Blaze of Glory (34 page)

But Aubrey's attention was caught by movement at the
top of the pillar. Watching from this precarious vantage
point was a man, but a man shrouded in magic so as to
hide his identity. It was like looking through poorly made
glass for, while the figure was tantalisingly apparent,
Aubrey could make out nothing distinctive at all, except
that the mysterious watcher seemed to be holding a stick
in one hand. Aubrey frowned. Or was it a wand? Could
someone have found a genuine magic wand?

This watcher was surrounded by a dozen or more
shades, but he paid little attention to them even though
they were attacking, slicing towards him before veering
off. Aubrey saw one skim too close. The watcher slapped
at it almost absently, backhanding it into oblivion. The
shade folded in on itself and vanished.

The watcher leaned forward, studying the Magisterium
operatives clustered at the base of the pillar. Aubrey could
feel the power emanating from him. He had used potent
spells to raise the spectral horde, combinations of
approaches that Aubrey had never thought possible. The
spells were audacious, full of bravado, and Aubrey realised
the watcher was using them again. More apparitions rose
from the floor of the burnt church and shambled to
reinforce the dwindling ranks of their fellows, but the
watcher was not content with this show of power. Aubrey
gasped as, with almost scornful ease, the watcher called a
rain of fire down on the hapless Magisterium operatives.

Aubrey knew, in theory at least, how difficult such a
spell was. Uniting water and fire required such a strong
application of the Law of Opposites that few seriously
considered attempting it. Even experimenting with such
a spell required an ego far beyond that of commonplace
magicians.

With a hissing, crackling roar, the liquid fire cascaded
down on the Magisterium operatives but, just before they
were enveloped in the blazing torrent, a protective dome
sprang up, neatly shielding them from fiery death. Aubrey
was impressed by the training and teamwork that had
allowed the operatives to respond so quickly.

He felt a tug on his sleeve. 'We should go,' George
whispered.

Aubrey sighed, nodded, and allowed Caroline to lead
them away from the magical battle. She made good use
of cover, moving from shadow to niche, always avoiding
open ground. Aubrey struggled to keep up with her
decisive progress. The ruins were lit up by the rain of fire
and the magical bolts that pierced it as the Magisterium
fought back, sending shadows dancing across the crumbling
stonework. Aubrey took a last look at the watcher.
He was standing on top of the pillar, hands on hips, and
Aubrey had the distinct impression he was laughing.

Who
was
he?

I
T TOOK THEM SOME TIME, BUT THEY MANAGED TO LEAVE THE
ruins and stagger back to where they'd left Jack and
Oscar. Behind them, the burnt church was a riot of
hurtful light, strange smells and cries that did not belong
in this world.

From out of the darkness and the rain, Jack Figg's
voice greeted them. 'Glad you're back. We've got a
surprise for you.'

When they drew closer, Aubrey saw that Jack was
standing next to a horse and cart. The driver was a small,
dark man, who tipped his cloth cap to Caroline and gave
a lopsided grin as water poured from the brim.

'Charlie will take us back to my place,' Jack said, 'and
then he'll forget he ever saw us. Right, Charlie?'

The driver waved a hand and mumbled. It sounded as
if he had a doormat stuck in his throat. He jerked his
thumb at the rear of the cart and Aubrey didn't need a
second invitation. He dragged himself aboard, watching
as Caroline vaulted in with the grace of a dancer.

'Where's Oscar?' George asked when he'd settled on the
rough, wet timber and the cart set off with a jerk. The horse
glumly splashed its way through an enormous puddle.

Jack was sitting next to the driver. 'That's the other part
of the surprise,' he said over his shoulder. 'Some speed
please, Charlie. It's best to be well away from here.'

The driver growled at the horse. Immediately, it
lurched forward over the uneven cobblestones, picking
up pace until the cart was bouncing along, every jolt
making Aubrey's head ache. He screwed up his face and
peered through the wind-whipped rain.

Charlie obviously knew the best routes. The cart slid
wildly around corners, clattered down narrow laneways
and along noisome drains, but never had to stop for
traffic. Aubrey clutched the side of the cart with a
strength that surprised him and he wondered what would
happen if a pedestrian staggered out of one of the many
doors they passed.

Charlie had some difficulty getting his horse to stop. It
appeared as if the nag had enjoyed the exercise. It looked
almost disappointed when the cart rolled to a halt outside
Jack's hovel. The light from the single window showed
that someone was inside.

Jack climbed down from the cart. George helped
Aubrey, while Caroline alighted and patted the horse on
the flank. It turned its head and stared at her quizzically.

'Thanks, Charlie,' Jack said, but the enigmatic driver
was already moving off through the rain without a word
or a backward glance.

