Word of Honour Page 20

'I didn't? I was sure I did. Didn't I, George?'

  George blinked. 'Sorry, I missed that. What were you asking?'

  'Never mind.' Aubrey took a deep breath. 'When can I get some membership forms from you, Caroline? Please?'

  Lady Rose and Caroline looked at each other. 'I'm afraid, my dear,' Lady Rose said, 'this could be a longterm project.'

  Coffee and chocolates revealed little new, which gave Aubrey some time to think as he was able to hold his end up by dropping in an observation every so often, nothing too taxing.

  He was concerned for George, who appeared more and more distracted as the dinner went on, rallying gamely whenever he could to take part in the conversations that rolled around the table.

  George's level of distraction worried Aubrey. His friend usually enjoyed the dinners at Maidstone, especially when Lady Rose was present.

  And then there was Rokeby-Taylor's dangerous double game. Or was it a triple game? Money flowing in all directions around Count Brandt. Whose side was he actually on? And where were Maggie and her Crew?

  And of course there was Dr Tremaine. The elusive Dr Tremaine. Where was he?

  Too many questions, not enough information.

  Aubrey needed something more than speculation and supposition.

  He needed information – but where would he find it?

  STUBBS WAS IDLING THE OAKLEIGH-NASH AT THE FRONT door. Aubrey and Caroline stood under the porticoed entrance. 'What's keeping George?' Aubrey said. 'He said he wanted to see you off.'

  'He seemed thoughtful tonight,' Caroline said. She looked out at the night sky.

  'Some trouble at home. Nothing serious, but it's on his mind.'

  'Whose mind?' George said, bustling out of the door. He was smiling broadly. 'Sorry to interrupt, but I must tell you that Sir Darius has agreed to an interview about the suffrage issue. I just have to tee it up with his press secretary. Cedric Westerfold will be green with jealousy.'

  'Cedric Westerfold?' Caroline asked Aubrey.

  'George's journalistic nemesis. It's a long story.' He clasped his hands behind his back, sought for a witty remark and found that – for some reason – Caroline's bare shoulders were preventing him from thinking of one.

  'It's been a pleasure,' he managed to say.

  She arranged her shawl around her. 'I've enjoyed myself.'

  She stepped into the motorcar. Stubbs closed the door behind her.

  Aubrey stood there, hands behind his back, and hummed.

  Caroline slid back the window. 'What are you thinking about?'

  Aubrey blinked. 'Pardon?'

  'You're humming. That means you're planning something.'

  'It's nothing, really. I'm just thinking of a fact-finding outing, to help sort out things.'

  'Now?'

  Aubrey looked at George, who shrugged. 'Time is at a premium, so now seems most apt.'

  'You're not going without me,' Caroline said.

  'Sir?' Stubbs said from the driver's seat.

  'Are you sure?' Aubrey asked Caroline.

  'Perfectly.'

  'Thank you, Stubbs. It looks as if Miss Hepworth won't be requiring the motorcar right now.'

  Sixteen

  'I SEE WHY YOU ASKED ME TO BRING THIS ALONG, OLD man.'

  George hefted the pry bar. He slapped it in his palm while he studied the heavy boards over the entrance to the hydraulic railway.

  Before they'd left for Little Pickling, Aubrey had time for some preparations. Not needing any magical apparatus, it was simple enough to find appropriate tools in a garden shed.

  'You seem to have a knack for this sort of thing,' Aubrey said. He held up the oil lantern the better to see their task.

  'For breaking and entering?'

  'You know what I mean. I'm willing to learn, though. Let me have a go.'

  George held the pry bar to his chest. 'Do I look like a fool? This is a dangerous implement. No knowing what it could do in the hands of an amateur.'

  Aubrey grinned. 'Go to it, then. Be my guest.'

  The nails groaned as George wrenched the boards off the entrance. Aubrey always felt that clandestine noise carried more weight than ordinary noise, so he was glad they were in a deserted part of town.

  'Wait,' Caroline said once they'd climbed in through the splintered timber. 'Turn away.'

  'What? Why?' Aubrey said.

  'This dress may not be ideal for underground exploration.'

  'Ah. Oh.'

