with gas lamps. Yes, really. Hissing gas lamps. You can take authenticity too far.

  An array of straight-backed chairs clustered around a coffee table in front of the monumental desk opposite the doors, and here was the clan chief, standing in front of his paper-strewn desk and smoothing down his suit jacket. No, it wasn’t a suit, because the pinstriped trousers didn’t match the long, almost frock coat in plain black. A black waistcoat was stretched over his paunch, and a gold watch chain led to a fob pocket. And then I noticed the most unexpected thing of all. A woman.

  An Asian, perhaps Iranian, woman in loose black trousers and a plain white shirt stood up from a chair at the desk’s side and took up a position to the Gnome’s left. She was the oldest female I’ve seen in the company of Gnomes, with lines on her forehead and grey in her hair. And gold bracelets covered with runes. Aah. A Mage.

  The clan second had been standing by the doors. When we were inside, he announced, ‘The Peculier Constable, Watch Captain Clarke and Watch Officer Robson, sir.’ And before you ask, no, we hadn’t given him our names. He left and closed the doors behind him.

  Wesley Flint bowed. ‘I am the chief of Clan Flint and you are welcome in our hall. Would you accept our hospitality? It would be an honour.’

  I did wonder. As a rule, you should always accept hospitality in the world of magick. Even from the Fae. Especially from them. It means you’re less likely to be eaten yourself, though it does change your status from visitor to guest, which means that you can’t attack your host either.

  Hannah gave the slightest of bows in return. ‘And I am honoured by the offer, but we have matters to discuss.’

  Wesley pointed to the chairs. ‘Will you at least sit down? It must have been a long journey from North London.’

  Vicky didn’t get it, I don’t think, but in my opinion, the clan chief had just made an anti-Semitic jibe at our Jewish leader.

  ‘In a moment, perhaps,’ said Hannah. She turned to the woman and had a dig of her own. ‘Do you work here, or are you family?’

  ‘This is Irina,’ said the Gnome. ‘Counsel to Clan Flint.’

  The two women acknowledged each other, and Hannah turned back to the chief. On the way up the stairs, she’d been rummaging in her battered leather tote bag and had found some paperwork. She held it up for everyone to see and said, ‘I got this in the Cloister Court this morning. It’s a writ for you to appear before the London Stone.’

  ‘On what matter?’ said Irina, with enough challenge in her voice to let everyone know that she was there with a job to do.

  ‘I’d rather not serve it,’ said Hannah. ‘Budget cuts, and all that. Just tell us what’s happened to the Dwarf, Niði and how much you were paying my Watch Captain to turn a blind eye.’

  ‘Are you accusing the Clan of bribery?’ said Irina.

  ‘You tell me,’ said Hannah, still addressing the chief.

  Gnomes may all be short, but they do have broad shoulders. Literally and metaphorically. Wesley Flint’s were particularly impressive, and they needed his paunch to balance his shape – without it, he’d look like an inverted pyramid. Above the shoulders, his neck barely rose above his collar before it merged into his head. His black hair was all brushed back, and was gathered into a loose bunch. I hesitate to use the word ponytail; think Viking braid instead. There were deep lines all over his face, and a red patch along his jaw that looked like a burn trying to heal.

  ‘Sit down, Constable,’ said the Gnome, ‘and I shall tell you of the Dwarf. Please.’ He echoed his words with an outstretched arm.

  Hannah took a chair with arms and made herself comfortable, crossing her legs and straightening her skirt. I waited until the chief and his counsel were sitting opposite Hannah, and took a chair with its back to the window for myself. Vicky sat next to the boss.

  Hannah put the writ in front of her on the coffee table and said, ‘Go on.’

  Wesley glanced at Irina, who nodded. He began his story, and I finally figured out what was going on with his accent. Yes, there was a hint of the Black Country to it, but if we weren’t sitting in Earlsbury, I’d have said that he was the child of a German father and a
Welsh mother. Perhaps he was.

  ‘I have known the Dwarf all my life,’ he said. ‘I first went to his halls before I could walk, carried on my father’s shoulders. What has happened to him is none of our doing, and I would swear that on the London Stone.’

  In other words, everything he said from now on would fail the truth, whole truth and nothing but test.

  ‘Niði has his Hall to the north of here. The old entrance was through Dudley Castle, but that’s history. For generations, the way to Niði’s Hall was by boat.’

  ‘Boat?’ said Hannah. I had an idea where this was going.

