Blaze of Glory (3 page)

This had always irked Aubrey. He was dissatisfied with
every scheme to reform magical language. None had
the clean, systematic structure that he dreamed of. He
saw the construction of a universal language for magic
as the true culmination of Baron Verulam's Magical
Revolution, when spells would be clear and consistent at
all times.

The wind shifted slightly and, as if sensing Aubrey's
slight imbalance, buffeted him anew. He staggered and
turned his head in time to see certain death hurtling
towards him.

It was a large plank, six feet long at least. The wind had
picked it up from the building site near the music wing
and it was tumbling towards him. He had time to
straighten and it speared past his nose, whistling as it went.

Aubrey was counting his good fortune when a crash
came from the Magic Laboratories ahead. He sprinted as
best he could through the wind and arrived to see that
the plank had crashed through the large, expensive and
famously ugly leadlight window above the front door. It
had been donated forty years ago by the large, wealthy
and famously tasteless Lord Wallington, who'd made a
fortune in soap by selling it by the ton while not using
it himself. The plank jutted from the remains of the
window like an arrow in the eye of a king.

Aubrey surveyed the damage and decided he was better
off well away from the Magic Laboratories tonight. Not
that he'd be accused of anything, he assured himself as he
slipped into the darkness. It was just that he'd made a
number of disparaging remarks about the window and had
often mused about the best way to rid the school of it.

He struggled against the wind and made his way to
dark and silent Clough Hall, the oldest part of the school.
It was a gaunt Gothic monstrosity, a collection of towers,
steeples and pointed arches. Its upper reaches were the
home of thousands of pigeons in a state of constant
warfare with the groundskeepers, one division of which
had the sole job of trying to keep the dark slate roof as
free of white streaks as possible. It was a futile task.

Clough Hall was used as the assembly hall for the
school. Its main hall was filled with wooden seats
legendary for their hardness, despite centuries of being
smoothed by the rear ends of schoolboys. A gallery
looked over the ranks of seats, but it was strictly OUT
OF BOUNDS to students. It was for the use of parents
and dignitaries, once or twice a year, to endure prizegiving
or the school play.

Aubrey was seriously keen about the stage. Ever since
he'd been at Stonelea he'd been part of the school
productions, playing everything from a tree stump to a
murderous librarian. He'd worked backstage, helping
to paint backdrops and haul sets. He'd swept, cleaned,
prompted, sewn and applied makeup. He'd fumbled lines,
gone blank and tripped on props. He'd made entrances,
sung in the chorus and revelled in applause – something
he adored.

In this, his final year at Stonelea, he was looking
forward to
The Barrister's Lament
, a chance for a grand
finale to the acclamation of parents, staff and students.

Aubrey found a door at the rear of the building and
slipped into the crowded space behind the stage. It was
full of canvas, rope and timber, the remains of productions
from years gone past. He conjured up a small glow globe
with a spell he'd perfected through repetition. It used
an application of the Law of Aspiration, and Aubrey's
clipped, careful syllables conjured an orb the size of his
hand. It floated at his gesture and cast a soft, golden light
on a rolled-up backdrop. He recognised the storm-tossed
sea from
Sailors of the King
, which was used again in
The
Adventures of Sir Augustus Frog
before making a surprise
appearance as a dream backdrop in
A Night of Memories
.
Aubrey shuddered when he remembered how his part
in that play required him to sing a duet with Mrs De Winter, the sweet-voiced but vast wife of the Geography
Master. George had later remarked that he was afraid that
Aubrey was going to be eaten, so wide did Mrs DeWinter
open her mouth when straining for the high notes.

Aubrey started to make his way to one of the small
rooms off the main hall. He'd used it for some of his
experiments before and it was private enough – and solid
enough – for his purposes. But he paused. Was that a
sound? With a word, he extinguished the glow globe.
Carefully, he felt his way past boxes of costume remnants
and trunks of wigs, scarves and other accoutrements,
making his way to where he'd heard the sound.
Probably
some third-formers having a secret feast
, he thought and
decided it was his duty as a sixth-former to throw a
decent scare into them, as it would be theirs when they
were sixth-formers. It was traditions such as this, Aubrey
reflected with a grin, that made Albion great.

