Laws of Magic 6

by Michael Pryor

  Dr Tremaine wasn’t leaving anything to chance in his attack on the new King. He was bringing his collection of magical artefacts to add power to his magic.

  Aubrey anticipated the stormfleet behaviour he’d witnessed in Greythorn. There, the skyfleet had swept in and circled a single position, creating mayhem through weather magic, trapping those inside its whirling perimeter with a wall of cyclonic wind. If Dr Tremaine achieved this formation he could pound the chateau and the new King of Albion to pieces. Basement or no, anyone inside would be doomed.

  He was rapidly spinning an idea into the beginnings of a spell. The buffeting of the wind made him wonder if he couldn’t do something similar, some sort of displacement that could shift bombs. It would take a combination of the Law of Action at a Distance and the Law of Transference, but he might be able to shift a large enough volume of air to create a deflecting vacuum, or a vortex to spin a bomb aside … Of course, in order to cast these spells accurately, he’d have to spot the bombs as they fell, which would be a challenge in such conditions as the storm-brought darkness made the entire sky murky.

  Aubrey’s beret was ripped from his head. It spun away and was caught in a nearby rhododendron. Aubrey ignored it as the storm rolled toward them, a juggernaut of lightning and cloud. The skyfleet itself pushed from the middle of it, a formidable battleline of giant warships, ignoring the anti-aircraft fire that fell far short of its lofty elevation.

  An untried spell, put together in difficult circumstances? Aubrey was ready but, before he could even articulate the first syllables that he was still arranging in his mind, the heavens were torn apart in a blinding flash. The thunder that followed made the anti-aircraft fire sound puny.

  Aubrey blinked at the purple after-vision. He shook his head to clear it but his ears were still ringing as he scanned the sky. Lightning lanced across the black wall of cloud, ragged rips in the heavens, leaking brightness that made his eyes water.

  How was he going to spy a bomb dropped in such conditions?

  Wedged between the stairs and the side of the chateau, Aubrey extended his magical awareness, hoping to detect any magical emanations from falling bombs. It was a forlorn hope but desperation often gave birth to such unexpected offspring.

  Even with his senses – mundane and magical – so attuned, Aubrey nearly missed the particular lightning bolt amid the garish display the heavens had become. In the split-second he had, he realised it was because of foreshortening – he didn’t see it because it was coming directly toward him.

  The next thing Aubrey knew he was lying in the rhododendron bushes near where his beret was lodged. The noises about him were muffled and dim. When he stood, on shaky legs, he realised he’d been deafened by the blast that had flung him sideways. Numbly, he contemplated the diamonds scattered on the ground at his feet for a few seconds, before he realised that they were actually fragments of glass. A soldier grabbed his arm, shouted something and pointed up, then ran toward the stairs of the chateau.

  Pull yourself together, Aubrey admonished himself. He untangled his beret and held it in his trembling fingers. He smelled burning and looked up.

  All the windows on the top floor of the chateau – the third – were gone. He couldn’t see flames, but what he saw on the roof of the building finally stirred his feet into action.

  Giant electrical figures were capering about, swinging from antenna masts, skating along wires, dancing on chimneys, a horde in a manic, sparking frenzy.

  Aubrey ran for the stairs, bent double, for the skyfleet was rolling directly overhead. It was a vast, oppressive presence, bringing a howling wind that came from all directions. The storm cannoned into Aubrey and sent him reeling. Only by throwing out a hand and catching the newel post of the stairs was he able to prevent himself from being hurled away from the entrance.

  Inside, the chateau was pandemonium as military personnel from privates to generals either tried to flee the assault on the chateau or assist the injured who were staggering down the stairs.

  Aubrey sprinted in that direction and swam against the current, mounting the stairs as fast as he could, while hoping that Caroline had managed to find safety with Bertie.

  He was alone when he burst out onto the flat area between the turrets, the erstwhile site of the antenna array, just in time to see the last of the electrical fiends cavort on top of the flagpole, which had – until a few minutes ago – flown the Gallian flag. Its rough human shape and its magic left Aubrey in no doubt that it was a cousin to the creature he’d defeated on the roof of the Divodorum base, but before he could do anything the flagpole exploded in a hail of splinters that sent him sprawling to protect his face.

