Time of Trial

by Michael Pryor

  An icy trickle ran down Aubrey’s spine. His experience with the dissociation of his body and soul had led him to find out as much as he could about the condition. He’d learned much about disunification – and he’d heard hints of souls being shattered. The prospect wasn’t a cheery one. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Our soul was shredded and all the pieces were on the verge of being scattered, irretrievably. But Mordecai managed a preservation spell. Our body was left behind, alive but not alive. Then he caught what soul fragments he could.’

  ‘And you ended up here?’ Caroline asked. ‘Trapped in a pearl?’

  ‘He would have used what was close at hand,’ Aubrey murmured. ‘Quick thinking.’

  ‘Preserved in a pearl,’ Sylvia said. ‘Mordecai swept up the fragments of our soul that he could find and put them all here. I was the largest. Once inside, I searched until I found the others, and put them in the heart of the place. Safe.’

  ‘Very safe. He put a guardian spell in place, didn’t he?’

  ‘To watch over us. To protect our sanctuary.’

  ‘By trapping any intruders,’ Aubrey said absently. He was having his doubts about the thoroughness of Sylvia’s account. What if Dr Tremaine actually wasn’t aware of everything that had gone on? Complex preservation spells could have unexpected effects. It could explain why he was angry about losing the pearl, but not desperate to get it back. He may not have realised how much of his sister was actually trapped inside it.

  He chewed his lip. Something Sylvia had said had snagged his curiosity. He couldn’t let it pass – it was like a white piece of lint on a dark suit. ‘You said that when the spell went wrong, your brother swept up the fragments that he could find.’

  ‘Poor Mordecai. He did his best, but he didn’t realise that he hadn’t gathered up all of them.’

  Aubrey tried to keep the tension out of his voice, but he saw how both Caroline and George had noticed. They were watching the exchange very closely. ‘Some of the fragments are still missing? Out there somewhere?’

  ‘One is still lost. We will never be whole again until it’s found and brought to us.’

  Aubrey had some sympathy for this. ‘What if we find it for you? Would you let us go to do that?’

  Aubrey thought he saw a slight widening of the eyes. ‘Of course.’

  ‘All of us?’

  Sylvia turned to George and von Stralick. ‘Wouldn’t one of you like to stay?’

  The hurried declinings of the offer were heartfelt. Sylvia – or the main Sylvia fragment – shook her head. ‘A pity.’

  Aubrey put his hands together and clenched them. This was a delicate game. ‘So we can all go?’

  ‘Are you all needed?’

  ‘Yes. Most certainly. It is difficult out there.’

  ‘I thought it might be.’ She stood, took a few steps, then turned to face them. ‘Yes, you can all go, since you’re needed.’

  The expressions of relief – rubbing of foreheads, exhalations of breath – were muted, guarded, but unmistakeable. ‘Now,’ Aubrey said, ‘you wouldn’t have any idea where this other fragment is, would you?’

  ‘We may be disunited, but we still have a connection. I know where it is.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘It’s gone home.’

  ‘Where?’ Aubrey asked, but like the tiny ‘click’ a clock makes just before its alarm rings, he had a premonition what she was going to say.

  ‘Holmland.’

  Twelve

  A wild yell greeted their reappearance. Aubrey whirled, and – heart thundering, every nerve taut – saw Otto Kiefer staring at them, telephone in hand.

  ‘What?’ The Holmlander was wide-eyed. ‘Where? What?’

  Aubrey didn’t answer. He propped himself up against the table with both arms. Triggered by Kiefer’s startling shriek, his whole body had decided it should get ready to defend himself against a horde of demons – or to run away at a speed that would see him in serious consideration for a spot in the national athletics team.

  They were back in von Stralick’s parlour. Afternoon light was coming through the curtained windows. The chairs were in disarray around the table. Four were pushed back, one was lying on the floor.

  In the middle of the table was the Tremaine pearl.

  Caroline had returned, to his relief, as had George and von Stralick. All of them had adopted poses of fight or flight and Aubrey found time to be amused that the ‘Fight’ option was a 2 – 1 winner. Von Stralick was the exception, being halfway to the door before he realised that Kiefer was the source of the extraordinary noise. Within two steps, however, he had slowed, resumed an appearance of calm, and was brushing off his lapels. ‘We are back, Otto.’

