Tenfold

by Mark Hayden

  Hannah nodded, and when we’d returned to the ground floor, he showed us through to the general reception area, at the back of the building. After more handshakes, we found ourselves in a small car park behind Earlsbury’s high street. As one, we turned round to see what was going on.

  The back of Flint House was really the front. A modern concrete building had been somehow welded to the Victorian Gothic nightmare we’d gone through. Hannah looked at Vicky. ‘Why did you take us round the other side?’

  ‘No idea, ma’am. This side didn’t seem to be Flint House at all.’

  ‘Look. Up there,’ I said, pointing to the roof. ‘See that smoke? I think there’s something very weird going on with the fire in the clan chief’s room. Don’t ask me why.’

  ‘Bloody Gnomes. Hate them,’ said Hannah. ‘Let’s get off their land.’

  Hannah and Vicky walked across the car park, but I couldn’t resist turning back for a last look at the grimy slate roof of the old building and the yellow tinged smoke drifting out of the chimney. I left Flint House with two lasting impressions – that they were hiding something important in plain sight, and that we weren’t finished here.

  Once off the premises, Hannah saw another alley, away at an angle, and quick-marched down it until we were out of sight of the Gnomes.

  ‘Conrad, turn round and watch the road. I need to get this thing off my head before I kill one of you for no reason and regret it later.’ I did as she bid, and there was a much happier looking Constable when I turned back. Today’s headscarf was a bold imperial purple.

  ‘Lunch,’ said Hannah. ‘I’m starving. Let’s try the George. Seems okay.’

  We wandered in and found a corner. I got in the drinks and menus. ‘What are you having?’ said Hannah.

  Vicky and I looked at each other. ‘Beef!’ we chorused.

  ‘That bad?’ said Hannah.

  ‘Forbidden beef is always juicier,’ I replied. ‘Excuse me first, I’m going for a smoke.’

  You wouldn’t describe the George as a gastropub, but those burgers were just what Vicky and I needed. You can guess what Hannah ordered, I’m sure, and she finished well before us.

  ‘This is going to take a while to sort out,’ she said. ‘I’m not sending you down a canal tunnel, even with your ammunition, until I’ve done a lot more thinking and talking and planning.’

  That was a relief. Vicky looked undecided: if she had to go there, she might rather do it today and get it over with, even if that meant certain death. She really doesn’t like underground things. I mumbled my support with a mouth full of beef.

  Hannah checked her notes. ‘There’s the obvious questions, such as whether anyone else has heard anything and what might be down the tunnels. I also want to know about that woman. Those bracelets hid her magick like wearing a full face veil. I couldn’t get any sort of a clue as to what manner of Mage she was. Did you get anything, Vicky?’

  ‘Sorry, Boss. I reckon I could decode her imprint, but I’d need Conrad to hold her down first.’

  ‘Thank you for that image. So, this business with magickal price inflation. That wouldn’t be Project Midas, would it?’

  I wiped my hands. ‘Yes, ma’am. If the Gnomes cough up some data, my outside consultant should have something to report in a couple of weeks.’

  She looked ticked off. ‘You can use her name, you know. Will she really have something to say, or is it all just a gesture?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. She’s doing it for nothing, so it won’t be coming off your budget.’

  ‘Hmmph.’ She looked at Vicky, who was wiping a chip round her plate as if we weren’t there. ‘You’re keeping out of this, aren’t you?’

  ‘Out of what, ma’am?’ said Vicky, as if she had a full pat of unmelted butter in her mouth.

  ‘Fair enough. While we gather intelligence on Niði’s Halls, there’s a lot else on my plate, including the whole of the West Midlands now that Mack’s no longer with us, and I’ve been thinking.’ She saw the look on my face and pointed her soup spoon at me. ‘Don’t say a word.’ She put the spoon down. ‘I want you two to cover as Watch Captain for the region, until we can make more progress. It’s the only option that doesn’t risk a real crisis. I hate to say this, but neither of you could do it on your own. Yet. Together, you’ll do a great job. I can’t force you, Vicky, but he’ll be living at home, and would you mind lodging in his guest wing for a bit?’

