Word of Honour Read online

  'You noticed?'

  'It was as if you'd stopped talking.'

  'Ah. That noticeable.' Aubrey took a breath, a deep one that didn't hurt, and he saw that as a good sign. He counted another ten painless breaths, and then – hesitantly – felt he may have things under control. Apart from the iron spike being pounded into his head. And the tremors in his hands. And a hundred other small symptoms that he was going to address by hoping they'd go away.

  'Indeed.' She studied him. 'You can't stop doing magic, Aubrey. It's too important to you.'

  'That's what I discovered.'

  'So we'll just have to manage you. Somehow.'

  She rose to her feet in one lithe movement. Aubrey followed her by tilting his head back and staring, unmindful of how this made him look.

  Did she say 'we'?

  Before he could query her, George spoke up. 'Aubrey. I think you should have a look at this.'

  Caroline offered him a hand, but Aubrey didn't think his dignity could stand it so he dragged himself up via the wall.

  His soul was uneasy, but at least it wasn't battering at its confines any more. His head was tight and he thought he was slightly feverish. He resigned himself to being on the roundabout of feeling out of sorts once again.

  Aubrey limped to where George was crouched in the corner of the room. 'What is it?'

  'A stone tablet, broken into fragments,' George said. 'The writing has been defaced on all of them, so it's unintelligible. Except for this bit.'

  He held up a piece of stone, roughly five-sided, about the size of his hand. It was covered with minute script, in three distinct bands.

  'It's Roman?' Caroline asked.

  'As the expert here on Roman history, I can confidently say that the writing at the top is Latin. Most of it. Of a sort, anyway,' George said. 'But there are two other sorts of writing. This spiky one in the middle, and that mess at the bottom. Or are they pictures?'

  Aubrey squinted. The writing was almost microscopic, and the light wasn't the best, but he could make out some sections. 'The middle one, the spiky one, is cuneiform. Late cuneiform, the writing of the Sumerians. I think the Latin section is a translation of the cuneiform, or the other way around.' He stared. 'They're both talking about magic.'

  'Magic, eh? That'd fit. I'd say that this tablet was broken as part of a ritual,' George said. 'See the black soot on the other bits? Someone poured oil over them and lit it.'

  'Whatever for?' Caroline asked. Her eyes gleamed with interest.

  'Who knows? Maybe sending a message to the gods, or someone in the afterlife. Or a ritual attempt at destroying them. Educated guesswork, this is.'

  Aubrey leaned closer. 'If the top two scripts are translations of each other, it would stand to reason that the bottom one is as well.'

  'Interesting.'Caroline leaned on Aubrey and peered at the stone. He nearly buckled at the knees but managed to hold himself up. 'I've seen something like it before,' she said.

  'Really?' George said. 'Where?'

  'In the museum. The Rashid Stone.'

  For a moment, excitement drove away Aubrey's terrible weariness. 'You're right. The messy script. That's the Rashid Stone script!' 'Good Lord,' George said, and his voice was hushed, almost reverential. 'You understand that this means we could crack the mystery of the Rashid Stone? After two hundred years of trying, we stumble across a touchstone.'

  'It's more than that,' Aubrey said. 'This could be an early treatise on magic. Maybe the earliest we have.'

  Aubrey's heart pounded, but with exhilaration this time, not fear. The few bits and pieces he could make out suggested that stone was dealing with fundamental aspects of magic – where it came from, how it was influenced by people, how to shape it to one's will, and some terms that seemed to be about city magic, which was a puzzle to him, a small one in the larger puzzle of the stone itself.

  If the unknown language was early, primeval, could it be closer to a source language, something which could serve as a universal language of magic? He blew on the stone, trying to clear the dust, and more characters emerged.

  Death. Protection. Soul. Three cuneiform characters became clear and he nearly dropped the stone. He checked the Latin inscription above and it seemed to echo the Sumerian. The corresponding characters in the unknown script were distinctive, but puzzling.

  'I need to study this. I need to talk to Professor Mansfield.' Aubrey rubbed his thumb on a soot-stained section. Was that the Latin word for 'connection'? He tried to remember, but his Latin was more than rusty; it was badly corroded and in need of major restoration.