  Kiefer was gaping at them, moving his head slowly from side to side, as if he thought it was all some sort of trick. Then he caught sight of the telephone in his hand and he flinched. ‘I was about to call the police.’

  George stepped over. He took the earpiece and replaced it. ‘No need.’

  Caroline dropped her hands and relaxed from her fighting pose. She moved to Kiefer and guided him to a chair. ‘We’re safe, Otto.’

  He sagged with a huge exhalation of air. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief he extracted from his pocket after some fumbling. ‘Thank goodness. But where did you go? When I came back, you were nowhere.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  The question perplexed Kiefer for a moment. ‘A minute or two?’ he hazarded.

  ‘It seemed like more,’ muttered von Stralick.

  ‘That’s what happens when you mess around with magic,’ George said, affecting a pose of someone who encountered the outlandish every day. Aubrey nearly laughed.

  ‘But what happened?’ Kiefer repeated, and Aubrey launched into an account of their time inside the Tremaine pearl. By the time the story had finished, with interjections, corrections and asides offered by Caroline, George and von Stralick, Kiefer was aghast. He shook himself all over, like a dog emerging from a river, and he held up a single, long finger. ‘So we now have the way to our revenge, then?’

  This time it was the turn of Aubrey, Caroline, George and von Stralick to be taken aback. Aubrey scratched his chin. ‘I suppose you’re right. If we can find the missing part of Sylvia in Holmland, and unite her, then we will have the perfect lure for Dr Tremaine. He won’t be able to resist.’ Not with the sense of guilt he must feel about his sister, Aubrey decided.

  He looked at the others. Caroline’s expression was grim, as if she’d fastened her will on a course of action. George looked uneasy, unconvinced, and he glanced at Aubrey. Von Stralick and Kiefer, however, were eager, hounds who’d just scented a fox within easy reach.

  Aubrey wasn’t obsessed with revenge. He’d come to terms with his antipathy for Dr Tremaine. He was happy to work against the ex-Sorcerer Royal, but he wasn’t about to sacrifice everything in a headlong pursuit of the rogue magician. He was prepared to wait, to plan, to find the best opportunity to strike.

  But Kiefer, von Stralick and Caroline were different. He wondered if their enmity burned too brightly and was blinding them to the realities of their situation, the dangers they faced.

  ‘Come now,’ von Stralick said, seeing Aubrey’s indecision. ‘This is a chance. You said yourself that she was his weakness.’

  ‘She is. I have no doubt about that.’

  Caroline touched him on the arm. It was light, almost hesitant, but he would have noticed it in the middle of an artillery barrage. ‘Let us take our chance.’

  Aubrey ran a hand through his hair. ‘Anyone fancy a trip to Holmland?’

  Late afternoon was sliding into evening when Aubrey, Caroline and George left von Stralick’s residence. A fine carriage went past with two charming, grey-haired ladies taking in the gentle end of the March day. Aubrey smiled and received a warm nod for his trouble.

  Kiefer had hurried off immediately. He was bubbling with the possibilities presented by Aubrey’s resolution, but he claimed he
had some important research to undertake on pressure containment. Von Stralick didn’t make any effort to question him about his plans. Aubrey thought that watching over his erratic relative was proving to be more onerous than von Stralick may have expected.

  When von Stralick shepherded them out in a polite but firm manner, Aubrey decided that some communication with Holmland was about to take place behind the closed door.

  They walked off in silence.

  ‘You seem distracted,’ Aubrey said to Caroline.

  ‘I’ve just remembered I promised to help Mother with a few things.’

  ‘I see. And how is this is a problem?’

  ‘It’s not a problem at all. I simply must be off.’

  ‘Ah.’ With mixed feelings, Aubrey saw a motor cab trundling their way. It responded to his wave and drew up smartly. He was pleased he’d been able to help Caroline with such alacrity, but disappointed to be deprived of her company.

  She slid back the window of the cab. ‘Now, don’t do anything without me.’

