Word of Honour Read online

  'Then why are you so determined to do it? And do it alone?'

  Because the greatest magician of our time might have the answer to my condition.

  'Does it have something to do with your condition?' Caroline said suddenly.

  Aubrey was glad no-one appeared and poked him with a feather, for he would have toppled like a sawn-off tree. 'What?' he said weakly.

  She looked at him solemnly, as if she were enquiring about a cold. She held her bag in both hands. 'Your condition. Your soul. Your self-inflicted half-life. What is your current state?'

  'You know?' He gathered himself and immediately headed off a protest. 'Of course you know. You're not stupid.'

  'Thank you.' She frowned and seemed to choose her words. 'It's mostly been observation, you know. I saw your interest in my father's notebook, then how ill you looked in Lutetia . . . After that, I asked a few questions of people at Stonelea, read some notes of my father's. And I put two and two together.'

  'But why didn't you say anything? It's been difficult, hiding it from you.'

  'I thought as much. But you seemed so intent on keeping to yourself. And George.'

  'He told you?'

  'No. But I assumed he'd know. And you've just confirmed it.'

  'Ah. Yes.' Aubrey leaned on the parapet of the bridge. Lights were streaking the water, reaching from one bank to the other. Some met in the middle, and muddled together in a whirl where the wash of boats combined. 'Who else knows?'

  'No-one that I know of. Your father might suspect. And your mother. But neither has said anything to me.'

  And here I was, thinking I was so clever. 'My condition is stable,' he said, answering her question. 'Thank you for asking.'

  'It wasn't a polite enquiry. I'm concerned.' She held up a hand as he brightened. 'Concerned, that's all. I wouldn't like to see anything happen to you. And don't read anything into that.'

  'I shan't.' I shall.

  'I thought it might help, if you don't have to go to the effort of hiding it from me.'

  'So I can be myself? Weak and feeble Aubrey?'

  'Are you weak and feeble?'

  'Just now? No. Things are well enough.'

  'But you're not improving.'

  'Nor deteriorating. It's satisfactory.'

  'You'd never be content with satisfactory. Exceptional is your minimum acceptable standard.'

  'I aim high.'

  'So do I.'

  'We're alike like that,' he said, more as a tactic than with any real hope.

  'Yes,' she said, but her expression wasn't hopeful. It was sombre as she looked over the river. 'I blame our fathers.'

  Caroline was one of the few people who had the ability to consistently flabbergast Aubrey. 'And what do our fathers have to do with this?' he said when he finally managed to put words together.

  'Quite a lot, really. Look at mine. A brilliant, worldwide authority on magic. A master in his field. Consulted by governments here and abroad.' She sighed. 'It's quite a lot to live up to.'

  Words eluded Aubrey again. He grasped at them, but they slipped away like eels. 'I thought I was the only one.'

  She glanced at him and smiled a little. 'I guessed as much. Driven to try to emulate a great man? Always being asked about following in his footsteps? Trying to succeed, your own way, despite all this?'

  'That sounds familiar.'

  'And expectations.' She scowled over the bridge. 'Don't talk to me about expectations.'

  'Your parents' expectations are too high?'

  'What? No. They haven't had any. Or they didn't express them. They always said they didn't want to crush me with their dreams. They wanted me to find my own future.'

  'So you have to try to guess what their expectations are, for fear of disappointing them.'

  'That's right.' She looked squarely at him. 'Oh. It's like that for you, too?'

  'For as long as I can remember.'

  'Hmm. But what you don't have to contend with is a mother who is also famous and brilliant.'

  'I do have a mother who is world-renowned and exceptionally accomplished. Lady Rose Fitzwilliam? You've heard of her?'

  'Well, yes, but being a male you don't have to live up to her.'

  'So you have to live up to your father's name as well as your mother's?'

  'Raised in a prominent suffragist household like ours? Of course.'

  'So you have it harder than I do. You have two parents to live up to.' It was a novel thought. Aubrey had always felt that he had a unique situation in as far as living up to parental expectations went.