'A good man,' Jack said. 'His wife was very ill until your
clinic helped her, Aubrey.'

Aubrey wished he'd thanked the driver. The cart ride
had given him a chance to gain some strength after his
exertions at the burnt church.

Caroline stepped up and rapped on the door of Jack's
hovel.

Oscar opened it, his bulk filling the doorway almost
completely.

Inside, sitting on a bench, was a man with a large
bandage covering the side of his head and another
wrapped around his hand. He looked pale and strained.

'Say hello to Hugo von Stralick,' Jack said.

T
HE RAIN DRUMMED ON THE ROOF OF THE HOVEL WHILE
Jack explained how they'd come upon the fleeing
von Stralick and insisted he join them. The Holmlander
sat on the bench with Oscar's massive hands on his shoulders,
restraining him. The bandage on his hand had begun
to redden as blood seeped through and he cradled it with
his good hand.

Aubrey was perched on the desk. Jack had given
Caroline the only chair, while George and he sat on
boxes. One of Jack's cats jumped into his lap and looked
unhappily at the bedraggled intruders.

'Well, Hugo,' Jack said to von Stralick. 'I know now that
I shouldn't have told you the way to the burnt church.
Why didn't you tell me you were a spy?'

Von Stralick attempted to shrug, but winced under
Oscar's firm grip. 'Greetings, Miss Hepworth, Mr Fitzwilliam,
Mr Doyle. I trust you have recovered from the
wretched shooting party we shared?'

'Quite,' Aubrey said. 'What happened to your hand?'

'I've lost a finger.' Von Stralick managed to make it
sound as if it was merely forgetfulness rather than a throbbing
wound. 'One of those ghouls at the burnt church
ripped my rifle from me and happened to take my finger
with it.'

Aubrey was impressed by von Stralick's calm. And despite
the bandages on his wounded ear and maimed hand,
he looked clean and presentable. He'd smoothed back his
black hair and had somehow kept his moustache trimmed.
He spoke without any noticeable Holmlander accent.

Jack sighed. 'Hugo? Why didn't you tell me what you
are?'

'I thought you knew I was a spy.'

'I thought you were a troublemaker, that was all.'

Von Stralick smiled a little. 'I'm very good at what I do.'

'Then why did you miss at the burnt church?' Aubrey
cut in. 'You fired a number of shots and didn't hit anyone.'

'I'm a good spy, but a mediocre assassin.'

'Then why were you shooting at all?' Caroline asked.

Von Stralick gazed at the ceiling. 'My, that rain is heavy,
isn't it?'

Aubrey fumed. 'You're not going to say anything?'

Von Stralick smiled and spread his hands. 'I have a duty,
you understand.' He wrinkled his brow. 'I . . .' He
coughed, covering his mouth with his good hand and
wincing as he jolted the other. 'Excuse me,' he said. 'It
must be the weather.'

Suddenly, his eyes opened wide in surprise. He touched
his chest with his good hand and uttered a pained grunt.

'Quickly,' Caroline said. 'It's his heart. Lay him on the
floor!'

Oscar looked puzzled and stood back as Jack seized the
sagging von Stralick. George helped and they stretched
him out on the only uncluttered part of the floor. His
eyes were closed and his face had turned a flat grey
colour. He was breathing shallowly.

Caroline knelt beside the stricken Holmlander and
began to loosen his tie. 'Undo his jacket,' she ordered
George, who hurried to do her bidding. 'Jack,' she
snapped, 'where's the nearest doctor?'

Aubrey was frowning, thinking hard. At the instant that
von Stralick had reached for his chest, Aubrey had felt the
insidious tang of magic reach into the room. Something
malevolent was afoot.

He stumbled off the desk and joined Caroline, kneeling
by the inert Holmlander. 'He's stopped breathing,'
Caroline said.

Aubrey placed his hand on von Stralick's chest. 'What
are you doing?' Caroline demanded. He ignored her and
used his magical awareness to feel what was happening.

He hissed and nearly pulled his hand away. Magical
tendrils were wrapped around von Stralick's heart like
a strangler fig. They were squeezing the life out of him.

Concentrating, Aubrey could discern that it was a
vicious application of Action at a Distance. He grimaced.
The spell was distinctive; it had all the hallmarks of the
mysterious watcher at the burnt church. Aubrey could
sense that he was using von Stralick's missing finger as the
basis of this deadly enchantment, the body part allowing
access to the Holmlander's physical being.