  ‘Anything?’ Aubrey said. ‘That’s rather all-encompassing. I mean, breathing, for a start...’

  ‘Don’t do anything about going to Holmland.’ Caroline glowered at him, then spared George a glare as well. ‘If I know you two, you’ll be off on the morning train.’

  It sounded appealing, striking while the iron was hot, but Aubrey put a hand on his heart. ‘We won’t.’ He gave a dramatic sigh. ‘It’s a shame. I was sure I heard of a band of itinerant puppet players who were heading toward Fisherberg. I thought George and I could join them, in disguise. Or was it a troupe of freestyle Morris Dancers?’

  ‘Not Morris Dancers, old man.’ George shuddered. ‘You know I’m scared of Morris Dancers.’

  A tiny dimple appeared in Caroline’s cheek and her eyes were merry. ‘As long as we understand each other.’

  With that, she was off, leaving Aubrey thinking that that was the last thing he’d ever claim.

  Aubrey watched the cab round the corner, and then he turned to George. ‘Now, I didn’t know you were afraid of Morris Dancers. How did this come about? You were frightened by a particularly horrible Morris Dancer when you were small?’

  George put his nose in the air and sniffed. ‘It’s not something I like to talk about.’

  Aubrey loved a mystery but he currently was in a position where he had to prioritise them. ‘You know, George, I think it could be time to drop in on my father. He might be able to help us with some background on the Holmland situation.’

  George brightened. ‘Just in time for dinner, I’d say. At his office?’

  ‘We can be there in fifteen minutes. Mother will be there too, you know.’

  ‘Jolly good. They say he has a fine table there.’

  ‘And a fine appreciation of what’s going on in Holmland,’ Aubrey replied. Which is just what I need, he thought.

  The Prime Minister’s Offices was a deceptively bland name for one of the most important buildings in the realm. A short walk from the Houses of Parliament – for convenience – No.4 Credence Lane was a four-storey sandstone building in a short cul-de-sac that had once been a salubrious neighbourhood, but now all the houses had been converted to various departmental warrens by the innumerable parts of the Civil Service. Aubrey remembered the place well from when Sir Darius had last been Prime Minister. He knew that the tenants of the buildings in Credence Lane were constantly in flux as the departments rose and fell in importance. Numbers 2 and 6, for instance, were currently occupied by shadowy sections of the Foreign Office. They’d displaced the Ministry of Trade and an influential section of the Department of Inland Revenue. When a taxation department was considered unimportant, Aubrey reflected, times were strange indeed.

  Two police constables were on patrol at the entrance to Credence Lane, where it opened off busy Playford Street. Another sign of the times, Aubrey decided, and he nodded cheerfully to them as they passed.

  Aubrey used the brass knocker to hammer on the door to No.4. The door opened. He’d been expecting one of the Prime Minister’s staff to answer, as in the past, but this time it was another police constable. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a small toothbrush moustache, he filled the doorway and stared down at Aubrey with professional scrutiny. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’

  Aubrey recovered and didn’t show his surprise, even though he could make out the figure of another police office standing in the hall behind the door-filler. ‘I’d like to see the Prime Minister.’

  ‘You have an appointment?’

  ‘I’m his son.’

  The constable grinned a little and relaxed. ‘You’d be Mr Aubrey, then? Come along. The PM has left orders that if you were ever to turn up, he’d see you straight away.’

  Aubrey gestured at George. ‘This is...’

  The constable nodded. ‘George Doyle. The PM said he was likely to be with you.’ The constable leaned out of the doorway and peered down the street. ‘And he said a Miss Hepworth may be with you. Not today?’

  Aubrey was a little flustered by this. ‘No.’

  ‘A pity. I’m right in assuming she’s the daughter of Ophelia Hepworth? I wanted to chat with her about her mother’s work. Doing great things with redefining the relationship between perspective and meaning, she is.’

  A voice came from over the constable’s shoulder. ‘Don’t forget that we could have asked about the incisive nature of her social commentary, Stan, mediated as it is in playful manipulation of artistic conventions.’

  ‘Oh, right, there is that too.’ Stan the constable nodded at Aubrey. ‘We would’ve appreciated that.’

