Time of Trial

by Michael Pryor

  Von Stralick nodded his head. ‘Of course you did.’ He bowed. ‘Miss Hepworth. Doyle.’

  Caroline was dressed in a grey outfit and she carried a small leather bag. She looked puzzled, but didn’t say anything.

  George was in tweeds, as if he were off for an afternoon in the country. ‘Von Stralick. Nice place you have here. Who did you steal it from?’

  ‘Very droll, Doyle,’ von Stralick said. ‘You should consider a music hall career.’

  He led them to the dining room. A large oval table took up the middle of the room, while windows looked over a small courtyard with hydrangeas. The dining room had sideboards and glass-fronted cabinets. On inspection, Aubrey could see that none of them were cheap.

  They arranged themselves around the oval table. Aubrey and von Stralick faced each other at the ends, while Aubrey had Caroline on his left and George on his right. Von Stralick had Kiefer on his right. The balance was in Aubrey’s favour, which was how he preferred to begin an encounter.

  Aubrey opened. ‘Before we were set upon at the café, I suggested that we move against Dr Tremaine. Together.’

  Von Stralick raised a finger. ‘Point of order, Mr Chairman. Before we were set upon? It seemed to me that the telephonic assassin singled you out, Fitzwilliam.’

  Caroline cut in. ‘Be that as it may. Dr Tremaine needs to be stopped, the sooner the better.’

  Von Stralick turned to Kiefer. ‘Dr Tremaine was responsible for her father’s death. She seeks vengeance.’

  Caroline clasped her hands in front of her and Aubrey saw that the quicks were white. ‘I seek justice.’

  Von Stralick chuckled. ‘And isn’t it fortunate for you that justice and vengeance coincide, in this case?’

  Aubrey could see Caroline making a mental note of von Stralick’s condescension, for later. Not a good start to our alliance, he thought. ‘Von Stralick,’ he said hurriedly. ‘What has Dr Tremaine been up to lately? Surely you have recent information.’

  Von Stralick folded his hands on the table in front of him and stared at them. ‘He is well enmeshed in the Chancellor’s government. Very impressed with his work, they’ve been. Even though his plots in Gallia and Albion didn’t fully come to fruition, the disruption they caused was useful. After all, sometimes it’s just as good to have your enemy jumping at shadows, expending energy on things that aren’t there.’

  ‘Commander Tallis told me he was a sort of special adviser,’ Caroline said, ‘working with many different departments.’

  ‘Mainly with the army and the navy,’ von Stralick said. ‘They like his ideas.’

  Aubrey shuddered, but he was still thinking about Caroline’s remark. How often had she been reporting to Commander Tallis? ‘So Dr Tremaine works to prepare their armed forces, advise their magical researchers, creating havoc wherever he can. And he’s shown he can reach out to strike here.’

  ‘Papers were full of the stormfleet descending on Greythorn,’ George put in. ‘Dashed effective of him. People are watching the skies and raising the alarm whenever a flock of sparrows swoops overhead.’

  ‘Showy, theatrical, effective,’ von Stralick said. ‘That sounds like him, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Enough is enough,’ Caroline said. ‘We must neutralise him.’

  ‘The best plan seems to be that we lure him here,’ Aubrey said, conscious that an idea had graduated to an altogether firmer status, ‘to Albion, to our home ground. We trap him, and hand him over to the authorities.’

  Aubrey noted how Caroline looked away at that, but before he could question her, von Stralick held up a finger. ‘This depends on having something to lure him with.’

  Aubrey was conscious that all eyes were on him. He took a deep breath and put both hands on the table. ‘We do,’ he said. ‘His late sister.’

  The reactions were as varied as the people around the table. George leaned forward and looked thoughtful. Caroline stiffened. Von Stralick opened his mouth, but was cut off by Kiefer, who raised a hand and waved it wildly. ‘Sylvia Tremaine? Dead. No, this isn’t so.’

  Aubrey had the sequence of events all organised in his head – he’d suggest a plan, it would be pooh-poohed, then discussed, then modified, then discarded, then resuscitated, then banged into shape and then applauded – but Kiefer had derailed this neatly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said. His hard-learned tact kept him from the first response that came to his mind, which was, ‘Are you stark, raving mad, Kiefer?’