  'Not now, I think,' Caroline said. 'We have a mission ahead.'

  Aubrey was torn, but he reminded himself that Maggie and her Crew were still missing – and Dr Tremaine was still out there. This could wait. 'Of course.'

  'I'll keep it safe,' George said and he wrapped it in his handkerchief before slipping it into his pocket. 'There. Safe as the Bank of Albion. Or safer, really.'

  They hurried from the tomb and quickly worked their way through the marble vault. After a scramble out of the Roman ruins, where Aubrey delightfully had to assist Caroline, they were back in the main tunnel. Once there, Aubrey leaned against the wall for a moment while George and Caroline argued about the way ahead. With glum certainty, he realised that his magical expenditure had already come at a cost. He ached, and shivering threatened to seize hold of him.

  As he tried to steady himself, he realised that, for the present, this was his lot. He couldn't stop using magic. It was like deciding not to use one of his arms – awkward, difficult and potentially dangerous.

  Live with it, he thought, and live long enough to find a way to sort things out.

  He controlled his shivering through an act of will and straightened to join his friends.

  The main tunnel trended upwards for a few minutes, then it opened out into a larger tunnel: a wide, open drive. It was long, and wide as a boulevard, with some bracing timbers as well as the magically stabilised earth. Along one side of the excavated area Aubrey could make out the foundations of buildings, the first reminder he'd had of the world overhead for some time.

  Sitting in the middle of the underground boulevard, twenty or thirty yards ahead, was an elaborate machine.

  George and Caroline stared. 'I think we've found our tunneller,' Aubrey murmured.

  The machine was the size of an omnibus, completely enclosed in smooth steel apart from a window at the front. A large auger projected from the front, twice the height of a man, and it was surrounded by immense electric lights in wire cages. Large metal plates ran around all four wheels and Aubrey was startled to see that these plates were connected, like links in a chain. He squatted, taking the lantern from Caroline as she peered at the welding, and inspected the undercarriage of the contraption, growing increasingly excited at what he was finding.

  By the lantern light, he saw that the cabin had a single seat. No room for passengers; this was a solo craft. Levers, knobs, switches were arranged within reaching distance. All were mysterious, unlabelled except for one brass handle – 'Ignition'. Automatically, Aubrey tugged on it but was not surprised when he found it locked – magically locked, to judge from the tingling in his fingertips.

  A set of three large brass rings – each as tall as George – jutted from the rear of the machine, one behind the other. Hundreds of silver rods ran around the perimeter of each ring and linked them together so that they were a handspan apart. When Aubrey touched the rings, he felt the magical residue and immediately knew what they were for.

  'They belch out the stabilising sheaths.' He stood and wiped his hands on his filthy trousers. 'The auger digs, the machine pushes aside the earth, and the rings shoot out stabilising magic that locks the earth into place.' He shook his head with admiration. 'It's a masterpiece.'

  'A Dr Tremaine construction?' Caroline said without a trace of admiration.

  'I'd say so. Dr Tremaine is a man for elegant machines.'

  'So where is he?'
Caroline demanded. 'If this is his machine, shouldn't he be nearby?'

  The thought gave Aubrey a momentary alarm. Then he placed his palm against the cowling of the tunneller. 'It's cold. Hasn't been used for some time. Dr Tremaine could be anywhere.'

  Aubrey walked along the length of the tunneller, then around to the far side. He lifted the lantern and faced the mighty foundations of a building.

  Thrusting down from the overburden were large stone blocks, reinforced with steel bars driven through each and bolted, linking them together. They rested on solid bedrock. Aubrey looked up. The weight resting on these foundations meant that they were immoveable, part of the rock itself, as if they'd grown there. 'He's excavated right along the foundations of our Bank of Albion. I'd say the Vault Room is through here.'

  George broke off from studying the tunneller's gearing and joined Aubrey's inspection of the foundations. 'How thick are they?'

  Aubrey cast his mind back to his day in the vault with his father. 'Ten, twenty feet? There's no getting through that lot.'

  'Then how is Dr Tremaine imagining he'll waltz in?' Caroline said.

