Time of Trial (22 page)

‘Is it the usual procedure for your firm to make such an inquiry? I thought discretion was part of what you offered.'

‘Of course, of course. It is simply that magic suppressors are so new, so complex, that your people may need training.'

‘Ah.' She pressed her hands together and scowled. ‘This may be so.'

Aubrey was relieved. Extemporising spells was one thing, but ad-libbing smuggling deals was another. ‘Do you need to consult your colleagues again?'

She shook her head decisively. ‘No. I am empowered to make such decisions. And I will.'

‘Excellent. But with these developments, I'm afraid I must know who we are dealing with. We must be sure that we cover ourselves.'

‘I understand.' She took a deep breath. ‘I belong to a secret society.'

George snorted. Cake crumbs flew. ‘And who doesn't, these days?'

She fixed him with an impenetrable look and then handed him a napkin. ‘That may be true. But this society is centuries old.'

‘You're one of the Goltan groups?' Aubrey hazarded.

‘No. We are the Ancient Order of Enlightened Ones.'

The name rang a very faint bell. ‘You're enlightened?'

‘It's an unfortunate name. It tends to raise expectations.' She sighed. ‘Our secret order was founded by a fifteenth-century Venezian scholar. We are dedicated to repairing damage done by indiscriminate magic.'

‘Wait.' Aubrey put a hand to his forehead. ‘Indiscriminate magic? What on earth do you mean?'

‘You have magic. You must have seen what happens when spells aren't well constructed.'

Aubrey nodded. He'd seen many different results of badly constructed magic – spells exceeding their expected duration and spread, spells fizzling like damp squibs, spells that simply didn't work at all.

But they all had something in common. ‘Residue.'

‘Even the best spells leave behind magical vestiges. Poor spells throw off residue like a snake sloughs off a skin.'

‘I know. Forensic magicians rely on this.' Aubrey had done some work with forensic magicians belonging to Craddock's staff. He liked their intensity, their focus.

‘And what happens to the residue?' Madame Zelinka asked meaningfully.

Aubrey started. He'd never really thought about it. ‘It just disappears. Evaporates, I suppose, once it loses its efficacy...' His voice trailed off. His speculation didn't sound convincing, even to him. ‘That's not right, is it?'

‘In most cases, it serves. Our scholars think that, in reality, the residue doesn't disappear. It is absorbed, becomes part of the surroundings – and not always to the benefit of these surroundings. If our order had the time and the personnel, we would neutralise each and every instance of magic residue, but that is a pipe dream.'

‘So to what
do
you devote your time and personnel?'

‘Major events. Magical disruptions of the highest order. We had to spend some time in your country recently, underground, in the heart of your Trinovant.'

Aubrey took a sharp breath, but Madame Zelinka was too involved with her memory to notice it, or the look that passed between Aubrey and George.

‘We lost Ambrose, and Gustave,' she said softly.

‘Your work is dangerous?' Aubrey asked.

‘Our magic workers have particular skills, but it leaves them exposed. I have only minor magic so I support them as they do their work, counteracting the effect of the worst magic left lying about.'

George picked up his empty coffee cup and put it down again. ‘This all sounds like jolly good work. So why is your group so secretive?'

Madame Zelinka put her hands together. ‘We have found that many countries, many people, wish to control us, to have our learning and expertise for them alone. Their greed and self-interest has meant that we keep to ourselves and deal with whoever we can to do our work successfully.'

‘Cleaning up other people's messes,' Aubrey said.

‘That's one way to put it.' Again, she chose her words carefully. ‘At this time, it seems we're cleaning up one person's messes more than any other. More than any other single person in our order's history.'

Aubrey knew the answer but asked anyway, for form. ‘And who would that be?'

‘Your countryman. Dr Mordecai Tremaine.'

‘The man who used to be Albion's Sorcerer Royal?' He continued playing his role. ‘I thought he was dead.'

‘He is very much alive, spreading mischief, here in Holmland.'

‘Fancy that. Sounds like a man to keep away from.'

‘He is not a man to have as your enemy.'

‘So you don't confront him. You just clean up for him.'