  'People call me driven,' Caroline said. She rested her arms on the parapet and bent to put her chin on them. 'Or ambitious. They don't realise that the only way to live up to these unstated hopes is to excel. To triumph. Even then, I'm not sure.'

  'So we are alike.' As Aubrey said it, he realised that he'd placed a little too much hope on his words. He turned around so he was facing the traffic. 'So where does that leave us?'

  'On a bridge. In Trinovant. Trying to do the best we can.'

  'That's not what I mean.'

  She looked at him and he nearly swooned at the sweetness of her smile. 'I know, Aubrey. But let's let it rest there for now, please.'

  'Of course.' He straightened a jacket that didn't need straightening at all. 'Will your mother be worrying about you?'

  'It's not even eight o'clock.'

  'Excellent. Would you have time for the dinner I promised? Marcel's is just on the other side of the bridge.'

  'I thought you'd forgotten.'

  'A promise is a promise.'

  Caroline was merry, entertaining and wickedly witty as Marcel himself served them. She charmed him, the other waiters, and – of course – Aubrey, but he thought that underneath her sparkle, a wistfulness lay. They ate excellent soup, fine fish, and a dessert that was both delicate and sweet. Beyond that, Aubrey couldn't remember any details about what was served to them.

  When they finally reached the Hepworths' city flat – a quiet, gently curving street in Mortonbridge – they stood at the bottom of the stairs. The streetlights were lit, and the windows of the houses on both sides showed that families were in residence.

  Caroline held her bag in front of her like a shield. She didn't look at him. 'Aubrey.'

  He'd been waiting for this. 'I know. You think it best if we don't see each other for a while.'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'It's too much, you're not ready, something like that.'

  She did look at him this time. 'Is leaping to conclusions a speciality of yours?'

  Aubrey went over the conversation in his mind and decided that a brief retracking was in order. 'You were about to say something?'

  'Thank you. You went haring off in completely the opposite direction, you know.'

  'Opposite? Do we have a future together?'

  'Yes. No. Not exactly.' She paused. 'You do make things awkward, don't you?'

  I was thinking the same thing of you. 'Apparently. Sometimes on purpose, too.'

  'There is much to be said for not seeing you. I realised that after your poor show in Lutetia.'

  Here it comes. 'I'm not going to pretend that never happened. But I have sworn it will never happen again.'

  'A noble aim. But I do worry that you tend to get caught up in things. Big things. And when important events are in train, I fear that you lose sight of the people around you. They become less important.'

  Aubrey wanted to squirm, but resisted the impulse. 'I did. Not any more.'

  'As you say. Forgive me if I harbour reservations about that resolution.'

  His face fell. 'I shall miss you, you know.'

  'There you go again, getting ahead of yourself. What I'm trying to say is that despite all that, I still want to see you.'

  'You do? Why? I mean, that would be wonderful. If you're happy, that is. And if you're not, then I'm sure something can be done.'

  'You're babbling again, Aubrey.'

  'Sorry. Go on.'

&
nbsp; Caroline was silent for a moment. A cab trotted past. The driver tipped his hat to them. 'It's exciting, you know.'

  'Exciting?'

  'This world you've introduced me to. The plots. The spies. The subterfuge. The adventures. It's thrilling.'

  'Oh yes. Makes the blood race.'

  'When Commander Tallis offered me a position, I thought he was joking. But after the Lutetian affair, I was elated.'

  'Me too.'

  'We stopped the world going to war, Aubrey. We skirted death, we foiled plots, we rode magical towers, we nearly had our souls stolen.'

  'And we danced at the embassy ball.'

  'Yes. That too.' Caroline looked up at the evening sky. 'You see, for years I'd had my head down with one goal in mind: I wanted to be a scientist. You've shown me that there is more, and it's tempting.'

  'I've always been torn,' he said. 'Magic. The army. Politics.'

  'Exactly. My efforts for women's suffrage have suffered of late. I need to do more. Seeing how you've worked for your father – and how he has worked – has shown me the sort of thing that needs to be done.'

  'You aim to be the first female member of parliament.'

  'If I can.'

  'If you can manage it with all the other goals that are calling you.' He pursed his lips. 'I have one word of advice for you: wax.'