  ‘Along the Dudley Canal, where it goes underground. One of the canal’s branches leads towards the Wren’s Nest, and we provided the boats. Amongst other things. That’s how he got round, too. After all, there are more miles of canal in Birmingham than Venice.’

  Hannah was getting impatient.

  Wesley held up his hand. ‘The canal is important, Constable. Bear with me. It was closed for a while, and Niði lived elsewhere. It was not long – not long in our terms – after the canal re-opened that he dug a new Hall. A deeper Hall. And then, one day, my father’s boat disappeared. If nothing else, his death should be in your records.’

  Hannah took out her phone, and was surprised when she looked at the screen. I wasn’t. Why have gas lamps in your lair? And an oil lamp on your desk? Because there is no electricity. Her phone was dead. She gave the Gnome a hard stare. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Irina. ‘It will power up when you get outside. If the device was vulnerable, we would have warned you.’

  Hannah stuffed her phone back in her bag and took out a crushed, folded and stained set of printouts. Tennille would be appalled to see what had happened to her work. Hannah flicked through the pages. Then back. Then forwards. Her eyebrows rose and fell. ‘Thirty years ago,’ she said, then read out, ‘“Wesley Flint is acclaimed chief of Clan Flint on the death of his father. Circumstances unknown.”’ She refolded the papers and replaced them in her bag. ‘Sorry for your loss, Chief Wesley.’

  ‘Thank you. My brother and I took arms and went to see what had happened as soon as our father’s boat was missed. You’ll see yourself what I mean, because I know you’ll go down there.’ He glanced across the three of us. ‘Perhaps not the Constable, but one of you.’ Vicky’s nose was flaring. She was trying to control her breathing. Wesley continued, ‘There is a branch off the canal, just inside the Wren’s Nest Tunnel. Heavily concealed and dislocated, with a gate, too. The gate was open when we arrived. We drew our boat down the tunnel, as slowly as we could, fearing a rock fall, until we smelled the smoke.’

  Vicky couldn’t help herself. ‘Fire? Underground?’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Wesley. ‘The Dudley Tunnel complex has quite a few sections that are open to the sky. Niði’s dock is one – the sides of the opening are too high and too steep to get down, unless you abseil. Because of the opening, most of the smoke went straight up. My father’s boat was half under water, still tied to the dock. The doors to Niði’s Hall were standing open, and the two humans who’d been with the chief were lying dead on the landing stage, smashed against the wall and half-burnt.’

  ‘You went down,’ said Hannah.

  ‘We did. We got as far as the upper Hall, where there had been a battle. Our father was there.’ He had placed his hands on his knees when he started to speak. The only part of Wesley that moved, besides his mouth, was his knuckles as he made his hands into fists. ‘I’m telling you this because you need to know. He had been slashed open. There was more fire, more destruction. And the sounds. We feel them, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ said Hannah. She turned to me. ‘Gnomes can touch the rock and hear for a long distance. What did you hear, Chief Wesley?’

  ‘We heard two heartbeats. The Dwarf’s and another. Something I’ve never heard before. The Dwarf’s was fainter, deeper in the rock. We left before the other thing came looking for us. Every year I go back, and every year I hear them still: two heartbeats, one above the other.’

  The chief fell silent, his hands still clenched into fists, his eyes now on the past. By his side, Irina watched his face closely. It wasn’t quite concern in her expression, more observation.

  Hannah gave him a moment to gather himself, and began her questions. As PS Smith noted, she is a very good copper. ‘And you have no idea what this entity in the tunnels might be?’

  ‘No. The Dwarf’s presence is so strong down there that we couldn’t use any magick to work it out. Your guess is as good as ours.’

  ‘Forgive me, Chief Wesley, why have you not reported this? Would that have anything to do with the fact that you’ve been taking commissions on behalf of Niði for three decades?’

  ‘Read the small print,’ said Irina. ‘It says, The commission will be completed to Dwarven standards by Niði or other Artificers. Chief Wesley has fulfilled most of them himself. The most difficult ones were completed by Haugstari and other Dwarves.’

  I couldn’t resist it. ‘And how does Clan Skelwith feel about you doing business on their patch?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’ said Irina. ‘Are you going to tell them about it? Over a glass of Nimue’s water perhaps?’

  I made a doodle in my notepad, as if I were writing things down. It was full of doodles. ‘It might come up in conversation,’ I said with a smile.

