Name: Gerald Flashman (from government identification)
Sex: Male
Arrival: 21:43, 14 February 2007
Condition on arrival: Unconscious, broken nose, lacerations to left side of face, swollen left eye, bruising on back and arms
Possessions: Ceremonial robe; wallet containing government identification, two bank cards, and £18.30; components pouch (unopened); slacks, shoes, and silk shirt.
Notable features: Serpent tattoos on upper arms and across back easily hidden by shirt, spiral brand on left pectoral over heart
Inquiry method: Runic circle of truth, collar of magical suppression
Results: Subject was resistant and attempted to attack with what appears to have been a fire spell. Collar prevented execution. Inquisitor was forced to bind and levitate subject to gain compliance. Subject ultimately confessed to plot against Church of England, with agents at multiple key churches prepared to strike on signal with ultimate concentration on Canterbury and the Crown. Subject was able to overcome collar enough to light self aflame before revealing further details; attempts to resuscitate failed. Subject pronounced deceased at 23:57. Apparently on queue, other cultists followed suit before Inquisitor could bring them in for further questioning.
​
I, (Inquisitor’s Name) Michael James Hudson, do solemnly affirm these records to be faithful and true to the best of my ability.

Matteson had given us his location and that he was following a ley line, which was enough for us to get started in the right path. So Michael paid the tab and asked Aslaug about the ley network nearby, as he hadn’t thought to bring any maps into town with us, and she took us into the back room where she had her own information on the matter. After some review of what line Matteson would be following and some of the key points along it, we loaded into the car and started looking. I don’t know what we were really looking for; none of us could, in the physical realm, track the energy signature nearly as well as Matteson apparently could, so I suppose we must have been seeking something that would stand out as being a ritual site. We never found it, at any rate; but we were not far from the location when Matteson called to tell us he’d found it.

We sorted out the plan quickly, or as much of a plan as we could. Matteson would cut off the ley line from outside, and we would apprehend the four cultists inside. Akshainie and Michael were certain we would know when he cut the ley line off, and that he could reopen it when we were done, but I was not sure how any of that would happen. Shortly after we arrived, however, I felt it. It was as if the air was suddenly drained of some vitality, and a part of me recoiled and knew that it was what we were looking for. The look on Akshainie’s face told me she felt the same thing, and without further ado we threw the door open and charged in.

Akshainie never dropped her human form, but moved with a grace and power that betrayed her serpentine nature. In a flash, she was past the foyer, and then a jump and flip put her on the other side of the four robed figures, cutting off the other exit. One figure tried to get around us, and I sent him flying back into the room with a kick as Michael called on spectral chains that shot from his wrist and wrapped around another’s ankles. The three who had not felt my boot yet began trying to call on their own offensive spells, one hitting me with fire that burned off a sleeve but managed no other harm. It was weak, I could feel how mundane the fire was when it met my skin, and I wondered if Matteson’s work would limit us all.

Michael, for one, did not seem affected, at least not to any degree I could recognize. Akshainie, aware we aimed to arrest and not kill, did not draw her swords, and I saw for the first time just how dangerous she was at her weakest, no magic, no weapons, and no powerful form. Just decades of training and a body that could execute a move before most people could even think of it. A single punch to the figure I’d kicked knocked them out, and I turned my attention to the round mirror in the center of their ritual circle. Whatever they had been looking at was gone, probably lost when their extra magical energy dried up, but I grabbed the mirror in case we could use it to learn anything of their activities.

The battle was over quickly, and Akshainie darted off to check the rest of the building while Michael and I bound the figures, who we now learned were three men and a woman. She found no one, and around the time she returned we felt energy surge back into the area. Matteson and Alice walked in shortly afterward, but Michael told him to stay back a bit. He had a difficult spell he could do to bring the cultists in for questioning, he explained, and absolutely would not be able to do it with an Anchor hovering around. So Matteson shrugged and went outside, lighting a cigarette as he went, and Alice hesitated. Michael waved her over, and she entered the room and watched as the ritual was carried out. A glowing door finally appeared in the wall, and when Michael opened it we could see a dungeon on the other side.