Judging from the crashes and stifled oaths, the intruder
wasn't entirely familiar with the cluttered confines. And
it wasn't one of the more magically talented boys, either,
or else he wouldn't be blundering around in the dark.

Light flared. Aubrey stood back behind a tattered
fishing net as the intruder held a match high and peered
around. Aubrey smothered a laugh as the match burned
quickly and singed the intruder's fingers, followed by
more oaths – less stifled this time. He summoned his
glow globe again. 'Stay there, George,' he called. 'You're
right next to the throne of the fairy queen from
Aurelia
.
Topple that on top of you and you'll regret it.'

Aubrey clambered over to join his friend, who looked
as if he'd been on his way to visit the King, discovered he
was wearing someone else's trousers and it was now too
late to do anything about it. 'Ah, Aubrey. You're here too.'

Aubrey shrugged. 'I was about to try a few things.'

'I take it these would be unauthorised magical
experiments?'

'Only if you were being picky.'

'I see. I'd expect as much, finding you skulking around
Clough Hall in the dark like this.'

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. 'Skulking? And how would
you describe
your
movements?'

George looked around at the tangled, jumbled, cluttered
space that surrounded them. 'Boyd says his sister is
coming to visit next weekend. I thought I might take her
on a tour of the school.'

'Boyd? Fifth form? Tall, dark hair, good painter and –'

'Extremely ugly. Yes, that's him. Nice chap.'

'And you want to show his sister around the school?'

'It's amazing,' George enthused, 'how heredity works.
Boyd is grotesque – hideous, really – but his sister is
heart-stoppingly attractive. Red hair, freckles, quite
lovely.'

'I thought you were more interested in country girls,
husky milkmaids, that sort of type.'

George drew himself up. 'I may be from the country,
Aubrey, and I may have done my best to uphold the
traditions of country friendliness and hospitality among
the female folk in our district, but I'll have you know that
I'm an admirer of all members of the opposite sex. Bless
them all.' He grinned. 'And bless Boyd for bringing his
sister next weekend.'

Aubrey grinned in response. George was incorrigible.
He enjoyed the company of females with a fervour that
was only matched by the enthusiasm they had for him.
The life he'd led on the Doyle farm had given him an
aura of extraordinary good health and vigour that they
found highly attractive.

Aubrey admired him. 'Good luck, George. Don't let me
keep you from your scouting expedition.'

George thrust his hands in his pockets. 'I don't think I'll
bring her here, though. Too dusty.' He squinted at Aubrey.
'So you're about to do some experimenting?'

Aubrey patted his satchel. 'I could be onto something.'

'Dangerous?'

'Perhaps.'

'I'd better come and keep an eye on you, then. Besides,
I might learn something.'

'George, you're probably the least magical person I
know. I think the school dog has a better chance of
learning magic than you do.'

'Probably. Let's just say I'm interested. Which way?'

Aubrey's destination had once been a small office,
longer than it was wide. It opened from the entrance
vestibule at what was now the rear of the main hall. Its
walls were solid stone, while its slanted ceiling was a good
eighteen feet overhead. One small window, with
diamond-shaped panes of glass, opened onto the night
sky but Aubrey pulled heavy, blue velvet curtains across it,
turned on the electric light, and dismissed his glow globe.
The floor was parquetry, but most of it was covered with
a worn rug of vaguely Eastern design. The only furniture
was a rectangular table made of dark wood, with four
mismatched chairs around it.

'Make yourself useful, George. We have to move the
table and chairs out of the way. Then the rug.'

George grumbled, but soon the floor was clear. Aubrey
studied it with a scowl. 'I really should be tidier,' he
muttered.

'That awful scrawling? Looks as if someone gave a baby
a packet of chalk.'

'It's the remains of the last focusing figure I drew here.
I should have erased it better. I can't leave it as it is – it
will interfere with the new one I need to draw.'

