George took a shell from his pocket and used his penknife to slice it open. After a moment's work, Aubrey held out his hand and George poured the shot into it. Then he spoke the spell aloud, applying it to the lead pellets, combining applications of the Law of Animation and the Law of Sympathy. Done, he worked half a dozen into the clay ball. He stowed the rest in his pocket.
George took Aubrey's gun and examined it, cleaning some dirt off the stock, then took another shell and loaded it as quietly as he could.
Aubrey moved rapidly, glancing upwards as he worked. He took the clay ball containing the lead pellets and repeated the spell over it. In seconds, he was done.
Aubrey grimaced. The clay ball was no longer inert material. It was cold and clammy, more like flesh than mud.
'Ready,' he whispered. 'Throw this clay ball as high as you can. I've placed a spell on it. Because the clay came from the golem, it will now be attracted to the same golem – like to like. Then, when I fire the gun, the shot will be attracted to the shot in this clay ball – like to like again, helped by animating the shot to speed it towards the shot inside the clay ball.'
'Which has, by then, found the golem.'
'And so the shotgun blast will follow.'
He dropped the ball into George's hand.
Aubrey took his gun. He raised it and squinted over the sights, peering into the thick leaves overhead. He moved to the left so he wasn't aiming directly at a huge branch. 'Now, George,' he whispered. 'Fling it high.'
George nodded grimly and threw the clay ball upwards. It broke through the leaves and disappeared. When it did, Aubrey raised the gun and fired straight up.
The deep, coughing report startled birds, sending them squawking and flying from the tree. It was followed by a different noise – a flat, deadly crack, altogether different from the hollow roar of the shotgun. Shredded leaves rained down, with a few twigs and dust. A thump came from overhead, followed by a crash and another thump.
Aubrey swept out a hand. 'Step back.'
A figure plummeted onto the large branch just over their heads. It caught for a moment, then slid onto the ground. It landed with a heavy, almost wet, thud. Seconds later a rifle bounced off the branch and joined it.
George loaded his gun. 'Let's see what we have here.'
There was no mistaking the motionless figure, even if half its head was missing. It was the murderous golem they'd seen in the vision Aubrey had conjured at the observation post.
'Good shot,' George said.
I'm glad that worked, Aubrey was about to say when three men armed with service revolvers burst through the bushes.
'Put the guns down, gentlemen,' one of them ordered. 'And do it quickly.' Another turned and whistled. Soon, a squad of Special Services agents surrounded Aubrey and George. Aubrey thought he recognised some of them as loaders, gardeners and even footmen from the meal the night before. One swore when he saw the remains of the golem.
I don't suppose they've come to give me a medal, Aubrey thought. Carefully, he laid his gun at his feet and stepped back from it.
Their commander, the stocky, officious man, appeared from the direction of the shooting ground. The young men straightened when they saw him and one or two caught themselves in the middle of saluting.
Aubrey straightened at the prospect of meeting the Special Services commander at last.
The commander walked up to the golem and screwed up his face. He glanced at Aubrey. 'Well, what do we have here?'
He wasn't tall, a little less than Aubrey in height. His shoulders were broad, however, and his long black coat strained at the seams. He wore a bowler hat and he had a short beard. He stood easily, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes moved quickly over the golem, the rifle, the shredded branches overhead and then fixed on Aubrey. 'Young Fitzwilliam, isn't it?' He didn't smile.
'Yes. And your name?'
The man ignored him and turned to the nearest agent. 'Anyone see what happened here?'
The young men tried to stand even straighter. 'No, sir. Just heard a commotion, came to investigate.'
At that moment, Prince Albert and his party hurried up. 'Aubrey! What's going on here?'
Aubrey spread his hands slowly. 'Your friends here seem to think we're dangerous.'
'Is that right, Captain Tallis?' the Prince said. He didn't raise his voice, but it had the unmistakable tone of someone who'd been taught to give orders.
Captain Tallis stood straighter. 'We're not sure, your highness. There seems to have been an incident here.' He gestured at the body of the golem.
'Well,' the Prince said. 'Extraordinary.'
'Sir!' one of the young men blurted.