  When Aubrey rolled to his feet, the malicious sprite had vanished. The flagpole was a blackened stub amid the slag and shreds of wire that had once been a carefully aligned antenna array.

  Aubrey rubbed his aching head, realised that his beret had gone missing again, found it in a tangle of nearby metal and lodged it on his head while he stepped gingerly across the melted and charred remains that had been, briefly, a playground for Dr Tremaine’s malign magic. When he reached the western parapet, he saw that the skyfleet was sailing away and taking the storm with it. Lightning jabbed down at the earth, making it look as if the ships were walking on giant, electrical legs, stalking across countryside with impunity. A telegraph pole exploded in a shower of sparks, then another, before the skyfleet crossed a ridge and Aubrey lost sight of its sparky spideriness.

  A cry made him whirl to find Caroline joining him on the roof. ‘Aubrey!’

  While Aubrey had the highest estimation of Caroline’s abilities, he nevertheless was relieved to see that she was unharmed. He veritably skipped across the roof, vaulting over a gaping skylight and dancing around a metal pole that jutted at an angle right through a dislodged downpipe.

  She took his outstretched hand. A host of expressions flitted across her dear face before she settled on careful professionalism. ‘Bertie is safe. The telegraph room exploded and is burnt out, but that’s the only real damage.’

  ‘You’re unhurt?’

  She tilted her head, but didn’t let go of his hand. ‘One must put first things first, Aubrey.’

  ‘I did.’

  The service door banged back. George and Sophie emerged. ‘A right mess,’ George said after surveying the damage. ‘They won’t be putting this back together in a hurry.’

  Click, click, click. Aubrey had it. He ran for the stairs. ‘Exactly, which means we need to be on our way.’

  Banging down the stairs, Aubrey told Caroline what he’d seen on the roof – and he shared what Professor Mansfield had said with George and Sophie. ‘We need to let the Directorate know,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘but it looks as if … Ah! General Apsley!’

  At the bottom of the stairs, the general was standing like a rock in the middle of a stream. While others rushed about, carrying boxes and valuables, the general had his hands behind his back, taking account of proceedings with some approval. ‘Fitzwilliam! Very good! This way!’

  He broached the flood and ushered them into a drawing room to one side of the main entrance. The room was mostly gilt, mirrors and vases, a tiny showpiece designed to impress. It looked over the hospital area, which was, to Aubrey’s relief, untouched apart from some flailing canvas and a few minor collapses.

  Bertie stood as they entered. ‘Relief seems to be the order of the day,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to see you, Aubrey.’

  ‘Bertie. Sir. Your majesty.’

  A quick smile. ‘Enough of that. The general was eager to find you after I told him you’d know what just hit us.’

  Aubrey addressed himself to the general. ‘It was Dr Tremaine, sir, and I’ve just learned he’s on his way to Trinovant. I don’t think I need to tell you that he needs to be stopped.’

  ‘Tremaine, eh? That was his magic?’

  ‘It was. I’ve seen his skyfleet magic before, and the electrical attack was undoubtedly his.’

 
; ‘Trinovant?’ General Aspley said. ‘Whatever for? I’d been led to believe that he was determined to organise a battle here, in Gallia.’

  Aubrey screwed up his face in frustration. ‘He was, but he’s abandoned that plan. Whatever he has in mind now is unlikely to be less dangerous.’

  ‘So he wasn’t after our new King?’

  ‘I doubt it. If he had been, we wouldn’t be standing around and chatting like this.’ Aubrey felt some more pieces clicking into place. ‘He’s stopped us letting the Directorate know that he’s coming.’

  ‘All the communication equipment is unsalvageable,’ Caroline said. ‘It would take weeks to repair the damage.’

  Aubrey jabbed a finger into the air, at nothing in particular. ‘As the skyfleet headed west, it was destroying the telegraph lines to make sure. He knew Professor Mansfield had escaped.’