“Where is that?” I asked, concerned about the look of the place.

“It’s a secret wing of the estate,” Michael answered. “Not every crime is something that gets turned over to police, so we were given clearance to carry out our work in privacy when needed. Would you be so kind as to help me with these?” I lifted three of the unconscious cultists as Michael carried the other, and Alice watched me with a noted curiosity. When we returned, Michael stopped in the doorway. “Do any of you know how to drive on the proper side of the road?”

​“I’ve had some practice,” I answered. He nodded and handed me the keys and told me to bring the rest of the party back to the estate, then returned to the dungeon. As soon as the door closed behind him, it vanished, and we made our way outside to gather our Anchor and head back.

The town centre nearest the Hudson estate looked much newer than the estate itself, and as we made our way through Michael explained that extensive damage in the early 1900s caused a redesign that unified the look of the place in the then-popular styles. Akshainie rode in the back seat, and when I glanced back to see if she was okay she made it clear she was fine aside from being bored by all the architecture talk. The Horn & Thistle was of a different era entirely. It was a mostly wooden structure, standing independent of the rows of buildings on either side of it, with a sign that had clearly been hand-lettered some generations past. It leaned slightly to the left, with a slate roof and small windows framing a crooked wall pierced by a narrow wooden door. The light from the windows was a warm glow in the fading evening light, and I found myself hoping for a cozy little fire in a quaint English pub. As we approached, however, the door flew open and a man was launched into the cobblestone walkway in the front, losing two teeth when he hit the surface, and an athletically-built dark elf appeared in the doorway.

“If I see your face round here again long as I live, Martin, I’ll slice it off!” she yelled. The man moaned without moving, so Michael stepped over him. “Mind what you bring to me today, Hudson,” she practically hissed, pointing at her new target. Akshainie smiled.

“He’s a priest, Aslaug,” Michael answered, gesturing toward me. “Surely you can behave yourself for a man of the cloth!”

“We’ll see,” she said, before turning around and heading inside. Michael turned back and shrugged, and Akshainie and I stepped over Martin and followed our host inside. The interior was actually much like I was hoping; there was a large hearth with a roaring fire off to the right, with booths lining the walls to our left and tables scattered around the room between us and the bar. The place was quiet, four men playing cards in one corner and one person at the bar. We took seats at a table near the fire.

“Good evening,” I said, when Aslaug brought us menus. Her eyes narrowed on me, then she slowly turned and stared at Akshainie for a moment. She grabbed another chair, sat down at our table, and leaned in.

“What’s the church doing with one of your ilk on their payroll?” she asked, leaning close to me.

“The people that know, trust me,” I answered. She smiled.

“But there are people who don’t.” She then turned to Akshainie. “And what are you doing here?”

“I’m with him,” Akshainie said, jabbing her thumb in my direction. “We have a mutual goal.”

“The Brood?” When we nodded, Aslaug grumbled and turned to Michael. “I told you to call the priest, I didn’t tell you to bring him here.”

“How did you know about me?” I asked.

“The Two told me to pass along a message.”

“But you knew he was an expert. Did these Two tell you that, as well?” Michael asked.

“That was someone else. You people eating or what?” She stood and put her chair back at the neighboring table. Akshainie and I picked up our menus to look them over.

“I’ll have my usual. If someone in your network knows about Benedict’s work, we would very much like to talk to them about what else they know.”

“Good luck with that.”

“You can’t put us in contact with them?”

“No better than Benedict can.”

“What makes you think that?” I asked. “The only people who know much about this work are in the Church, or Iravati, or…” I set my menu down. “Do you mean Tadzio?”

“The Iberian and I go way back. You pick something there?” She asked, tapping my menu. I nodded and ordered a shepherd’s pie and Akshainie ordered fish, and the three of us sat in silence while Aslaug collected the menus and slipped off to the kitchen.

“Who is this Tadzio?” Michael asked, softly, when we were alone.

“He’s a friend,” I said. “Human, but cursed with immortality for some five hundred years now.”

“There are surely worse curses.”