The golem was slumping like a jelly in hot weather, rapidly losing all its shape. Extremities melted first, fingers and toes disappearing. Soon it was simply a pool of muddy clay. 'Good Lord,' the Prince said.
Captain Tallis grimaced. He growled at the nearest young man. 'Get back to the Big House. We need someone from the Magisterium at once. Tell 'em there's magic here.'
'Why not ask one of the researchers to come over?' Aubrey suggested as the guard ran off. 'They might have some idea what's going on.'
Captain Tallis glanced at him. Aubrey could see that the man was filing him away for future reference. In all probability he had been marked 'Awkward'.
'That sounds like a good idea, captain,' the Prince said. 'Send one of your Special Services people.'
'Yes, your highness.' He nodded at another of the young men, who headed for the shooting field.
Captain Tallis turned back to Aubrey but, before he could resume his questioning, Aubrey chipped in. 'Captain, I think you need to know that one of your men has been killed.'
Captain Tallis stiffened. 'One of my men has been killed?'
'By the golem. At the observation post.'
'You've seen this?'
'Yes. I'm sorry.' George nodded in support.
Captain Tallis looked around at the young men. A number of them looked visibly shaken by Aubrey's news. 'Who's armed?' he asked.
A young man with curly black hair put up his hand, as if he were in school. 'Baker, Charlesworth and me, captain.'
'All three of you go to the observation post. Report back as soon as you can.'
Prince Albert sighed. 'Aubrey, what have you fallen into this time?'
Aubrey smiled apologetically. 'I'm not sure, Bertie, but I aim to find out.' He gestured at Captain Tallis and the young men. 'Exactly who are they?'
The Prince half-smiled. It was an expression Aubrey had seen many times. It said duty, obligation, protocol and etiquette were about to be involved. 'They're a handpicked squad from the Special Services. Acting as bodyguards is one of their duties.' He looked sidelong at Aubrey. 'Your father advised the Palace that extra precautions might be a good idea this weekend.'
'Ah,' Aubrey said and did his best to appear wise. 'I can't say too much.'
'Understood, old chap. Now, I see Sir William hurrying this way. I don't want to give the old fellow a stroke, so I'll go to him rather than have him come all this way. See you at the Big House?'
Aubrey nodded, and soon he was left alone under the oak tree with George. 'George?'
'Yes.'
'I think I'm about to collapse.'
George put his arm around Aubrey's shoulders. 'Go ahead. I'll get you back.'
'Don't know what I'd do without you, George,' Aubrey mumbled, his head drooping.
'Replace me with two or three patient, tolerant, strong types, I'd think. Hold on, we've a long way to go.'
Nine
A FEW HOURS LATER, AUBREY WAS WOKEN BY THE rumbling of motorcars. He lay on the bed for a moment, aware that – judging by the emptiness in his stomach – he'd missed lunch.
He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was glad to see that they'd stopped trembling. The rest had gone some way to restoring his energy. His body and soul were settled, united; the pull of the true death was still there, but he was strong enou
gh to stand firm against it.
It had been a near thing, out at the shooting ground.
Grappling with so much magic in such a short time had stretched him more than he'd been willing to admit. As his physical self weakened, the grip he had on his soul became more precarious. The remorseless summoning of the true death became stronger, harder to resist. All he could do was hold on. Back at the Big House, left in his bed, he spent some hours simply refusing to let go. Finally, the pull slackened and he slept.
He went to the window. The afternoon was well advanced. Four black motorcars were coming up the driveway, identical Eaton touring cars of the latest model.
Aubrey could make out shadowy forms in both front and back seats. When they drew up in front of the house, the chorus of doors slamming was like the footfalls of giants.
Aubrey took the knock at the door as a good sign. If he had been in serious trouble over the incident at the shooting ground, he had no doubt that such niceties would have been dispensed with.
The door opened and a footman poked his head through. 'Sir,' he said, and Aubrey relaxed even more, 'if you'd care to get dressed, Captain Tallis would like a word with you.' He looked embarrassed. 'I'll wait outside.'