Action at a Distance. Aubrey knew that a primary
function of this law was to establish a linkage. Much as
a marionette master pulls strings to make his puppets
work, so Action at a Distance could set up a connection
between the spell-caster and the subject. He blinked,
frowned, then he saw it: an insubstantial filament snaking
off through the solid wall of the hovel, only visible to
someone with magical awareness. Aubrey reached out
and uttered a simple severance spell. Without a sound,
the filament parted and faded.

Von Stralick's chest heaved. With a tortured rasp, he
sucked in a huge breath, then another, as his hands
clutched the air. In a moment, he was sitting up, shaking
his head.

Jack Figg fetched water in an earthenware mug. Von
Stralick sipped it and nodded his thanks.

Shaken, Aubrey stood. He went and leaned against the
desk. Someone wants to kill you, von Stralick.'

Von Stralick tried to smile, but it faded before it
reached his lips. He touched his chest with his fingertips.
'Magic?'

'Indeed.Very unusual magic, too. Perpetrated by the
unknown party at the burnt church.'

'I saw him,' von Stralick said, but I could not make him
out. He set his ghouls on me.'

'He hasn't given up on you, it seems.'

Von Stralick looked troubled. 'I see. This changes
matters, somewhat. I feel as if I am not in possession of all
the facts.' He winced. 'May I resume my seat on the
bench? It must be more comfortable than this floor.'

Jack and George helped the Holmlander to his feet and
then eased him to his seat. Oscar shuffled to one side.

Von Stralick rubbed his neck with both hands. 'I feel
that it is most important to identify this mysterious party.
For all our sakes.'

Aubrey studied the Holmland spy. The man was wary,
disconcerted, but he might have useful information.
Aubrey told himself to step carefully here.

He thought of the grand structure of supposition and
assumption he'd built up and realised he'd already begun
shifting the pieces around in his mind. He thought back to
the whorled timber trinket he'd added at the last moment
to stabilise the structure he'd made back at Maidstone.
It
looks as if I needed that piece after all
, he thought.

'Perhaps this mysterious foe has been manoeuvring
this whole situation from behind the scenes, since the
shooting party.' He frowned and tried to concentrate. 'He
is powerful – strong enough to confound Craddock and
the Magisterium, cunning enough to help the Army of
New Albion escape from the Society for Non-magical
Fitness. And the magic he used in the burnt church
wasn't the work of an ordinary magician.'

'If it's the same person who stole my father's notebook,
he'll have its assistance,' Caroline pointed out.

'Who do you think it is, Hugo?' Jack asked. 'Who is this
mastermind?'

Von Stralick frowned. 'One of my first tasks when I am
able to contact my superiors will be to see if they know.
Someone in a position of influence? A member of the
government? One of the great industrial leaders your
country is so proud of? Whoever it is, their motives are
not clear. It makes them all the more shadowy.'

George shook his head. 'I'm baffled.' He stood,
stretched, then blinked. 'D'you have rats here, Jack?'

From somewhere near came a determined scratching.

'No,' Jack said, puzzled. 'The cats keep them away.'

'Ah, that'll be one at the door, then. Poor, wet moggy.
I'll let it in.'

Jack shook his head. 'They're both inside, George.
Revolutionary is under the desk and Comrade is by
Oscar's feet.'

Caroline raised an eyebrow. 'Your cats' names are
Revolutionary and Comrade?'

'Good, productive names, I would have thought. "Puss"
and suchlike are the products of an outmoded system
where domestic creatures are exploited.'

The scratching came again. Aubrey held up a hand,
motioning for silence. Oscar stirred and craned his neck
as George reached out for the latch. He jerked the door
open. Lying on the doorstep was the mangled shape of
one of Aubrey's clay mannikins. Rain tumbled on it. The
mannikin lifted its head, sought for the door and found
George's boot instead.

'Bring it here,' Aubrey said. 'It's come to report.'

George scooped it up. Caroline closed the door behind
him and he took the mannikin to Aubrey. Aubrey held it
in both hands and looked at the mess his handiwork had
become. It was mostly a torso. Both legs were missing, and
its arms were crossed and fused to its chest. Its clay surface
looked as if it had been held over a fire, and one side of
its faceless head had slumped and sagged. It twitched in
his hands. 'We might have an answer here,' he said.

Von Stralick stared at the clay creature. 'What is this?'

'Aubrey's work,' Caroline said. Von Stralick sat back
thoughtfully.

'Do you think it saw anything?' George asked.

'I don't know. It's too damaged to speak. It must have
been caught in the magical cross-fire in the burnt church.
I'm amazed it managed to drag itself all the way back
here.'

