Wings over Water (A King's Watch Story Book 2)

by Mark Hayden

  Wings over Water

  Table of Contents

  A Note to the Reader

  Prologue — A Visitor

  1 — Soft Landings

  2 — Lessons of the Past

  3 — Teamwork

  4 — The Big Guns

  5 — Defence of the Realm

  6 — In Her Name

  7 — Patience

  8 — A Day of Rest

  Author’s Note

  Table of Contents

  WINGS OVER WATER

  A King’s Watch Story - Book 2

  by Mark Hayden

  Copyright © Paw Press 2019

  www.pawpress.co.uk

  Front Cover © Lawston Design 2019

  www.lawstondesign.com

  Images © Shutterstock

  Dedication

  For Ian Sherry,

  Conrad’s First public fan and

  Proud citizen of God’s Own County

  Welcome to Wings over Water…

  This story is a shorter adventure from the tales of the King’s Watch and takes place alongside the main narrative.

  To be specific, this story takes place about one quarter of the way through Nine of Wands, Fifth Book of the King’s Watch.

  You don’t need to have read any of the Books to follow this story.

  All the characters mentioned here, and all the special magickal terms are explained in the Who’s Who and Magickal Glossary on the Paw Press website:

  www.pawpress.co.uk

  Prologue — A Visitor

  There are a lot of officers in the RAF. Far more than in the Army or the Royal Navy. You can draw your own conclusions about this, and plenty have – you can read their comments online. As I’m an RAF officer myself, I shall maintain a dignified silence. Given the proliferation of stripes and braids, it shouldn’t have made the hairs on the back of my neck tingle when one of them walked into the mess. But it did.

  I was finishing my supper at RAF Shawbury and minding my own business in a corner of the communal mess. I’m only a humble student at the moment, taking a refresher course on flying helicopters, and I’m in class of one, so there aren’t even any fellow students to moan at. A couple of diners nodded to me, then ignored me when I sat on my own and got out my phone to Whatsapp my girlfriend.

  I finished the message, and seconds later the screen said that Mina had read it. Mission accomplished. If you’re interested, the message was sleep well, because she’s in India, and it was past her bed-time. I began to think about taking a coffee outside to go with a cigarette, until the air moved ever so slightly, and those hairs started to tingle. I looked up and saw a female officer in full uniform, carrying a case and staring at me from the doorway. It could have been my survival instinct that told me she was there, or she could be a Mage. When we made eye contact, she started walking nervously over to my table.

  Out of habit, I checked out her uniform first. She was a flight lieutenant in the RAF Police (motto: Let there be Justice. Nickname: the Arctic Monkeys). My first thought was what have I done wrong? Then I remembered that I’m on the right side of the law for these days, and my second thought was panic: has there been an accident to Mum and Dad in Spain? Or Rachael in London?

  She gave me a hesitant smile. No one smiles when they’re doing a death knock. I noticed the visitor’s badge, and then I noticed the person wearing it. Before I could look too closely, she was at my table and saluting. I saluted back.

  ‘Squadron Leader Clarke?’ she said. I nodded. ‘Could I have a word, sir?’

  ‘Get us some coffee and you can have a whole conversation. Black, please.’

  She put her case down and went for coffee. I took a proper look at her as she crossed the mess. She was slightly under average height for RAF women, and looked a little square in her uniform, an impression that came from strong shoulders. Her hair was fair, what little of it I could see that wasn’t stuffed into her cap. When she turned round to bring the coffee back, she concentrated hard on carrying the cups and there was a determined set to her jaw.

  She put the drinks down and offered her hand. ‘I’m Roberta Woodhouse, sir. Everyone calls me Woody, except my wife. She calls me Bobbi.’

  That was a rather loaded introduction, and had too much information for a military visit. The determination in her face was tempered with nerves and a hesitant smile.

  ‘Have a seat, please,’ I said, ‘and call me Conrad. Where are you based?’

  ‘I’m in the reserves.’

  That would explain the crisp uniform and the personal nickname. Regular officers in the RAF Police don’t have printable nicknames. Or first names, come to that, and she’d told me her status, but not her base of operations.

  ‘So what are you doing stalking a humble chopper pilot in Shropshire?’

  By way of an answer, she took out a business card. ‘I have the worst job title in the world. Here.’

  The card had her name, rank and phone number on one side. I turned it over and found a coat of arms with the caption Peculier Necromancer. I could see her point: definitely a dodgy job title. I put the card down.

  ‘How come I’ve never heard of you?’

  ‘I don’t work for the King’s Watch, not that I wouldn’t love to, if I could. I work for Historic Royal Palaces.

  I was confused. ‘Your lot look after the Tower of London, and you’re a Mage, but not in the Watch. You’re RAF, like me, but Hannah’s never mentioned you.’

  She shifted uncomfortably, picked up her coffee and put it down again. ‘I try to keep a low profile. It’s much easier to do my job if I don’t get involved in magickal politics.’

  I grunted. ‘If only I could do the same. What is your job, precisely?’

  ‘It used to be called Royal Exorcist. My predecessors dealt with unquiet Spirits on royal property.’

