Caroline knelt beside the stricken Holmlander and began to loosen his tie. 'Undo his jacket,' she ordered George, who hurried to do her bidding. 'Jack,' she snapped, 'where's the nearest doctor?'
Aubrey was frowning, thinking hard. At the instant that von Stralick had reached for his chest, Aubrey had felt the insidious tang of magic reach into the room. Something malevolent was afoot.
He stumbled off the desk and joined Caroline, kneeling by the inert Holmlander. 'He's stopped breathing,' Caroline said.
Aubrey placed his hand on von Stralick's chest. 'What are you doing?' Caroline demanded. He ignored her and used his magical awareness to feel what was happening.
He hissed and nearly pulled his hand away. Magical tendrils were wrapped around von Stralick's heart like a strangler fig. They were squeezing the life out of him.
Concentrating, Aubrey could discern that it was a vicious application of Action at a Distance. He grimaced. The spell was distinctive; it had all the hallmarks of the mysterious watcher at the burnt church. Aubrey could sense that he was using von Stralick's missing finger as the basis of this deadly enchantment, the body part allowing access to the Holmlander's physical being.
Action at a Distance. Aubrey knew that a primary function of this law was to establish a linkage. Much as a marionette master pulls strings to make his puppets work, so Action at a Distance could set up a connection between the spell-caster and the subject. He blinked, frowned, then he saw it: an insubstantial filament snaking off through the solid wall of the hovel, only visible to someone with magical awareness. Aubrey reached out and uttered a simple severance spell. Without a sound, the filament parted and faded.
Von Stralick's chest heaved. With a tortured rasp, he sucked in a huge breath, then another, as his hands clutched the air. In a moment, he was sitting up, shaking his head.
Jack Figg fetched water in an earthenware mug. Von Stralick sipped it and nodded his thanks.
Shaken, Aubrey stood. He went and leaned against the desk. Someone wants to kill you, von Stralick.'
Von Stralick tried to smile, but it faded before it reached his lips. He touched his chest with his fingertips. 'Magic?'
'Indeed.Very unusual magic, too. Perpetrated by the unknown party at the burnt church.'
'I saw him,' von Stralick said, but I could not make him out. He set his ghouls on me.'
'He hasn't given up on you, it seems.'
Von Stralick looked troubled. 'I see. This changes matters, somewhat. I feel as if I am not in possession of all the facts.' He winced. 'May I resume my seat on the bench? It must be more comfortable than this floor.'
Jack and George helped the Holmlander to his feet and then eased him to his seat. Oscar shuffled to one side.
Von Stralick rubbed his neck with both hands. 'I feel that it is most important to identify this mysterious party. For all our sakes.'
Aubrey studied the Holmland spy. The man was wary, disconcerted, but he might have useful information. Aubrey told himself to step carefully here.
He thought of the grand structure of supposition and assumption he'd built up and realised he'd already begun shifting the pieces around in his mind. He thought back to the whorled timber trinket he'd added at the last moment to stabilise the structure he'd made back at Maidstone. It looks as if I needed that piece after all, he thought.
'Perhaps this mysterious foe has been manoeuvring this whole situation from behind the scenes, since the shooting party.' He frowned and tried to concentrate. 'He is powerful – strong enough to confound Craddock and the Magisterium, cunning enough to help the Army of New Albion escape from the Society for Non-magical Fitness. And the magic he used in the burnt church wasn't the work of an ordinary magician.'
'If it's the same person who stole my father's notebook, he'll have its assistance,' Caroline pointed out.
'Who do you think it is, Hugo?' Jack asked. 'Who is this mastermind?'
Von Stralick frowned. 'One of my first tasks when I am able to contact my superiors will be to see if they know. Someone in a position of influence? A member of the government? One of the great industrial leaders your country is so proud of? Whoever it is, their motives are not clear. It makes them all the more shadowy.'
George shook his head. 'I'm baffled.' He stood, stretched, then blinked. 'D'you have rats here, Jack?'
From somewhere near came a determined scratching.
'No,' Jack said, puzzled. 'The cats keep them away.'
