Modern Magick

The Fifth Britain: 8

'You know you don't have to bargain, Ves,' said Baron Alban in his lovely congenial way. 'I am, as ever, happy to help.'

I beamed into the phone. 'Well then, I'll give you all the details over a pancake or something, but here's the situation...'

Even the abbreviated version took me a couple of minutes to tell, time which Zareen spent roaming around inspecting the gathered coaches with some interest. They really were coaches, not the species of bus which is these days awarded that name: tall, bulky vehicles with huge wheels and big windows. The difference between these and the horse-drawn varieties of old was simply the lack of horse. There wasn't a beast of burden in sight, and none of the coaches had traces to attach a horse to. They didn't work that way.

Zareen was clearly intrigued.

'Do you have any idea where the spire went?' said the Baron as I finished my tale. He sounded rather urgent about it, too.

'No, except that Melmidoc mentioned an "isle" a couple of times so I wonder if that's where he was going. Before you ask, no, I don't know anything more about it. He said nothing else of use.'

'An isle,' mused the Baron. 'What does that book of yours say about it?'

'I haven't asked him yet. We've been busy with the business of getting out of here. But I was hoping to consult him on the coach-ride home.'

'Ah,' said the Baron, and I could almost see his eyes twinkling with amusement. 'I perceive we come to the favour.'

'If you could get us onto one of those coaches,' I said, 'we would be eternally grateful. Otherwise it'll take us all day to get home, and that's a monumental waste of time.'

'Give me a moment.' The Baron rang off.

I joined Zareen. 'Never seen these before?'

She shook her head. 'How do they move?'

'Magick.'

She rolled her eyes. 'I guessed that, but—'

My phone rang, and I grabbed it. 'Yes?'

'Someone'll be there to help you in a few minutes,' said the Baron.

'You're a hero. Thank you.'

'Don't forget about that pancake date. I won't.' He hung up.

I beamed upon Zareen and gave a contented sigh. 'It's good to have friends,' I told her.

'Especially important ones?'

'There are times when that's useful.'

'This being one of them. That I will grant you.'

A woman came towards us at that moment — seven feet tall if she was an inch — and looked Zareen and I over appraisingly. She wore a long dress of indeterminate period, a practical periwinkle-blue garment devoid of fuss or flounces, with the sleeves rolled up over her elbow. She said something in the lilting Welsh tongue.

'I'm afraid we aren't Welsh-speakers,' I apologised.

Her scowl deepened. 'I asked how did you two come to have Baron Alban at your beck and call?'

She did not seem pleased at the idea. 'I helped him with a couple of problems,' I offered.

Her brows went up. 'Oh? And what were they?'

Clearly his orders weren't quite enough to win us this woman's goodwill. 'Some of the Enclaves were endangered,' I said briefly. 'We were able to save most of them.'