‘He is powerful – vastly powerful – but reckless. If we didn't do our work, it would be a calamity for everyone.'

‘Can't have magic residue lying around all over the place, can we?' George said.

‘Not unless you want to suffer the consequences, as Holmland currently is.'

Aubrey was alert. ‘Holmland is suffering? It doesn't seem so. It appears prosperous enough.'

‘One mess that Tremaine left behind has been causing harm.' She took a deep breath. ‘It has spawned a magical field that is disrupting souls.'

Aubrey rocked back. He felt as if he were in a boxing ring with multiple opponents – blows were coming from all directions.

‘Ghosts,' he said. ‘And ghost hunters.'

‘You've seen them?' Madame Zelinka grimaced. ‘Holmlanders are having their souls splintered, and the ghost hunters have sensed this. They are drawn to the disruption like moths to a flame.'

‘We bumped into a few,' George said. ‘Scruffy types.'

Madame Zelinka nodded. ‘Dr Tremaine cast a spell earlier this year, a powerful spell – something to do with Urbomancy – and the residue has festered, breeding on itself and on the remains of other spells Dr Tremaine has cast. It has become a source of disruption, shattering troubled souls and casting off what – to some appearances – are ghosts.'

‘And where is all this magical mess lying about?' George asked, giving Aubrey some time to think. ‘Surely Tremaine would notice it, especially if it was festering away as you say.'

‘It was in a house, north of the city, where he stayed when he first arrived in Holmland. A few days after he cast his spell, the place went up in flames. He has enemies.'

‘And a good sense of when not to be home, I'll warrant,' George said. ‘He wasn't harmed?'

‘No. But the place was ruined and he hasn't returned. He lives in the city now. Near the Assembly Building.'

‘Of course.' Aubrey scratched his chin, thought it didn't look dignified enough, and dropped his hand. ‘So you need the magical suppressors to assist you in quelling this magical outbreak? This disruption?'

‘We've had several of our people track down the source of the disturbance. They're frightened by what they've found.'

‘Frightened?' George said. ‘That doesn't sound good. Frightened of what?'

‘We're not sure. The last of my colleagues to report from the place died before he could give us any details. We've interdicted the area.'

‘The ghost spawning grounds,' George muttered, glancing at Aubrey.

‘Spawning grounds? A good description.' She stood. ‘Now. I must leave, so you must go. I fear I have remained in one place for too long, but as you can see, we need your machines.'

‘You're in danger?'

Her smile was wry, and not without humour. Aubrey found himself liking the brisk, detached woman. ‘Who isn't in danger in Fisherberg? And ever since we've become involved with your Dr Tremaine, danger seems to come our way more often...'

When they left, Madame Zelinka was packing. Aubrey was silent all the way down in the lift as he tried to put this new information into perspective and he tapped the Beccaria Cage meditatively, which was beginning to become a habit. While a mysterious order of itinerant, altruistic magicians was useful to know about, more important was the havoc Dr Tremaine was wreaking. Was he aware of this? And where would it lead?

Evening was falling. The embassy was full of lights by the time they were admitted by the guards and Aubrey was grateful for the warm cheeriness of the place, but was surprised when Hollows, the ambassador, caught them just inside the entrance hall.

‘Where have you been? I've been looking for you.'

‘Out, sir,' Aubrey said, automatically keeping his cards close to his chest.

‘Yes, yes, that's what von Stralick said.' The ambassador looked up the stairs. Aubrey thought the man looked flustered. ‘We have visitors. Unexpected visitors.'

‘Ah. I had hoped Miss Hepworth would present herself. Has she brought her mother?'

‘No. I mean yes, they're here, but that's not who I meant.' He glanced toward the stairs again. ‘Prince Albert has arrived early.'

In what was delightfully called The Swan Room, a large west-facing drawing room, Aubrey and George found not only Prince Albert, Caroline and Mrs Hepworth, but Lady Rose. All were speaking at once and nobody noticed when Aubrey and George slipped in.