  'Wax?'

  'Do you remember the classical story of Odysseus and the sirens? He had his crew tie him to the mast as they sailed past, so he could hear the sirens' tempting song and not plunge over the side to join them and be eaten.'

  'And the wax, Aubrey?'

  'That's the point. All his men, working at the oars, had their ears stuffed with wax so they couldn't hear the siren song. That's what you need.' And that's what I need, too. 'Special wax so that you won't hear the siren songs you don't want to. Wax will help you avoid the temptations that the world has to offer. Wax will allow you to ignore distractions. Metaphorically, of course.'

  'Then I will offer you a metaphor in return: juggling.'

  'I know this one. A juggler is perfectly fine as long as all the balls are kept in the air, kept moving, kept in balance.'

  'I was thinking more along the lines of those mixed jugglers: balls, knives, plates, indian clubs, kittens.'

  Aubrey was intrigued. 'You've seen a kitten juggler?'

  'Once. A long time ago, a friend of my father's. They didn't look happy, but they weren't harmed.'

  'Amazing.' He nodded. 'Yes, it's like juggling futures, isn't it?'

  'Juggling futures. A neat way to put it, Aubrey.'

  'And the immediate future?'

  'We have to do something about Dr Tremaine. If it is him.'

  'It is.'

  'And he may have plans to rob the Bank of Albion.' Caroline shook her head impatiently. 'I must go back to the university tomorrow. I have studies to attend to. Another item to add to the juggle.'

  'Of course. As do I.' Aubrey stopped and hummed a little. Bloch's hinting at an attempt to rob the bank was a bombshell. But how trustworthy was it? 'I think I'll drop in and see Jack Figg before I go.'

  'Tonight?'

  'Jack is always happy to see me. Besides, I have a notion that could be helpful in our investigating Dr Tremaine's plans, something that might help us gather more information.'

  Caroline nodded, then mounted the stairs where she stopped and turned. 'You'll catch the morning train?'

  'Bright and early. I'll see you at Greythorn?'

  'We'll have to meet regularly. To share information and suchlike.'

  'Of course. Entirely proper.'

  Caroline paused with her hand on the brass door knob. 'Aubrey, I realise that I'm being difficult.'

  'Not at all.' Puzzling, maybe. Difficult had too many negative connotations for Aubrey's liking.

  'I don't want you to get the wrong idea. It's just that I'm having trouble knowing what the right idea is.'

  'That's a predicament I know well.'

  'I want everything, you see. The future is there in front of me. A thousand futures – more. I want all of them. I suppose that sounds greedy.'

  'It sounds exciting.'

  And it sounds like me.

  Twelve

  JACK'S HOVEL WAS ONE OF THE CLEANEST HOVELS Aubrey had ever seen. Two cats were waiting outside – one on a dustbin, the other sitting on the step like a miniature sphinx.

  'Hello, puss,' he said, more out of politeness than friendliness. He'd never warmed to cats. The one on the dustbin eyed him as if it knew exactly that and would take the first opportunity to trip him up when it presented itself.

  The door opened. 'Oh, it's you, Aubrey. Come in.'

  'You looked surprised, Jack. Who were you expecting?'

  'No-one, no-one. Sit anywhere.'

  Aubrey looked around the tiny room that opened directly onto the street. Apart from the desk, it was full of boxes, some piled three high. 'On one of these boxes?'

  'That's all there is, I'm afraid. Tea?'

  'Thank you. More pamphlets in here, Jack?'

  'Of course. The struggle for justice and equality can't get enough pamphlets.'

  Aubrey worked his hand under a lid. 'Ah. "Votes for Women". I didn't know you were a suffragist, Jack.'

  Jack stood there with a brown teapot in his hand and a vacant expression on his face. 'What? Of course I am. Only an idiot would be against votes for women. It's a struggle, and I'm on the side of justice here. Speaking of such, what's your father doing about it?'

  'What he can. The party is undecided. Lost something?'

  'The kettle. It was here a minute ago.'

  'It's on top of that pile of boxes. It has a kitten in it, I think.'

