Word of Honour (20 page)

Aubrey was starting to wonder what all the fuss was
about when Lanka Ravi cleaned the board and returned
to the lectern. He shrugged, gave a small smile and held
up a finger.

'We all know and appreciate Verulam's Law of
Transformations,' he said and Aubrey was immediately
alert. 'This law is a fundamental part of our understanding
of spell-casting. 'Indulge me, if you will, while I write
this law on the blackboard.'

In a clear hand, Ravi wrote: 'The bigger the transformation,
the more complex the spell.'

No-one stirred in the lecture theatre. It was an anticipatory
silence. The audience was learned enough to
understand that such a simple opening was only a
preliminary to more complex findings.

'In Baron Verulam's time this was a revolution, such a
bold and clear statement of something that had hitherto
been half-understood and imperfectly applied. Since
then, it has been proven again and again by rigorous
experimentation.'

Lanka Ravi looked up from his notes. He smiled, hesitantly.
'Baron Verulam's principle applies very specifically
to the magic of transformations, of turning one thing
into another. He, of course, proposed a second law, the
Law of Transference. Much as for transformations, this
law says that the further a magician proposes to move an
object by magical means, the more complex the spell.
This, too, has been shown to be the case, through
repeated experiments.'

Ravi paused and winced. He took a handkerchief from
his pocket, coughed into it, and frowned before going
on. 'Of course, Baron Verulam's revolutionary work on
Transformations and Transference has pointed the way to
more general understanding of how magic works. In the
centuries since his groundbreaking work the community
of magic has established the Principle of Complexity –
the more powerful the spell, the more complex the spell
construction – and the Principle of Cost – the more
complex the spell construction, the more effort is
required from the spell-caster.' He looked up and gave his
small nervous smile again. 'But, of course, I am telling you
things that you already know.'

For a long moment, Ravi shuffled his papers.
Remarkably, there was no impatient murmuring, no
clearing of throats, no restless shifting of position. The
audience had a shared understanding that this was an
occasion of great importance; the anticipation, however,
was mixed with curiosity. What was he going to say next?

He looked up. He blinked, slowly, then began. 'Magic
and humanity,' he announced, and an almost silent wave
of satisfaction rolled through the audience. This was what
they were waiting for. 'The connection between the two
has been much speculated upon. I now believe I can
encapsulate the relationship in quantifiable terms.' He
abandoned his notes. He took two steps to the blackboard
and seized the chalk. 'Let
x
represent the measure
of individual human consciousness . . .'

Aubrey knew that magicians tended to either be theorists
or pragmatists. The theorists had always wondered at
the source of magical power. The pragmatists didn't care
– if magic worked, it worked.

But now, as Ravi's flying chalk and mesmerising voice
pressed on, he could see the two camps coming closer
together than ever. Ravi had derived quantifiable, measurable
ways to determine the strength of magical fields
– and thus the potential power of a spell. This had always
been hit-and-miss in the past, with much effort put into
the inclusion of careful limiting factors in spells. Ravi's
work could point the way to a dramatic increase in the
magnitude of spell effect. If it led the way to calculated
manipulation of the force of spells, it could change the
face of magic forever.

And if the content of Ravi's revelations wasn't
exhilarating enough, the way he presented his findings
threatened to have the same effect on Aubrey as a sledgehammer
would on a gong.

Ravi was using a symbolic language to fill the blackboard,
describing the way that human consciousness
interacted with the universe to create a potential
magical field. But it was as if the standard symbols used
for describing abstruse magical elements weren't good
enough any more. Ravi had made up many of his own
– and was using old symbols in completely different
ways.

Aubrey was frozen – the only part of him that could
move were his eyes as they flashed across the unfolding
wonders of Ravi's insights. He was absorbing almost
without conscious thought, as if the revelations were
simply passing through his skin. At the same time,
though, his brain was racing in a hundred different directions,
making connections, leaping ahead, thinking of
alternatives, seizing on implications.

He was spellbound without a hint of magic in the air.

Some time later – it could have been ten minutes, it
could have been ten years – Lanka Ravi stood back with
a nubbin of chalk in his dusty fingers, gazed at the blackboard
and said, 'I think I'll stop now.'

It was as if a bomb had gone off. Everyone was on
their feet. Half the lecture theatre was cheering and
applauding, the other half shouting angrily. Professor
Bromhead appeared and shepherded Lanka Ravi out of
the lecture theatre while Aubrey sat, transfixed.

Lanka Ravi's revelations had the immediate crystal
clarity of truth. Aubrey was certain Ravi was right. His
simple articulation of principles was perfect. It was as if
Ravi had provided a lens, making things focused that had
previously been blurred.

