Time of Trial

by Michael Pryor

  Caroline frowned. She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at Aubrey’s brow.

  Aubrey knew the silver ball had attacked his finger. How badly, though, he wasn’t sure. Still without looking, he tried to ease his finger out of the wire. Pain flared like a bright light. He drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.

  Caroline was studying the cage dispassionately, but Aubrey knew her self-possession. ‘How bad is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Blood everywhere. You’ve ruined your suit.’

  ‘I knew it. I’ve lost my finger, haven’t I?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  A sharp tug made Aubrey straighten in his seat. Tears came to his eyes and he had a brand-new appreciation of the virtues of a lack of pain. ‘Oh my.’

  Caroline held up her hand. In it, she held his. Around the tip of his forefinger, just above the knuckle, was a thin band of red. A tiny trickle of blood was edging toward his knuckle. It looked as if he’d scratched himself with a fingernail.

  ‘It hurt,’ he said plaintively. ‘I was sure it was working its way to the bone.’

  ‘I’m sure it felt like that,’ Caroline said. ‘Here, wrap my handkerchief around it. It’s already got blood on it. From your eyebrow.’

  Aubrey gingerly touched his brow and winced. ‘Hmm.’ He prodded at the Beccaria Cage. The wires were a little bent, but there was no sign of the silver ball apart from the ghost of the eye-watering stench. He pushed the wires back into place so the mesh was regular again. Then he relinked the chain and slipped it around his neck.

  Immediately, his fatigue disappeared like smoke on a windy day. He straightened and massaged the back of his neck with both hands. After he rubbed his eyes, his vision was sharp; when he took a deep breath, nothing caught or pinched.

  ‘You’ve done something,’ Caroline said. ‘Your eyes are clearer.’

  Aubrey glanced at the driver. His attention was entirely on the road ahead as they rolled past Barley Park, well on the way to Fielding Cross and Maidstone, the Fitzwilliam family home.

  ‘The Beccaria Cage,’ he explained. ‘It works, but it was booby-trapped by Dr Tremaine. He knew I’d be keen to get my hands on something that would assist my condition. The silver ball must have been a concealed spell, lurking ready to entrap me.’

  George shook his head. ‘You were possessed.’

  ‘Something like that. Not mindless, not like those poor lost souls we ran into in Gallia.’ It was his turn to shake his head. The Soul Stealer of Lutetia had held the Gallian city in terror. ‘I was aware of everything around me, but it was like seeing life through a lens that made everything warm and good, as long as I was moving toward my goal.’

  ‘The Prince?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘Dr Tremaine hasn’t given up on his plan to plunge the world into war,’ Aubrey said. He put his hand over the Beccaria Cage as it lay against his chest. ‘Imagine it. The death of the Prince, an assassin who – it would be shown – was ensorcelled by a Holmlander who had been the source of the infernal device.’

  ‘Kiefer,’ George muttered.

  ‘Agreed.’ Aubrey pursed his lips. ‘Tomorrow, I think we need to pop up to Greythorn and have a chat with this Mr Kiefer.’

  Five

  The next morning, Tilly, one of the maids, knocked at the open door to Aubrey’s room. ‘Excuse me, sir. Telephone for you. It’s Miss Caroline. She’s ringing from her home.’

  Aubrey had been assembling a few magical items in preparation for their trip to confront Kiefer but he immediately dropped everything. ‘Thank you, Tilly,’ he said as he bounded past.

  ‘Aubrey,’ Caroline said a split second before he spoke into the receiver.

  ‘Caroline?’ He made a mental note to himself: write down a list of clever greetings and store them by the telephone. That way he may have some chance of avoiding such a lame opening sally.

  ‘I’m glad we’ve sorted out who we are,’ she said. ‘Now, we’re not going to Greythorn.’

  ‘We’re not? What about Kiefer?’

  ‘Aubrey, what are we using to speak to each other?’

  ‘The telephone?’

  ‘Exactly. Instead of racing pell-mell up to Greythorn, I’ve been using the telephone to make some enquiries.’

  ‘I thought you were rearranging your schedule.’

  ‘I’ve taken care of that. Professor Ainsworth wanted me to help him with some phylogeny research, but I’ve asked for a postponement. And Mother can make her own travel arrangements for a change.’

