Time of Trial Read online

  No, he thought, and struggled with consciousness. Dizzy and feeling sick to his stomach, he sat up to see the aftermath of the affray.

  All the customers had fled, as had the waiters. Von Stralick was standing with his back to the door, which was now closed. He had his wallet in his hand and he was counting bank notes.

  Kiefer held a hand on his head, and was groaning.

  Caroline was standing between Professor Glauber and Aubrey, twitching her attention to either side, as if daring either of them to do anything foolish.

  George had thrown away the hatstand. ‘Old man?’

  ‘All present and accounted for,’ Aubrey muttered. The room swam before his eyes, but he decided that was preferable to blackness.

  The telephone had been ripped from the wall, but the earpiece was still attached. And half of Professor Glauber had disappeared into it. The telephone had swallowed his entire arm and part of his chest.

  He was lying, eyes open, staring unseeing at the ceiling. His neck was twisted in a way that made Aubrey feel even sicker. ‘He’s not breathing.’

  ‘I say,’ George said. He nudged the professor with his foot. ‘Look.’

  The professor’s coat had been torn away by George’s hatstand attack. Underneath lay the real shock.

  Professor Glauber was made of clay. His torso was dull brown, roughly formed, and Aubrey was both fascinated and repelled to see that copper wire peeped through.

  George crouched and reached out a hand to the creature’s face.

  ‘Don’t,’ Caroline said.

  ‘I think we have to.’ George unbuttoned the collar, took a fold of skin, just underneath the creature’s neck, and tugged.

  It came away with the sound of old paper, dry and rustling, exposing more copper wire overlaid with clay. Wincing, Aubrey crept closer and examined the extraordinary creature.

  He touched its cheek. It was remarkable. Extremely lifelike, it was starting to craze and harden – but Aubrey could see minute pores and blemishes in its surface. All its facial features were natural, down to small, ruddy veins on either side of the prominent nose. It was a work of art. Anything that was showing looked perfectly human. Anything that was hidden by clothing was rougher – clay over an armature of copper wire. Aubrey saw this as a blending of the magical animation of golem clay with the connective and conducting power of copper wire.

  ‘Kiefer,’ he said. ‘How much does this look like Professor Glauber?’

  Kiefer had been staring, wide-eyed. ‘Look like? Are you saying this isn’t him?’

  ‘Not unless Professor Glauber was a golem.’

  ‘A golem?’ Caroline stared. ‘Is that what a golem looks like?’

  ‘Not usually. This is a kind I’ve never seen before.’

  George helped Aubrey to his feet. A glass of water was pushed into his hand and he had a sense of déjà vu when he saw that it was Kiefer who had fetched it.

  Aubrey nodded. A presence had lurked at the other end of the telephone and that presence was unmistakeable. ‘Dr Tremaine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ von Stralick said.

  ‘He’s the only one who could do this sort of thing.’ And I felt him there, at the end of the line.

  Kiefer nodded. ‘Do you have any hesitation about our course of action now?’

  Aubrey felt at a juncture. With the world in such a precarious position, the actions of one powerful man could tip the balance. In Dr Tremaine’s case, this was in the direction of war.

  Kiefer wanted revenge, but could assisting Kiefer help stop the war?

  The argument smacked of ends justifying means, an argument that Aubrey was automatically suspicious of, but in this case there was much to recommend such a course of action.

  Not the least was helping Caroline achieve her goal.

  For such a rational person, Caroline was singleminded about Dr Tremaine. Could Aubrey rise in Caroline’s estimation by doing something about her obsession?

  It’s a pragmatic decision, he thought, but deep down, he was uneasy. He quashed the disquiet, nodding. ‘All right, Kiefer. I’ll help.’

  Seven

  The next morning at Maidstone was Aubrey's alone. After the incident at the Istros Coffee House the day before, von Stralick had claimed he had business to attend to. Caroline had gone home after making Aubrey vow that he would pursue this course of action. The proprietor of the café had glowered at them, only partly mollified by the cash von Stralick had tendered as they left. The arrival of black-uniformed Magisterium operatives had taken the sheen off the payment.