Aubrey went to stand and flinched. He stretched,
barely avoiding the flailing arms of an over-excited
don. While he remembered, he scribbled a note to
Craddock, assuring the head of the Magisterium that
Lanka Ravi was a first-rate theoretician – perhaps
unique.

F
OR THE REST OF THE WEEK
, A
UBREY FELT AS IF HIS BRAIN
was being stretched in all directions. He revelled in it.
This is what he wanted. More than that, it was what he
needed. He gave his studies all his attention, for that was
what they demanded.

Notes came from Maggie's Crew, written in a large,
bold hand and signed – simply – 'Maggie'. Day after day
the surveillance was constant and unrevealing. Spinetti
sang, ate at the best restaurants, went to clubs, was entertained
in high society and in all ways did what was
expected of a feted visiting baritone. Which was exactly
what Aubrey expected. Tremaine was very, very good.

He wasn't about to make amateurish slips – but his arrogance
was sure to lead him to do something that would
leave him exposed.

He saw Caroline once, briefly; it was like opening
a door into summer. She pumped him for details of
goings-on in Trinovant. He gave her a précis of his
meeting with Maggie and her Crew, the flood, and the
plummeting train before she rushed to her commitments
in the Science faculty.

She left him breathless.

On the Thursday evening, after a sound dinner, he was
poring over Allday's
Fundamentals of Resonance
when he
was diverted into checking some mathematics to do
with rates of change. In his battered school calculus text,
he stopped at a marginal note he'd written last year.

Immediately, it took him back. Stonelea School, before
his disastrous experiment. A more uncomplicated life,
certainly. But somehow less rich, less challenging.

Then he read his scrawled marginalia and remembered
more.

It was half in jest, half serious, an effort toward defining
a law of human experience, rather than of magic. 'Have
you ever found yourself seeing a grey horse, suddenly,
unexpectedly, and then seeing grey horse after grey horse
all that day?'

Patterns. There must be something in the human
ability to see patterns. Finding them when they're only
hinted at. Seeing them when they're
not
there.

Was Dr Tremaine there at all, or was Aubrey seeing
something because he wanted to see it?
He gnawed on this bone for some time, then he sat
back in his chair and crossed his arms. 'Well,' he said aloud,
'what if Dr Tremaine is working on this principle too?'

He looked around to remind himself that he was
alone, George having gone to an editorial meeting with
the
Luna
crowd.

Could Dr Tremaine be interfering with people's innate
pattern-sensing ability? Had he concocted a spell that
would stop people from noticing those details that added
up to Mordecai Tremaine-ness?

Why am I resistant
? he thought – silently this time. And
then he nearly fell off his chair when the answer hit him
like a deftly applied mallet behind the ear.

They'd been connected. In the moment of magical
struggle over the kidnapped and ensorcelled Sir Darius,
Aubrey and Dr Tremaine had been linked. Aubrey had
thought it a momentary thing, a by-product of their
magical grappling that had passed.

But what if it lingered?

Connections. Aubrey put his head in his hands. It was
all to do with connections. His body and soul. Himself
and Dr Tremaine. Even the more ordinary magic that
bound Aubrey to his parents, to George, and – though
she might deny it – to Caroline.

No-one was a totally free agent, untouched by others,
but now Aubrey understood that he had a magical connection
with Dr Tremaine. Exactly how deep and what
it meant, though, he couldn't tell.

Not yet.

I
N THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
A
UBREY'S EYES SNAPPED
open. A furtive sound had woken him.

He waited, but nothing further happened. He tugged
on the cord of his reading lamp. On the other side of the
room, George moaned and rolled over. 'Not more study,'
he mumbled. 'Can't it wait until morning?'

Aubrey ignored him. He sat up and then saw the
envelope that had been slipped under the door. Even in
the dim light, he recognised Maggie's handwriting.

The message was terse, quite unlike the detailed,
itemised account of the hour-by-hour movements of
Spinetti.

Come as soon as you can
, it said, but it didn't say where
to find her.

L
ATE
F
RIDAY AFTERNOON
, A
UBREY
, G
EORGE AND
Caroline eventually tracked down Jack Figg in
Densmore, working at the Society for Moral Uplift. Jack
hadn't heard where Maggie had been staying after the
flood in her underground headquarters, but promised
he'd find out and let them know as soon as he did.

After leaving the Society for Moral Uplift, they walked
for some time, looking for a cab. When a motorcar came
toward them, Aubrey was blinded by the headlights.
He didn't realise it had slowed until a voice cut through
the engine noise. 'Get in. And put the pistol away.'

