The Laws of Magic 6: Hour of Need (37 page)

Aubrey had deduced that it was only Dr Tremaine’s intellect and talent that allowed him to work such stuff. The connector was more primitive and more direct than that. Now the rogue sorcerer was helpless.

‘Mordecai!’

Before Aubrey could move, Sylvia Tremaine ran from the shelter of a pillar base. She halted, aghast at the sight of her brother being consumed, the back of her hand to her mouth.

Then, to Aubrey’s amazement, Dr Tremaine resisted. Wracked by untold magical power, he shuddered. Slowly, his eyes closed with the ponderousness of stone. When he opened them, they were his again. He had expelled – or controlled? – the magic.

Still pinned against the column of light, the rogue sorcerer threw back his head and howled, the tendons in his neck standing out like hawsers. ‘Sylvia!’ he cried. He strained to release his limbs but they were held fast against the light. ‘Sylvia!’

Without hesitation, Sylvia flung herself at her brother, clasping him around his neck. She cried out, he howled again, and then they started to change.

Aghast, Aubrey couldn’t take his gaze away as first Dr Tremaine, then his sister, were pulled upward, losing their substance as they were drawn like oil over glass. Their wordless cries rose in pitch as, together, they smeared across the column of unrelenting, uncaring magic. Dr Tremaine struggled, but his efforts were useless. Thinner and thinner they became as they were drawn out. Light began to shine through them as their mass was stripped away. Finally, they started to shred, reducing quickly to tatters.

In a burst of light, with a last howl that was both agonised and defiant, they were gone.

Aubrey climbed to his feet, feeling a thousand years old. Caroline was at his side. He reached out and touched a nasty bruise on her cheek. ‘The golem,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry yourself about it.’

‘Caroline,’ he said. ‘I’ve decided to give up worrying. It hardly seems worth the effort.’

A
UBREY HAD NEVER BEEN TO THE PALACE AT
B
ELVILLE
, even though it was only half an hour from Lutetia. He had, however, always been intrigued by its reputation for unrivalled opulence. It had been the home of the Gallian kings for two hundred and fifty years, up until the commoners of Gallia decided they’d had enough of being oppressed by rich layabouts and decided they wanted to be oppressed by poor layabouts instead. The palace had survived rather better than the aristocrats who used to swarm about its extensive gardens, its numerous courtyards and its swooningly lavish rooms. Aubrey had heard that one court official had had the responsibility of walking about the place checking for anything that might be considered drab. If he found something, he had a stupefyingly large budget to gild it, extend it, or get a famous painter or two to daub a forest scene over it.

The Gallery of Glass was the most astonishing part of the palace and, while waiting for the formalities of treaty-signing, Aubrey had much time to admire the impressive windows spaced along one long wall of the gallery, perfectly arranged to throw light on the dozens of crystal chandeliers and make rainbows on the richly panelled far wall.

In his full Directorate uniform, adorned with the embarrassingly ornate medal that King Albert had pinned on his chest, Aubrey stood at ease next to Sophie – who also sported the same medal, one of only four in existence – in their entirely superfluous job as aides to Commander Craddock. Not far away, the bemedalled Caroline and George were filling the same role for Commander Tallis, the two commanders being the representatives of the Albion Security Intelligence Directorate at the signing.

Two months had flown by since the battle in the skies over Trinovant. Without Dr Tremaine’s plans and advice, the Holmland war effort had collapsed and the new government, installed after a popular uprising, had quickly sued for peace.

Aubrey and his friends had spent much of that time in Darnleigh House, compiling accounts of the events leading up to the Battle of Trinovant and being called in to offer opinions on sightings and observations after the collapse of the Holmland government. Aubrey was intensely interested to see, for instance, a report about Manfred the Great conducting prestidigitation lessons for the king of one of the smaller islands in the Pacific. A documented rumour about one Elspeth Mattingly opening a fencing academy in remote Muscovia specialising in the sabre was harder to believe, especially once Caroline expressed doubts about Elspeth’s abilities in that area, pointing out that she was sure she could thrash the spy without much effort at all.

Dr Tremaine’s crippled skyfleet had begun evaporating soon after the rogue magician’s demise. Every eye in Trinovant was turned skyward for two days as an urgent effort was made to ferry the magicians and the artefacts to the ground before the magical craft lost their solidity entirely. Caroline and Aubrey piloted separate ornithopters in the ultimately successful undertaking, so short-handed was aerial service since the sky battle.

Aubrey hadn’t known that signing a treaty document would take three days – with the promise of more to come – but he was learning that everything in international diplomacy moved at a pace that would make a glacier look positively frisky. He patted his pocket, which reassured him – and then filled him with doubts – but he took the confusion as a good sign that life was resuming normality.