  Aubrey looked along the length of the foundations. 'Does the tunnel continue past the bank?'

  'It does. And that doesn't answer my question.'

  'No, but it's a step toward answering it.'

  Aubrey was sure he was close, that answers were dancing just a few inches beyond his fingertips. He was tired, aching, filthy and suffering from the disunity of his body and soul – but he was buoyed by an urgency that came from his desire to succeed whatever the circumstances.

  He walked along the length of the foundations. It wasn't long before he was on the edge of Caroline's lantern light and entering the realm of shadows. He tripped on a sheaf of tarred wires that emerged from the earth and vanished into the darkness ahead, but he barely noticed them.

  Another tunnel, at right angles to the main shaft, had been bored along the side of the bank's foundations.

  The tunnel mouth became clearer, shadows fleeing. 'Someone wants to see as much of the bank as he can,' Caroline said. She held the lantern up, and Aubrey could see the calculation in her eyes. 'Was he trying to find a weak spot?'

  'In the bank?' George said, joining them. 'No-one's managed to break into the Bank of Albion. Ever.'

  'Dr Tremaine is a man for firsts,' Aubrey said. He scuffed at the earth of this side tunnel. It wasn't as compacted as the main tunnel. Was it more recent?

  His scuffing uncovered something that clinked when he nudged it with his foot. With astonishment, he realised that it was a chain.

  He gouged at the earth with his heel and discovered that the chain seemed to run underneath the tunnel floor, extending into the distance.

  'What is it?' George asked.

  'An enigma.'

  'One of those spiny anteater things from Antipodea? How did it get here?'

  Aubrey lifted his head only to see George grinning at him.

  'Now,' George said, 'for a second, you actually thought I'd confused enigma and echidna, didn't you?'

  'Touché, George. Now that you've kept me on my toes, I'll ask you – what's that behind you?'

  'I feel like I'm in a pantomime,' George said. He turned, but slowly, ready to disengage himself from any upcoming joke.

  Twenty or thirty yards away at the edge of the lantern's light, was a shadowy bulge, an irregularity in the straight, sheer stone of the foundations.

  'Something worth investigating, in my book,' Aubrey said. He led the way, cautiously.

  The lantern light revealed that the side tunnel ended in solid rock. An arm of the rock projected, punching through the corner of the foundations, which were built right up to it, butting up against it with a combination of masonry skill, iron work and reinforced concrete.

  'North,' he said. 'Which way is north?'

  Caroline frowned, but pointed back in the direction they'd come. 'That way.'

  'Yes. Of course.'

  'This rock is part of the bank,' George said. 'It's been built around it.'

  Aubrey tried to remember the layout of the Vault Room. What was where? Then he had it. 'It's the Old Man of Albion. The rest of him, anyway.'

  George stared. Even Caroline looked impressed. 'This goes right through into the bank?'

  'Oh yes. Part of the history and soul of the place.' Aubrey slapped it. Then he lifted his hand and stared at it. 'Of course, I could be wrong.'

  'Now, Aubrey,' Caroline said,' being inscrutable doesn't help us at all here. What's going on? Plain, simple explanations, please.'

  Aubrey rubbed his temples. Plain simple explanations for fiendishly complicated phenomena? 'I'll try.' He rubbed his hands together. 'It's a fake.'

  George gaped, but Aubrey could see Caroline speeding through the implications. 'Dr Tremaine?'

  'It's his back door,' he said. 'After the first robbery attempt, the foundations were reinforced from the inside – thick steel plate and whatnot. Except for the Old Man.'

  George reached out and tapped the rock with his pry bar. 'Sounds real enough to me.'

  'Magic, George. For all intents and purposes, this is as solid as mountains. But Dr Tremaine has removed the original Old Man of Albion and replaced it with a lookalike.'

  'Lookalike?' George said. 'Sound-alike and feel-alike too.'

  'He's no petty magician.'

  'The possibility of your making a mistake here is a remote one?' Caroline said.

  Aubrey debated this for a moment. Then he shook his head. 'I don't think so. But remind me if this goes spectacularly wrong, will you?'

  'Naturally,' she said, but she smiled.