  ‘Your mother is travelling?’ Aubrey said and he punched himself on the thigh. ‘Of course she is. That’s what you just said. Where’s she off to?’

  ‘Holmland. Some sort of symposium next week in Fisherberg, but that’s not important right now. I rang to tell you that Kiefer is no longer at Greythorn.’

  ‘He must be somewhere else then,’ Aubrey said and immediately awarded himself first prize in the Obvious Statement Stakes. He quickly went on. ‘Fled, no doubt, after his machinations.’

  ‘Not exactly, no. The porter at Kiefer’s college happened to be an old friend of my father. A good man, a noted authority on Albion amphibians.’

  ‘Kiefer’s turned into a frog?’

  ‘Try to keep up, Aubrey, I know you’re capable of it. Kiefer was seen being bundled into a motorcar by a Holmland diplomat.’

  ‘I see. And did the amphibian expert porter recognise this Holmlander?’

  ‘No, but his assistant did, thanks to his special interest in international politics.’

  ‘Well-educated staff at this college.’

  ‘If you’d spent any time with the staff at yours, Aubrey, you’d know that many of them are authorities in one field or another. They may not have formal degrees, but at Greythorn there are many opportunities to better oneself intellectually.’

  ‘The diplomat?’

  ‘Hugo von Stralick, Aubrey. Hugo von Stralick kidnapped Kiefer.’

  Caroline’s cab rolled into Maidstone just as Aubrey’s father arrived in the prime ministerial motorcar. From the window of his room, Aubrey sighed as he watched Sir Darius leap to open the door of the cab. He didn’t need to hear the ensuing conversation to know that his father’s charm would be meeting Caroline’s dogged demanding for more progress on the votes for women front.

  They could be hours if he didn’t do something about it.

  He raced for the door, flinging a red velvet cushion over one shoulder as he went.

  ‘Oof!’ George toppled from the chaise longue where he’d been lying, doing his best to absorb Albion’s best journalistic practices through the novel method of draping newspapers over his face while he snored.

  ‘Caroline’s here,’ Aubrey said from the doorway. ‘And so is Father.’

  George blinked. ‘Excellent. I think.’

  ‘We may be off at any minute.’

  ‘Good. Enough time for a nap, I’d say.’ At Aubrey’s expression, George held up a hand. ‘Only joking, old man.’ He rolled to his feet and made for the suitcase by the door. ‘Here, let me unveil a little surprise I had sent down from Greythorn.’

  ‘We don’t have much time,’ Aubrey said, eyeing the door.

  ‘This won’t take long. There.’

  George straightened from fumbling through his luggage, beaming.

  The garment he was holding looked like a sleeveless cardigan, but instead of buttons down the front it had two loose ties. This was all well and good, Aubrey decided. It was the way the entire object was covered with pockets that made it look bizarre.

  ‘Interesting sort of vest,’ he said carefully.

  ‘It’s for you, old man. Try it on.’

  ‘Really, George, it’s not the sort of thing I’d feel comfortable...’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s good, strong silk. And it’s not a fashion item. It’s an appurtenances vest.’

  George thrust it at Aubrey. He ran his hand over it. ‘Appurtenances vest?’

  ‘For adventuring. You see, old man, you talk about pl
anning and preparation, but lately I’ve noticed that you’ve been caught short, more than once. Without your magical wherewithal to do spells and the like.’ He grinned. ‘Stock up your appurtenances vest and you’ll never be without a candle stub, or a bit of chalk or whatever. Just don’t load yourself down too much. Wouldn’t do to clank when we’re trying to sneak up on a miscreant or two.’

  Aubrey was touched. ‘And where did you get this fine piece of equipment?’

  ‘I made it.’

  Aubrey stared.

  ‘Took a while, but I think I’m a dab hand with a sewing machine, now.’

  Aubrey shook his head in wonder. ‘George, you’re a marvel.’

  ‘Correct. And don’t forget to tell Sophie Delroy. She forgets sometimes.’

  Aubrey went to his desk. He slipped a feather, two fingernail-sized mirrors, a pinch of gold dust and a number of other lightweight and potentially useful materials into the pockets of the appurtenances vest. He slipped out of his shirt, wriggled into the vest – making sure the Beccaria Cage hung freely – and then back into his shirt.

  ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Ready for whatever may come. How does it feel?’

  Aubrey swung his arms. ‘Very comfortable. Much more so than stuffing my pockets full of bits and pieces.’

  ‘And that must be a good thing.’ George yawned. ‘Go, old man. I’ll join you in a minute, once I’ve washed my face.’

  Aubrey found Caroline and his father at the foot of the main stairs. They were talking earnestly – serious expressions, intense gesturing. He waited, judged the moment, then inserted himself into the conversation in a gap that made a split-second seem like a geological age.

  ‘Caroline. Father. I’m glad you’re here.’

  ‘How long have you been standing there, Aubrey?’ his father asked. Sir Darius was wearing his suit with the striped trousers, a sign that he’d been in Parliament. He stroked his moustache. ‘We were talking about the suffragist movement.’

  ‘And what the government is actually doing about the whole issue of votes for women,’ Caroline said.

  A voice came from further into the house. ‘Bravo, Caroline. Don’t let the discussion become sidetracked. The issue isn’t the suffragist movement. The issue is what’s happening in Parliament and in the party room.’

  Lady Rose came to her husband’s side and took his arm. She was wearing a loose green dress. Her hands were dirty and she had a basket over her arm from which a nose-tickling aroma arose.

  ‘Darling,’ Sir Darius said. ‘How are the herbs doing? Sage and parsley and whatnot?’

  ‘Splendidly. Especially the whatnot. I’m expecting a bumper crop of it. Hello, Caroline. It’s good to see you.’

  Caroline smiled and greeted Lady Rose with a warmth that Aubrey was pleased to see. He knew Caroline admired his mother and her scientific work. He did his best to facilitate Caroline’s desire to help his mother, mainly because he did his best to do anything that would please Caroline, but also because it was likely to give him more opportunities to bump into her.

  It wasn’t manipulation, he assured himself. Then he looked at it again and promised himself he’d monitor his motives carefully. After the fiasco in Lutetia, he was doubly careful to be honest in his dealings with Caroline.

  She deserved it.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, Lady Rose, Sir Darius. I’ve actually come to see Aubrey. And George.’ Caroline smiled and even at his distance at the top of the stairs, Aubrey felt it like a blow. A delicious, stupefying blow but one that nonetheless left his knees feeling weak as he tottered to join them.

  Sir Darius looked doubtful. Lady Rose looked frankly sceptical. ‘Well, if you must. Are you sure?’

  ‘I am. We have matters to attend to.’

  ‘Another threat to national security?’ Sir Darius asked, then he winced. ‘No, don’t answer that. I don’t think I want to know at the moment. Plenty enough to worry about.’

  Aubrey caught the tension in his father’s voice. ‘International or home affairs?’

  ‘The situation in the Goltans is precarious. Arnovia and Veltran are at each other’s throats.’

  Lady Rose gripped his arm hard. ‘Holmland?’

  ‘Behind it all, no doubt. I’m meeting their ambassador this afternoon to listen to another litany of disapproval and denial.’ He scowled. ‘To make matters worse, it appears as if the Muscovian political unrest is increasing. The analysts from the Foreign Office say that Muscovia could either collapse into revolution or sign a treaty with Holmland. I don’t know which would be worse.’

  The world was a powder keg. Aubrey felt sorry for his father, leading Albion in such times, but he was also grateful that the nation had such a leader.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, seizing the moment. ‘Have you heard of any movements in the diplomatic staff at the Holmland embassy?’

  Sir Darius pursed his lips for a moment. ‘Anything in particular you’re interested in, Aubrey?’

  ‘Von Stralick. I’ve heard he may be in the country.’

  ‘Ah. Tallis sent me a report yesterday. Special Services intelligence has indicated that this is a possibility. Not as a member of the official Holmland diplomatic staff, however. As a rogue.’

  ‘A rogue?’ Lady Rose echoed.

  ‘A free agent,’ Sir Darius said. ‘If he’s here, he’s gone to ground. Probably with one of the refugee communities.’

  ‘Ah.’ Aubrey exchanged a glance with Caroline.