  Irina rocked back, just a fraction. So, they don’t know everything about us. Reassuring. By the way, I am not in a hurry to go back to the Lakeland Particular. Unless that’s where Mina wants to go for our first holiday.

  The chief raised a hand to still Irina. ‘That’s over now. May I ask why the King’s Watch is interested in Niði?’

  Hannah ignored him. ‘This arrangement has benefited the Clan greatly. You could argue that it’s all worked out very well for you.’

  Wesley blinked at Hannah. ‘The same could be said for the death of your husband. It’s worked out nicely for you, Constable. I lost my father; the Clan lost its chief.’

  That must have hurt Hannah. She licked her finger and wiped something off her skirt, and when she looked up, her face was just a fraction less animated. ‘Watch Captain McKeever. His reports into Clan Flint are borderline fraud, and he ran away rather than answer questions. Why would that be?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said the chief. ‘Perhaps you were working him too hard, and he’d had enough.’

  ‘His area was huge,’ added Irina. ‘I’m sure he did his best in the circumstances.’ She turned her left hand over in a sort of Persian Shrug. ‘He may have guessed that we were selling on behalf of a Dwarf who couldn’t fulfil the bargains, and he may have turned a blind eye.’

  Unless she served the writ, Hannah wasn’t going to get any more out of them, and she knew it. ‘Very good. Are there other entrances to Niði’s Hall?’

  ‘The Castle entrance is sealed. There is an entrance from the Wren’s Nest, but that is blocked. We will provide a boat and escort to the dock, should you wish. If Niði made an entrance to his lower Hall, we know nothing of it. Perhaps now you could tell me why the Constable has come all this way to investigate a Dwarf?’

  We’d planned this. There was only one way to conceal the truth: hide it behind an enormous lie. Hannah looked at me.

  I showed my troth ring, a gift from the Allfather. ‘Odin has brought it to our attention. I’m sure you know about his link to the Dwarf.’

  Irina’s head jerked to look at Wesley. ‘Him? He is behind this?’

  Hannah took up the reins. ‘Once we knew of a potential issue threatening the King’s Peace, of course we were interested.’

  Wesley looked dubious. Irina flat out didn’t believe a word. I wonder why? Whatever the reason, they weren’t going to argue about it.

  Hannah looked at Vicky and me. ‘Anything else?’

  Vicky shook her head, but I coughed and said, ‘One thing, ma’am.’ I turned to the Gnome. ‘How bad is inflation round here? I’m talking the va
lue of Alchemical Gold: have your prices had to go up?’

  The Gnome sat up straight, and Irina stepped in. ‘Why do you want to know that?’

  I kept my eyes on Wesley Flint. ‘Have they?’

  ‘You know they have. You wouldn’t be asking otherwise,’ said the Gnome. ‘We have had real problems, as have others. Is the Watch interested in this?’

  ‘There may be a crime here,’ I said, ‘and we are looking into it. If Clans Skelwith, Octavius and Farchnadd all agree, would you supply anonymised data? Salomon’s House and Hledjolf are already on board with this.’

  Irina pursed her lips. ‘I don’t think…’

  ‘Yes,’ said the chief. ‘Ask my nephew, Lloyd. He’s the clan second, and he’s the one who will sort out access to Niði’s Hall. Unless the Constable requires another interview, of course.’

  Hannah was on her feet. She picked up the writ from the coffee table and handed it to me. ‘Burn that, Conrad, would you? Chief Wesley, thank you for your co-operation. We will be in touch.’

  She and Vicky shook hands with our hosts while I crossed to the open fire. Could I feel Irina’s gaze on my back? I placed the writ carefully in the flames and got a powerful whiff of magick. They weren’t just burning sulphur coal for nostalgia – it was doing something, and that something was up the chimney, somewhere, because the magick wasn’t flowing into the room until I disturbed the coals.

  Chief Wesley rang a big bell on his desk, and the doors opened as I shook his hand, ‘Good luck,’ he said.

  ‘I hate it when people say that, sir. Makes me think they know something I don’t, and they usually do.’

  Wesley laughed, for the first time, and said, ‘Then I withdraw it. Go well, Conrad.’

  Irina’s fingers barely touched mine, and her bracelets were glowing as if they’d cut off the supply of blood and Lux to her hands. They subsided when I stepped back.

  19 — Train-ing

  Back in the antechamber, the clan second was passing out and receiving business cards. ‘Would you like to leave by the car park entrance? If you come back, it’s easier to get in that way.’