  Aubrey had hesitated before contacting the Magisterium, but finally decided it was necessary. What were they going to do with a magical copper construct otherwise?

  Rising early, George had accepted a lift from Sir Darius into the city. He had an errand to run for his father, investigating some new sort of agricultural machinery. He was excited about it, and Aubrey was pleased. Someone had to be excited about agricultural machinery.

  This gave him some time, a valuable commodity in the world of Aubrey Fitzwilliam. He spent some of it working through his notes on the ancient tablet and script found in their underground adventures a few months ago, the tablet which had hinted that it was a cousin to the famous Rashid Stone.

  The knottiness of trying to translate the mysterious ancient script absorbed him utterly. The world went away, time became irrelevant as he grappled with the arcane language, sifting for meaning, consulting old books of similar inscriptions. He’d had an inkling for some time, but as he worked he became more and more certain that tablet dealt with fundamentals of magic.

  He wished that Professor Mansfield, his lecturer in Ancient Languages, would return from her sojourn in Aigyptos, but since he and his mother had played a considerable part in her secret mission to return the Rashid Stone to the Sultan of Memphis, the stone’s rightful owner, he couldn’t feel too affronted at her absence. He’d been corresponding with her, but the delay in the post made any serious discussion difficult.

  Until she returned, he was on his own. So he surrounded himself with the best reference books and applied himself to the ongoing task of trying to decipher the mysterious script he’d found.

  Research was, as usual, a seductive trap. He found himself following pathways and suggestions quite aside from his quest for decipherment. A hint about burial practices sent him reaching for a text on Etruscan rituals and he spent a good hour fascinated by these pre-Roman people.

  Eventually, poring over details of urns and interment became mind-numbing. He stretched and decided he needed a break from the intensity of his research. He pushed back from the table then went to the safe which he’d had installed near one of his desks. It had been an item of some curiosity when he requested it, but he reassured his parents that it was necessary – and that he would share the combination with them.

  At the back of the safe, past the collection of gold sovereigns and the gold tie pin given to him by his mother, he found the black velvet bag he’d been looking for. He straightened, shut the safe and tipped the contents of the bag into his palm.

  The baroque beauty of the Tremaine pearl glowed softly and Aubrey remembered wresting it from the top of Dr Tremaine’s cane. The ex-Sorcerer Royal had been furious, for the pearl had been given to him by his sister, and was his most precious keepsake.

  Aubrey weighed in his hand. He’d always felt that pearls were warmer than other gems.

  It was small, but could it be the way to stop a horrible war?

  Aubrey was a student of history. He knew that wars were rarely caused by simple events. They were complex, chaotic affairs and were most often caused by the interplay of many, many incidents, some trivial, some significant, some outrageous. Economics, trade, deep-seated jealousies, misunderstandings, famines, intolerance, all played a part as nations lurched toward conflict. Wars weren’t caused by one person, no matter how powerful, simply jumping up and saying, ‘Right. This time I really mean it.’

  But – and Aubrey’
s mind often threw up buts – perhaps it was different this time. Everyone thought war was inevitable. From the man in the street to the decision-makers in Parliament, Albionites were adamant that they didn’t want war, yet were seized with a collective resignation that it was just around the corner – but was this the case? Holmland’s ambitions, the tensions in the Goltans, all could be solved, perhaps, if it weren’t for the machinations of one man.

  Dr Mordecai Tremaine. He could be the pivot, the balancing point that the future of nations moved on. With his power, his influence and his maniacal vision, he could nudge the world into war.

  Without him, could it be different? If he were removed, would that make the difference, slow things down so cool heads could prevail, so dialogue could ensue, so common sense could be given a chance?

  He stared at the pearl. I’m rationalising, he thought.

  He could use the pearl. He could use it to lure Dr Tremaine out of Holmland. Aubrey had been intrigued by the display of the Gallian crown jewels in Trinovant, and he imagined a similar display of unusual items, the centrepeice of which would be the Tremaine pearl. Plenty of publicity and Aubrey was confident that Dr Tremaine couldn’t help himself. He’d vowed to regain the pearl and an opportunity like this would be irresistible.

