Time of Trial (8 page)

While Aubrey was dawdling over an orange, Lady Rose stood. ‘Excuse me, Aubrey, but I must be off.'

Aubrey climbed to his feet and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. ‘To the museum again?'

‘For a few hours. I need to organise shipment of some specimens to this symposium.'

Aubrey had a thought. ‘Exactly when is this show?'

‘It's not a show. Next week is the start of a progam of lectures and slide presentations by some of the brightest intellects in the world.'

‘So soon?'

‘It's been planned for some time. I'm sorry if they haven't been in constant communication with you. Now, after the museum, I'm meeting your father in the Parliamentary dining room for supper. We may be late.'

She left, and Aubrey lingered over his orange, making each segment last. He could imagine the supper might be a sticky one. Lady Rose was not a woman who felt she had to ask her husband's permission for her many and varied pursuits, something which had scandalised the nation at first. But when Sir Darius showed unquestioned support for his wife's career, it became a matter of some wonder, and inspiration for the suffragist movement. Despite Lady Rose having no formal role in the organisation, she was a model of the modern, free-thinking woman, one often used as an example by those pressing for Votes for Women.

So Sir Darius wouldn't argue about the propriety of the obligation. He would, however, have grave doubts about his wife's safety. And despite her confidence in the Holmlanders and the abilities of the Albion intelligence services, Aubrey was forced to agree with his father.

Professors, savants and academics from across the world cared little for politics. Many felt that national borders and the demands of patriotism shouldn't stifle intellectual commerce. It was a noble goal, and Aubrey supported it. Perhaps free and unfettered exchanges of views may help to break down the differences between nations.

But against that was the suspicion and hostility of the military and political factions of nations. At times, it seemed as if they had a vested interest in fostering suspicion. More suspicion meant it was only natural to build strong armies and to have strong leaders...

‘Mr Fitzwilliam, sir?'

Tilly, the maid, hesitated at his elbow.

‘Yes, Tilly?'

‘It's His Royal Highness, sir. Prince Albert. He's here. In the library.'

Aubrey blinked. ‘What time is it?'

‘It's two o'clock, sir. His Highness apologised for being early.' Tilly dropped her gaze and Aubrey saw that she was blushing. Prince Albert was darkly handsome and this, combined with his status, tended to have an effect on women. Especially, but not solely, young women. He had a similar appeal to the mothers of unmarried young women, but the effect in that case was often laced with a tincture of calculation.

A serious-looking young man was on guard outside the library. He wore a dark, discreet suit. He made no secret of inspecting Aubrey before opening the door.

So I'm forgiven, but not forgotten
. Aubrey couldn't really blame them. He thought he was lucky to have got off so lightly.

Prince Albert was reading a golfing manual and looked up as Aubrey entered. He replaced the book on the shelves and advanced, hand extended. ‘Aubrey! You've recovered?'

They shook. Aubrey shrugged, glad that Bertie harboured no ill will. ‘I seem right as rain. Better than ever, in fact.'

‘I'm glad,' the Prince said and Aubrey saw that it was true and wholehearted. Prince Albert was genuinely relieved that Aubrey had come through the ordeal. His own peril was of little importance to him.

They each took one of the red leather armchairs in the centre of the library, and it was only then that Aubrey saw another serious-looking young man standing by the window. The Prince followed his gaze. ‘Sommers' idea,' he apologised. ‘He won't let me go anywhere any more, not without a squad or two of Tallis's Special Services operatives. Good people, all of them, but they rather damp the spontaneity. I visited the exhibition of the crown jewels from Gallia this morning, and I could hardly move, surrounded as I was by Albion's finest.'

‘Doing your best for the alliance, I see.'

The Prince sighed. ‘The President of Gallia thought a goodwill tour of their precious jewels would be helpful for our alliance. Splendid array, it is. Very popular.'

‘And it's yours,' Aubrey said, ‘by right.'

The Prince made a face. ‘Don't, Aubrey, not even in jest.'

In their Gallian adventure, Aubrey, Caroline and George had found documentary proof that Prince Albert – through his mother's family – was the true heir to the crown of Gallia. The way the Prince had received this information told Aubrey that he'd suspected it for some time and that the ancient deeds were only confirmation.