  ‘Oh. That’s a job and a half. Did one of them have to deal with the Princes in the Tower?’

  She smiled. ‘Who knows? The records were mostly destroyed during the Reformation, and it’s not something they’d have written down anyway. When the Invisible College was set up, they changed the name to Peculier Necromancer and it became a post in the Army. We shifted to the RAF after World War Two.’

  ‘Aah. Because of Bomber Command?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry. Yes, Conrad. In 1945, there were a lot of haunted airfields. Not so much, any more, which is why I’m only in the Reserves, not full time.’

  ‘And how did you get the job?’

  ‘Born to it, in a way. My dad was an officer in the Engineers, so I was an Army brat. Until I started having the visions, that is.’

  I had wondered about her accent: vaguely southern, vaguely public school. Growing up on military bases is not an easy life. To combine that with incipient magickal powers would be potentially devastating. Now I’d had a chance to look closely, I reckoned that she was about thirty years old. She must have been doing this a while, and I made a mental note to Google Toy Story. I wonder how old she was when she picked up Woody as a nickname?

  ‘And what brings you to Shawbury?’

  ‘It’s a long story. If you give the Constable a ring, she’ll explain, but she wants you to help me.’

  ‘I’ll call her in a minute. Help with what?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the base commander. He’s happy to let you fly as PIC to RAF Leeming tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up and explain everything then.’

  I’m sure you’re wondering: PIC is short for Pilot in Command – what they call Captain on holiday jets. It would be my first time as PIC since before the crash that shattered my leg. I nodded my head slowly as I took it in. ‘You’ve come a long way to tell
me that.’

  She shrugged. A very stiff shrug. ‘I needed to see the CO, and I knew it would be much easier for you to believe if you saw me in person. And vice versa. I need you in Yorkshire on Friday.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘New moon. The Spirits will be easier to see.’

  That wasn’t the most inviting incentive I’ve ever heard, but definitely intriguing. ‘I can’t wait. I’ll text you my ETA before we take off. I’ll try not to crash on the way over.’

  ‘Thanks, Conrad, and don’t forget to pack your dress uniform.’ She saluted and left me to finish my coffee.

  I waited until she’d left the mess and took the coffee outside, along with my fags and my phone. I called Hannah Rothman, my boss and the commanding officer of the King’s Watch. She answered on the first ring.

  ‘You’ve met Woody, then?’ she said.

  ‘I have. How come you decided that now was a good time for me to meet her?’

  ‘She asked for your help. Your reputation spreads by the day, it seems.’ Hannah is as dry as the white wine she slurps.

  ‘It’s a good job I have you to keep me modest, ma’am.’

  ‘Quite right, too. What do you make of her?’

  ‘More to the point, what can you tell me about her?’

  ‘She’s legit. Not up to me to say more than that. I can’t order you to help her, you know.’

  ‘Would it make your life awkward if I said no?’

  Hannah laughed and finished the call by saying, ‘You make my life awkward just by breathing, but several people will owe us a favour if you agree to help.’

  ‘Then count me in. I’ll keep you posted, ma’am.’

  ‘Good. And take care, Conrad.’

  1 — Soft Landings

  It was a bit of an exaggeration to call it night flying. The sun had barely gone down, and it was definitely light enough to see any obstacles. Far too easy for my training officer. ‘We’ll go via Snowdon,’ he announced. ‘And just to make it interesting, you can touch down on top of Cader Idris.’

  His definition of interesting clearly came from a different dictionary to mine. Putting a three tonne helicopter down on top of a mountain in the dark was under daft, see scary in my dictionary. It would be good practice, though. If we lived.

  He flew as second pilot, and one of the next generation lurked in the back. She would be sitting in his seat when they dropped me off. I calculated the route and flying time before sending Woody a text, much to the training officer’s disgust. ‘Would you like to me to whistle Yankee Doodle Dandy while we manoeuvre?’ I said.

  ‘Shut up and get in, before I call it off and go home to my bed.’

  The trouble with flying so fast (over 150mph) is that you can run into weather. The cold front that was going to rain off the weekend’s cricket was already crossing the Irish Sea as we passed over Snowdonia, and Cader Idris has commanding views of the waves. During the day, of course.

  Right now, it was getting distinctly blowy and the TO was swallowing nervously. He’d added the glory landing because he could, and because he didn’t often get to boss a squadron leader around. Now that he could feel the chopper pitching, he was having second thoughts.

  You can’t actually land on the summit. I selected a flattish area just east that looked big enough on the map, provided I missed the plunge on either side down to a watery grave. I flew over the site, barely visible under the clouds, and said, ‘Will that do?’

  He swallowed hard. ‘If you think it’s safe.’

  I took the Jupiter round in a big arc. You can’t just plonk a helicopter on a sixpence: they take a long time to slow down. It was time to find out if my magickally augmented sense of direction would work under pressure.

  Yes, is the answer. I let the skids touch the grass for a second before putting on the power and rising over the trig point on the actual summit.

  ‘How did you do that without the ground display?’ said the training officer with a squeak.

  ‘Practice. Can we go to Leeming now?’

  He shut up after that.