  It was a matter of seconds, but Aubrey and George contemplated the dusty concrete walls for what seemed like an eternity while, behind them, a complicated rustling went on.

  'Very well,' Caroline said. 'You can turn around now.'

  Aubrey had prepared himself, but he still swallowed hard. He held the lantern so he could see her more clearly and he hoped that she wouldn't notice his hand trembling. 'You wore your fighting suit on a visit to Maidstone for dinner?'

  'Preparation is a very useful thing.'

  Caroline's fighting suit was a loose black silk outfit, a version of those worn by the oriental teachers her father had organised. The jacket was tied at the waist and the trousers ended mid-calf. She was fitting black slippers to her feet. Her dress and evening shoes were bundled in a corner.

  'Useful,' Aubrey repeated. 'You do look that.'

  'It's practical, Aubrey, you should realise that by now. And what about you? How have you prepared for our excursion?'

  'I've changed my footwear. Good hiking boots, these.'

  'George?'

  George held up the pry bar. 'A tool with many uses. Mostly destructive, I'll grant you.'

  Aubrey rallied. 'I'll have to rely on my wits.'

  'Wise. Always play to your strengths.'Caroline nodded. 'I hope we can come back here. I always liked that dress.'

  Aubrey led, feeling remarkably vulnerable. For years, he'd had the fallback of spells at his fingertips. Quick thinking and magical power had extricated him from tricky situations again and again. Now here he was, deprived of the magical option by his own decision. He felt hobbled, lame, half a person.

  He shrugged and the yellow pool of light bobbled ahead of them. Deep down, he ached to use magic. Just a little.

  The tiled walls echoed with their footsteps, in a way that promised emptiness ahead. It was damp and dank, much different from the last time Aubrey had been down this way. The prickly-festering smell of mildew was omnipresent, thick and unappetising.

  Aubrey hated it; he was reminded of rot and decay and death, the appallingly physical side of his struggle to keep his body and soul together.

  'Impressive,' Caroline said and her words echoed in the empty space.

  The concourse was too large a space for the lantern to illuminate fully. It became a place of shadows and rippling light. Mounds of broken furniture became hulking monsters ready to pounce. Heaped-up mattresses were rotting balefully. Water hadn't swept the place clean, it had merely turned it into a garden of decay.

  'Cheery place,' George muttered. 'Can't see why this Crew made it their home.'

  'Beggars can't be choosers,' Caroline said, 'but this is depressing.'

  'It was better than this,' Aubrey said, 'before the flood.'

  'It was cosy? Homely?' Caroline said.

  'Not exactly. But it was better.'

  The doorways into the inner tunnel stared at them.

  If anything, the blackness there was more intense than the shadows that swirled around them. Hungrier, Aubrey thought, but decided this was not an entirely helpful – or morale-building – description.

  'And you think Dr Tremaine is somewhere around here,' George said.

  'I didn't say that. It's the last place Maggie and her Crew were seen. I thought we could do a little poking around.'

  'But Dr Tremaine is on your mind.'

  'He could be. In a healthy, non-obsessed sort of way.'

  'It's a fine place to hide,' Caroline said. She went over and leaned through the nearest gap. 'You could scurry around for years down here.'


  'Like a rat,' George said.

  Aubrey hummed a little. 'Which way is the Bank of Albion from here?'

  Caroline frowned, then turned a little before pointing. 'That way.'

  'Far?'

  'No, not really. Less than a mile, in a straight line.'

  'That's what I thought.' Aubrey sauntered along the concourse for a moment, hands behind his back. Then he stopped. 'I wonder if we can get there from here.'

  'The Bank of Albion?' George asked. 'Why don't we just pop upstairs and hail a cab?'

  'The bank isn't open at night, George. Besides, it's not what's on top that I'm interested in.'

  'Aubrey,' Caroline said, a pensive expression on her face. 'When is the Counting of the Coins?'

  She was remarkable. Aubrey felt a wave of desire and admiration, but it was overlaid with the sweet, painful ache of knowing that he could do nothing about it.

  'You've seen it, haven't you?'

  'Seen what?' George asked.

  'The connection. It's come together.'

  'I'd appreciate it if you'd be a little less obscure,' George said. 'Slowly now.'