The footman led Aubrey to a wing of the house he hadn't often been in before. They passed a number of the Special Services men. With no need to disguise their roles, they stood at attention as Aubrey and the footman passed.
At the end of a long, dimly lit corridor, George was waiting on a wooden bench. 'What took you so long, old man? I've been here for ages.'
'Sorry, George. I hope you used the time wisely.'
'I could have been sleeping,' George said mournfully.
The footman opened the door and ushered Aubrey and George inside.
The room had no windows. Dark wallpaper extended from ceiling to floor, which was covered with a thin, grey carpet. The room was lit by a number of hissing gas lantern sconces in the wall, electrical wiring obviously not having reached this part of the house yet.
Captain Tallis sat behind a long table. He looked as if he'd been sucking on a lemon and was trying to pretend it was the most enjoyable thing he'd ever tasted.
Prince Albert was next to him, along with Sir William. The fourth man sitting at the table was tall, gaunt and wore a severe black uniform with black buttons. Aubrey didn't recognise it, which immediately aroused his curiosity. He thought he knew the uniforms of all the regiments in Albion.
The man's face was striking. His lips were thin, his cheeks hollow. His nose was like a knife blade. His eyes were cold and grey, and glittered with iron intelligence.
'Sit down,' Captain Tallis said. Then, after a pause, 'Please.'
Everything's going to be all right, Aubrey thought, hearing the courtesy. He tried to catch Bertie's eye, but the Prince was looking at Captain Tallis, who cleared his throat.
'His Royal Highness has pointed out that neither you, Fitzwilliam, nor you, Doyle, has his parents here. Therefore it would not be proper to question you about the events of today. Furthermore, he has vouched for your characters and indicated that it is impossible that either of you would be involved in an attempt on his life.'
'Quite so,' Aubrey said. 'But all possibilities must be explored, isn't that correct, Captain Tallis?'
'Indeed, but this shall be done as soon as we can organise it with your parents.'
'By the Magisterium,' Aubrey said.
Captain Tallis glanced at the silent, black-uniformed man and went red in the face. 'What?'
'I saw them. Four motorcars full.' Aubrey nodded at Captain Tallis. 'It's always the way, isn't it? When there's a sniff of magic wrongdoing in the air, the Magisterium rides roughshod over the regulars and gets all the glory.'
From the corner of his eye, Aubrey was watching the black-uniformed man. He didn't change his expression and was watching this byplay as if it were only mildly interesting.
'Enough, Aubrey,' the Prince said. A smile hovered on his lips. 'Captain Tallis has done an excellent job, and our representative of the Magisterium,' he inclined his head to the black-uniformed man, 'has appreciated his thoroughness.'
Captain Tallis pursed his lips even more at this and Aubrey wondered if his face was going to disappear.
'Of course, of course,' Aubrey said. He stood. 'When the time comes, I'll answer every question they have, Captain Tallis, and I'll make sure you get a copy of the report.'
'Very good. You can go, then. But don't discuss this with anyone.'
Together, Aubrey and George left the room. Outside, Aubrey looked at George. 'You didn't say much.'
'Play to your strengths, old man, that's what I always say. One of your strengths is talking. One of mine is staying out of trouble by letting you do the talking.' He paused and looked at the ceiling. 'That last part hasn't always worked, though.'
In silence, they made their way back towards the busier part of the house.
Aubrey walked with his hands behind his back, turning over the events of the day in his mind. He sensed wheels within wheels. The whole weekend had been planned for a number of reasons, and Aubrey wasn't sure he had them all sorted out. Obviously, trying to patch up the differences between Albion and Holmland was high on the list, but politicians would never let such a meeting of the high and mighty go by without taking the opportunity to advance a few plans, to form a few alliances and to conclude ongoing business.
Then there was the presence of Professor Hepworth and his researchers. What on earth were they doing there?
Aubrey sighed and rubbed his temples. A golem assassin. No petty crime, this, and a petty criminal wouldn't be behind it. But who would benefit from the death of the Prince? Unless it wasn't the Prince who was the target of the assassin. There were plenty of other targets. The Holmland Ambassador, for example. Having him killed in Albion would heighten the tension between the two countries, perhaps even precipitate the war everyone feared. So who would benefit from that? Arms manufacturers? Speculators? What about the Goltans? If Holmland was at war with Albion, its attention would be drawn away from that troubled peninsula.