Aubrey’s father was at the head of the extraordinarily long table that had been placed in the Gallery of Glass. He was with the Gallian Prime Minister, Giraud, while in between them was the new Chancellor of Holmland, Ilse Brandt.

Aubrey had difficulty remaining solemn whenever he looked at Chancellor Brandt. The sheer novelty of a woman rising to such a position told Aubrey that if the world was resuming normality, it was a delightfully new kind of normality that promised much.

Part of the reason for the delay in the final signing had been the traditional negotiating over the fine points in the treaty. In the weeks leading up to the ceremony, Sir Darius and his Foreign Office had ironed out the major issues, but Sir Darius had confided to Aubrey that he’d deliberately left some minor points vague. He understood that it would be important for Holmland to win some concessions in the negotiation.

Sir Darius had been adamant about this, even in the face of resistance from his own party. Many in Albion and Gallia wanted to punish Holmland for the war. Some wanted to go further and humiliate the country for its aggression. Suggestions were made to strip Holmland of some of its territory, while enormous sums of money were touted as appropriate reparation for the damage Holmland had done.

Sir Darius refused. He could see the dangers of such vengeful actions. He offered to resign if his party didn’t support him. He pointed out that since the uprising, Holmland was a different country, and as such it needed assistance, not punishment. The Chancellor and his warmongering cronies were on trial for their crimes, with some damning evidence coming from the file that von Stralick had provided to Aubrey. Crushing Holmland would only create resentment – and a breeding ground for a dangerous future.

Not without some grumbling from backbenchers, Sir Darius won the day.

Aubrey glanced at George, which was a mistake. Days ago, his friend had decided to liven up the interminable occasion by constantly trying to make Aubrey laugh and this time, the face he pulled nearly succeeded. It was only by adding to the bite marks already on the inside of his cheeks that Aubrey maintained the demeanour expected in such a dignified setting.

A few more speeches interrupted proceedings and Aubrey found himself wondering if he were under a misapprehension and the speeches were, in fact, the proceedings and the signing an interruption.

When the observations from the Veltranian delegate concluded, Aubrey decided it was a sign of the times that a former rebel leader could become a respected figure in an international setting. He caught Rodolfo’s eye as the Veltranian shuffled his papers at the lectern, then he saluted. He was rewarded with a smile, which was a triumph, coming as it did from the notoriously doleful Rodolfo.

An end to the day was called, with no sign of a conclusion to the conference. Aubrey stifled a sigh, waited for Commander Craddock to leave, then he slipped outside. Fresh air and a lack of stuffiness – atmospheric and personal – beckoned.

Lady Rose was on the terrace, gazing out over the gardens. She wore a large hat to shade her face. Her dress was a pale yellow. ‘Are they anywhere near a conclusion yet?’

‘Hardly, Mother.’ Aubrey pecked her on the cheek. ‘It’s only been three days. I’d say they’re just warming up.’

‘I knew there was a good reason I never accompanied your father on these diplomatic jaunts.’

Aubrey had been surprised when his mother had volunteered to come along to the Belville signing, but he knew that she had a sense of history and a sense of occasion. This collection of the high and mighty was bound to be remembered for years and it was good to be a part of it.

‘I hope you know that your father is immensely proud of you,’ she said suddenly, turning away from her contemplation of the flower beds that stretched into the distance.

‘I do,’ Aubrey said. ‘He told me.’

It had been a shock when Sir Darius had taken Aubrey aside just before the first gathering in the Gallery of Glass and explained how impressed he was with Aubrey’s conduct and achievements. It was the term ‘heroic’ and the firmness of the handshake that left Aubrey lost for words.

‘I’m glad,’ Lady Rose said. ‘I insisted that he did, but I wasn’t sure he’d work up enough courage.’

‘Courage?’

‘Everybody has their areas of diffidence, Aubrey. He’s never been confident where you’re concerned.’

Aubrey took this as well as he’d take a blow to the head. He snatched at the first thing that came to mind. ‘I’m proud of him, too.’

‘And so you should be.’ She patted him absently on the shoulder. ‘And I’m proud of both of you.’

For a time, Aubrey stood in a daze next to his mother, thinking about how endlessly surprising people were, until Lady Rose tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Caroline Hepworth is a fine young woman.’

Aubrey straightened. ‘I’ve come to that conclusion.’

Lady Rose smiled at him and picked a speck of lint from his epaulette. ‘You’ve changed, Aubrey.’

‘For the better, I hope.’

‘Decidedly.’ She stood back and inspected him. ‘Splendid. Now, go and enjoy the rest of the day.’

Musing, Aubrey left the terrace, wandered around the corner of the sprawling mansion and reached the gardens, his glorious solitude made all the more certain when he reached the hedge maze.