At that moment, the mannikin shuddered. Aubrey
went to still it, to return it to the clay from which it
came, but the creature half-raised itself. As Aubrey
watched, fascinated, the mannikin shook, swaying from
side to side. Its poor, melted shape jerked and Aubrey had
trouble holding it. Finally, with a supreme effort, it
wrenched its fused arms apart. The exertion was too
much for it, and the clay shape broke into two fragments.

Caroline gasped, while George and Jack let out oaths.
Aubrey sat with the clay fragments in his lap. Between
them was a small, silver-white object that the mannikin
had been clasping.

'What is it?' Von Stralick asked, peering.

Aubrey picked it up and held it in his palm. It was cool,
the size of the tip of his thumb. Roughly egg-shaped,
it was gnarled in a way that was unmistakable. Aubrey
recognised it immediately.

'It belongs to Dr Tremaine, the Sorcerer Royal. It was
embedded in the top of his favourite cane.' As he said it,
he remembered the blurred figure he had seen atop the
pillar in the burnt church. He hadn't been wielding a
wand or a stick, but holding his cane.

Aubrey sighed and wiped his face with a hand. He felt
as if he'd been staring at a painting, trying to make sense of
it, and then realised it had been hung upside down and had
only needed righting. 'Dr Tremaine is our mysterious foe.'

'What?' Jack said. 'Impossible. He's dead.'

'I have to agree,' said von Stralick. 'He died in an
accident at Banford Park.'

'It was Tremaine,' Aubrey repeated. It was like dropping
a seed crystal into a supersaturated solution. Suddenly a
lattice of consequences was forming and Aubrey found
he could see much that had previously been unclear. Dr
Tremaine's cane must have been lost in the magical battle
in the burnt church. The mannikin had risked itself to
bring back this evidence. 'This pearl is his. His death must
have been a ruse.'

'But why?' Jack said. He took off his glasses and
polished them. 'What is Tremaine doing mixed up in
all this?'

'Playing his own game, I suspect,' Aubrey said. 'It seems
as if he has moved the Magisterium, the Special Services,
the Army of New Albion and your people, von Stralick,
much as pieces on a chessboard.' He looked at the
Holmland spy. 'But what was he doing at the burnt
church?'

Von Stralick shrugged. 'I'd say I was his target. I was
going to eliminate the Army of New Albion.'

'What?' George burst out. 'Why would you do a thing
like that?'

'Because they're planning to kill the King,' Aubrey said
slowly. He looked closely at von Stralick. 'That would
mean Prince Albert would assume the throne, and he has
a much stronger view about resisting Holmland aggression
on the continent than his father. Isn't that correct?'

Von Stralick smiled. 'Our Elektor corresponds regularly
with your King about gardening. They are good friends.'

'But Holmland wants war,' George said. 'Your generals
are always talking about it.'

'No, Holmland doesn't want war at all,' von Stralick
said. 'Not right now.'

Caroline narrowed her eyes. 'Later, then. At a time of
your choosing.'

Aubrey pushed on with his chain of thought.
'Tremaine wanted to stop you. For some reason, he didn't
want the Army of New Albion to fail. If they did, the plot
to kill the King would be no more. Albion and Holmland
would be friends.' He scowled. 'Tremaine wants to bring
us to the brink of war.'

'Holmland would be blamed if your King was killed,'
von Stralick said. 'It wouldn't matter who was responsible.
We are always blamed.'

Aubrey put his hands together and squeezed, hard. 'My
father is missing, Hugo.'

Von Stralick looked surprised for an instant, before he
gathered himself. 'Sir Darius? I didn't know.' He scowled.
'I don't like not knowing such things. I'm sorry,
Fitzwilliam.'

'I'm sure you are,' Caroline said.

'You must believe me,' von Stralick continued. 'We
would never move against Sir Darius. Not only would we
be the natural suspects –'

'Which you are,' George pointed out.

'But it would harden the Albion people against us,
which we do not want at the moment. Sir Darius is a
very popular man.'

'I'm inclined to believe you. Which means Dr
Tremaine must have my father,' Aubrey said. 'Tremaine
wants war. Somehow, abducting my father is going to
help advance his plot. It makes sense. From what we
know of Tremaine, he likes to have more than one iron
in the fire.'

'But why?' von Stralick said.

Why indeed?
Aubrey thought. It came to him then,
perfectly, the last piece in the puzzle. Without all his
research into his own condition, Aubrey would never
have seen it. Tremaine, Banford Park, magic, the Black
Beast . . . Looking for a solution to his own condition, of
teetering on the edge of true death, Aubrey had come
across references – oblique and guarded – to a vast,
inconceivable horror, something that could be satisfied
under certain conditions. It was a way to power beyond
belief, but it was at a cost that would be inhuman to
contemplate. It was one reason why death magic was a
forbidden area.