“That depends on what’s waiting for you on the other side.” Michael thought about that for a moment, then nodded slightly, before I continued. “He’s spent that time learning a great deal about the supernatural world, but he’s secretive and flighty. Sometimes I don’t hear from him for decades at a time, it’s always hit or miss whether I’ll be able to find him at all, and there’s no real way to know if he’s telling you everything when he does bother to show up.”

“So he’s useless to us, is what you’re saying.”

“Unless he shows up at the estate one day,” Akshainie said. “I’ve not known him long, but it seems his style.” Michael steepled his fingers and stared into the fire for a minute.

“We’re running out of leads,” he finally said.

​“Well,” I said, “if Matteson isn’t able to track the energy by then, we’ll slip into the spiritual realm tomorrow at the site and see if we can.” That seemed to satisfy him, and by the time Aslaug returned with our drinks we had shifted to more casual conversation. She was much more amenable to that, and we even got a couple stories about Michael out of her once the other patrons started slipping out. It quickly became a very pleasant evening, until Matteson called.

​On returning to the estate, it took Mr. Matteson most of the day to coordinate information with this Jackie and begin to draw answers. In the meantime, I was informed Roderick had come home, and I convinced Akshainie to come with me and discuss the nature of the family work in Iravati with someone who knew what wasn’t written down. Benedict came as something of a bodyguard, though it was difficult to tell who he thought he was protecting.
Roderick was able to give our guest more insight into the Iravati case. It was under the order of the crown, he explained, on the grounds that native religions and magic were seen as a threat to the stability of the empire. The orders still stood, of course, but the Queen hardly has jurisdiction in Pakistan anymore, so he agreed that even if she would disapprove of my reversing the spell, there was little she could do about it. Nevertheless, I decided it would be best to simply not tell her.

While the records I had found focused on the Anchor’s work in severing Iravati from the fabric of the region, it was Roderick who remembered the process by which the task was actually accomplished. It turns out, the work of Mr. Lysander was instrumental, but was not done alone. The actual work of stabilizing the division was done through a spell cast by Lord Hudson himself, after Mr. Lysander was done and safely away from the site. So Roderick, Benedict, Akshainie, and I began to work out a counterspell that would render the division unstable. At that point, another bit of magic would need to be used to safely guide the realm back into alignment. Each component was actually less difficult than I expected; I could probably do the counterspell myself, and the Queen of Heaven could surely do the alignment without my help. The difficult part was determining the counterspell, which may have been nearly impossible without accurate memory of the original spell, and the timing. Making the position of Iravati unstable was incredibly dangerous, and the work to realign it would need to begin even before my counterspell was cast. We worked out a plan for me to present to the Queen of Heaven, and for the first time, I got the impression Akshainie was actually, though barely, beginning to appreciate my efforts.

Alice came to collect us shortly before we actually completed our plan, telling us Mr. Matteson had something for us. We followed her back to the library, where he had pulled a few tables together and laid out an assortment of papers and printouts of photographs. I recognized how heavy the tables were and asked how they had been moved, and he simply said he had slid them over. I determined to consider that matter later and focused on the images.

It turns out his personal library did, in fact, have records of these runes, and after some digging from his contact in the States he was able to determine that the script was True Enochian, the language of angels and spirits that had been lost and allegedly rediscovered in the 1970s. He briefly explained that the thing people called Enochian was mostly a farce, but offered no means of confirming that this was the real thing except for its age. At any rate, he claimed that the runes were actually an amplification rite, and would not have been used in the same place as a great spirit was trapped. In fact, he argued, it shouldn’t even be active unless someone was tapping into it in that very moment, which suggested that we had actually found evidence the Brood was actively preparing to do something in Britain and had reactivated the site in their attempts to access old channels of power.

​This case is not simply a matter of sorting out the owners and their intentions any longer. We must learn what they’re doing and assess the threat it poses to the United Kingdom.

I was waiting at the airstrip with the drivers when the plane landed. We had made sure to bring a vehicle capable of holding the four people I was told to expect, and another to handle baggage. Once the plane came to rest, we made our way forward, the drivers focusing on receiving baggage from the crew on the plane as I waited by the stairs. It was some surprise when the first person to emerge was an American cousin.