Quentin Hollows looked harried and Aubrey felt for the man. Having the heir to the Albion throne arrive a week ahead of schedule was enough to try anyone. Hollows was in charge of the embassy, this little patch of Albion, and it was his duty as a host and as a diplomat to take care of his future king.

The room was a long and narrow space broken by three square marble pillars, and decorated entirely in black and white. The walls were papered in dramatic stripes, while the floor was carpeted in dizzying black-and-white squares. The furniture was ebony, angular chairs and tables.

Aubrey wasn't surprised when his mother beckoned to them, then made her way to meet them at the door. ‘Caroline and her mother both seem well disposed to you, Aubrey, for which I suppose I should be grateful.'

‘It means I haven't done anything foolish,' Aubrey said. ‘More foolish than usual,' he added.

‘Caroline and you seemed to have worked out some sort of arrangement.'

It wasn't a question, but it was definitely an invitation for further comment.

‘We have. All's well.'

His mother studied him closely for a moment. ‘I'm not so sure about that, but let it rest for now.' She smiled. ‘Hello, George. Aubrey hasn't brought down the Albion Empire yet, has he?'

George responded gallantly, Aubrey decided, if one ignored the flaming blush that sprang to his cheeks. ‘No, Lady Rose. Not today.'

‘What a superb answer,' she said with a quick smile. ‘He's lucky to have you as a friend.'

George's blush deepened, he coughed, looked away, tried to speak, and then took out a handkerchief to blow his nose. Aubrey loved his mother for the way she ignored all of this. She glanced over her shoulder to where Caroline, Mrs Hepworth and Prince Albert were chatting. ‘Well, we have a knotty situation on our hands here, don't we?' she said to Aubrey. ‘That's why poor Hollows is looking so distracted, I imagine. A week earlier in Holmland? A week extra in the worst possible place for the heir to the throne of Albion?'

‘Bertie's convinced he can do something to avert the war,' Aubrey said softly.

‘And can he?' his mother asked.

Aubrey studied the Prince. Habitually serious, he was smiling in a perplexed manner at something Caroline was telling him. ‘He'll certainly do his best. The Elektor will listen to him, that's certain. But whether the Elektor will be convinced, and whether the Elektor can do anything.' He sighed. ‘Well, that's another matter.'

The Prince looked in their direction and immediately rose to his feet. He crossed the floor. ‘Aubrey! George! I was beginning to think that you'd gone off to sample the delights of Fisherberg without me.'

He shook their hands in turn. ‘Your highness,' Aubrey said. ‘We've been busy.'

Prince Albert turned to Caroline, who – with her mother – had followed. ‘I always begin to worry when Aubrey says that. It hides a multitude of sins.'

‘Sins?' Caroline offered her hand to Aubrey. ‘I'm not sure about sins, but in Aubrey's hands, a polite phrase certainly becomes an tool of subterfuge.'

‘Caroline. It's good to see you, too.'

And it was. After only a short period of not seeing her, Aubrey couldn't deny how his heart beat faster in her presence, how his eye tended to linger on her, how he was acutely aware of her words, her attitudes, her nuances, and – more importantly, perhaps – how eagerly he wanted her to think well of him.

She had had her hair done, he was sure, lifted a little higher at the back. It seemed, too, that she and her mother had stopped in Lutetia on the way over, for she was wearing a new outfit that was undeniably Gallian. A jacket and skirt ensemble of some kind, in a deep, arresting blue.

‘Hello, George,' Caroline said. ‘I'm assuming that you and Aubrey have been involved in important matters? The symposium?'

Caroline's artful pause spoke volumes.
I want a full report on what you've been up to
, it said,
as well as a chorus of heartfelt, abject apologies for not including me.

Aubrey was prepared to comply, glad as he was to see her.

‘Symposium?' George said.

‘Preparations are well under way,' Aubrey cut in smoothly, promising himself to tell Caroline about the afternoon's events as soon as possible. ‘Ah, Mrs Hepworth. You're exhibiting during the symposium, aren't you?'

Mrs Hepworth was still in her oriental phase. Her gown was long, flowing silk while she wore a headdress that shimmered like beaten bronze. She smiled and extended her hand. ‘And presenting a paper. “The role of the landscape in the Albion imagination.” I think they're expecting something quite dull, so I'll make sure to surprise them.'