  'The Counting of the Coins is on Monday,' Caroline said. 'A good part of the coinage from all over the kingdom is in the vaults of the Bank of Albion, waiting for the King.'

  'He won't actually count the coins,' Aubrey said. 'He just picks up a few and shuffles them from hand to hand. After that, it's considered that he's counted them all. The King's touch has blessed the lifeblood of the realm and that blessing will spread from coin to coin to coin.'

  'A ritual important to a nation of shopkeepers,' Caroline said.

  'That's right,' George said. 'I remember old Mr Tompkins at the Post Office near home. Whenever a gold sovereign went over his counter, he'd hold it up and say "Been blessed by the King himself, that has." '

  'A tenth of all the commercial gold in the land has been shipped to the vault, too, ready for this,' Caroline said. 'Bullion from the regional banks. After the King has done his duty, it all goes back, just like the coins.'

  'So now would be a perfect time to steal the whole lot?' George said.

  'Perfect,' Aubrey said.

  'Wait, wait,' George said. 'They tried to break into the bank. Last week. Unsuccessfully.'

  'Exactly. And security has been doubled and redoubled. The tunnel was filled in, the underground approaches to the bank have been fortified, reinforced, made impregnable.' Aubrey rubbed his hands together. 'What a perfect time to break in. No-one would suspect it.'

  Caroline nodded. 'It fits Tremaine's double-dealing mind. Organise a few dispensable types, promise them riches, let them do some of the dirty work, then watch as they make a botch of the whole thing. Watch, and learn.'

  'It's just like him,' Aubrey agreed. 'It was a blind, a feint, and it's now lulled everyone into a false sense of security.'

  George looked unconvinced. 'Or a true sense of security? The bank is alert now.'

  'Knowing Dr Tremaine, a plan is no good without a plan hidden inside it, like one of those Cossack dolls.'

  Aubrey went to the gap and began to climb down into the hydraulic tunnel. 'Let's see if we can go underground to the bank, shall we?'

  The source of the flood hadn't been repaired. The gaping hole still yawned onto the unknown, but no water cascaded from it.

  As Aubrey leaned in through the rent in the iron wall and held up the lantern, the skin on his hand began to prickle. It was a rapidly intensifying sensation that worked its way down to the bone.

  Magic.

  He closed his eyes and braced himself for a moment. Then he let his innate magical sense feel the residue of the powerful spells that had been in this area.

  Stability. Preservation. Solidity. The magic had something to do with these factors. But what caused his heart to pound was the flourish at the end. It was a cryptic, oblique signature but it had a resonance that was unmistakeable to Aubrey.

  It was the work of Dr Mordecai Tremaine.

  'Are you stuck there, old man?' George said from over his shoulder. 'D'you need a boost?'

  'We're on the right track. Dr Tremaine has been spell-casting here.'

  'Good,' Caroline said and Aubrey heard the determination in her voice. If he was obsessed with Dr Tremaine, then how would Caroline's preoccupation be described? Aubrey paused a moment. He could still hear sounds of rushing water in the distance. As well, the heavy, throbbing thud of machinery came to him, a regular, pulsing beat. It was disturbing, setting his teeth on edge.

  He handed the lantern to George, then he scrambled through. Caroline came next, easing herself past the sharp iron edges. George used his pry bar to help himself over.

  It was a shaft, more than a tunnel, and it showed signs of recently being bored: round, a good ten feet in diameter, and the earth on all sides appeared compressed. Along the bottom of the shaft, the flood had left a tide of debris: broken bricks, roofing tiles, glass, timber. Aubrey crouched and inspected the rubbish more closely to find a number of long steel cables snaking through the detritus. They were spotted with rust, but otherwise looked surprisingly new.

  Puzzled, Aubrey stood and ran his fingers along the wall, then wiped his hands together. The earth was damp and crumbling.

  What keeps it up? he wondered. The tunnel had no timber bracing, no metal sleeves to hold the earth at bay. He looked back at the hole into the hydraulic tunnel. Something had excavated this shaft, boring along, then it had run into and pierced the metal sleeve of the hydraulic tunnel. It had then withdrawn, somehow leaving the shaft stable and unshifting.

  Aubrey skipped across a shifting shoal of broken roof tile, running his hand along the wall.