  Woody found me lurking behind one of the hangars, sneaking a cigarette, and she tried not to let the disapproval show on her face. She looked much more human in civvies, with her hair in a ponytail and jeans instead of the uniform skirt.

  ‘Good flight?’ she asked.

  ‘It was interesting. Are we going far?’

  ‘Malton, north east of York. We’re staying at the Talbot, and I’ve already checked us both in.’

  That was a good job, because we wouldn’t be there until well after one in the morning.

  She pointed to the car park. ‘That’s mine.’

  I peered into the dark. All I could see was a dumpster. ‘Where?’

  ‘There. The Yaris Hybrid.’

  Oh. Not a dumpster. It just looked like one. ‘Why don’t you have a 4x4 or a sports car like normal Mages?’

  Woody had stopped underneath a light. She looked at the car while she answered. ‘Frances cycles everywhere or gets the train. I can’t. She wanted me to get an all-electric car, but I have to dash all over the country at short notice. You can’t do that in an EV, so this was the compromise. It does 80 miles to the gallon.’

  ‘I’m sure it does. So long as I can fit in.’

  By way of an answer, she clicked the remote and the hazards flashed. I had to put my kit bag on the back seat, because the “boot” was already full of wellingtons, waterproofs and a rucksack. I didn’t ask where she kept her AK47. Perhaps it’s just me that drives around with a small arsenal.

  It took so long for me to adjust the seat to a position where my neck wasn’t going to break that we were well out of the base before I surfaced. ‘So what’s this all about, Woody? If we’re both at the hotel, I take it you don’t live nearby.’

  ‘Cambridge,’ she said, as if that explained everything. When she glanced at my face and saw that it didn’t, she shuffled in the driving seat. ‘Most of the old airfields are around East Anglia and Lincolnshire, so I settled there. It’s where I met Frances, too.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  ‘Yes. She’s a Reader in English at the University. Malbranche College. You’re from Gloucestershire, aren’t you?’

  ‘I suspect you know a lot more about me than that.’

  ‘Only the magickal stuff. And that you’re in a relationship.’

  ‘I am. She’s in India at the moment, visiting family. She’ll be getting up soon.’ We got on to the A170 and she put her foot down, or as far down as the Toyota would let her. ‘Talking of getting up, what time are we on parade in the morning?’

  ‘No rush. We’re meeting some people at eleven, and it’s not far from the hotel.’

  I was getting tired of this. ‘What people?’

  She hemmed and checked the satnav. ‘Archaeologists. They’re doing a dig at former RAF Draxholt.’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘It was only in use for a short while, towards the end of the war. Not much more than a cleared airstrip and a few huts.’

  ‘So they’re not military archaeologists. What do they want and why are we seeing them? Why am I seeing them?’

  ‘You can pretend to be my supervisor.’ She said it with a laugh. ‘That’s why I asked you to bring your parade uniform.’

  ‘Pretend?’

  ‘Everyone needs a supervisor. You know, when you ring the call centre and get grief off them, you ask to speak to a supervisor. It isn’t really a supervisor, it’s their mate at the next desk. They say the same thing, so you ask to speak to the manager, but the manager’s busy and they’ll ring you tomorrow.’

  ‘That makes me your mate at the next desk, then. What are we saying “no” to?’

  ‘I want them to suspend the dig and clear the site from 12:00 tomorrow until 14:00 on Saturday, but they’re not happy. There’s a bunch of undergrads coming from ULIST for the weekend, and they don’t want them going down the pub and getting wrecked.’

  ‘Fine. Why do y
ou want them off site? Presumably for magickal reasons.’

  ‘I’m notified of all digs on Crown property and try to check them out first. They normally go home on Saturday nights, so I did my visit last weekend. We need them off-site tomorrow night.’

  She went quiet. That didn’t sound good.

  ‘What happened last Saturday?’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated. I’d rather show you.’

  She’d gone too far now. Any situation involving magick could put my life in danger as quickly as snapping your fingers. Even quicker without a proper briefing.

  ‘Come on. Why show me when you’re sitting here with nothing else to do but follow the Satnav?’

  She drew a short breath through her nose and her arms went rigid on the steering wheel. Even in the dark, I could tell that she was blushing.

  ‘It’s because I’m not sure, sir. It’s not dangerous, but it’s all very unexpected. I’d say it was all old wives’ tales, if I didn’t talk to Spirits on a regular basis and if I wasn’t banned from using the expression. Frances doesn’t like it.’

  I eased off a bit on the mission. She was clearly happier talking about her private life than her professional one. ‘And what does Frances think of the world of magick? I take it she’s not a natural.’

  Woody barked a laugh. ‘You could say that. If I’m honest, she doesn’t want to believe at all, but she’s got no choice. She just pretends it’s not there and treats my life like it’s a form of social work.’ She hesitated. ‘What does your girlfriend think of it? I take it she knows.’

  ‘She doesn’t just know, she was present at a manifestation of the Morrigan. And she’s met the Allfather.’

  ‘Wow! Frances’s head would explode if that happened.’ The undertone of jealousy was clear. ‘What’s her name, if you don’t mind me asking?’