  ‘And this is important in what way?’ Sir Darius said.

  ‘Von Stralick and I have unfinished business.’

  ‘We live in a time of unfinished business,’ his father said. ‘But leaving well enough alone is a fine policy, although I find it hard to believe that either of you would take such advice.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Father,’ Aubrey said. ‘After what I’ve seen, I’d never underestimate Hugo von Stralick.’

  ‘If that was meant to be reassuring,’ Lady Rose said, ‘then I’m afraid it failed by a considerable margin.’

  ‘Mother–’

  Lady Rose shook her head. ‘Don’t protest, Aubrey, you’ll only back yourself into a corner. Caroline.’

  Caroline blinked. ‘Lady Rose?’

  ‘Whatever it is that’s going on, can I be assured that you and George are involved? That you’re staying close to my son?’

  Aubrey watched with fascination as Caroline sorted through the implications of those questions. Eventually, she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said guardedly.

  ‘My dear,’ Lady Rose said to Sir Darius, ‘I’m afraid that’s about the best that can be done. If George and Caroline are part of this – whatever this is – then they’ll temper the worst of Aubrey’s excesses.’

  The telephone rang. Aubrey noticed how his father stiffened, and how the four of them waited in silence while the butler answered it. It was with a sense of dread and certainty that they watched Harris approaching after he’d replaced the receiver.

  ‘Sir? It was the Foreign Minister. You’re needed at the Foreign Office.’

  ‘My hat, Harris.’ Sir Darius squeezed his wife’s shoulder. ‘I had been hoping we could lunch together.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Aubrey thought his mother’s attempt at indifference was half-hearted. ‘Anyway, I have a meeting of my own. At the museum.’

  ‘Good, good,’ Sir Darius said absently. He was already on his way up the hall toward the front door. He took the hat and gloves that Harris offered him, then he looked up, sharply. ‘Aubrey, I’ve had a report land on the desk about the incident with Prince Albert. I know you’ve told me everything, but I think you need to know that it’s on the record now.’

  ‘On the record?’

  ‘An attempt on the life of the heir to the throne? Of course.’ Sir Darius must have caught the dismay on Aubrey’s face, for he went on. ‘Don’t let it worry you. My own dossier has some appalling things on it.’

  ‘It has?’

  His father smiled. ‘As Prime
Minister, I’m able to examine all top secret documents, my own dossier among them.’ He stroked his moustache. ‘Your case is different. You weren’t responsible for what happened. My blunders, however, were all my own.’ He turned to Lady Rose. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know when I’ll be back.’

  And he was off. Harris closed the door behind him, and Aubrey’s determination to live up to his father’s example was only increased.

  Lady Rose put the basket of herbs on a hall table. ‘I’m off. I shan’t be back for the rest of the day.’

  With more than a little disquiet, Aubrey watched his mother’s brisk preparations to leave, noting the concern in her eyes that she attempted to hide. Like his father, she was extraordinarily capable, but she did pride herself on her self-reliance – to the extent that, at times, she found it difficult to confide her fears in others.

  Caroline interrupted his thoughts. ‘Aubrey, I’m assuming you have a plan?’

  He never wanted to disappoint Caroline, even though he had no idea what she was referring to. ‘Of course.’

  ‘For finding von Stralick.’

  ‘Oh.’ An item rose from his back-of-the-mind ponderings. ‘Refugee communities.’

  ‘I’d been thinking along the same lines. So where do we start?’

  Aubrey was inordinately pleased that they thought along the same lines. He filed it in his ‘Reasons to be Optimistic’ folder.

  ‘South of the river,’ he said, remembering their recent encounter with Count Brandt and his displaced Holmlanders.

  ‘Which is half the city,’ Caroline said gently.

  Aubrey had an idea. ‘Cook. I’ll ask her where she gets her sausages. We had them last week and she was telling us how Holmland sausages are the best.’

  ‘Woodley Lane in Little Pickling,’ came a voice from the top of the stairs. ‘Four of the best sausage-makers in one tiny stretch of street.’ George stood at the top of the stairs, beaming. ‘It’s the centre of the Holmlander community in Trinovant.’

  ‘I should have asked you first, George,’ Aubrey said. ‘Food is your business.’