  For the beginnings of a plan, it was a good one. Some rough edges to be polished up, but it had the flavour of an idea with potential.

  Then why did he feel uneasy about it?

  He touched the pearl with his fingertip. The folds and wrinkles made it look like a miniature brain.

  He bit his lip. He knew why he was uneasy. He loved his family.

  Aubrey’s mother and father were great puzzles to him at times, and great sources of inspiration at others. He was proud of them, for all the exasperations they caused him. When his mother had herded him around the Albion Museum in the middle of the night, saving him from the gunmen he’d enraged, he’d been achingly proud of her. And his father? A man who had risked his life many times for others? The man who led the nation? Sir Darius Fitzwilliam was an impossible epitome, but the one man whose esteem and good opinion Aubrey was most desirous of.

  So how could he use Dr Tremaine’s familial love as the bait in a trap? Dr Tremaine loved his sister – Aubrey had heard it from the man’s own lips. Aubrey felt that there was something grubby, something cheap about using such a feeling as a trick.

  But then there was that chance to save the world from war...

  Aubrey weighed his choices, felt the options, understood ends and means and how rationalising worked. He slipped the pearl back into the velvet bag and drew the string tight.

  He’d go ahead with his plan, but that didn’t mean he felt good about it.

  It was hunger that brought Aubrey back to the world of Maidstone. Delicious aromas from downstairs had bypassed his brain and talked directly to his stomach. He stretched, taking his appetite as a good sign of his renewed constitution, and decided he deserved a bite to eat.

  He’d clattered down the main stairs only to find Harris waiting for him. The butler held out the good silver tray, which meant that the envelope resting on it was important.

  Aubrey read it, gazed at the ceiling for a moment as he worked through its implications, and then slipped it into his jacket pocket. ‘Is the place neat and tidy, Harris?’

  ‘Sir?’

  Aubrey stifled a smile. Harris was capable of uttering that single word in a multitude of ways, as a master woodworker can turn a lump of wood into just about anything. This time, Harris pitched the word to tell Aubrey he was affronted at the question but confident that Maidstone was in tip-top shape. As it always was.

  ‘Good, good. I wouldn’t want the Prince to be presented with a smeary glass or an unpolished banister.’

  ‘Sir.’ Not in this, or any other, world would such a thing happen. But I’ll humour your little game.

  ‘Splendid. Three o’clock, the Prince will arrive.’

  ‘Sir.’ I knew that, the butlers’ network being what it is. The preparations are already well under way.

  Aubrey was surprised to find his mother at lunch. He’d expected her to be at the museum again.

  She was picking at a fillet of fish in lemon butter. It was one of her favourite dishes, but she had hardly eaten any of it.

  She looked up at his approach. ‘Aubrey. Good.’

  ‘I strive to please.’ He took the seat opposite.

  ‘Then you’ll be a useful audience while I try to sort through something. Just nod and make approving sounds as I talk, will you?’

  ‘With pleasure.’

  A plate was put in front of Aubrey. His mouth actually watered at the appetising aroma that rose from the fish. A small bowl of green salad was placed nearby and the whole arrangement made Aubrey extremely happy to be united again so he could enjoy it.

  His mother, dressed in light green, had her hair tied back loosely in the sort of absent-minded way that most women laboured for hours over, but without Lady Rose’s confidence – or the scrap of old string she’d used. Although the room was the somewhat dark main dining room, her face caught the little light that filtered through the diamond-shaped window panes, and Aubrey, without any embarrassment, could see what made Lady Rose one of the foremost beauties in the land, and why so many tried hard to catch ‘the Fitzwilliam Look’. But Lady Rose’s combination of natural grace and innate scepticism about physical beauty meant that these efforts were doomed to failure. How can one use art to be artless?

  He took his glass of ice-water and sipped at it while his mother found words to articulate whatever problem she was wrestling with.

  Finally, she looked him in the eye. ‘I have to go to Holmland.’