  ‘Dr Tremaine’s sister,’ Kiefer said, with rather less certainty now everyone was looking at him. ‘She is lost, not dead. She vanished and has never been found.’

  General mayhem ensued as everyone spoke at once. Everyone, except – for once – Aubrey. He was too stunned.

  Dr Tremaine’s past was shrouded in mystery. He cultivated this and never denied a rumour, no matter how outlandish. He seemed to have come from nowhere– although gossip had it that he was born on the Continent, in Antipodea, the Americas or to a disreputable peer– and proceeded to cut a swathe through society with his riches and through academia with his intellect. He also wrestled, sang, painted and shot with the best of them.

  The only family he ever mentioned was his sister, Sylvia, and he always spoke of her as if she had passed away a long time ago. It garnered him much sympathy, especially among tender-hearted women.

  He told me his sister had died, Aubrey thought, but truthfulness isn’t Dr Tremaine’s strongest suit. ‘Kiefer, where did you get this information?’

  ‘I heard it,’ Kiefer mumbled, ‘in Fisherberg.’

  ‘In Fisherberg?’ George said. ‘This is useful stuff, Kiefer. Did you hear it from someone in the Chancellor’s government?’

  ‘No,’ Kiefer said in a small voice. Then he actually blushed. Two bright spots of red rushed to his cheeks and he dropped his head. The hands he’d clasped in front of him were suddenly fascinating.

  Caroline tapped the table. ‘Where did you hear it, Otto?’

  Kiefer sighed and lifted his head. He spread his hands. ‘Gossip. Coffee house gossip.’

  His gaze darted around the table and his face fell at the reception this revelation received. He rallied and went on. ‘You see, among students, Dr Tremaine is a topic of much fascination. Where he is from, what he’s up to, where he gets his clothes ... A few items are accepted fact. That his sister survived her illness is one of them.’

  George snorted. ‘Are we going to rely on gossip?’

  Von Stralick coughed. ‘I too, have heard this. I understood it to be common knowledge in Fisherberg.’

  Aubrey rubbed his face with both hands. ‘Perhaps there’s a way to find out if she is alive.’

  ‘I suppose we could ask Dr Tremaine,’ von Stralick said, ‘but I don’t know if he’d be forthcoming.’

  Aubrey smiled. He took the velvet bag from his appurtenances vest and shook it into his palm. He held up the Tremaine pearl. ‘She gave this to him. I was going to suggest we put it on display, a public display. George could work on getting publicity in the papers, Dr Tremaine would hear about it and then...’ He rubbed his chin. ‘But first, I think I can use it to see if Sylvia is still alive.’

  Kiefer started. ‘Of course! The Principle of Familiarity!’

  Aubrey nodded, saw the mystified expressions and explained. ‘Inanimate objects can form connections with people, if they’re in contact with them for long enough. The human consciousness impinges itself on the object, as it were.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kiefer said. He leaned forward and slapped his hands on the table in front of him in a rapid drumbeat. ‘Yes. And if the object is removed from the person, from their consciousness, the separation is hurtful to it. The object yearns for its owner, longs to be reunited.’

  ‘A trifle more anthropomorphic than I’d put it,’ Aubrey said, ‘but the principle remains. It’s one we can use, with the correct preparation, to point the way to Sylvia Tremaine.’

  ‘Just like we used the brick from the tower of the Magi
c Faculty in Lutetia to point the way to the Heart of Gold?’ George said.

  ‘I used the Law of Constituent Parts there,’ Aubrey said and he noted the look of intense interest on Kiefer’s face. ‘That’s for connections between inanimate objects. The relationship between people and objects is more complex.’

  And the spell will be more complex, he thought, running through the possibilities in his head and feeling the rising of his pulse that signalled a challenge was in sight.

  Caroline and George exchanged a glance. ‘You’re going to do some spell casting here?’ she said. ‘Is that wise?’

  Aubrey steered a course and only answered the first question. ‘Yes, right here. But let me do a little probing, first, just to make certain.’

  Kiefer rubbed his hands together, eagerness itself. ‘I’m keen to see your magic at work. The new style Albion rationalism is all the talk in Fisherberg.’

