Word of Honour Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  About the Author

  Word of Honour

  THE THIRD VOLUME OF

  The Laws of Magic

  MICHAEL

  PROYOR

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Laws of Magic 3: Word of Honour

  ePub ISBN 9781864714777

  Kindle ISBN 9781864717365

  A Random House book

  Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

  Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060

  www.randomhouse.com.au

  First published by Random House Australia in 2008

  This edition first published in 2010

  Copyright © Michael Pryor 2008

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.

  Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Author: Pryor, Michael

  Title:Word of honour / Michael Pryor

  ISBN: 978 1 86471 864 5 (pbk.)

  Series: Pryor, Michael. Laws of magic; 3

  Target audience: For secondary school age

  Dewey number: A823.3

  Cover illustration by Jeremy Reston

  Cover design by www.blacksheep-uk.com

  Internal design by Mathematics

  For Agnes Nieuwenhuizen

  One

  AUBREY FITZWILLIAM WAS BUTTERING TOAST WHEN his father strode into the dining room. 'Ah, Aubrey. Good. I need you to help me elude the Special Services.'

  Aubrey's knife hovered over the butter dish. He glanced at George, who was enjoying a large serve of bacon and eggs. His friend managed to shrug while folding half a rasher into his mouth.

  'Your bodyguards?'

  'What's the point of being Prime Minister if I can't nip off whenever I feel like it?' Sir Darius took a slice of Aubrey's toast. 'So I need your skills, quick smart.'

  George snorted. 'These would be the skills of leaving Maidstone undetected, would they?'

  'Exactly, George. Skills Aubrey has honed over the years, despite the best efforts of his parents.'

  'He's got you there, old man,' George said.

  Aubrey chose his words carefully. 'Without admitting that I have these alleged skills, why do you need to leave so abruptly?'

  'Something has come up. I've found it tends to, when one is in charge of the country.' This time it was Sir Darius's turn to choose his words carefully. 'I need to visit Clear Haven, post-haste.'

  Aubrey's curiosity – already doing a series of warm-up exercises – threw itself into an advanced callisthenic routine to make sure he paid attention to it.

  He'd always wanted to visit Albion's northern naval base. While the fleet spent most of its time at Imworth in the south, Clear Haven was where much of the heavy development work was done. The best military magicians – along with eminent civilian consultants – worked at Clear Haven to produce the most effective magical weapons. The work done at Clear Haven was one of the reasons that Albion still ruled the waves, despite Holmland's efforts.

  'I may be able to get you out of here unnoticed,' Aubrey said, 'but you'd have to take George and me with you.'

  'Capital. I was going to ask you anyway.' Sir Darius finished the slice of toast and took another. 'Now, what do we do?'

  THE LANDING HAD A FINE VIEW OF THE TELEPHONE, RIGHT next to the front door. Aubrey watched as the more senior of the two bodyguards – tall, dark hair, military moustache – nodded and spoke into the mouthpiece.

  'Yes, sir. Right away.'

  He hung up, frowning a little, and sketched a salute to Sir Darius, who was waiting near the foot of the stairs. 'Sorry, sir, but Crowley and I have to head straight back to Lattimer Hall.'

  The younger Special Services operative raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

  'That's quite all right, Sutcliffe,' Sir Darius said. 'I've always felt that Captain Tallis's precautions were a little overdone, two able-bodied men guarding me in my own home.'

  'Tricky times, these, sir. Holmlanders and whatnot about. Can't be too careful.' Sutcliffe shifted uneasily and eyed the front door.

  'You don't look happy, Sutcliffe,' Sir Darius said. 'There's no need to be concerned.'

  'I know, sir. Captain Tallis said that replacements were on their way, but we shouldn't leave before they get here. That's not procedure.'

  'I understand.' Sir Darius guided the two men to the door. 'But, as you say, these are tricky times. We must be flexible.'

  Sir Darius stood with his back to the door once it had closed after them. He smoothed his moustache for a moment, then glanced up the stairs at Aubrey. 'Remarkable. How did you do it? Magic?'

  Aubrey waited for George, who was hurrying down from upstairs. 'The magic can only achieve so much. It was George. He does a better Captain Tallis than I do.'

  Aubrey didn't want to tell his father that the less magic he did at the moment, the better. His condition had been particularly unstable and magic made things worse.

  'I see,' his father said. 'You've been practising imitating Captain Tallis, have you?'

  'As research,' Aubrey said quickly. 'An exercise. The Law of Similarities means that it's easier to work up a spell to alter George's voice into Captain Tallis's than mine. He has a deeper timbre, and I believe Tallis spent some time in the country in his youth.'

  'Country lads, both of us,' George beamed. 'Must ask him about pigs, one day.'

  'I'd like to discuss this further,' Sir Darius said, 'but we must be off. I don't want to lose the opportunity.'

  'One thing,' Aubrey said. 'How are you going to deal with the upshot of this little deception? Won't Tallis be furious?'

