Бен Ааронович - The Hanging Tree

‘I like the Dark Ages,’ said Martin Chorley rolling the syllables around in his mouth. ‘When a man could make himself a myth.’

I could have talked archaeology and Victorian romanticism all day, but alas work had to take precedence. So while I let Martin Chorley monologue away, I laid my plans against him.

Anyone can sense another person doing magic, if they’re close enough and they know what to look out for. In fact you can’t learn magic without someone to demonstrate the formae first. Right from the start I’d wondered whether some forms were ‘louder’ than others and it’s not a hard experiment to set up. For once Nightingale didn’t object, partly because sensing formae is the key to winning a magical duel. But mostly, I think, because it forced me to practise producing a consistent effect, which he is very big on.

So we discovered that you can sense loud splashy spells such as impello or a fireball from as much as ten metres away. It’s down to two to three for normal were-lights and things like raising a shield, but less than a metre for certain variations on lux – particularly those that pushed the wavelength into the infrared. So while Martin Chorley indulged his strange need to confide in me, I slowly and carefully created a little invisible heat sphere, which I’m really going to have to come up with a name for, and nudged it in the direction of the nearest sprinkler head.

It was a top-of-the-line system and the reaction was almost instantaneous.

A good sprinkler system is gravity fed. The water comes from a big tank mounted as high as is practical and when the valves on the sprinkler heads activate, down that water comes. It’s a robust system with a minimum of moving parts and no pumps to malfunction at the wrong moment. The water keeps coming until the reservoir is exhausted.

I knew that and, judging by the peeved expression on Martin Chorley’s face, so did he.

I’d love to say I had a plan for what followed, but I’d be lying.

I used the distraction to ease myself into a slightly better position, palms down on the decking ready to lever myself over and up, but Martin Chorley wasn’t that distracted.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ he said. ‘Face down, hands on your head.’

I complied, linking my fingers in the wet hair at back of my head. When someone’s threatening you, you tend to pay attention. Which is why I was looking in the right direction when the Tesla S came drifting around the far corner of the garage and raced towards us.

At first it just appeared, as if a silver shape was silently growing amongst the artificial rain, and I assumed it was someone else doing a spell. But then I registered the distinctive frowny face emoticon grille and realised what it was coming our way.

You’d be amazed how fast you can get to your feet when you have to, and I didn’t even bother to go fully upright. I scrambled hand-and-foot to the side like a chimp. I like to think that any remote human ancestors watching from that big savannah in the sky would have given me full points for speed and agility, if not for style.

‘Not so fast,’ said Martin Chorley before he realised that something was behind him. He spun round to look and that was almost the last thing he ever did. I think he got some kind of barrier up before the Tesla hit him – and I’m certain that the driver corrected their course to make sure they hit him full on. I saw a flash of red hair in the driver’s seat – left hand, I noticed, so it was an import – and guessed that Reynard Fossman had wisely decided to get his retaliation in early.

I completely understood his logic – if you go after the Faceless Man you want to make sure he goes down with the first strike. Not that that would stop us from charging Reynard with attempted murder if we thought we could make it stick.

Lesley emerged from the line of cars – she was only one short of the white Humvee – and glanced down the length of the garage just in time to see the Tesla plough into the far wall, the crash strangely muted by the falling water.

Lesley turned to frown at me.

‘What have you done this time?’ she asked.

I saved my breath for diving sideways, aiming for the gap between a red Mercedes and a forest green Range Rover, where I could just see my staff poking out behind a rear wheel.

I felt Lesley start a spell, but before she could release it Reynard came running out of the falling water and jumped on her back. I tried to change direction but lost my footing on the wet tarmac and bounced face first off the Range Rover. I managed to slide down the side as if that was what I’d planned from the start and scooped up my staff.

Reynard had gone feral, his burgundy button down shirt in strips and rags to reveal the thick russet hair covering his back and shoulders. His legs were wrapped around Lesley’s waist and he had his left arm around her neck while he pounded her head with his other hand. He was snarling, his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, so that for a moment I thought he might actually be growing a muzzle and I was going to get my first look at a shape shifter.

Still, science had to wait, and I levelled my staff and the wood hummed under my palm as I flattened the pair of them. Lesley twisted going down, throwing Reynard off onto his back. Neither was going to stay down for long, so I had my follow-up ready. But before I could release it, Reynard rolled back on his shoulders and then kicked himself up onto his feet. Lesley was slower and she was still my primary target, so I knocked her down again.

She swore, rolled and I lost track of Reynard as I tried to close my distance with her.

Then I heard Nightingale shout – ‘Down!’ and threw myself flat on my face.

I only saw it coming because of the rain from the sprinklers. It was a like a lens, an optical distortion whirling through the air – a circular saw three metres across, droplets spraying off the top. Even as I was dropping I saw it slice horizontally through the front of the Humvee. And it was fast. I barely got my face to the concrete before it passed over me with a sound like tearing cloth. I looked up and saw Lesley had dropped as well.

‘Stay down!’ shouted Nightingale as something zigzagged over my head from behind me, with a noise like a hummingbird . . . if hummingbirds weighed twenty kilos and ate rats for dinner.

A second and third super-hummingbird passed me to the left and right. I managed to catch a glimpse of one – it looked like a drill head made of silver snowflakes. Whatever they did when they hit a target, it wasn’t going to be a joy forever. I decided to stay down and started wriggling towards Lesley, who was making a spirited crawl for the shelter of the Humvee.

‘Get to cover,’ yelled Nightingale, which just goes to show that great minds think alike. This obviously applied to Lesley as well, because she scrambled to her feet even as I did. But not to Guleed, who came barrelling out of the rain and smacked Lesley down into the gap between the cars.

I made it into my own gap between a BMW 5 series and a Jaguar XJ, whose resale value Lesley had recently lowered by ripping open the doors, just before a chunk of the ceiling collapsed onto the spot where I’d been lying.

I peered through the windows of the BMW and saw Guleed grappling with Lesley on the other side. I couldn’t risk the crossfire on the roadway, so I clambered awkwardly around the back and arrived just in time to see Guleed snap her head forward and land as sweet a Glaswegian kiss as was ever administered outside the National Club in Kilburn. Lesley staggered back, clutching her nose, and before she could recover Guleed had her spun around with her right arm in an elbow lock and I, upholding the fine tradition of the Metropolitan Police Service, piled in behind. I’m sure, had she thought about it, Lesley would have approved.