  Aubrey suddenly felt self-conscious. He wondered if it was because of von Stralick’s noting every move. Or perhaps it was Kiefer’s extreme attention, as if he were observing an operation. He focused on George and Caroline instead. He wanted to let them know that he felt stronger than he had in ages, much more able to undertake complex magic.

  He flexed his shoulders. A simple probing spell. Even though all magical observation affected the object observed in some way (the Principle of Conscious Scrutiny), he felt it was worth it, especially if he could construct his observation spell to have the lightest of touches, a mere feather brush so Aubrey could detect anything unusual about the pearl before he proceeded further. It was wise, judicious spellcraft.

  Feeling all eyes upon him, he reached for the notebook and pencil he had in his jacket pocket. Kiefer grunted with approval, then suddenly swore, thrust back his chair and stood. ‘Don’t do anything. I think I left the kettle on.’

  ‘Don’t wait for him,’ von Stralick said sourly as Kiefer galloped out. ‘He could be a long time. Difficult places, kitchens.’

  Aubrey hesitated. A simple spell, he thought and then tucked away the notebook. No need to scratch out anything.

  A tiny cautious voice insisted otherwise, but with Caroline and George watching, he found it easy to ignore it. ‘Right. Let’s see what’s going on with this pearl.’

  He decided to use Tartessian, a difficult ancient language he’d been studying at university. He told himself he wasn’t showing off. His decision was based solely on his need to practise it. The simple matter of not having used it before in an active spell didn’t seem dreadfully important.

  He placed the velvet bag in the centre of the table. Then he settled the pearl on it. He adopted what he hoped was a commanding pose – arms extended, brow furrowed – while trying to ignore Caroline rolling her eyes. Striving for a deep, thrilling timbre, he started with terms outlining the direction of the spell and the vicinity, then rolled out the variables for intensity and duration, emphasising the lightest possible touch. The plosives of the Tartessian language caused him momentary alarm, but he thought he managed them well as he brought the spell to a conclusion. A tiny flourish of a signature, and it was done.

  The pearl exploded.

  Nine

  Aubrey shook himself and sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. I see, he thought, looking around and steadfastly refusing to be surprised. We’re in a dungeon.

  They were all in various aspects of disarray. George was sprawled against the rough stone block wall, groaning. Eyes closed, von Stralick was on his back on one of the four straw mattresses. The only one who didn’t look distressed was Caroline. Aubrey was greatly relieved to see that she was unharmed, standing at the door – heavy wood, massive iron hinges, a single peephole – with her ear to its surface. She saw him looking at her and she held up a finger, demanding his silence.

  He was happy to comply. It gave him a chance to make sense of the waves of magic that were rolling over him from ... where?

  Such was the enveloping nature of the magic, he didn’t have to concentrate or extend his magical senses. The weight of it pressed on him from all directions. It made his skin tingle, his bones itch, and sent a play of contradictory tastes flickering across his tongue. Odd sensations that weren’t smells slid through his nostrils, making him wrinkle his nose and paw at it, trying to dislodge the birdsong that was caught there.

  The overwhelming effect was disconcerting, to say the least, but Aubrey – strangely – didn’t find it unpleasant. The magic had been shaped and wrought, it had a single-mindedness of purpose. But for what?

  ‘Nothing,’ Caroline said as she descended the three stairs that led to the door. She shook her head in disgust and wiped her hands together.

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘No sounds. We’ve either been forgotten or the guards are asleep.’

  ‘Guards?’

  Caroline gave him a pitying look. ‘We’re in a dungeon, Aubrey. What’s a dungeon without guards?’

  Aubrey considered this for a moment. He glanced at the others. George had levered himself up and was leaning against the wall looking dazed. Von Stralick was still unconscious.

  ‘Caroline,’ he ventured. ‘How did we get here?’

  ‘Really, Aubrey, that blow on your head must have been worse than I thought. You shouldn’t have struggled so when they burst in.’

  Aubrey stood. He did it slowly, distracted for a moment by the bizarre sensation of tasting tartan. ‘I shouldn’t have struggled when they burst in?’

  ‘You argued at first, as usual, then you struggled.’