  ‘He’s on the way to Trinovant?’ Bertie’s face was grave. ‘We must get word to them.’

  Caroline seized Aubrey’s arm. ‘And so we shall.’

  THE ORNITHOPTER STOOD NEXT TO WHAT HAD ONCE been stables but was now being used as a mechanical workshop. The Gannet gleamed in the low light of the receding storm. Its wings were folded back in the resting position, reaching almost back to the massive extra fuel tanks that were responsible for its range.

  In the wake of the storm, the chateau complex was subdued. The damage was remarkably minor, with flying debris having caused most of the destruction. Aubrey was pleased to see the black dog strutting about as if it had been solely responsible for seeing off the invaders.

  Their departure wasn’t so precipitous that some preparations hadn’t been undertaken. General Apsley wasn’t prepared to rely on a single ornithopter to get the news to Albion, so he had organised the dispatching of motorcycle riders to relay the news to the Directorate and the Prime Minister.

  In the meantime, while the ornithopter was readied, Aubrey found a satchel of maps to which he added the notes he’d been accumulating. He also scrambled together some magical items he hoped would be useful. George and Sophie busied themselves in readying for their flight as Caroline was briefed on the new flying machine.

  George hefted his rucksack. ‘You can fly this, Caroline?’

  Her eyes were bright. ‘Oh yes, I’m sure I can.’

  Sophie peered through goggles. ‘I have never flown in an ornithopter before.’

  ‘You’re in for an experience.’ George flung open the door and together they leaped into the back seat, where, to Aubrey’s mind, they spent an inordinate amount of time becoming untangled.

  Caroline vaulted into the pilot’s seat, slammed the door and tied back her hair while she studied the controls. They looked familiar enough to Aubrey, but he noticed that the wing tilt indicator and oil pressure gauge had swapped position. He swallowed and peered at the dials, switches and knobs. What else was different?

  ‘We’re fully fuelled,’ he announced, having found the appropriate indicator.

  ‘Excellent,’ Caroline murmured. Without taking her eyes from the panel in front of her, she snapped her seatbelt around her waist. Aubrey didn’t have to be told; he quickly did the same and he heard two similar metallic catches from behind him.

  Aubrey could fly an ornithopter, and fly it very well if his instructors could be believed. He knew, however, that he wasn’t a patch on Caroline. He enjoyed the flying experience; she loved it, and her love translated into a sublime ability to pilot the notoriously cranky machine as easily as if it were a kite.

  She leaned forward, and a tiny tip of her tongue protruded from a corner of her mouth. She paused for an instant, then flipped a switch. The engine coughed twice, then decided it was well enough to lurch into action. It roared and the noise of the storm was drowned out. Caroline’s hands ran across the panel, engaging and testing components of the fiendishly complicated machine she was about to shepherd into the sky. Tiny lights winked on and off, and Aubrey felt flares of magic awaken from the various enhanced aspects of the ornithopter.

  Caroline grasped the controls and used a thumb to open the switch on the right-hand panel. Instantly, the earth was left behind.

  George cheered, but the launch was always Aubrey’s least favourite part of any ornithopter flight. In any take-off, it felt as if his stomach were left well behind on the ground and then had to spend some time clawing its way back to reunite itself with the rest of his body. He swallowed to equalise the pressure in his ears. The thrashing of the great metal wings managed the impressive task of drowning out the roar of the engine, where all the pistons were labouring with the effort of hurling the bulk of the machine skywards.

  The ornithopter spiralled, seeking its best flying altitude. Aubrey consulted a map.

  ‘A heading, Aubrey?’ Caroline glanced at him, her lip quirked upward.

  ‘Two hundred and sixty degrees,’ he said, surprising himself with such lucidity in the face of a Caroline lip quirk.

  ‘Let’s see if we can beat that skyfleet to Trinovant.’ She adjusted the wing attack angle and the metal bird lurched, canted, then set off in pursuit of Dr Tremaine.

  WITH THE AFTERNOON SUN MOVING WESTWARD, the glare made seeing difficult, but Aubrey thought he could make out a far-off line of dark cloud. As it was directly between the Albion capital and them, this tended to confirm Professor Mansfield’s claim that Trinovant was Dr Tremaine’s target – especially as Aubrey had felt the rogue sorcerer’s presence as the skyfleet passed overhead.