  'It doesn't take much to make Tallis furious, but I take your point.' Sir Darius thought for a moment. 'This is a test,' he declared. 'A test of the capabilities of the
Special Services. And it seems their methods need tightening up.'

  Stubbs, the Fitzwilliam family driver, was idling the Oakleigh-Nash at the front door. The twelve-cylinder engine rumbled with the sleek power that only came from the best magically enhanced valves. 'Ormsby Square,' Sir Darius said when they'd flung the doors closed.

  Stubbs accelerated smoothly and they were out of the gates into the traffic.

  Sir Darius settled back into the accommodating leather seat; he gazed out of the window.

  'Clive Rokeby-Taylor is joining us, isn't he?' Aubrey said suddenly.

  Sir Darius turned to him. 'Your reasoning?'

  'We're off to Clear Haven. Rokeby-Taylor has substantial shipbuilding concerns. And we're going to Ormsby Square, which isn't on the way to the ornithopter port. Exclusive area. Rokeby-Taylor is its most notorious inhabitant.'

  'Notorious?'

  'George often mentions his name when he's trawling through the gossip columns. Gambler, racing enthusiast, attractor of scandals.'

  'Number seventeen is renowned for exotic parties,' George said. 'And Rokeby-Taylor is rarely seen without a famous actress or two on his arm. Different ones each time, of course. On different arms.'

  'Hmm.' Sir Darius crossed his arms. 'Clive Rokeby-Taylor and I were at school together.'

  This was news to Aubrey, but he wasn't surprised – there was much about the past of both his parents that was a mystery. Not deliberately so – it was just that they had led such varied lives that minor details like this often surfaced at unexpected times. 'At Stonelea?'

  'We shared rooms in our last year, then we went on to university. St Alban's College, where you two are headed.'

  'You've never mentioned him.'

  'We lost touch. We've been at the same functions at the same time, but I haven't actually spoken to him for ten years. Ships that pass in the night and all that.'

  'He's very successful,' George said. 'Shipbuilding, electricity generation, chemical manufacture.' He caught Aubrey's look. 'I do read more than the gossip pages, you know.'

  'So we are meeting Rokeby-Taylor?' Aubrey said to his father.

  'One of his firms has been working with the Navy Board on a top secret project. He's asked me to go with him to Clear Haven on some sort of demonstration jaunt.'

  'A top secret jaunt?'

  'Clive's word, not mine. And that sums him up. Life is a jaunt to him, which is why it comes as a surprise to find him engaged in such serious matters as defence contracting.' Sir Darius frowned. 'Even though he calls this expedition a jaunt, it is serious, because of our circumstances.'

  'The war,' Aubrey said simply.

  'The war that we hope and pray will not happen,' Sir Darius said.

  'The war that seems inevitable,' George added.

  Sir Darius sighed. 'Sadly, that seems to be the case. The situation on the continent continues to worsen. Holmland ambitions, border disputes in the Goltans . . . To call the continent a powder keg is rather underestimating affairs.'

  'And how has Rokeby-Taylor come into this?' Aubrey asked.

  'I authorised a special program, part of our efforts to update our fleet. This special program allocated funds for development of advanced units.'

  'Magical units,' Aubrey guessed.

  'Magical enhancement would be part of any innovative military development, most likely. This has been encouraged for some time, after all. Remember Banford Park?'

  Aubrey nodded. Banford Park was the research facility near Prince Albert's country residence. Aubrey and George had had several scrapes there, and it was where Dr Mordecai Tremaine had taken Sir Darius after kidnapping him.

  'Rokeby-Taylor's companies have participated in this program?'

  'Apparently. Always good at sniffing out money, was Clive. I had no idea of his involvement until he telephoned late last week.'

  Aubrey was silent for a moment. He caught George's eye and saw the puzzlement there that he felt himself. He considered a number of indirect approaches, but then decided a frontal sortie was best. 'Sir? It seems a little odd, the Prime Minister slipping off like this after a telephone call from an old friend he hasn't spoken to for a decade.'

  Sir Darius grinned. 'It does, doesn't it?' He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. 'To tell the truth, I simply needed to do something out of the ordinary. Prime Ministership can become rather staid, even in these times. Besides, I'd heard so much about Rokeby- Taylor over the years that once we spoke, my curiosity wouldn't leave me alone until we met again.'

  Something else you've handed down to me, Aubrey thought. As a family heirloom, this curiosity was a mixed blessing. It often sent him in directions that others wouldn't have noticed, but at its worst it was almost a physical itch, an acute discomfort impossible to ignore.

  This time, however, it was suspicion rather than curiosity that prodded him. 'Ten years, an old friend reappearing . . . what could be more natural than wanting to meet?'

  'But you're not convinced?'

  'Look for the reason behind the reason, you've always advised.'