  ‘It’s not that big,’ I shot back. ‘But yes, there is room for Vicky, on one condition: you pay her an overnight allowance and a contribution to the running costs.’

  Vicky is very short of money. A lot of what she earns goes to pay her grandmother’s nursing home bills. She looked both embarrassed and grateful.

  ‘Of course,’ said Hannah. ‘Seems fair. Why are you standing up for Vicky’s welfare, Conrad? You’re up to something, I just want to know what.’

  ‘That’s easy,’ I said. ‘The Clerkswell Ladies need her, and she needs intensive work in the nets.’

  ‘He’s got you playing cricket? How? Why?’

  ‘To be fair,’ said Vicky, ‘it’s Myfanwy who’s got me roped in. I did suggest a women’s football team, but that went down like the proverbial.’

  Hannah looked at her watch and her phone. ‘Let’s check out the Dudley Canal. You can drop me at somewhere called Coseley. There’s trains from there to Birmingham every half an hour.’

  The Dudley Canal is now a tourist attraction, attached to the Black Country Living Museum, through which we walked to get there, just like a weird family on a day out. I don’t know what Hannah did at the ticket office, but she came back with passes and I saw no money change hands.

  We did look round a bit, and Vicky said that it was clearly modelled on Beamish in County Durham, where she spent a lot of time when she was a kid. ‘Beamish is better, of course,’ she added. ‘At least you can understand the guides. What did he say back there?’

  Vicky averted her gaze when we walked past the guided tour of the coal mine, as did Hannah when we came across a man selling pork scratchings from a tray.

  The big thing with trips through the Dudley canal tunnel is that there is no towpath and no ventilation, so diesel engines are banned. If you want to get through, it’s electric or lying on your back and “legging” it along the tunnels with your boots on the side walls.

  ‘Not me,’ said Vicky. ‘Too weak.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Hannah. ‘Dodgy knee.

  ‘Titanium tibia,’ I added. ‘We’ll have to get some Gnomes.’

  The one piece of useful information we got was that the Wren’s Nest tunnel had been closed for decades.

  ‘Take me to Coseley,’ said Hannah. ‘That’s not a sentence I ever thought I’d utter. I’ll get Maxine to forward you all of Mack’s current caseload and give you access to his files.’

  It’s funny, you know. Since joining the King’s Watch, I’ve tackled Spirits, a Dragon, a mad Lakeland revenger, and I’ve been nearly blown up. None of those things is part of a Watch Captain’s normal duties, as I found out over the next two weeks. It was challenging, yes, and the visit to the Foresters of Arden was a real eye-opener: for one thing, I got to know my friend Chris Kelly’s mother. I learnt a lot, too, but those stories are best told by Vicky. After all, she did most of the magickal heavy lifting.

  A lot else happened during those two weeks, if you add it all together. Myfanwy worked in the garden, and spent at least two nights at Ben’s cottage. She looked a lot happier. At one point, I had to make a difficult phone call to Rachael, informing her that her childhood pride and joy, the tennis court, was going to disappear in Myfanwy’s plans for the landscaping. She took it better than I thought she would, and said that she’d been impressed when she met Alain Dupont for lunch, impressed enough to arrange for a formal interview by the HR team at her firm.

  I even got Vicky out of the house occasionally to go for a walk and get some exercise. I know. Wonders will never cease.

 
Mina returned for the first weekend. The Clerkswell Ladies had gone from strength to strength, at least in terms of numbers. A couple of students away from home had promised to join in at the end of term, and on the Saturday, they had a dozen volunteers ready for their first coaching session, led by Ben and ably assisted by Yours Truly.

  ‘I thought you were at work,’ said Ben as we surveyed the assortment of spare junior equipment we’d cobbled together.

  ‘So did I. We’ve been reassigned for a bit. Stephen deserves a game. He is the Chairman.’

  ‘Thanks, Conrad. And thanks for bringing Myfanwy here.’ He concentrated on examining the helmets and didn’t look up. ‘She’s from your world, isn’t she? Cloak and dagger brigade?’ I said nothing. ‘I know I’m a bloke, but I’m not stupid. Do you know something: Old Mrs Evans and Mr Jones have been out of the village more often than she has. Two of her best friends are the DPD courier and the Tesco home delivery guy.’