Focusing figures were the refinement of the pentacles
and mystical symbols from the dark days of magic. They
were a diagrammatic representation of some aspects of
the spell being cast – mostly the restraining and limiting
factors. They tended to be combinations of geometrical
shapes, and Aubrey found the clarity and precision of
their drawing aided his concentration.

He took out his pocket handkerchief and got down on
his hands and knees. With George's cheerful supervision,
he scrubbed at the parquetry until every trace of previous
figures was gone.

He sat back on his haunches. 'How's that?' he asked
George.

George was leaning against the wall, arms folded on his
chest. He cocked his head. 'You missed a tiny bit near
your right knee. Apart from that, you've done enough to
suggest you'll be a wonderful charlady one day. Outstanding,
using a silk cleaning cloth like that.'

Aubrey stood and dusted off his knees. 'Admirable
though charladies are, my ambitions go a bit further.'

George dropped his arms. 'I say, old man, this isn't
about ambition again, is it?'

'George, don't you have dreams, goals? There's so much
I want to do that the hardest thing is to decide what to
try first.'

'I'll wager that you've been specifically told not to do
this,' George said gloomily.

'Sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't.'
Not that I'd let
that stop me if it was important enough
. 'Mr Ellwood simply
said that this was a forbidden area of magic.'

'Aha!'

'But he didn't say we weren't allowed to explore it.'

George looked unconvinced. 'Explore what?'

Aubrey had hoped to avoid telling George this, but his
friend had left him no choice. 'Death magic.'

George's eyes went wide. 'You're joking.'

'It's perfectly safe, George. I just want to do some
simple experimenting, and then document my findings.
There's been nothing done in this area for ages!'

'With good reason, I'd say.'

Aubrey began to pace the length of the narrow room,
his hands behind his back. 'But it's so crucial! Death
magic impinges on the whole question of the Nature of
Magic. How does humanity create this remarkable magical
force? At what point do we stop creating it? It's our
very place in the universe that's at stake here!'

'And if you can find something useful, you'll make a
name for yourself?'

'I never said I
wasn't
ambitious, George.'

'And you can do this? Safely?'

'It's all under control,' Aubrey said, waving a hand. 'This
isn't some primitive hocus-pocus we're talking about.
This is a rational, empirical exploration of natural forces.
I can do it.'

'Aubrey, you think you can do anything.'

Aubrey didn't even answer this. He stood in the middle
of the room, mapping out in his mind the complex
diagram he was about to draw. At the same time, he was
rehearsing the elements in the spell, making sure he
had them all memorised.

The outcome Aubrey wanted for this spell was quite
simple. The laws for death magic had never been quantified
and clearly expressed. Throughout history, it was an
area of magic only attempted by the mad, the desperate
or the depraved. The results – when recorded – had been
horrible beyond belief. Sacrifice, massacre and insanity
stalked the murky history of death magic, with practitioners
who survived being shunned. And yet, because it
dealt with the threshold between being and unbeing,
death magic held the prospect of uncovering much –
perhaps the fundamental nature of magic itself.

Aubrey wanted to see if he could establish some parameters
for safely dealing with death magic. If he could
determine limiting factors, ways to shield an experimenter
probing this area, it could be of incalculable worth. He
could turn death magic into life magic and open a whole
new field for research.

He put his hands together and prepared to cast a spell
that would momentarily put him in a state of death.

When he'd first contemplated this, he was quick to
discard it as foolishly dangerous. Then, after the notion
refused to go away, he decided that people suffered worse
every day. Hearts stopped and were restarted, with no ill
effects. People were discovered not breathing and revived
none the worse for wear. Eventually he decided that,
although some risk was part of this procedure, it was
reduced by careful preparation. Aubrey was proposing a
spell which would stop his life for an instant, much less
than a heartbeat, much less than the time between one
tick of the clock and the next, and then he would resume
his normal state. He would be stepping across from life
to death and back again in a perfectly controlled way.
A well-thought-out, careful, rational procedure from
which he'd eliminated the danger.