  Sir Darius nodded his approval and Aubrey felt a moment of deep satisfaction. 'Very impressive, Aubrey.' He sat back and steepled his hands. 'Would it interest you to know that the week before Rokeby-Taylor got in touch with me, both Craddock and Tallis have asked me about him?'

  Tallis, Aubrey could understand. The Special Services had the responsibility for all clandestine affairs, espionage and intelligence gathering. The head of a major defence contractor would naturally be of interest to them. But Craddock? What would the Magisterium want with Rokeby-Taylor?

  'Are his companies using magic at all?'

  'Rokeby-Taylor has recently been hiring a number of outstandingly talented magicians.'

  Snap. This sort of direction would bring any company to the Magisterium's attention. Rokeby-Taylor sounded as if he was a man to keep an eye on.

  'A modern businessman, is he?' Aubrey asked. 'Working with magic like this?'

  'He's always been interested in magic. He showed some talent early on. After college, he studied overseas for a few years. I heard he took some advanced magic courses, but never finished. The good life was too attractive to him.'

  Aubrey found this an interesting insight into Rokeby-Taylor's character. The ability to use magic was much like the ability to do mathematics. The best magicians had natural aptitude, but it took study and discipline to achieve true competence. Aubrey had seen young people with only moderate magical ability become good magicians through dedication and hard work – and he'd seen talented boys at Stonelea squander their gifts through lack of application.

  In Aubrey's view, a magician needed a number of attributes: facility with languages, strong will, adaptability, fearlessness, and an ability to deal with the unexpected. Most only had a few of these and their shortcomings usually found them out.

  Still, if Rokeby-Taylor could bring magic and engineering together, good luck to him.

  'He's always been in a hurry,' Sir Darius continued. 'Juggling a hundred things at once. But when he rang, he sounded positively urgent.'

  Busy times, Aubrey thought. In the next month, a number of important events were imminent: a major defence-spending bill in Parliament, the birthday of the Elektor of Holmland, the Counting of the Coins – and Ophelia Hepworth's exhibition opening.

  Immediately, his thoughts went to Caroline. He hoped that she was safe on his mother's Arctic expedition. For a moment, disappointment and guilt circled him like hungry ravens, but he pushed them away by imagining the multitude of things that could go wrong in the polar regions – and how he could possibly effect a miraculous rescue.

  Stubbs interrupted Aubrey's musings. 'Here we are, sirs. Ormsby Square. Number seventeen, was it?'

  THEY WAITED FOR THEIR HOST IN THE GRAND ENTRANCE OF Rokeby-Taylor's residence. It was a magnificent round hall, full of gilt and marble, designed to impress.

  'Ah, Darius! I'm glad you're here!' Clive Rokeby-Taylor appeared at the top of the
wide staircase. At first, Aubrey thought his hair was a startling white, but that was because he stood in the sunlight coming from the cupola directly above the staircase. When Rokeby-Taylor drew nearer, Aubrey saw that his hair was golden. As the industrialist came down the stairs he spread his arms wide, looking like a grain god descending to bestow the blessings of the harvest. 'It's been too long.'

  'Clive.' Sir Darius shook the proffered hand. 'This is my son, Aubrey, and his good friend George Doyle. I hope you don't mind my bringing them along.'

  'Not at all, not at all.' When Aubrey shook Rokeby-Taylor's hand, the grip was firm and decisive, the sort of handshake that immediately inspired confidence. Aubrey couldn't help smiling in response to Rokeby-Taylor's breezy charm. 'Aubrey. George. You're Stonelea boys, aren't you? Tell me, has the old place changed much?'

  Rokeby-Taylor was only of medium height, but seemed taller because of his energy. Aubrey could easily imagine him bouncing on his toes, impatient to move if kept in one place for too long. His eager, open face made him seem younger than Sir Darius.

  'I say, Clive, you're wearing green these days,' Sir Darius said, pointing to Rokeby-Taylor's tie.

  Rokeby-Taylor glanced down and his brow wrinkled in what could have been irritation. It vanished in an instant, though, and he grinned sunnily. 'Many things have changed, Darius. I now wear both red and green with confidence.' He saw Aubrey and George's puzzlement. 'No secret. I'm colourblind, have been all my life. Never been able to tell the difference between red and green so I avoided both of them.' He shook his head. 'But not now. I have a man who dresses me. A whole new world, it is.'

  Sir Darius cleared his throat as Rokeby-Taylor launched into a story about Stonelea and how he hid a goat under the stage of Clough Hall. 'We should go. I don't have much time.'

  'Of course, Darius. But I want to hear more about the old school, you understand?' He winked at Aubrey and George. 'I've chartered an ornithopter. Shall we?'

  Two

  CLEAR HAVEN WAS A VAST DEEPWATER ANCHORAGE IN the middle of the Tangasset Islands in the north of Albion. As the ornithopter swept over Bamleigh Strait, Aubrey's excitement rose. Ahead, the rocky, forbidding islands of Rothman and Hurley were separated by a wide channel – the southern access to Clear Haven.