The hedge maze wasn’t a serious challenge, as Aubrey had found out on the first day at Belville, but its ten-feet-high walls guaranteed that dozens of people could be within its confines without seeing each other, which made it a useful place to gain some respite from court intrigue. The builders of the maze had anticipated this, and had placed benches in niches to allow wanderers a place to sit and contemplate whatever needed contemplating.

The sun was well on its way toward setting when Aubrey chose one of these benches, leaned back, hands behind his head, and enjoyed the inaction. It felt good to be away from the drone of international diplomacy. Being even a minor public figure – fully rehabilitated in the eyes of the public since the Acting Head of the Holmland Intelligence Services, a Mr Hugo von Stralick, had confirmed that the damning photos of Aubrey had been taken under duress – meant that solitude was a rare thing. Since his welcoming back as a true son of Albion, rumours had circulated about his role in the events that had brought an end to the war. People sought him out. Most simply wanted to hear his story, but others were looking for a more commercial insight. None of them should have taken the trouble; Aubrey never spoke of his doings to anyone other than his parents and his close comrades.

He closed his eyes, breathed in the rich cypress smell of the maze walls, and did his best to empty his mind of everything.

Naturally, it was only a few minutes before he began to fidget. He opened his eyes and admired the way the light of setting sun caught the few clouds in the sky. Then he examined the bench and became fascinated by the patches of lichen growing on the stone. He wondered how old the bench was and whether he could find the records of the purchase of the garden furniture somewhere in the palace, but before he could make a note about this he was distracted by the clever topiary that had carved out the arched recess in the hedge opposite for a bust of a classical emperor – then he became intrigued by the technique of hedge cutting that allowed such a neat alcove to be made.

When George Doyle came into view – hands jammed in pockets, beaming at the sky – Aubrey had scrawled two pages of notes and ideas that had spiralled off into some thoughts about the Law of Harmony before sidestepping into a possible new application exploring the power of collective human consciousness in magic making, something that Commander Craddock, Lanka Ravi and Professor Bromhead had been working on ever since the magical theoreticians had been released from hospital.

‘Still working, old man?’ George took a small cake from his pocket, one of the shell-shaped, almond-flavoured delicacies he’d come to favour while at the conference. He took a bite, then blinked. ‘I was going to say something then, but now I’ve completely forgotten.’

‘It can’t be important, then. Where’s Sophie?’

George waved a hand. ‘She should be along any minute.’

George sat next to Aubrey and finished his cake. He dusted his hands of crumbs. ‘Well, what’s next, old man, after all this winds up? Back to Greythorn?’

Nearby, two birds joined in a brief song that dwindled to a series of chuckles. Aubrey waited for them to start again. When they didn’t, he decided they’d settled for the night. ‘Next term. I want to finish my degree, of course. And you?’

‘I’m not one to leave something incomplete. I’ll be there.’

‘Good.’ Aubrey hesitated for a moment and then went on. ‘And after that?’

‘That’s a very good question.’ George groped in his pocket and looked disappointed at not finding another cake. His actions made Aubrey’s hand go to his own pocket. ‘I could always go farming,’ George continued. ‘Father would like that.’

‘Would you?’

‘It has its attractions, the country life and all that.’ George glanced at Aubrey. ‘You know, old man, I understand now why my old dad doesn’t talk much about the war. Do you feel like blabbing on about it?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

‘Writing, though,’ George said. ‘That’s different. I wouldn’t mind having a bash at a novel.’

‘A novel?’

‘About the war. I think I could knock a few silly ideas out of a few heads that way.’

‘I’m sure you could.’ Aubrey took off his cap and scratched his head. He turned the cap over in his hands and stared at it. ‘What about Sophie?’

‘Sophie? The light of my life?’ George looked at Aubrey, his face solemn. ‘You understand, old man, that everything I’ve said about the future is dependent on my working out some way to keep her with me.’

‘I never thought any differently. This will involve talking to her, I take it?’

‘And listening, old man, don’t forget listening.’

‘Excellent. Here’s your chance.’

Aubrey stood. George blinked, looked around, saw Sophie and Caroline approaching along the long green corridor. He punched Aubrey on the shoulder, gently. ‘See you in the palace, old friend?’

Aubrey reached out and gripped his friend’s hand. ‘Of course you will, old friend.’

They shook. George grinned and ran to meet Sophie. He swung her off her feet and, arm in arm, they vanished into the maze.

Caroline laughed and came to Aubrey’s side. She was trim in her full Directorate field uniform – black jacket over long black skirt, black cap, gloves – which set off her green eyes beautifully. ‘What on earth have you two been talking about?’

‘What most people have been talking about since the armistice – the future.’