Word of Honour Read online

  'I encourage all Rokeby-Taylor industries to be at the forefront of development. You saw that with the Electra.' He rubbed his hands together.

  'I saw a demonstration of a magic suppressor at a Royal Society lecture last year,' Aubrey said. 'It was huge, as big as an omnibus. It didn't work properly, either.'

  'I told you I have some remarkable people working for me,' Rokeby-Taylor said. He had trouble keeping a grin from his face. 'The Rokeby-Taylor Magic Suppressors are innovative in every way – size, reliability, and other details that I'm far too busy or far too stupid to understand. If they're carefully situated, they can generate an intense damping field.'

  'They stop magic,' Sir Darius said.

  'No magic whatsoever can be performed, undertaken or sustained within the field generated by my marvellous little boxes.'

  The implications made Aubrey's head spin. 'This could be worth a fortune.'

  'My thoughts precisely and I'm glad to hear it coming from someone else. A very sizeable fortune, I hope.' He gestured. 'These are the first fully operational models. All I need is some investment funds and some publicity. I put these in the bank, gratis, in order to achieve the latter.'

  'And you're looking to me for the former?' Sir Darius said. 'You don't give up, do you, Clive?'

  'Come this way,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'You can see better from over here.'

  He took them to the wall near the entrance, pointing out the positioning of the boxes and how they covered the entire banking chamber. A pair of uniformed guards nearby showed unfeigned interest, peering into the heights.

  Aubrey automatically wanted to test the magical suppressors, and found a simple light spell springing to his lips. He bit it back. No, he thought, no more magic. Not even simple stuff.

  It felt unnatural, like refusing to scratch an itch, but he was determined. It was the only way.

  A scream interrupted Aubrey's thoughts and the banking murmur. Aubrey swung around to see four men emerging from one of the many doorways. One of them was struggling, held by two of the others. He called for help and the chamber underwent a transformation.

  Many customers rushed directly toward the main entrance, while others fled to the walls, as far from the intruders as possible. It was a sea of humanity, surging one way then the other before clearing the centre of the chamber, leaving it stark and empty. Clerks and tellers stayed at their posts, frozen mid-count.

  The intruders stumbled to the middle of the chamber, dragging their captive with them. One – the tallest – had wild, unkempt hair. He was dressed in an expensive-looking dark suit, but Aubrey could see that his boots were old and worn. He stood calmly, with a hesitant smile on his face, for all the world as if he were performing for an audience. The others were less sure of themselves and looked as if things weren't quite working out as they'd planned.

  The struggling figure struck at the tall man and cried out again. Then Aubrey realised it was Sir Norman, the governor. The banker's face was an alarming shade of red.

  'Stay where you are!' shouted the tallest of the three villains. He pointed at the struggling Sir Norman. 'Or I will scramble this man's brains with magic of untold power.'

  Sir Norman immediately stopped his thrashing.

  Uniformed guards were moving toward the intruders, a dozen or more of them closing in with steely resolve. The chief villain licked his lips nervously. 'I'm warning you,' he called. 'Step back, or I will unleash such torrents of torment that you'll be sorry you were born.'

  Aubrey rolled his eyes. He had always found that the boastfulness of a magician's claims were in inverse proportion to his actual effectiveness. The guards, however, hesitated, until their grey-bearded leader stepped forward. Aubrey was reassured by the man's military bearing. 'Surrender,' he said in a sergeant-major's voice, one that had drilled more than its fair share of recruits. 'Your time is up.'

  'Not until I'm escorted to the main vault, where I will melt the door with the power of a thousand suns,' the villain said. He gestured dramatically.

  'Not likely,' the greybeard growled. 'At 'em, lads.'

  The guards closed in. The chief villain took a step backward, then seemed to remember his role. He threw up both hands and began to chant a spell.

  The guards halted their advance, knowing magic when they heard it. Aubrey listened carefully, and had to admit that the villain knew his Sumerian. Even though he hurried, he managed each syllable clearly and ended with a showy flourish of a signature. He then slammed his right fist into his left palm.