Aubrey squinted. 'Commander Tallis? What pistol?'

'It's gone,' Caroline said. 'I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realise
it was you.'

Pistol? Where was she hiding a pistol?
'Look, Tallis, I'm
getting a little tired of being abducted by law enforcement
agencies.'

'Quite right,' George said. 'What ever happened to the
good old days, when abductions were done by thugs and
cutthroats? Doing them out of a job, you are.'

'Get in,' Commander Tallis repeated and his tone of
voice indicated that playful banter would be a capital
offence if he had anything to do with it.

C
OMMANDER
T
ALLIS TOOK THEM STRAIGHT TO
L
ATTIMER
Hall, the headquarters of the Special Services.

Aubrey and George were kept in a waiting room
while Tallis spoke to Caroline alone. Aubrey fumed, but
he assumed it was because of Caroline's irregular status
with the Special Services. She hadn't been asked to do
much, to his knowledge, but he had no doubt that Tallis
had his eye on Caroline as a full-fledged Special Services
operative.

After some time, Aubrey decided he may as well keep
his watch in his hand. It would save him taking it out of
his pocket every five minutes to check.

Idly, he polished the Brayshire Ruby. Then he turned
the watch from side to side and saw how the heart of fire
deep inside the jewel shifted, winking at him.

He flipped open the back plate of the watch and sat for
a time, appreciating the work of Anderson and Sutch.
The watch's workings were a thing of beauty. The mainspring
that drove the whole, complex mechanism set the
balance wheel oscillating back and forward diligently,
both parts perfectly fitting together. With no more than
a daily winding, the watch would keep ticking for years,
finely crafted, finely tuned machinery.

He peered closer and saw the jewelled bearings – two
or three dozen tiny sapphires and rubies that kept the
wheels turning in their ceaseless round.

Aubrey was lost in admiration. In his hand he held the
pinnacle of a craft, something so unobtrusively complete
that few people even thought about it – however much
they relied upon its accuracy.

Caroline appeared after exactly half an hour. 'He was
interested in my studies,' she said after Aubrey had asked
what Tallis wanted. 'And he wants to speak to you,' she
added absently.

Aubrey made a face. Commander Tallis had never liked
him. He was sure he was in for a grilling.

Tallis's office was much longer than it was wide. It had
no windows, no wall decoration and the desk was bare
except for a large black telephone. Tallis sat behind it and
glowered at him.

'Sit,' he said. He drummed his fingers on the desktop.

'Now, what's Craddock up to?'

'Sir?'

'Has he told you about the attempt on the Bank of
Albion?'

'No, sir.' Had Dr Tremaine moved on the Bank of
Albion already? Surely Aubrey would have heard if the
most wanted man in the land had been captured.

'He hasn't?' Tallis nodded bleakly. 'I'm not surprised.
If it wasn't for the Special Services, the blackguards might
have succeeded. We caught them red-handed, trying to
dig a tunnel from a building across the road.'

'Why would Commander Craddock be involved?'
Aubrey asked cautiously. Much was going on here and he
strained to catch every nuance.

'Apparently some magical methods were involved in
the attempt. Magisterium operatives investigated, after
we'd rounded up the culprits, but we haven't heard
anything about what they've found.'

Tallis drummed his fingers on the desk.

'Commander Craddock hasn't mentioned it at all,'
Aubrey said.

'Don't you find that interesting? Especially since his
operatives found some evidence of involvement from Dr
Tremaine?'

'Oh.'
Bloch was right!
'Yes, and we both know that you have some interest
in the movements of this particular individual.' He
eyed Aubrey. 'You're sure he hasn't contacted you about
Tremaine?'

'Not in relation to any bank robbery, no.'

Tallis snorted. 'It wasn't a bank robbery. It wasn't even
a very good attempt at a bank robbery. Dr Tremaine can't
be such a mastermind if he hires help like these idiots.
They practically asked to be arrested.'

This didn't sound like Dr Tremaine at all. 'They
brought themselves to your attention?'

'To police attention. After a few weeks, they'd
managed to tunnel close to the foundations of the bank.
But a hole opened in Woolcroft Street, thanks to their
efforts. Left them exposed, rather.'

'And the bank is safe?'

'As ever. The police called us in, just in case there
were any international implications, the Counting of
the Coins being so close.'Tallis sat back in his chair and
laced his hands on his chest. 'We've checked all around
where they dug, and they hadn't even started to penetrate
the foundations. We've backfilled their tunnel, made
everything more secure than ever. No need of any of this
magic stuff, either.'