  ‘I’ll try to bring her next time,’ Aubrey said faintly. The quality of the city constabulary was apparently climbing.

  They were shown to a waiting room off the entrance hall. It was a serious space with four leather armchairs and a solid-looking clock on the mantelpiece over the sombre, unlit fireplace. The room was comfortable and afforded a fine view of the street outside.

  Ten minutes by the clock and a door banged shut somewhere in the interior of the building. The sound of footsteps hurrying down stairs, then a well-dressed gentleman strode past the open doorway and left the building. Aubrey barely had time to realise who it was before his father appeared, looking spruce and well polished as always. ‘Aubrey. George. Excellent.’

  ‘Hello, Father. What were you doing talking to Stafford Bruce?’

  Sir Darius looked pained. ‘There isn’t actually a law forbidding the Prime Minister from talking to the shadow minister for defence, you know.’

  George stared at Sir Darius then toward the street, as if wondering whether he could run after Stafford Bruce to question him. ‘Dashed interesting, though, Sir Darius, don’t you think? Especially in these times.’

  ‘If you could take your journalistic hat off for a moment, George, I need to talk to you. Both. To ask a favour.’

  Aubrey enjoyed it when his father asked him to help. He appreciated the tangible proof that his father trusted him – and that he was useful. And he also appreciated the peek behind the scenes of the operations of government. His father’s willingness to use unusual channels was something Aubrey noted, sure that it would come in handy when he eventually made his way into the world of politics.

  Besides, it put him in a useful bargaining position.

  ‘Happy to help, sir,’ he said to his father. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘Not here,’ Sir Darius said, glancing around. This startled Aubrey. If the waiting room in the Prime Minister’s own office wasn’t a safe place for discussion, what was?

  Sir Darius led them deeper into the warren of rooms that the humble façade of No.4 concealed. Most of the doors were closed. Those that were open showed rooms that reeked of bureaucracy and paperwork – filing cabinets, manila folders, piles of papers overflowing from in and out trays. Harried-looking clerks didn’t even look up as they passed, frowning at ledgers or speaking earnestly into telephones.

  Sir Darius took them throu
gh a door next to the rear stairs. Inside, it was windowless, but otherwise comfortable, with four of the same leather armchairs as in the waiting room. A low table took up the space in the middle of the room. On it was a large red book. A door on the right led further into the building and the walls were heavy with sporting prints: hunting dogs, racehorses.

  Sir Darius waited until Aubrey and George had taken a seat. He stood easily, hands behind his back. ‘Fancy an overseas trip?’

  Over the last few days, Aubrey had found that his anticipatory sense was humming on all cylinders. Looking at his father, he had a distinct sense what was coming. ‘I always enjoy travel,’ he said carefully.

  ‘Broadens the mind.’ George frowned thoughtfully. ‘Deepens it, too, I shouldn’t think, but I don’t know about lengthening the mind. Doesn’t sound right.’

  ‘Quite,’ Sir Darius said. ‘But I wasn’t thinking about an aimless outing. I need you to accompany your mother to Holmland.’

  Aubrey blinked. ‘You know about the symposium?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Aubrey, I haven’t been spying. Something came up at the museum, so she couldn’t come to dinner. We had afternoon tea instead.’

  Aubrey was already seeing an opportunity. After all, they’d just been planning a trip to Holmland. What did they say about two birds and a stone? ‘I’d be happy to.’

  Sir Darius sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Aubrey then saw his father instead of the Prime Minister desperately doing what he could to avoid war. ‘A Holmland symposium. All open and above board. At least, that’s what they want us to think.’

  ‘And you think that it’s otherwise?’

  ‘It’s actually part symposium, part trade exhibition, and mostly a chance for the Chancellor to show how wonderful Holmland is.’ He touched his immaculate moustache with a finger. ‘A few token exhibitors will be there from Albion and other countries. Plenty of shady customers will be on the lookout for the latest developments. Bound to be an interesting place.’ He frowned. ‘If I didn’t take precautions and something happens, I wouldn’t forgive myself. If I take precautions and nothing happens, then nothing is lost.’