  Aubrey recognised that the spell used the Law of Magnitude, with the intention of turning the fist strike into a barrage of sound. Despite the presence of the so-called magical suppressors, he felt the sudden build-up of magical power. 'Cover your ears!' he urged, and then he felt a strange, unsettling wave of magic.

  Nothing happened. The chief villain gaped, stared at his hands, turned to his colleagues as if he were about to complain, then they were buried under an avalanche of guards.

  'Splendid!' Rokeby-Taylor crowed over the hubbub of astonishment that filled the chamber. 'As you see, any magic is nullified by the suppressors. It doesn't matter what type, an equal and opposite effect is created and the final result is as you see.' Rokeby-Taylor beamed. 'A timely trial indeed.'

  'Very timely.' Sir Darius watched thoughtfully as the struggle in the middle of the chamber proved to be short-lived. 'Most fortunate for you, Clive.'

  'Well, the bank won't have any doubts about the efficacy of the devices now, will they?' Rokeby-Taylor glanced around. 'I hope some of the governors were watching.'

  'Sir Norman was,' Aubrey said. That particular governor would give a good account of the magic suppressors, he was sure.

  The guards separated and marched the villains out. The foiled spell-caster looked particularly affronted at his unexpected end. 'This wasn't supposed to happen!' he cried. 'I wasn't told about this!'

  His protests dwindled as he was hauled out of the bank, along with his unhappy cronies, and Aubrey found himself wondering at the convenience of the attempted robbery. It was a perfect demonstration of the effectiveness of the magic suppressors, with the governors' meeting and the Prime Minister in attendance.

  Very convenient.

  'Your company should be flooded with orders,' Sir Darius said to Rokeby-Taylor, 'once word of this gets around.'

  'I should hope so.'

  'And to that end, you won't need my financial support.'

  'Well, I suppose not. But I'd like to have you on board, so to speak.'

  'I don't think so. Now, Aubrey, we have a matter to attend to.'

  Rokeby-Taylor took Sir Darius's arm. 'Before you go, in the boardroom, you were about to offer me some advice.'

  'Of course. It's just this: don't ever approach me again with anything that has the remotest hint of impropriety about it.'

  Rokeby-Taylor considered this, then brightened. 'Of course not, Darius. Why would I? Now, I really must see the governors. They should be around here somewhere.'

  He rushed off, slipping through the crowd that had once again populated the chamber, going about their business as though nothing had happened. The buzz of transactions, the scratching of pen on paper and the rustle and clink of money melded into a sound that was the hum of commerce.

  'Will the Prime Minister be needing a room?' Sir Norman appeared at Sir Darius's elbow, looking neat and tidy, with no sign of having been a hostage in a bank robbery drama only a few minutes ago. Aubrey thought it a wonderful characteristic of the Albionite bank manager, the ability to appear unfazed by events that would necessitate most people having a good lie down.

  'Of course, Sir Norman. I have another matter that needs discharging. Please bring my deposit box.'

  Sir Norman straightened, enthused. 'In an instant, Prime Minister!' He cast around then pointed at one of the uniformed doorman. 'Eames.'

  'Nolan, sir.'

  'Nolan. Please show the Prime Minister to the Vault Room.'

  The doorman ushere
d them briskly across the main chamber to a staircase. He took them down three flights, deep into the bowels of the bank, to a barred metal door where two guards scrutinised all three of them before using their keys in the lock.

  Nolan took them along a narrow corridor. He ignored the many side doors and went directly to the door at the end.

  He thumped on the solid, riveted steel and a small peephole slid open. An eye studied him for a moment, then the door was unlocked. 'I'll wait for you here, sirs,' Nolan chirped. 'Collins will take care of you until Sir Norman gets here.'

  Apparently, this meant that they sat at a long mahogany table while Collins – a huge guard with a missing ear – watched them with a gaze laden with what Aubrey decided was occupational hostility.

  The table wasn't quite as large as the boardroom table, but it would have seated a dozen large people with room to spare. A vase of camellias sat on one end of the table while a crystal water carafe and glasses rested on a silver tray at the other end.

  The Vault Room was a misnomer. The large room actually had four massive steel doors leading to vaults. It also had a singular feature. One corner of the Vault Room was taken up by a large, irregular rock. In the austere surroundings, its gnarled and rough surface was spectacularly out of place. The walls were built around it, fitting snugly, so that it looked as if it protruded from outside.