“Alice!” I called, and she ran down to give me a hug. As she pulled away and we both looked over each other, a black man stepped off the stairs and came alongside her.

“Michael, it’s so good to see you! How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, of course. You’re involved in this?”

“Well,” she said, grabbing the man’s arm and pulling him closer. “I’m involved with John Matteson here, and when he said he was coming to do work for your family I just had to come along.”

“I’m glad you did. Mr. Matteson, I believe you’re expecting some pay for your services?”

“That’s what I was told,” he said.

“And what, exactly, are your services?”

“I do some investigation and break magic.”

“An Anchor?” I asked. He nodded. “Well! I don’t think we’ve known one of your ilk in—”

“Hudson!” a woman shouted. I looked past Alice and John to a woman who looked to be of Indian descent, storming out of the plane with her hands on the hilts of swords.

“You must be the associate of Father de Monte,” I offered, smiling hopefully. “So glad you agreed to come.”

“Benedict convinced me that the Brood was enough of a problem,” she said, stopping next to Alice but not moving her hands from her weapons, “that I should at least hear you out about your offer before I kill you.”

“Very encouraging. I’ll have to thank him for that.”

“I am not known for my patience,” she said, her eyes narrowing. Behind her, the priest descended from the plane.

“Yes, I see. I did look into what happened at Iravati. Nasty business, that. However, I think I know how to repair it, with your Queen’s permission, of course.”

“You expect me to believe you’re willing to stoop so low as to ask permission of a spirit?”

“If you will spare my life long enough to see this job through, I think you’ll find I’m not quite so bad as my dear old ancestor.” We stared at each other for a long minute, then she said something under her breath in another language that I assume was a curse of some sort.

“Fine,” she said, finally, as if it was painful to say it. “But only because the Brood really is a big enough problem to warrant it. I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”

“I would expect nothing less. Father de Monte, I presume?”

“Mr. Hudson,” the priest answered, offering a handshake. I accepted it, and then directed them all to the waiting car.

“What happened in Iravati?” Matteson asked as we walked.

“Well, that’s actually to do with the last Anchor we had pass through the estate,” I answered. “Man named Jules Lysander. He was employed by one of my great-grandfathers, the Lord Hudson when the empire first established rule in the Indus Valley. It seems Mr. Lysander was tasked with dealing with what was then considered unsavoury spiritual practices and entities.”

“Unsavoury?” Alice asked. The other woman growled.

“They were far more rude about it, of course, but I think it conveys the general view they had. At any rate, Iravati is something of a key site for the naga in the region, and Mr. Lysander and the Lord Hudson determined that the way to stifle their activities would be to cut the city off from the physical realm.” We climbed into the car and waited as the driver closed the doors and made his way around to his station.

“They didn’t care about the damage they did to us all when they cut us off,” the other woman practically spat the words out.

“That is true. I would like, while you’re here, to learn more about that. Then-Lord Hudson didn’t bother writing any speculation on the matter, and it would be most helpful in knowing exactly what I need to do to make things right.”

“You can’t make things right.”

“As close as we can get, then.”

“You said you had a way to reverse it?” John asked. “How do you undo the work of an Anchor?”

“Well, normally, we don’t. Your kind are very thorough, when you choose to be. But maintaining a wall like that takes a lot of energy, and there has not been much active reinforcement of it for at least a generation. I believe it will be weak enough now that it can be brought down, with sufficient force. Which, having my magic focus the will of Iravati itself in a specific way, I think we can muster.”

“You do magic?” Alice asked. “Why was this never brought up before?”

​“That,” I said, “is something you will have to ask Mother.”

​We had found no leads in months. Whatever system Henry had expected us to know for his book to help with ours was not as obvious to us as it apparently was to him, and now we had no way to ask him for help with it. We were still hopeful we could find something if we reviewed everything we did know, however, and were walking through Pittsburgh on our way to check on a possible source when a child stepped on my shoelace and pulled it just enough that I needed to stop and retie them. I knelt out of the way to do so, with Akshainie leaning on a wall between me and a pay phone. Just as I finished up, the phone rang, and before I realized I should tell her to ignore it Akshainie had answered it. I sighed and stood, realizing I was going to have to wait until she finished whatever was happening before we could move on.