  He stopped, hissing, and pulled his hand back, nearly slipping on the loose footing.

  'Steady.' George put a hand on his back. 'What is it?'

  Aubrey wrung his hand and stared at the wall. He passed the lantern to George. 'Shine the lantern up here, please.'

  Carefully, Aubrey touched the offending section of the shaft with just his fingertips. It felt different: harder, more like ceramic than earth – even compacted earth.

  'Feel this,' he said to Caroline.

  She ran her hand along the wall and narrowed her eyes. 'Peculiar. It stops about here. Ordinary earth after that.'

  'It's about a yard wide?' Aubrey asked. Caroline nodded.

  George hung the pry bar from his belt. He rapped the wall with a knuckle. It made a hard, sharp sound. He reached up as high as he could go, then used the pry bar to extend his reach. Each tap rang back at them.

  Finding a narrow piece of timber to balance on, Aubrey crossed to the other side of the shaft. With some reluctance, he touched the wall. Even though he was ready for it, the intense magic made him grit his teeth. 'It's over here, too,' he announced.

  He looked up. 'I'll warrant that it goes right overhead, too.'

  Caroline and George joined him. Caroline crossed the timber easily, George with a frown and a near-disastrous misstep. 'It's magical,' Aubrey told them. 'Dr Tremaine is boring along underground and stopping the tunnels from collapsing through magic.'

  'You knew he'd been here, didn't you?' George said. 'It wasn't just a lucky stab in the dark.'

  'I didn't know I knew, if that makes any sense. After the hydraulic station was flooded, a number of things made me think. I'd felt a magical intrusion in the area, just before the flood. But I needed to come down here to see if I was right.'

  They pushed on. Four or five yards ahead, Aubrey tapped on the wall with a stick he'd picked up. 'Here it is again. These stabilising rings are like the metal sleeves that were used in building the underground railway. Uncommon sort of magic.' And brilliant. The man's a genius.

  'Boring along underground?' George said. 'What for? Some sort of strange hobby? "Excuse me, dear, I'm just off for a bit of a bore. "'

  'Here's a question,' Aubrey said. 'What part of the Bank of Albion lies under the ground?'

  'The vaults,' Caroline said.


  'Exactly.'

  'But the Bank of Albion is over there,' George said. 'What's Dr Tremaine doing boring a tunnel over here?'

  Aubrey held up a finger. 'Yes. Two good questions. Answers to follow. As soon as we find them.'

  'To the bank, then, if we can,' Caroline said, and with that, they were off.

  As they went, Aubrey's heart decided to lift its tempo, apparently feeling that the dark, the shadows and the uncertain destination were good enough reasons. His palms began to sweat, in sympathy. Noises alternated, echoing then muffled. Their footfalls and voices made sounds that took on a life of their own, whispering along curves of the shaft.

  From all around came tiny groans, clicks, rustlings that seemed to fall silent when they neared, only to start again when they passed.

  Side tunnels appeared, opening up at irregular intervals, right and left. Most sloped downward and these showed signs of flood damage. Others curved upward, toward the surface.

  All of them had bundles of cable, or chains, or pipes running along the bottom. Sometimes they were buried, sometimes they ran exposed along the bottom of the tunnel. Aubrey grew used to picking across intersections where wires or ropes criss-crossed before disappearing off into the darkness.

  Aubrey's sense of the underground world beneath the city grew as they crossed shafts that admitted light from grates high overhead – gas street lights, he assumed. Pipes crossed their paths, emerging from tunnel walls and disappearing again on the other side. These pipes were mostly cast iron, but some were large-bore earthenware pipes and others, on closer inspection, were tarred bundles of wires. They stepped over or crawled under these with extreme caution.

  Throbbing. As they pressed on, Aubrey thought he could hear throbbing. No, more than hear it – he felt it through the soles of his boots. It was as if mighty engines were at work around them. But the sound didn't disappear as they moved; it was with them constantly, as much a background noise as one's own breathing.

  After half an hour of stumbling and slipping, George stopped and cursed with unaccustomed vehemence. When the lantern light moved and shifted, Aubrey turned to see his friend crouching. 'Resting, George?'

  George didn't answer immediately. He used his pry bar to shift some loose earth. 'Vandal,' he growled.