Nothing had been made public about this. Gallia was a proud republic and had no need for kings since its revolution. Any move by the Albion royal family would undoubtedly fracture the alliance between the two nations.

Just another complicating factor in a complex world
, Aubrey thought.

He leaned back in his chair and noticed how the Special Services agent had positioned himself so he could see the garden outside the window while keeping an eye on anything in the library. ‘It's understandable you have protection. After all, I nearly killed you.'

‘Not your fault, old fellow.'

Aubrey drummed his fingers on the armrest of the easy chair. ‘I haven't actually apologised, have I?'

‘Accepted and forgotten.' Prince Albert smiled a little. ‘You know, I can't banish you from my presence. You'd be like a very large fog.'

Aubrey felt uneasy. ‘Fog?'

‘You'd be much missed.'

Aubrey groaned. The Prince looked thoroughly pleased. But despite the pain, Aubrey felt lucky to see this side of Bertie. His fondness for puns and wordplay was at odds with his public face, that of the serious, dutiful heir to the throne, hardworking in the stead of his father, whose periodic bouts of irrationality were getting worse.

‘Have you come all the way over here just to subject me to that?' Aubrey asked.

‘I was on my way back to the Palace after the Gallian commitment, but I couldn't resist. It was your, how can I put it ...
pun-
ishment?'

Aubrey put his head in his hands. ‘I'm appalled.'

‘Good. You need appalling every now and then.' The Prince chuckled. ‘I actually did want to see how you were. It must have been dreadful, being taken over like that.'

Aubrey shuddered. ‘Being out of control? A nightmare.' ‘I'm glad you weren't successful. It'd make it hard to take up cousin Leopold on his invitation.'

The misgivings Aubrey had felt before Bertie launched his pun assault were nothing to the misgivings that pricked him now.

‘I only know one Leopold,' he said slowly. ‘One Leopold who'd be your cousin, anyway. We're talking about the Elektor of Holmland, aren't we?'

‘Cousin Leopold, that's what I said.'

‘Ruler of the most powerful nation on the continent? The country that's looking to expand its borders? The country that's likely to be our greatest enemy if this war breaks out?'

‘Leopold is most upset about that,' Prince Albert said. ‘He says Chancellor Neumann and his government are getting out of hand.'

Aubrey rubbed his forehead. ‘You're not going, are you?'

Suddenly, it was as if the Prince had taken off one set of clothes and put on another. He straightened, nodded solemnly, and the punning young man was gone. In front of Aubrey was the heir to the throne of Albion, the one who'd been born and raised knowing his duty. ‘Aubrey, I don't want the world to go to war, and that's what's going to happen if something isn't done about it.'

‘And your visiting Holmland is going to stop the war?'

Bertie rubbed his hands together and stared at them. ‘That's not the public reason for my visit, no. But while I'm there I want to see what I can do. It might be a step in the right direction. I can't overlook a chance to bring our nations closer together. It may help ease tension.'

‘Of course. But you must have considered that this invitation could be a plot.' Aubrey had a thought. ‘If you're shown to be a Holmland sympathiser, it may diminish your reputation here.'

‘It may be. But I'm willing to risk that for the chance to speak face to face with Leopold.' He frowned. ‘I have doubts over the veracity of some of the public pronouncements that he's said to have made.'

‘This visit wouldn't be based around a symposium or anything, would it? Next week?'

A small smile. ‘Leopold always did like a show. He adored visiting the Great Exhibition here when he was small.'

Aubrey glanced at the Special Services operative. ‘I can see that you've made up your mind. You'll have protection?'

‘Tallis and Craddock have insisted on it. As has your father.'

‘You've discussed this with him?'

‘Of course. He wasn't happy, but he understood my reasoning.' The Prince pursed his lips. ‘I want to ask you to come along. Having such a useful chap as yourself in my entourage might help reassure your father.'

Aubrey was ready to agree, but then he remembered his promise to Caroline and Kiefer. His face fell. ‘Sorry, Bertie. Other commitments.'