  ‘I can’t speak for her, Ben. I can vouch for her, but I can’t speak for her.’

  He put down the helmet as we heard voices outside the pavilion. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘But the big question is, can she bat?’

  ‘Let’s find out.’

  I have coached women before. In the RAF. The proper coach was much better than me, and she was a woman. Then she got posted, and I stepped in for a month. Do you want my considered opinion on the difference between male and female sportspeople? No? Well, you’re getting it anyway. Take two groups of inexperienced players, one male and one female, a bit like the group waiting for us outside. In my experience, the women will form a team bond much, much more quickly than the men.

  I knew most of the women by name or by sight, and it was nice to see that Myfanwy had made friends who weren’t delivery drivers. Ben took the net for batting, and I handled the bowlers. Fast bowlers can be angry people, and Emily Ventress lived up to the legend.

  She was good. Unfortunately, she was the only one who’d been actually been taught how to bowl properly, and she had a real tendency to no-ball. Also, she was shy and reluctant to try coaching the older women on her own. In Ben’s net, things were going much better, and yes, Myfanwy could bat.

  I was having a smoke and wondering how to move on from absolute zero when Mina came over.

  ‘Your knees will be killing you, keeping wicket all the time,’ she said to me. ‘Let me have a go.’

  Ben had been rotating his group behind the stumps as they finished batting, but I’d done it all myself for convenience and to get a good look at the bowlers’ line and length. Mina had already found a pair of gloves small enough, and I wasn’t going to say no. It was only when I’d been relieved of my duties that I started to notice things other than how bad the bowlers were. There were fingers being pointed at the back of my net. At Mina.

  One of Myfanwy’s new friends is Rosie, bar manager at the Inkwell and local legend for joining in everything that happens in the village. She’s also the Slimming World consultant, which is how she’d got talking to Myvvy. I took a second to ask Ben how Rosie was doing with the bat.

  ‘Too slow,’ said Ben. ‘Shame, ’cos she’s keen enough.’

  ‘Can I borrow her to try out for bowling?’

  He gave me a strange look. ‘Of course, mate. All yours.’

  I’m afraid she was no good at bowling, either, but I did get her on her own. ‘What are they saying about Mina?’

  Rosie is the nosiest person in Clerkswell, and that’s saying something. ‘It’s just gossip,’ she said. Oh dear.

  ‘Spill, Rosie. Don’t make me put you in to bat against Emily Ventress.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s not true.’

  ‘I mean it. She’s just getting warmed up now.’

  ‘Mina was in the shop last weekend, and she dropped her credit card. Someone picked it up and looked at her surname. They reckon she murdered someone, and that she’s in prison and that’s why she keeps disappearing.’

  ‘That someone wouldn’t be Juliet Bloxham, would it?’

  Rosie shook her head and handed me the ball. ‘I’d better go. My shift starts in half an hour and I need to get changed.’

  ‘Thanks, Rosie.’

  ‘What for? I didn’t say nothing. See you later.’

  I tossed the ball in the air and went to see Ben. ‘Can we swap for five minutes. I think Mina’s got the makings of a good keeper, but I’m biased. I want you to check her out and I’ll put some spin down for your batters.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  After a couple of overs, it was Juliet Bloxham’s turn. As she came past me, I stopped her, pointed to the ball and stepped into her personal space, as if demonstrating something. ‘It’s all true, you know, except that it was self-defence, not murder. Big difference.’

  Juliet took a step back. ‘An unarmed man against a gun? I wouldn’t call that self-defence.’

  I took a step closer. ‘Well, I’d start doing so, if I were you, and I’d start doing it now, before it’s too late.’ I stepped back and let her make her way to the crease.

  ‘What was that all about?’ said Myfanwy, who’d been watching closely.

  ‘The truth is out there. About Mina.’

  ‘No! What can we do?’

  ‘Stick by her. Talk to Rosie and put her straight. She’s come through worse.’

  ‘She has. Did you just go easy on Jules when you bowled at her?’

  ‘Yes. I’m giving her a chance to put things right.’

  I needn’t have bothered. At the game that afternoon, Stephen Bloxham came up to me while he was waiting to bat.