  The guard saw Aubrey's curious look. 'That's the Old Man of Albion.'

  'The rock?'

  'Found it when they excavated the foundations. They could have broken it up, but someone decided to leave it. Part of the bank, it is.'

  Sir Darius strolled across the room and inspected it, smiling. 'It's not just any rock, is it, Collins?'

  'No sir, that it isn't. It's part of the Bank of Albion. The bank's built on it, to put it another way.'

  'Every governor of the Bank of Albion must take his oath while resting a hand on it,' Sir Darius said to Aubrey. 'And it's part of the Counting of the Coins.'

  'That's right' Collins said. 'The King will be here in two weeks' time. He has to bless the gold of the land, as all the Kings and Queens have done, ever since ever.' Collins pointed. 'See there, that worn spot? That's where the King rests his foot while he blesses the coins and bullion. Then they're fit to go into circulation.'

  'One of our nation's quaintest, and oldest, ceremonies,' Sir Darius said. 'Vitally important, of course.'

  Aubrey wrinkled his brow. 'Sounds a bit silly to me.'

  'In some ways, it is silly. In other ways, it's one of the ties that bind us. The rituals, great and small, are markers, items of familiarity that bring us together. Repeating something that comes from our collective history reminds us where we've come from, and who we are.'

  Collins, the guard, looked at Sir Darius and nodded slowly. 'That's it, sir, right enough. The bank wouldn't be the bank without the Old Man of Albion, and the money of Albion wouldn't be the same without the Counting of the Coins. We all know it's old-fashioned, but it makes us think a bit, now and then. That's a good thing.'

  'You're a lucky man,' Sir Darius said, 'being this close to part of Albion's heritage.'

  'Same as you, sir, sitting in Parliament all day. Must be dozens of bits of heritage just lying around there.'

  Sir Darius blinked. 'I suppose you're right. I'd never thought about that before.'

  He laughed and Collins chuckled along with him.

  Aubrey had seen it before, but the change in Collins from hostility to respect was another example of why his father was the leader he was. A few words, some honest understanding of what motivated people, a lack of pretension, and Sir Darius had gained another supporter. Aubrey could hear Collins in the pub tonight: 'Say what you like about the Prime Minister. I've met him, and he's straight up. Doesn't talk down, and he's willing to listen.'

  One of the many goals Aubrey had set himself was to be as good a leader as his father. He couldn't do it in the same way – he had a horror of being seen as a pale imitation. He had to shape his own style. He just hadn't quite worked out what that was.

  Sir Norman arrived with the deposit box. It was grey metal, the size of a small suitcase. The governor needed both arms to carry it, but the box didn't seem to be heavy. He placed it in front of Sir Darius and once the ledger had been signed, he backed out of the room, taking Collins and closing the door behind him.

  Sir Darius drummed his fingers for a moment. Then he found a key in his jacket. He unlocked the box and took out a small, blue velvet bag. 'This belongs to you, Aubrey. It's time for you to have it.'

  Aubrey saw that the bag was worn at one corner, and the drawstring a little frayed. He hesitated. 'Sir?'

  'Take it.'

  The bag was light, but lumpy. Carefully, Aubrey loosened the string. He held out his palm and shook the bag, very gently.

  A deep red gemstone tumbled out and sat in his hand. It was the size of his thumbnail. 'Thank you,' Aubrey said, in his awe unable to summon anything more profound.

  'It's the Brayshire Ruby. A family heirloom.'

  'But shouldn't it be yours?'

  'It's a Leap Legacy. It skips a generation. Your grandfather had it, now it's your turn.'

  Aubrey stared at it while he tried to sort out a jumble of emotions. Mostly, he was surprised. He'd been struggling for his father's approval for so long that this tangible sign took him completely unaware. He was humbled, too, by the reality of his connection with the long history of the family that was here in his hand. And, with typical Aubrey perverseness, he was pricked by self-doubt. Did he really deserve this?

  The stone was pear-shaped. It sparkled with a fire that came from deep within, a core of ruddy light. Aubrey stroked it with the tip of his forefinger. It felt warm.