Caroline rolled her eyes. ‘She does like making a scene. Just remember, Mother, we're guests here.'

‘Of course. And a guest's duty is to be entertaining. At least, that's how I see it.'

Aubrey caught the eye of the Prince. Leaving Mrs Hepworth to quiz George about Sophie Delroy, his special Gallian friend, they strolled over to an elaborate marble fireplace, where Hollows was earnestly speaking with an embassy official. Both Caroline and Lady Rose found George's rambling responses amusing, and they were doing their best to contribute.

‘Now, Bertie,' Aubrey said to the Prince, after Hollows had dismissed the official. ‘What's all this about arriving a week early? Spontaneity isn't exactly your strong suit, you know.'

‘I know.' The Prince stood with his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Blame that on a regimented upbringing.'

‘You have a busy life, your highness,' Hollows said.

‘Quite,' the Prince said. ‘But I must apologise again, Hollows. I haven't done this just to get you and your staff into a flap. Although I seem to have done just that.'

‘I'm sure we can cope,' Hollows said and Aubrey saw that the ambassador had recovered his poise. His opinion of Hollows rose a notch.

‘The early arrival wasn't my idea,' the Prince said. ‘It was Leopold's.'

‘The Elektor?' Aubrey said.

‘He spoke to me on the telephone. Very excited, he was. He told me it was the first time he'd ever used the device.'

‘I'm sure that wasn't what he called you about.'

‘No, once he calmed down he told me that he was worried. “Frightfully concerned” was how he put it.'

‘About the tension between Holmland and Albion?'

‘In part. He was more anxious about the Chancellor. Wanted to know if I had any tips for dealing with a head of government.'

‘Ah. Tricky stuff, that. The head of government is the embodiment of the will of the people.'

The Prince smiled. It wasn't a cynical smile, Aubrey thought, but it was a knowing one. ‘Yes. And we kings and princes are simply outmoded relics of the distant past.'

‘That means you have centuries of experience to draw on. And unrivalled family connections.' Aubrey stared into the distance for a moment, thinking. ‘The Elektor wants to talk to you.'

‘He says he doesn't trust anyone apart from his nephew Josef, who spends most of his time touring about, being patriotic, so is hardly around to talk to.'

Hollows nodded. ‘Duke Josef is currently visiting his cousin, the Tsar, and doing his best to keep Muscovia happy with Holmland.'

‘Wise man,' Aubrey said. ‘So, Bertie, you wanted to spend some time with the Elektor?'

‘Before the symposium, if possible. Chancellor Neumann has Leopold at centre stage as often as he can next week. Full pomp and regalia.'

‘And how is the Security Intelligence Directorate feeling about this?' Aubrey asked Hollows.

‘The...?' Hollows snorted. ‘Ah, the cloak and dagger squad? Forgive me, your highness.'

‘No need, Hollows. Craddock and Tallis are good men, but they do seem to enjoy the clandestine world, rather.'

‘They sent a crack team with the Prince,' Hollows said. ‘Fifty men and women commanded by a colonel. My head of household is having a heart attack trying to quarter all of them.'

‘A dozen of the operatives are specialist magicians,' the Prince said. ‘They appear to be ready for anything, Aubrey, but I do feel happier with you around.'

Aubrey was touched by the Prince's confidence. He didn't imagine many failed assassins were welcomed into the royal inner circle. ‘You can count on me. And George.'

‘Of course.'

‘And Miss Hepworth,' Hollows added slowly, ‘since Tallis let me know she's still on special detachment.'

Aubrey hadn't been sure about that, but decided that Tallis's team would be better off for it.

Another embassy official entered the room and made directly for Hollows, who saw him coming, apologised, met him halfway, had a brief, intense conversation, and then returned looking relieved. ‘Dinner is ready,' he announced and Aubrey had an immediate appreciation of the difficulties of the ambassador's job. Day-to-day diplomacy was one thing, but he also had to organise a complete little world within the walls of the embassy – including such mundane matters as feeding unexpected guests.