Bertie stood. ‘Don't trouble yourself, old fellow, just thought I'd see if you were available. If there's anything I understand, it's commitments.' He shook Aubrey's hand. ‘Now, to another of those commitments.'

Aubrey walked with him to the front door. ‘What is it this time? Dedicating a new bridge? A meeting of an excruciatingly dull committee?'

‘A new battleship is being launched at Imworth. I have to be there. Show of support and all that.'

‘Of course.'

Aubrey saw the Prince out. When the door closed, he stood for a moment, admiring his friend. It couldn't be easy being the heir to the throne – not to mention that Bertie could rightfully claim the throne of Gallia as well if he chose.
There's someone who knows how to keep a secret.

Events were bumping together like thunder-clouds before a storm. After the Prince left, Aubrey abandoned his plans for more research. He decided to go looking for Hugo von Stralick, but not before taking a special item from the safe and replenishing George's appurtenances vest with a variety of possibly useful items.

Holmland was at the heart of things, he decided as the underground train made its way toward Little Pickling. Dr Tremaine, the symposium, the appearance of Otto Kiefer and his Beccaria Cage. He needed to talk to someone about Holmland's intentions, and Hugo von Stralick was the one whose brain he could pick.

The train took him across the river and he waited impatiently, fingering the Beccaria Cage through his shirt, until he alighted at Laidley Grove Station. After that it was a fair hike to get to the Istros Coffee House.

From the outside, the café looked none the worse for the fracas the previous day. The proprietor didn't look overwhelmingly happy to see him, frowning as Aubrey made his way through the warm and exotic front room.

The inner room was equally warm, but as Aubrey stood just inside the doorway he couldn't help but feel that something had changed. Gone was the excited argument, the chatter. The tables were well populated, but heads were bowed, conversations guarded. His arrival sent a ripple of surprised glances around the steamy, smoky room, but no-one would meet his gaze.

He scanned the café but couldn't see von Stralick. He was about to give up when Kiefer wandered through the front door. He looked relieved, and twisted his cloth cap between his hands as if he were trying to wring it dry. ‘Hugo said you'd be looking for him.'

‘And where is he?'

‘He asked me to find you. Find you and take you to him.'

Aubrey didn't like being at von Stralick's command. ‘Where?'

‘I'll take you.'

‘Cab?'

Kiefer looked blank and Aubrey could see him trying to remember how much money he had in his wallet. ‘We will walk.'

Kiefer's long legs set a cracking pace, but Aubrey found it easy to keep up, thanks to his reconstituted self. This meant he had enough energy to question Kiefer and, after some initial resistance, the youth became almost garrulous, telling Aubrey a long, rambling tale of the way his father had been exploited, his tragic death and the subsequent struggles of the family. Kiefer walked with his head down and his hands clutched behind his back as he kept up his monologue of money problems and how these had made him careful with every penny, even after he'd been sponsored in his studies by one of Holmland's more generous nobles. On more than one occasion, Aubrey had to steer him around lamp posts and fellow pedestrians, and he had to take him by the arm whenever it came time to cross a road.

After fifteen minutes of this erratic journey, Kiefer stopped suddenly and peered around. They were approaching a busy intersection, near a flower market, if Aubrey's nose was any judge.

Kiefer turned his gaze to Aubrey. He was calm and serious. ‘Your Dr Tremaine took all my father's notes, you know. After the laboratory explosion.'

Aubrey stared, then realised that Kiefer was simply continuing the earlier conversation. ‘I'm sorry to hear that.'

‘I wanted them,' Kiefer continued, desolate. ‘Not just because of the findings.'

‘Catalytic magic. Much work is going on in this area.'

Kiefer shrugged. ‘This is so. The notes will help my career, that is true. But I wanted them because they belonged to him. My father.'

‘Of course.'

Kiefer pushed his spectacles back on his nose. ‘I will have my revenge, you know. With your help or without it.'

Kiefer's quiet determination was impressive, but it also had a brittle edge, as if he'd fired his revenge for too long and while it had become hard, it had also become breakable.

‘Dr Tremaine is no ordinary enemy,' Aubrey advised. ‘Don't do anything rash.'