  ‘Do that a lot, do you? Intimidate women? Jules was that close to reporting you to the committee after this morning.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. That threw him.

  ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘Intimidate women. If I need to. Especially when they want to kill me. You should remember something, Stephen: Clerkswell Manor may be made of stone, but it’s very much a glass house.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That you should both think twice before making accusations. Leave Mina to make her own way.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll start a youth team,’ said Bloxham. ‘Then everyone will have to do a criminal records check. I wonder who’d fail?’

  ‘Go and calm down or you won’t concentrate when you’re batting.’

  ‘As if you care.’

  ‘I do. I’m a team player. If you get fifty, I’ll be at the front of the queue to buy you a drink.’

  Clerkswell – or Clerkswell Men, as I’ll no doubt have to call them in future – did scrape a win, because Ben hung on like a solo yachtsman in a gale. The Ladies’ practice this morning must have sharpened his edge, and my money was safe in my pocket because Stephen Bloxham was out for a duck, lashing at a full toss and missing completely. Ben hit the winning runs in the next over and allowed Myfanwy to give him a kiss when he carried his bat off the pitch.

  I was under no illusions about the Bloxhams. They were not going to warm to Mina, and Juliet would definitely continue her campaign, if she thought it would hurt me. On the other hand, they were both practical people. Nasty, but practical. If the village embraced Mina Desai, the Bloxhams would join in enthusiastically.

  Later, in the Inkwell, Ben took me to one side. ‘About the Ladies,’ he said. ‘I’ve got two groups, I think. One needs polishing, because they’ve got the basics, and the other group will need a lot of work before they’re ready for a game. Unfortunately, we haven’t got eleven in the first group. Is there any chance you could help the bowlers?’

  ‘If I can. How did the Elvenham contingent get on?’

  ‘Myfanwy’s well on the way and Mina has the makings of a good keeper. Her batting’s a bit rusty, though.’ He looked over to the corner, where Vicky was talking to Nell from the village shop. ‘I’m afraid that cricket doesn’t come naturally to Geordies. If she practises a lot… maybe?’

  ‘Cheers, Ben.’

  On Monday morning, Vicky said, ‘I know wh
en I’m beat, Conrad. Now that the team’s up and running, I’ll walk away. Until the autumn, and if I’m still forced to live in your house, which is most unnatural by the way, I’ll start a women’s football team or die trying.’

  ‘My house is not unnatural.’

  ‘Your house has been visited by two gods, a Spectre, an Indian snake-woman and has a sídhe door in it, and that’s just since I’ve been here. The food’s good, though.’

  20 — Let’s go on a Dwarf Hunt

  There is no weekend out for prisoners ahead of their release on licence, at least not at HMP Cairndale. Mina says that this is because so many of her sisters in jail have a tendency to mess up, especially before release, and this rule saves them from themselves. You have to be very, very bad to get called back once your licence has been issued.

  Vicky and I left Clerkswell on the Friday afternoon following the first Ladies’ coaching session. I think Vicky was getting lonely, or bored, or just missed the city. At Paddington, she headed for the taxi rank with a smile on her face, and I headed to the City for a drink with Alain, after a meeting with Hannah that she’d made me keep quiet about.

  Everyone else was packing up for the weekend, and Tennille had already gone. We were good, though, because Shabbos didn’t begin until ten to nine tonight. Hannah, to my amazement, was wearing a loose pair of linen trousers and a much baggier shirt. Perhaps she’d joined the Heidi Marston fan club. No. Not going to happen, and that reminded me of something, but before I could ask, Hannah offered me a dram of the finest whisky that’s ever been distilled: Dawn’s Blessing. No one knows for sure, but I reckon that they use an enchanted still. And the barley must be harvested at midnight by elves riding unicorns. It’s that good.

  She even gave me an embrace when I arrived.

  ‘Thanks, ma’am,’ I said, raising the glass. ‘What’s the occasion?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, waving her hand. I would have described it as waving her hand breezily, but she didn’t quite pull it off. Hannah goes from calm to tempest without passing through breeze. ‘Just to say thank you for coming all the way over to Merlyn’s Tower. And for not telling Vicky about this meeting. Was that hard?’