  It was only with great effort that Aubrey didn’t spray his mother with a mouthful of water. It took some time, and several napkins tendered by anxious staff, before he managed to control his choking. ‘You have to go to Holmland?’ he repeated as he dabbed his eyes. ‘What? As head of an invading army?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Aubrey. I’ve been invited to a symposium to give an address on the specimens I brought back from the Arctic.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Seabirds.’ Aubrey doubted he’d ever fully forgive himself for the actions that had precipitated that expedition. Or, more precisely, Caroline’s accompanying his mother on it.

  ‘The Holmland ornithologists are keen to hear what we found about albatrosses. They’re a vocal lot and have agitated with the organisers of this gathering to include me.’

  Aubrey ran his fingers through his hair. ‘This is the thing in Fisherberg?’

  ‘At the Fisherberg Academy. It’s a prestigious occasion, a chance for Holmland to show the world that it isn’t just a continental bullyboy. It’s a home of arts, and sciences. Learning and culture.’

  ‘I’m sure Chancellor Neumann is all in favour of it,’ Aubrey muttered. He crossed his arms on his chest and stared at his fish. He wasn’t as hungry as he had been. ‘And what does Father have to say about this?’

  ‘I imagine he won’t be entirely pleased about it.’

  ‘You haven’t told him?’

  ‘I haven’t told him yet.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’

  Lady Rose glanced at Aubrey. ‘I have a feeling I’ve slipped through the looking glass into Opposite Land. We seem to have swapped roles here.’

  Aubrey gave a lopsided grin. He tried some of the fish. It was delicious and his appetite returned. ‘You surprised me with your announcement.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘But why are you telling me? Telling me before you tell Father, I mean.’

  ‘To test your reaction. As a guide.’

  ‘To how Father might react?’ Aubrey thought about this for a moment while he savoured more of the fish. Then he frowned. ‘Do you think it wise, going to Holmland right now?’

  ‘We’re not at war yet, Aubrey.’

  ‘But Holmland has made at least two attempts on your life.’

  ‘That was in the Arct
ic where their responsibility could easily be denied. They’d hardly let anything happen to the wife of the Albion Prime Minister, who would be a respected and invited guest at their showcase gathering of intellectuals and savants from around the world.’ She took a sip of water. ‘Besides, I’m sure that Tallis and Craddock will fight over whose service is best placed to supply me with an around-the-clock bodyguard.’

  ‘Doubtless.’ Commander Craddock as head of the Magisterium would claim that his operatives would be able to ward off any magical attacks, while Commander Tallis of the Special Services would insist that his agents were experts in foiling marksmen and crazed fanatics. In the end, Aubrey could see that they’d be forced to supply a composite squad, one that would do the job extremely well because each member would be striving to prove his service the better.

  Lady Rose obviously considered her trial complete, for over the remainder of her fish and the subsequent fruit course, she steered the conversation to Aubrey’s studies and his correspondence with Professor Mansfield. They’d been old friends at university, and Lady Rose was looking forward to renewing the acquaintance when Professor Mansfield returned.

  While Aubrey was dawdling over an orange, Lady Rose stood. ‘Excuse me, Aubrey, but I must be off.’

  Aubrey climbed to his feet and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. ‘To the museum again?’

  ‘For a few hours. I need to organise shipment of some specimens to this symposium.’

  Aubrey had a thought. ‘Exactly when is this show?’

  ‘It’s not a show. Next week is the start of a progam of lectures and slide presentations by some of the brightest intellects in the world.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘It’s been planned for some time. I’m sorry if they haven’t been in constant communication with you. Now, after the museum, I’m meeting your father in the Parliamentary dining room for supper. We may be late.’

  She left, and Aubrey lingered over his orange, making each segment last. He could imagine the supper might be a sticky one. Lady Rose was not a woman who felt she had to ask her husband’s permission for her many and varied pursuits, something which had scandalised the nation at first. But when Sir Darius showed unquestioned support for his wife’s career, it became a matter of some wonder, and inspiration for the suffragist movement. Despite Lady Rose having no formal role in the organisation, she was a model of the modern, free-thinking woman, one often used as an example by those pressing for Votes for Women.