“Yeah, he’s right here,” she said, then handed the phone out to me. “It’s for you.”

“They asked for me, specifically?” I asked. She nodded, and I stared at her for a moment in confusion before taking the receiver. “Father de Monte.”

“Father, hello,” a male voice, British accent. “I was hoping you had a moment to talk.”

“Where are you? How did you get this number?”

“It was given to me. I was told to ring this exact number at this exact time to speak to a Father Benedict de Monte about an unusual red spiral.” He must have heard my hesitation, as he added after a moment, “is this unexpected?”

“This is a pay phone. We only just happened to be walking past it when it rang. I would be very curious about your source.”

“As would I. Unfortunately, they had at least one intermediary. I suspect we will get much more done if we focus on the matter at hand.”

“The red spiral.”

“Indeed. I’m told you’re familiar with the cult who uses this symbol?”

“The Brood of Nachash,” I said, softly, as if anyone walking by was paying attention. “I’ve been working that case for some years.”

“Good. I have reason to believe they are active in my territory, and I would like to bring you in to shine some light on the matter.”

“And your territory is what, exactly?”

“The British Empire.”

“Not much of a British Empire left, is there?” I saw the color drain from Akshainie’s face at that, and her hands ball into fists.

“Who is that?” she hissed through her teeth.

“I suppose it’s a matter of perspective,” the man said.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked.

“Oh, goodness me, of course. My name is Michael Hudson, son of Lord Hudson, acting emissary to the magical population in service to the Queen.”

“Michael Hudson,” I whispered, covering the receiver. Akshainie’s eyes narrowed.

“You tell that posh bastard I’d rather clean up the mess after the Brood burns his whole nation down than work with a Hudson.” The words were dripping with venom, and I wondered if there was any real venom involved when she spit as if the name itself wasn’t suitable for her mouth.

“What’s this all about?”

“Is everything okay, Father?” Michael asked.

“Ah, it seems my associate has some…hesitation to work with you.”

With that, she ripped the phone out of my hand and spoke into it herself.

“Listen here, Hudson,” she was barely stopping herself from yelling into the phone, “whatever problem you have with the Brood is on your own head.” There was a pause, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m from Iravati. Check your records, if you don’t know. I doubt your dog of an ancestor bothered hiding his work.” There was another pause, her expression only growing more stern. “Fine. Ask what you want, but know that if you show up looking for us I’ll slit your throat before you can spit a single curse from your foul lips.” She slammed the phone back into my hand and stormed down the street a little bit, where she began pacing.

“So,” I said, watching her, “that sounds like it went well.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened at Iravati, but I will find out,” he said, suddenly sounding much more tired than he had before. “The fact is, I am at a complete loss here, and fear there is a real danger that only you can help address. If there is something I can do that will begin to smooth things over with your associate to ensure you can come, know that I am more than willing to entertain the idea.”

“What’s the nature of the problem?”

“There is much I am not going to discuss over a transatlantic phone call. It will have to be enough to know that I have found evidence they are still active, and a possible hub of their power.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on us getting there?”

“Well, I would send a plane, naturally, for you and anyone else you need to bring along.”

“If there’s a site, I think I’ll need to call in someone specific.”

“Very well. It’s not like I’m paying for individual tickets.”

“Fine. Send the plane, let me try to work on things on this end. What number can I call to confirm details with you?” I wrote the number down as he said it to me, then thanked him and hung up. Once she saw that, Akshainie returned.

“Well?” she demanded. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I’d see who I could get involved. I would very much like you to be involved, and he is willing to make some amends if they’ll get you there.”

“It shouldn’t require that! What his family did to us was wrong, and if he can’t see that—”

“He says he doesn’t know what happened yet. But he’s going to check, and hopefully he will have by the time I call him back.”