Hollows ushered them to the grand dining room and Aubrey was impressed once again. The tables, the table settings, the flower arrangements and the hordes of waiting serving staff looked as if they had been organised months ago.

Over the course of the evening, Lady Rose and Ophelia Hepworth exchanged scandalous stories that shocked George and brought wry smiles of recognition to the faces of the ambassador and the Prince. Aubrey did his best to keep up with Caroline as she wove in and out of the conversations that flowed around the table. He'd always fancied himself as a dab hand at chat, but Caroline ran rings around him this evening. Not that he minded. Having her running rings around him was a vision that filled many of his daydreams, if truth be told.

When the dinner broke up, amid much laughter at the conclusion of a George story about matching wits with his journalistic nemesis at college, Aubrey was taken aback when he caught the time on the clock over the fireplace. It was much later than he thought.

‘I'll walk you home,' he said to Caroline and Mrs Hepworth.

‘Thank you, dear boy,' Mrs Hepworth said, ‘but I'm sure we don't need an escort on such a brief journey.'

Caroline caught her lower lip with her teeth, then raised an eyebrow at him. ‘I'd appreciate it, Aubrey. Thank you.'

When Mrs Hepworth rolled her eyes, Aubrey saw where her daughter got that gesture from. ‘You are a contrarian by nature, Caroline. I'm sure that if I'd agreed to Aubrey's request, you would have insisted he stay here.'

‘No I wouldn't,' Caroline said, and that was enough for more laughter, a delicately smothered yawn from Lady Rose, a wistful look at the empty chocolate platter from George and for the ambassador to guide them downstairs to the door.

‘The gate is guarded all night,' he said to Aubrey after farewelling the Hepworths. ‘You'll be let in.'

Nearly midnight, but the streets gave no sign of being desolate. They were well illuminated by bright gaslight and many Fisherbergians were strolling along the pavements. Cabs were doing good business, both horse-drawn and motor.

Aubrey was glad that the city architects and town planners of Fisherberg worked on generous proportions. The streets were wide, the pavements substantial, the way well lit. This meant that he could walk alongside Caroline instead of having to trail behind the Hepworths like some sort of flunky. He did, the three of them walking side by side for some time. They told him about their earlier times in the city, the places they'd enjoyed, the delights it had to offer.

Then Mrs Hepworth quickened her pace a little, striding ahead a dozen or so steps, just at a time when Caroline slowed. Aubrey, of course, matched her pace.

‘Mother is discreet,' Caroline said softly. ‘I didn't even have to ask her.'

‘I beg your pardon?' Aubrey said, confused.

‘She knew I'd want to find out what you've been up to since leaving Albion. She's giving us a chance.'

Aubrey admired Caroline's mother, and was thankful for her modern outlook. As well as being an outstanding artist, she was a famous free-thinker, one of the most progressive women in Albion. Her views on raising her daughter were generally thought of as scandalous, but she never cared for public opinion.

And, Aubrey had found, she treated him well – better than he probably deserved.

‘Right,' he said. ‘We started on a train.'

Aubrey was conscious of Mrs Hepworth leading the way, not far ahead, and he kept the report as concise as possible. Caroline was shocked when he told her of Manfred's reappearance, and she gasped when he described his plummet from the train. She wrinkled her immaculate brow at the details of the brigand encounter, but the near-fatal raft trip through the gorge only made her smile.

‘It wasn't funny,' he said stiffly. ‘Not at the time.'

‘It's not that.' Without looking at him, she patted him on the arm.

His heart was butter, and melted. ‘What is it then?'

‘I was wondering why you didn't burst through a wall of flame, right at the end.'

‘You've lost me, I'm afraid.'

She ticked items off on her fingers. Aubrey had always loved her hands. Elegant, dextrous, beautiful. ‘You fell through the air, went into the bowels of the earth, then careered through water. Of the four elements, only fire was left. It was unlike you not to complete the set.' She smiled a little. ‘Not all that funny, really.'

Maybe not
, he thought,
but I'll listen to you for as long as you'll let me.
‘Clever, though.'