  Jack found the kettle, tipped two kittens out of it, and disappeared through one of the doors that opened onto the room. Some clattering, clinking and shuffling later, he reappeared. 'That won't take long to heat up. Now, what's brought you here?'

  'I need your help, Jack.'

  'Again.'

  'Again. It's the Holmlanders.'

  'Our foreign friends.' Jack sat on the desk and sucked his teeth for a moment. 'I had a feeling you were going to ask about them.'

  'Why? Are you suspicious?'

  'I deal with many people, as you know. Many foreigners, too.'

  'You're a prince, Jack.'

  'I'll have none of that aristocratic nonsense here.' Jack grinned. 'I have a different view of patriotism from most, I'll grant you. I see us all belonging to the community of humanity, first and foremost. Crowns and kings and borders come a distant second.'

  'I'll grant you that many ills have been perpetrated in the name of patriotism.'

  'That they have. And it's worse than ever, in my books. Just read the papers, or listen to your politicians. It sounds as if some of them can't wait to go to war. As if they'd be the ones going.'

  'All the more reason to do what we can to prevent it. Tell me what's troubling you about the Holmlanders.'

  'For one, they seem very well-off for poverty-stricken refugees.'

  'They're aristocrats. They must have smuggled out some funds.'

  'True, but it's the pattern I'm intrigued by. They seem to be flush with cash for a while, then it disappears and they have nothing to show for it.'

  'Perhaps they're selling off the family jewellery and sending the proceeds back to family in Holmland.' Or using it to buy influence, Aubrey thought, or even to fund the Circle's activities.

  'Could be, could be. I've seen that done before, too, but it's always with gloom and tears. Not Count Brandt and his crowd. It's money, not family heirlooms, that's keeping them afloat.'

  'Hmm.' Aubrey rested his chin on his hand. 'On another matter altogether, how are Maggie and her Crew, Jack? Still hard at work?'

  'Best messengers and errand runners in the district.'

  'Of course. I was going to say that it keeps the urchins off the streets, but that's not quite the case, is it? They're scampering up and down the streets all day long.'

>   'Gainful employment. Mostly.' Jack took off his glasses and polished them on his vest. 'I hate to think what they'd be doing if she didn't have work for them.'

  'School being out of the question.'

  'Here? Not enough schools for a start. Among the younglings, not one in ten can read and write.'

  Aubrey made a mental note. He could see a project on the horizon. 'I may have some work for Maggie's Crew.'

  The whistle of the kettle brought Jack to his feet. 'Good. They like it when you have a job. You tend to pay.'

  The tea was surprisingly good. Aubrey cocked an eyebrow at Jack.

  'One of my friends at the docks supplies me.'

  'From cargo that's gone missing?'

  'Could be. Who's to say? Call it the workers' share.' Jack put his cup down on top of another box. 'Drink up. Then we'll go and find Maggie.'

  'At this time of night?'

  'She and her Crew have an unconventional working schedule. Around the clock, if needs be.'

  Aubrey gulped the tea and stood, taking care that the floor was cat free. 'Take me to them.'

  LITTLE PICKLING WAS A DISTRICT OF CONTRASTS. MOSTLY a warren of rooming houses and rundown tenements where once-grand houses had been subdivided and subdivided again, it also hosted many factories and warehouses and a large gasworks. Jack wound his way through this sparsely lit industrial part of Little Pickling until they reached a freestanding building that had once been impressive.

  'The Society for the Advancement of Knowledge,' Aubrey read aloud from the carving over the rather grand entrance. 'A noble aim, I would have thought.'

  'Noble, but doomed. The society may have wanted to advance knowledge, but the founders had no idea about money. It went broke.'

  'Sad.'

  'Of course, they weren't the original owners of this place. It was built for Beauchamp's engineering project. It went broke, too.'

  Aubrey was about to raise the possibility of financial bad luck being integrated into a building when a low whistle came from overhead. Aubrey looked up in time to glimpse a silhouette that dropped behind a parapet.

  'We've been noticed,' Jack said.

  'That's bad?'

  'That's good. Much better for us to be expected than unexpected.'

  Just before Jack reached the boarded-over doors, he turned left. 'This way.'