“And what do we do in the meantime?”

​“We should get back to the hotel. I’ll have another call to make first, and I am very curious to hear what you hate so much about this man’s family.”

If any of our ancestors knew anything concrete about the Red Spiral, they didn’t write it or pass it down. I was going to have to seek alternative sources of information. So today, I made a stop off at The Horn & Thistle. It’s well known among the locals that the place dates back to the Danelaw; less commonly known is that the owner does, as well. She doesn’t hide it—hell, she doesn’t even try to look human—but people always seem to have some other explanation for her odd look and their aversion to the place. With her piercings and tattoos and white hair, the reigning theory for the last few decades has been that it’s a punk bar with a barkeep surprisingly fond of plastic surgery.

“Business or pleasure today, Mike?” Aslaug asked, fixing her solid black eyes on me as I sat down at the bar.

“Maybe a bit of both,” I answered. She snorted and leaned on the bar.

“I warned you, you’re no good doing both at once.” I chuckled.

“Then I’ll start with business.” She sighed and stood as another man sat down next to me.

“You at least planning to spend some of that money while you’re at it?” I nodded toward the bourbon, and she turned to fix my drink. As she drifted off to her task, the man next to me watched her go with a soft hum. He was clearly a few drinks into his day, which his breath confirmed as he turned to speak to me.

“You think she’s blue all the way down?” He asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. She is, of course. That’s just how her kind is when they aren’t trying to hide as human. The problem is that Aslaug is not a kind lover, and the places he wanted the conversation to go would be dangerous if realized. I still have an elbow that always knows when it’s about to rain.

“One of life’s great mysteries, mate,” I said, focusing my attention to getting the notepad from the inside pocket of my jacket. He either took the hint or got lost in his own reverie; either way, we were done discussing the bartender. She returned with my drink and took care of the other man as I waited. Once he was squared away, she turned back to me, and I laid my notepad on the bar.

“No,” she said, pushing it back toward me and stepping back to lean on the counter with her arms crossed.

“Oh, now you have to,” I said, flashing a smile that always gets me what I want around here, as I slipped the notepad back into my jacket. She growled, but after a minute gave a huff and threw her arms in the air.

“Fine. When I close to switch over for dinner.”

So I ordered some lunch and took a booth to wait. It was a couple hours and bourbons before she threw the last straggler out, locked the door, and slumped into the seat opposite me with a bottle of mead. Aslaug is a dark elf, native to one of the realms below Midgard. She doesn’t talk about how she got here, or why, but she did so alongside the vikings and then just never left. She’s a registered magical citizen, and part of that arrangement includes the occasional bit of information when the Hudson estate needs it. Her longevity and connections have made her contribution invaluable to us, but she’s well aware of what she holds over us and how much she can ask for it. So it was some surprise to me when, this time, she didn’t open with a demand.

“I hope you haven’t just been flashing that symbol around,” she said, before knocking back a large swig of her drink. I finished mine and slid the glass to the side.

“Would it be a problem if I started?”

“Not for me.” She glanced at my glass. “You want some?” I nodded, and she poured me a share before setting the bottle down.

“So what is this?”

“It’s called the Brood of Nachash. Very old cult, fancy themselves dangerous.”

“To who?”

“The gods.”

“Are they?” She considered the question a moment, then shrugged.

“Wouldn’t know. They’re not in my network.”

“Is that why we haven’t talked payment yet?”

“Oh, you’ll pay, Hudson. Just not me.” She reached into her bra and pulled out a small paper, with a phone number and a time written on it. “Some birds told me you’d be needing this.” I looked the paper over, then folded it and placed it into my pocket.

“And who will I be calling?”

“Catholic priest, one Father Benedict de Monte. He’s almost the closest thing to an expert walking the earth today.”

“Almost?”

“There’s one expert. If he wants you to find him, he’ll turn up. The priest is more reliable, and I know how you nobles love reliability.”

“Thank you, then. Do I happen to know these birds?”

“Everyone does. They just don’t all know it. But you’re on a schedule.” With that, she left the booth and went back to work. I knocked back the rest of my drink and let myself out.