Aubrey rubbed his temples again. He was making himself giddy.
They emerged from a gallery and Aubrey brightened when they ran into Caroline.
'You two!' she said, glaring, and Aubrey's smile disappeared.' Where have you been?'
'Seeing what we could do to help,' Aubrey said.
'Help?' Caroline echoed. 'What did go on out there?'
'Shooting accident,' Aubrey said.
'One of the guards was killed,' George added and he frowned. Aubrey could see that his friend was still troubled by the incident. You're not alone, George, he thought, remembering the desolation of the young man lying in the pool of blood.
'Oh,' Caroline said. 'You saw this?'
'We found him,' Aubrey said.
'Who was responsible?'
'It's not clear,' Aubrey said. 'That's what we're trying to help with.'
She nodded, but her expression was thoughtful. 'I suppose the Magisterium is here to use magic to help investigate the circumstances?'
'The Magisterium is here?' Aubrey said. It wasn't a lie. Aubrey knew a question rarely was.
'Yes.'
'Interesting.'
She skewered him with a look. 'It's magic, isn't it? Something's gone wrong with your father's hunt magic and the Magisterium has been called in.'
Aubrey opened his mouth to answer, but they were rescued by the arrival of Professor Hepworth. 'Ah, Caroline! I've been looking for you!'
She studied both Aubrey and George for a long, cool moment. 'Father. I've been talking with these two gentlemen.'
'Ah! Fitzwilliam and Foyle! Dashed awful what happened, eh?'
'Doyle,' Caroline murmured.
'Sorry?'
'Never mind, Father.' She nodded at them both. 'We must be off.'
'Miss Hepworth,' Aubrey said. 'We must get together some time to discuss magical matters in more depth.'
Profe
ssor Hepworth looked at his daughter with surprise. 'Magical matters? Caroline? Well, well, well!'
Aubrey watched the Professor and Caroline as they left. 'Interesting young woman.'
'I suppose,' George said.
'You don't like her?'
'Her face is too symmetrical.'
Aubrey stared. 'George, you astound me.'
THE WEEKEND WAS CURTAILED, MUCH AS AUBREY HAD anticipated. That evening, another fleet of black motorcars arrived, this time to take the guests away. All of them were driven by members of Captain Tallis's Special Services squad.
Aubrey and George waited in one of the drawing rooms overlooking the immaculate gardens and driveway. Aubrey amused himself by trying to work out how long it would take to clip such perfect topiary platonic solids. The tetrahedron would be straightforward, but the dodecahedron . . .
His musings were interrupted when a long, silver Oakleigh-Nash Constellation glided around the fleet of anonymous black motorcars and pulled up right in front of the Big House.
Aubrey groaned when he saw it. George looked up from his newspaper. An under-butler appeared at the door. Small, balding, harried-looking, he was definitely not one of Tallis's people. 'Master Fitzwilliam, it's your parents.'
'Excellent!' George said, folding the newspaper and looking out the window. 'They've brought the Oakleigh- Nash. Very nice!' He rushed out of the room.
Aubrey was less pleased. He sagged into his chair, put one elbow on the armrest and rested his chin on his fist.
He'd failed. He'd been representing his father and had a chance to do something worthy, but with the weekend degenerating into such a fiasco, he accepted he hadn't managed to bring it off. After all, he knew a weekend of such diplomatic importance should be a quiet affair, and an attempted assassination of the Crown Prince would propel this occasion to the top of the list of fashionable gossip topics. Now, his father was coming to the rescue of a son who wasn't quite up to the mark.
The anxious under-butler appeared at the door again. 'Master Fitzwilliam? They're waiting.'
Sir Darius was standing by the motorcar talking with George and Stubbs, the driver. He looked alert, calm, and perfectly pressed, as if he'd just stepped out of the pages of a magazine. 'Aubrey,' he said when he noticed his son approaching, 'what's been going on here?'
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