‘Rash? Rash is not my way. I am here after much planning, much pondering.' His face fell. ‘My plans did not go as I had hoped, it seems. Tremaine must have intercepted the letters from Uncle Maurice, found the Beccaria Cage and prepared it for you.'

‘Perhaps.' Aubrey had come to a different conclusion. While Dr Tremaine wasn't above making the most of an opportunity, he was the great instigator of schemes. Aubrey could see him tinkering with a Beccaria Cage, secreting his mind-controlling spell, and then sending a bogus letter to Maurice alerting him to the presence of the artefact. The arch-manipulator, setting the wheels in motion, then moving on to his next scheme.

Aubrey couldn't help but feel for the despairing Holmlander. ‘Don't worry, Kiefer. I understand what you want. But we must be cautious.'

‘You have reasons to bring him down?'

‘I do.'

‘Then let us work together.' Kiefer held up a hand. ‘But please do not mistake me. I am no traitor. I love my country and I will do nothing to harm it.'

‘I see.'

‘I am glad.' He scowled. ‘Your Dr Tremaine is not good for Holmland. The sooner he is out, the better.' Kiefer set off again, but after a few steps he stopped and turned around. ‘That way,' he said, leading back the way they'd come.

A few minutes later, he clapped his hands together and rubbed them, his bony elbows posing a hazard to passing traffic. ‘We are here.'

They'd left Little Pickling and come to a neat, orderly street in nearby Crozier. The street was lined with townhouses, four or five storeys tall, all made of clean red brick. At the end of the street was the imposing bulk of the Showellstyle Station.

‘Von Stralick has rooms here?'

‘He owns the whole building.' Kiefer pointed at the townhouse in front of them.

‘Really? The importing and exporting business must be doing well.'

Kiefer looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. He mounted the stairs and clattered the brass doorknocker.

Aubrey was still gazing upward, trying to count windows and rooms, when the door opened and von Stralick stood there. ‘Ah, Otto. You've found him. Very good.'

Aubrey climbed the stairs. ‘Von Stralick. You want something?'

Von Stralick looked pained, then ushered Aubrey and Kiefer inside. He closed the door before answering. ‘I want to help you stop Dr Tremaine.'

Aubrey was immediately suspicious. Hugo von Stralick was both opportunistic and self-interested. An offer of help like this, unasked for, was something to be approached very, very carefully. ‘For purely altruistic reasons?'

‘I could say that getting rid of Dr Tremaine would be good for Holmland, but that all depends on how you see the future direction of our country.' He coughed into his hand. ‘I know you may find this hard to believe, but I have a personal reason for stopping him.'

‘Go on.'

‘My late superior, the man I reported to, was more than a colleague. He was an old friend and a good man. A family man. He didn't deserve what happened. I help you stop Tremaine, I will get great satisfaction.'

It sounded plausible.
Perhaps too plausible?
Aubrey wasn't about to accept such a declaration at face value. He needed time to think. ‘Er. What about a cup of tea first?'

Von Stralick raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. ‘Tea. A standard Albionite delaying tactic. Otto?'

‘Of course. And what about some of those tasty Albion scones? I can make some if you like.'

He rushed down the dimly lit hall.

Von Stralick glanced at Aubrey and shrugged. ‘He does try to be useful.'

‘So I see. I hope he knows his way around the kitchen.'

‘Do not underestimate him, Fitzwilliam.' Von Stralick winced at a crash that came from the direction that Kiefer had gone. ‘He is very talented, in a number of fields. And he is determined to succeed.'

‘In gaining revenge on Dr Tremaine?'

‘Yes. But Otto is ambitious in a more practical sense. He wants wealth and position and feels that he has missed out on it. That is why he came to study in your country, in hopes of the advancement he desperately wants.'

‘He thinks it's owed to him,' Aubrey said softly, ‘because of the unfulfilled promises made to his father.'

Von Stralick glanced sharply at him then smiled. ‘You are quick, Fitzwilliam.'

Aubrey shrugged. ‘Do you mind if I use your telephone while the water is boiling?'

The door knocker hammered while they were enjoying Kiefer's surprisingly excellent scones.

Von Stralick left the drawing room, frowning, and returned, frowning. ‘I would have appreciated it if you'd asked me before you extended an invitation to my home.'