Aubrey was busy trying to work out what Dr Tremaine's
part in this failed robbery could have been – such a fiasco
didn't sound like his plotting – but Tallis's remark was
pointed enough that he couldn't ignore it.

'Is there something wrong with magic, Commander?'

'It's a lot of mumbo-jumbo if you ask me. It's just
a way for some agencies to demand – and get – extra
resources.'

Aubrey was dismayed to see such professional jealousy,
but also irritated by the aspersions Tallis was casting.

'I'm sorry you see magic that way, sir, but it's changed.
It's a rational discipline now.'

'Rational? What's rational about magic? Trumped-up,
self-important poseurs making things happen that have
no right to happen. Dangerous stuff.'

'Of course it's dangerous stuff. But electricity is
dangerous stuff, too, and I'll warrant that you have it
wired into your own home, your own bedroom.'

'I don't,' Commander Tallis said stiffly. 'I have gas.'

'And gas is perfectly safe, is it? You've never heard of
gas explosions, gas suffocations?'

'Magic is altogether different.'

'Magic is something that needs a careful, intelligent,
rational approach. It's vital for our future that we understand
it and harness it properly.'

'And this is what Craddock thinks, is it?'

'I can't presume to know what Commander
Craddock thinks,' Aubrey said. 'I just know that this
rational approach is how all magical research is conducted
throughout the world, wherever modern, enlightened
thinking takes place.'

Tallis snorted. 'That's what you say. And what has
Craddock told you about his research, then?'

Aubrey felt as if he'd been standing on stilts and
suddenly had them sawn off underneath him. 'Research?
The Magisterium is conducting research?'

'So he hasn't told you about that? Little wonder.

I don't suppose the PM knows either, or the Parliament.'

Tallis smiled a little and shook his head, as if amused at
the things people will get up to.

'The Magisterium doesn't do research,' Aubrey
repeated. 'It's not part of its charter. It has no research
budget.'

'I see. Craddock wouldn't have any unconventional
ways of diverting funds, would he?'

Aubrey blinked. He remembered how easily Craddock
had found twenty thousand pounds for Count Brandt.

Tallis gazed up at the ceiling. 'In any case, his operatives
put their hands on valuable items every day of the
week. Seizures of contraband magical artefacts, the sort
of thing that would fetch a lovely price in an auction in
the Levant.'

'Not something that the Special Services would stoop
to,' Aubrey said, in an attempt to wrest back control of
the conversation.

'You leave that sort of thing to those that know best.
Just to show you what a fair-minded fellow I am, I'll just
point out that Darnleigh House is a big place. Much
bigger than it looks from the street, am I right?'

Aubrey remembered. 'It goes down a long way. Below
street level.'

'Four levels. Officially, that is. Plenty of room for
research labs down there, even if you don't count the
other two levels.'

'Other two?'

'You weren't aware of them? Doesn't surprise me.
Not many are. Just Craddock and a few of his inner
circle. Special access. Guarded twenty-four hours a day.
It's where Craddock's most top secret stuff happens, by
all accounts.'

'And how would you know all this?'

'Now, that's something I can't tell you. It's a secret of
my own. Suffice to say, I'm in the intelligence game. And
looking out for my own back means knowing what
people like Craddock are up to.'

'You're not asking me to spy on the Magisterium.'

'Of course not. I just want you to be aware, to have
the whole picture. If matters change, you'll be able to
make considered decisions.' He narrowed his eyes. 'Just be
careful of that Rokeby-Taylor.'

'I've already had my suspicions about him.'

'Good. He's a Magisterium informant, very important
to them. Which means you can't trust him.'

W
ITH A SERIES OF GLANCES AND GESTURES
, C
AROLINE
insisted Aubrey keep his silence during the entire motorcar
trip to Maidstone.

It was only when the Special Services driver left the
gates and they were standing alone at the elegant front
entrance of the house that Caroline looked around and –
finally satisfied – relented.

'Do you recall Commander Craddock's telling Manfred
he'd give all that money to Count Brandt?'

'A fortune, it seemed to me,' Aubrey said.

'Yes.' She pursed her lips and frowned. 'It's just that
Commander Tallis told me he was organising a similar
amount for Count Brandt and his friends.'

'A double fortune,' George said, impressed.

'That's not all,' Aubrey said. 'Since we're talking
about double games, both Tallis and Craddock think that
Rokeby-Taylor is working for the other.'

'Good Lord,' George said. 'This whole situation is
getting stickier and stickier.'