  ‘With whom?’

  ‘With ... With...’ Caroline frowned. ‘They came to get us and brought us here.’

  ‘Of course they did. We were abducted. How else would we wind up here?’ Aubrey went to the wall and put his palm against it. He bit his lip. The magic was coming from the walls. Or through them? ‘Do you remember the journey?’

  ‘What are you getting at, Aubrey?’ Caroline came close, glancing at the others. It was not an altogether unpleasant situation, Aubrey decided, Caroline’s deciding to come nearer to him.

  ‘The journey,’ he said in a hushed voice and had the pleasure of her leaning closer. ‘How did it take place? How did we get from von Stralick’s place to here? Motorcar? Omnibus? Airship?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, but a frown creased her perfect brow.

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘I...’ She shook her head and looked angry, fetchingly angry, rather than frightened. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘We’re trapped in a metaphor, I think.’ He slapped the stone wall. ‘Although I think this one has gone right through the other side of metaphor into the realm of cliché.’

  ‘You’re being obscure again. I warned you about that.’

  ‘The pearl, Caroline. Remember the pearl?’

  ‘Oh.’ Caroline’s eyes opened wide. ‘I’d forgotten. We were gathered around the table. You were posturing, ready to do your magic, and then...’

  Aubrey winced a little at the ‘posturing’. ‘And then we were here.’ He swept an arm around. ‘This place is reeking with magic of the Tremaine sort. We’ve been transported here. I must have triggered something.’

  ‘Kiefer isn’t here because he wasn’t close enough to be swept up?’

  At that moment, von Stralick sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘Where am I?’

  ‘And the cliché is complete,’ Aubrey said.

  Von Stralick scowled. ‘If this place is a metaphor, as you say, then shouldn’t we approach it on that level? Shouldn’t we look to escape? Trick the guards? Tunnel out of here? Bend the bars and squeeze through?’

  George turned from looking out of the barred window. ‘I’m not sure if that would be a good idea.’

  Aubrey had to stand on tiptoes; he wasn’t really surprised at what he saw.

  The window looked onto a shaft. It was square, some ten yards across. Across from their window was an identically barred window. Aubrey looked up and he groaned. The shaft stretched up as far as he co
uld see. Thousands, tens of thousands of barred windows disappeared into infinity. He looked down and saw the same depressing scene.

  A tap on the shoulder. ‘Make a stirrup, Aubrey.’

  He blinked as Caroline slipped off her shoes. She held her dress up over her ankles while Aubrey fumbled to lace his hands together. It was no effort to lift her, and soon she was gripping the bars and staring at the improbable sight that lay outside.

  Aubrey found his head resting against her knee. Solely to retain balance, he told himself, but he wished that her inspection would go on forever.

  ‘You can let me down now,’ Caroline said.

  ‘Are you sure? Take your time. I mean, there are a lot of windows out there.’

  ‘I’ve seen enough.’

  He lowered her reluctantly. She took his shoulders to help herself down. ‘Thank you, Aubrey. You’re very useful, sometimes.’

  Lost for words, and lost in the moment, he nodded. Then he straightened a tie that he felt must have deviated by at least half a degree from the vertical.

  ‘Please,’ von Stralick said with a knowing smile, ‘if you’ll step aside, I too would like to see this amazing sight that has rendered you speechless.’

  Aubrey backed away and stumbled into George, who was hunched over and attacking the wall with a penknife. He grinned at Aubrey. ‘If I have my clichés right, the mortar should be weak around one of these blocks.’

  Caroline peered at George’s efforts. ‘And on the other side will be a grey-bearded prisoner? The one who knows all the secret escape routes?’

  Aubrey shrugged. ‘I’m not sure we can rely on every aspect of the cliché. What if the originator of this place grew up with different clichés? Like one with the pit of boiling oil on the other side of the loose stone block?’

  ‘We’ll just have to be careful,’ George said. ‘Ah.’

  ‘That sounded like an “ah” of satisfaction, George,’ Aubrey said.

  ‘Satisfaction and discovery, old man.’ George straightened and dusted his hands together. ‘We do, indeed, have a loose block of stone. With a bit of an effort I think I can drag it out.’