Aubrey stood and felt immeasurably better to see Caroline and George. ‘I thought I needed to even the odds.'

Von Stralick nodded his head. ‘Of course you did.' He bowed. ‘Miss Hepworth. Doyle.'

Caroline was dressed in a grey outfit and she carried a small leather bag. She looked puzzled, but didn't say anything.

George was in tweeds, as if he were off for an afternoon in the country. ‘Von Stralick. Nice place you have here. Who did you steal it from?'

‘Very droll, Doyle,' von Stralick said. ‘You should consider a music hall career.'

He led them to the dining room. A large oval table took up the middle of the room, while windows looked over a small courtyard with hydrangeas. The dining room had sideboards and glass-fronted cabinets. On inspection, Aubrey could see that none of them were cheap.

They arranged themselves around the oval table. Aubrey and von Stralick faced each other at the ends, while Aubrey had Caroline on his left and George on his right. Von Stralick had Kiefer on his right. The balance was in Aubrey's favour, which was how he preferred to begin an encounter.

Aubrey opened. ‘Before we were set upon at the café, I suggested that we move against Dr Tremaine. Together.'

Von Stralick raised a finger. ‘Point of order, Mr Chairman. Before
we
were set upon? It seemed to me that the telephonic assassin singled you out, Fitzwilliam.'

Caroline cut in. ‘Be that as it may. Dr Tremaine needs to be stopped, the sooner the better.'

Von Stralick turned to Kiefer. ‘Dr Tremaine was responsible for her father's death. She seeks vengeance.'

Caroline clasped her hands in front of her and Aubrey saw that the quicks were white. ‘I seek justice.'

Von Stralick chuckled. ‘And isn't it fortunate for you that justice and vengeance coincide, in this case?'

Aubrey could see Caroline making a mental note of von Stralick's condescension, for later.
Not a good start to our alliance
, he thought. ‘Von Stralick,' he said hurriedly. ‘What has Dr Tremaine been up to lately? Surely you have recent information.'

Von Stralick folded his hands on the table in front of him and stared at them. ‘He is well enmeshed in the Chancellor's government. Very impressed with his work, they've been. Even though his plots in Gallia and Albion didn't fully come to fruition, the disruption they caused was useful. After all, sometimes it's just as good to have your enemy jumping at shadows, expending energy on things that aren't there.'

‘Commander Tallis told me he was a sort of special adviser,' Caroline said, ‘working with many different departments.'

‘Mainly with the army and the navy,' von Stralick said. ‘They like his ideas.'

Aubrey shuddered, but he was still thinking about Caroline's remark. How often had she been reporting to Commander Tallis? ‘So Dr Tremaine works to prepare their armed forces, advise their magical researchers, creating havoc wherever he can. And he's shown he can reach out to strike here.'

‘Papers were full of the stormfleet descending on Greythorn,' George put in. ‘Dashed effective of him. People are watching the skies and raising the alarm whenever a flock of sparrows swoops overhead.'

‘Showy, theatrical, effective,' von Stralick said. ‘That sounds like him, doesn't it?'

‘Enough is enough,' Caroline said. ‘We must neutralise him.'

‘The best plan seems to be that we lure him here,' Aubrey said, conscious that an idea had graduated to an altogether firmer status, ‘to Albion, to our home ground. We trap him, and hand him over to the authorities.'

Aubrey noted how Caroline looked away at that, but before he could question her, von Stralick held up a finger. ‘This depends on having something to lure him with.'

Aubrey was conscious that all eyes were on him. He took a deep breath and put both hands on the table. ‘We do,' he said. ‘His late sister.'

The reactions were as varied as the people around the table. George leaned forward and looked thoughtful. Caroline stiffened. Von Stralick opened his mouth, but was cut off by Kiefer, who raised a hand and waved it wildly. ‘Sylvia Tremaine? Dead. No, this isn't so.'

Aubrey had the sequence of events all organised in his head – he'd suggest a plan, it would be pooh-poohed, then discussed, then modified, then discarded, then resuscitated, then banged into shape and then applauded – but Kiefer had derailed this neatly.