  George tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Since we missed lunch, I thought some making up might be in order.’

  ‘Rations?’

  ‘Superior rations,’ George said. ‘After all, the chateau has been hosting Bertie. We’ve got good ham, cheese, proper white bread, smoked chicken. And I’m not quite sure how this chocolate cake made its way into my sack, but I’m only glad that I managed to slip it into a tin before it did.’

  Sophie offered Aubrey a bottle. ‘Ginger beer?’

  Aubrey carefully opened it. ‘What was ginger beer doing in a Gallian chateau?’

  George considered this. ‘In some ways – the ginger beer department, for example – that place was a little bit of Albion in the middle of Gallia.’

  ‘The best of both worlds,’ Sophie said and she passed a rough slice of bread to Aubrey. It was wrapped around some ham and cheese and he realised he was ravenous.

  ‘Er … do you have a glass?’

  ‘Drink from the bottle, Aubrey,’ Caroline said without turning her head. All her attention was on the windscreen and the control panel; she was constantly trying to coax a little more speed out of the ornithopter, trimming the wings, levelling the flight. ‘Then hold it up to my lips, would you? I’m parched.’

  The next hour was spent on a precarious meal while they pursued Dr Tremaine’s skyfleet. Aubrey divided his time between accepting morsels from Sophie and George, and popping them into Caroline’s mouth as she continued her piloting of the aircraft. After they were done and cleaned up, as best they could in the confines of the cockpit, the day stretched out in the same way the countryside did below them.

  Abruptly, Caroline asked Aubrey a question: ‘Have you deduced why Dr Tremaine is going to Albion yet?’

  ‘It’s been much on my mind.’

  ‘I’m sure. Any conclusions?’

  ‘Many. None of them particularly cheerful.’

  Caroline considered this for a moment. ‘Why Trinovant?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Why is he going to Trinovant? Why not Lutetia?’

  Click. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That was the perfect question.’

  ‘And you have the answer?’

  ‘I’m getting there.’ He chewed his lip, briefly. ‘Bear with me here, but the overwhelming thing that distinguishes Trinovant from all other cities is its size.’

  ‘You’re being needlessly obvious again.’

  It was close. He nearly had it. ‘It’s magical theory, Caroline. Magic is generated by the interacti
on of human consciousness on the universe. The more people, the greater the potential magical field.’ Gigantic click. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Explain, Aubrey.’

  The potential catastrophe made Aubrey hesitate before answering. ‘Dr Tremaine wants to harness the greatest potential magical field in the world.’

  ‘I see. That’s all we need. A more powerful Dr Tremaine.’

  Aubrey hardly heard. ‘Remember the way I used the collective consciousnesses around no-man’s-land? Imagine Dr Tremaine using all Trinovant to propel his spell. He’ll be able to work the Ritual of the Way without the blood sacrifice we all assumed he needed.’

  ‘Which is a good thing.’

  ‘The lack of blood sacrifice is definitely a good thing. An immortal Dr Tremaine is a bad thing.’

  Aubrey knew he’d have no argument from Caroline on that score. After killing her father, Dr Tremaine was irredeemable in Caroline’s eyes.

  ‘It sounds as if Dr Tremaine is desperate,’ she said. ‘You’ve upset his plans for battle for who knows how long, so he’s resorting to this.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Aubrey was unwilling to believe that Dr Tremaine was driven to anything. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if this had been his plan all along. After all, the Ritual of the Way had never been undertaken successfully, despite the horrors some magicians had wrought in their attempts. As Aubrey had researched the dark magic, the more he’d come to suspect that several battles in ancient times had been manipulated to achieve the level of sacrifice believed necessary to perform the spell.

  Aubrey suspected that Dr Tremaine had been working on this alternative method for a long time. If he were able to couple a substantial collection of magical artefacts with a Universal Language of Magic, while tapping into the magical field over Trinovant, the Ritual of the Way could be within his grasp.