  Aubrey had an instant to regret how he'd mishandled everything to do with Caroline, but an instant is as long as a lifetime when it comes to self-chastisement. Aubrey managed to kick himself a good number of times in between one tick of his watch and the next.

  If only things had gone differently, he thought and then rephrased it. If only I'd done things differently. Sharper, less pleasant, but more accurate.

  He sighed, caught it, and turned it into an exhalation that he hoped signified urgency, determination and fortitude.

  'Asthma, Aubrey?' Caroline asked.

  'Asthma? Me? No.' He thumped his chest and winced.

  'Like a bell, I am.'

  'Excellent. Now, what are you proposing?'

  'If Dr Tremaine left this as a back door, he must have some way to get in.'

  'A key?' George suggested.

  'Metaphorically speaking, that's right. This key, however, will be some sort of spell.'

  'Shouldn't be too hard,' George said. 'You were able to sneak into that Banford Park place, where Dr Tremaine had your father hidden. You tricked his security spells there.'

  'Yes. And I don't think Dr Tremaine is a big enough fool not to have realised what went on there. He would have changed any spells he's using for such a thing.'

  Caroline nodded. 'It'd be like leaving locks unchanged after burglars had broken in and made off with your keys, as well as the silverware. To extend George's metaphor.'

  'Extend away,' George said. 'I'll set them up, you two can run with them.'

  Aubrey examined the stone. It had every appearance of solidity. He could even see scrape marks where dirt had been cleared away. If it was an illusion, it was a perfect one.

  He put his hands against it. No doubt about it, he could detect faint traces of magic – and it had the hallmarks of a Tremaine spell. Aubrey guessed that most magicians would be unable to feel the residue, and none but him would be able to determine the spell-caster's origin. It was turning out to be another aspect of the peculiar magical bond he'd established with the renegade.

  Which was well and good, but it didn't give him a clue as to how to get into the vault.

  He began humming as he inspected the rock where it joined the foundations. Not a crack showed. Aubrey doubted that he could fit a piece of paper between the dressed stone and the substance of the Old Man – or the fake Old M
an.

  Perhaps he could work on some sort of osmotic principle, changing his body so that it could ooze through the rock. He shook his head. No, a stupid idea. It would take too long, and what use would that be anyway? How could anyone get out again with loot? Still, he was pleased. His brain was working, throwing up possibilities.

  'I'm going to have another look at that tunnelling machine,' George said.

  'Do you think that's wise?' Caroline said.

  'Aubrey's thinking. He could be some time.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'I've seen this before. Best thing to do is to leave him undisturbed. If we stand around, we're just a distraction. You more so, naturally.'

  Caroline shook her head. 'Very well. Let's see what we can find out about that tunneller, shall we?'

  Aubrey was left alone, but he hardly noticed. He conjured up a small glow light, barely the size of a pea, without really thinking about it – without noticing that this simplest of spells sapped his energy, added to the strain of holding onto his soul.

  He stood in front of the mass of stone and plucked at his chin. A key. This special back door needed a key.

  What sort of magic had Dr Tremaine used? Without knowing exactly what branch of magic, Aubrey assumed the spell would be unusual, outlandish even, and would pay very little heed to established conventions. It might be crude and powerful, or elegant and subtle.

  Which is like saying it could be anything at all.

  He flexed his fingers, then rubbed his hands together. He leaned close to the rock of which the Old Man of Albion was but an extension. When he put his ear on it he relished the coolness. Slowly, he spread his hands and placed his fingertips on the surface of the rock, either side of his head.

  He closed his eyes. As much as it was against his nature, he allowed himself to become entirely passive. He waited, receptive, allowing the magic to come to him, ready to sense the faintest touch, the merest hint of its nature.

  Time passed, but Aubrey was only aware of it in an abstract sense. He opened his eyes. His fingers tingled when he took them from the rock. Frowning, he rubbed them together.

  The rock was a sham, it was clear. A cleverly constructed magical facsimile, it had all the appearance and solidity of the real thing, but with the right magical key a substantial part would vanish, leaving a comfortable access into the vaults of the Bank of Albion.