  'What should I do with it?'

  'That's the challenge. Your grandfather had it set in a ring, but found it too clumsy to wear, except on special occasions. Tradition says, however, you can't simply repeat what the previous holder did.'

  'I'm going to have it set in a watchcase,' Aubrey said and he blinked. He hadn't consciously come to a conclusion; it had simply popped into his head fully formed. But having blurted it out, the notion seemed perfect. He was conscious of time – having too little, seeing it run away too fast, the pressing urgency of it. Perhaps having a timepiece of his own could be a way of taming it.

  'A watch? Novel idea. I don't think that's been done before.' Sir Darius looked pleased. 'We'll arrange for Anderson and Sutch to send someone around. They're excellent jewellers. You can explain what you want done.'

  Sir Darius sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He smiled.

  'Was this some sort of test?' Aubrey asked.

  'Only in the broadest possible sense. Each of our family heirs must go through this.'

  Aubrey folded his fist over the ruby. 'You didn't.'

  'Oh, but I did. I had to take possession of the Brayshire Sapphire.'

  'Ah, the mysterious Brayshire Sapphire.' Aubrey had never heard of the Brayshire Sapphire.

  Sir Darius snorted. 'There's nothing mysterious about it. It just made a dashed ugly cigarette case look even more hideous. I don't know what I was thinking. I've never smoked.'

  Aubrey felt the gem in his hand. It was surprisingly warm. 'Thank you, sir,' he repeated.

  'It's yours, Aubrey, as it was your grandfather's. It's something that's been handed down, generation after generation. It reminds you of who you are.'

  Aubrey's throat was tight. He swallowed. 'Sir. I'll do my best to live up to the family name.'

  'What?' Sir Darius regarded him with raised eyebrows. 'Why, you've done that already, Aubrey, a hundred times over.'

  Six

  AUBREY HAD MUCH TO THINK ABOUT ON THE journey back to Maidstone, but he forgot it all when he saw the figure waiting for him at the front door.

  'George! All's well at home?'

  George frowned a little, then gave a slight shrug. Aubrey thought he looked tired. 'Father has an ulcer, the doctor says, and that's a
miracle in itself.'

  'An ulcer is a miracle?'

  'No, the fact that Father actually saw a doctor.'

  Sir Darius shook George's hand. 'I'm sorry to hear your father's unwell, George. Please send my regards.'

  'I will, sir. He'll appreciate it.'

  'And let me know if I can do anything.'

  George made a face. 'Oh, sir, you know he won't have any of that. The doctor says he must stop worrying, but that's difficult right at the moment.'

  Sir Darius laughed. 'Still the same stubborn William Doyle.'

  Harris, the butler, had been standing silently, but at that moment he lifted his fist and coughed into it. This discreet display was followed by an infinitesimal tilt of his grey-haired head in the direction of a table next to the front door. It was piled high with dispatch boxes.

  Sir Darius caught Harris's gesture, followed it, studied the tower of officialdom, and groaned. 'Aubrey. George. If you'll excuse me. I have some catching-up to do.'

  He took the top three boxes. Harris took the remainder. Together, laden with the affairs of state, they started up the stairs.

  Sir Darius stopped halfway. Without turning, he said, 'Aubrey. If you're not seeing the jewellers today, make sure you put the ruby in the safe.'

  'Of course.' Aubrey fielded George's puzzlement cleanly and knew something that might brighten his friend's spirits. 'I'll tell you over lunch.'

  A few hours later, with the afternoon fully mature and the table a picture of devastation, George sat back and picked crumbs from his chest. Aubrey thought his friend had begun the meal in a distant, abstracted mood, but he'd grown more interested as the story unfolded. Hands laced on his chest, he nodded at Aubrey. 'Magic suppressors, valuable family heirlooms, attempted bank robberies and the reappearance of Mr Clive Rokeby-Taylor. Have I missed anything?'

  'No, not really.'

  'Right. In that case, it sounds to me that we both need a last bit of relaxation, fun and frivolity, before we go up to Greythorn.'

  'You're not anticipating any fun and frivolity at the university?'

  'Not me, old man. Watch. Next week I'll have my head down in those books, the model student.'