On returning to the estate, I took a brief lunch and began investigations in the library. I searched for any records related to the geographic area around the site, and found nothing that indicated knowledge of the chamber, aside from one bit of folklore about a beast that could be heard groaning on certain cursed nights nearby. I made note of that, but turned my attention to the iconography of the site as the most sensible alternative lead.

The runes were an old script. Most such markings in Britain use Norse runes, but these were most similar to a small handful of pre-Roman sites we had on record. As such, there was no translation available, or even any certainty that it was something that held a translatable meaning; but it did suggest that the reason no one knew about it was that it predated any of the attempts to categorize these things. That did happen from time to time, but my search showed no other such site that was still active when it was found. This line of research led nowhere.
​
The spiral, however. There were precious few references to it, all in secret documents not to be studied outside of their storage room, which I only gained access to last year when I took over the main body of field work from father and had not needed before now. The few instances of this specific red spiral appearing were tied to events with major attempted disturbance to the magical equilibrium of Britain. What connected the events, aside from the spiral itself, was not immediately clear. However, I had somewhere to start. I determined to speak with father about this later and, if needed, to call on a source who has been on Britain long enough to know about this sort of thing.

Arrived at the site shortly after dawn to find it locked down. The construction barrier was still in place for the public, but a little further in was a hastily-constructed security stop that accepted my credentials. I had to park there and walk the rest of the way, led by one of the men who found the site. The work site was largely underground, as they were apparently excavating to build a basement when they found a chamber.

The opening was small. The man explained as we descended that they had been digging next to the chamber when a piece of wall broke through. They noticed it was man-made, but not on any of the records they had for the site, so they’d contacted the government for input. I thanked him for his input, and then stepped through the hole and, safely out of sight of the laborer, cast a light spell.

The chamber was about ten meters across and circular, with a few other chambers exiting off in other directions. The floor of the room was occupied by a massive red spiral, and the walls were lined with runes and sconces. I could feel an incredible amount of magical energy in the chamber, which confirmed that it was still active. This, of course, is a problem, as I found no record of a registered magical site in this location.

​I explored the side passages but found very little. I took a picture of an idol at the end of one passage, and another passage led to a dead end that looked as though it was originally an entrance that was blocked off. The third passage led down into the earth, but was collapsed partway through. I took more photographs of all the runes I could find, and the spiral, before heading back to the estate. I called Father on the way back to update him, but it seems he was in session. I will inform him of my findings later, in person.

This morning, I was called upon by the Queen to discuss a matter relevant to my office. I informed Michael to be on alert as I did not know what to expect from the meeting, and arrived at our usual chamber. As is my custom, I arrived first by way of my Gate and ensured the place was ready to receive her, then alerted the guard outside who inspected me and verified that I was expected.

It was only a few more minutes before Her Majesty arrived, just enough time for me to have tea ready. She took her usual chair by the fire, thanked me for the cup, and we sat together in silence for a moment. I dare say she takes longer these days before beginning, but far be it from me to suggest such a thing to her.

When she was ready, she inquired about the recent news article, about a construction site in Cornwall that had to stop after stumbling upon a point of archaeological interest. I confessed that I had seen the headline, tucked away somewhere in the paper this morning, but had not as yet read the article. She gave me the general sense of it, and then set her cup down. I asked if that was really all there was to it as I made to pour her another, but she stopped me.
I was then informed that the first impression of the affair was, indeed, that it was an historical site. However, upon inspection by the local historical society, it was declared ritual in nature and disconnected from the known history of the area. She asked me to see about the site’s registration, and I told her I would do so at once. I keep a copy of common records there, so I did not have to leave Her Majesty’s presence while I searched; as it turns out, the site was not registered at all.

​At the request of the crown, I contacted Michael to investigate the site and learn what purpose it may have, and to look into the owners. Hopefully it is simply an accident that it was not filed for registration, and he can have the matter sorted quickly with little more than some paperwork. The Queen and I then worked out a story to cover my son’s activities, and she thanked me for the tea before returning to her other affairs.