'Ah, that'll be one at the door, then. Poor, wet moggy. I'll let it in.'
Jack shook his head. 'They're both inside, George. Revolutionary is under the desk and Comrade is by Oscar's feet.'
Caroline raised an eyebrow. 'Your cats' names are Revolutionary and Comrade?'
'Good, productive names, I would have thought. "Puss" and suchlike are the products of an outmoded system where domestic creatures are exploited.'
The scratching came again. Aubrey held up a hand, motioning for silence. Oscar stirred and craned his neck as George reached out for the latch. He jerked the door open. Lying on the doorstep was the mangled shape of one of Aubrey's clay mannikins. Rain tumbled on it. The mannikin lifted its head, sought for the door and found George's boot instead.
'Bring it here,' Aubrey said. 'It's come to report.'
George scooped it up. Caroline closed the door behind him and he took the mannikin to Aubrey. Aubrey held it in both hands and looked at the mess his handiwork had become. It was mostly a torso. Both legs were missing, and its arms were crossed and fused to its chest. Its clay surface looked as if it had been held over a fire, and one side of its faceless head had slumped and sagged. It twitched in his hands. 'We might have an answer here,' he said.
Von Stralick stared at the clay creature. 'What is this?'
'Aubrey's work,' Caroline said. Von Stralick sat back thoughtfully.
'Do you think it saw anything?' George asked.
'I don't know. It's too damaged to speak. It must have been caught in the magical cross-fire in the burnt church. I'm amazed it managed to drag itself all the way back here.'
At that moment, the mannikin shuddered. Aubrey went to still it, to return it to the clay from which it came, but the creature half-raised itself. As Aubrey watched, fascinated, the mannikin shook, swaying from side to side. Its poor, melted shape jerked and Aubrey had trouble holding it. Finally, with a supreme effort, it wrenched its fused arms apart. The exertion was too much for it, and the clay shape broke into two fragments.
Caroline gasped, while George and Jack let out oaths. Aubrey sat with the clay fragments in his lap. Between them was a small, silver-white object that the mannikin had been clasping.
'What is it?' Von Stralick asked, peering.
Aubrey picked it up and held it in his palm. It was cool, the size of the tip of his thumb. Roughly egg-shaped, it was gnarled in a way that was unmistakable. Aubrey recognised it immediately.
'It belongs to Dr Tremaine, the Sorcerer Royal. It was embedded in the top of his favourite cane.' As he said it, he remembered the blurred figure he had seen atop the pillar in the burnt church. He hadn't been wielding a wand or a stick, but holding his cane.
Aubrey sighed and wiped his face with a hand. He felt as if he'd been staring at a painting, trying to make sense of it, and then realised it had been hung upside down and had only needed righting. 'Dr Tremaine is our mysterious foe.'
'What?' Jack said. 'Impossible. He's dead.'
'I have to agree,' said von Stralick. 'He died in an accident at Banford Park.'
'It was Tremaine,' Aubrey repeated. It was like dropping a seed crystal into a supersaturated solution. Suddenly a lattice of consequences was forming and Aubrey found he could see much that had previously been unclear. Dr Tremaine's cane must have been lost in the magical battle in the burnt church. The mannikin had risked itself to bring back this evidence. 'This pearl is his. His death must have been a ruse.'
'But why?' Jack said. He took off his glasses and polished them. 'What is Tremain
e doing mixed up in all this?'
'Playing his own game, I suspect,' Aubrey said. 'It seems as if he has moved the Magisterium, the Special Services, the Army of New Albion and your people, von Stralick, much as pieces on a chessboard.' He looked at the Holmland spy. 'But what was he doing at the burnt church?'
Von Stralick shrugged. 'I'd say I was his target. I was going to eliminate the Army of New Albion.'
'What?' George burst out. 'Why would you do a thing like that?'
'Because they're planning to kill the King,' Aubrey said slowly. He looked closely at von Stralick. 'That would mean Prince Albert would assume the throne, and he has a much stronger view about resisting Holmland aggression on the continent than his father. Isn't that correct?'
Von Stralick smiled. 'Our Elektor corresponds regularly with your King about gardening. They are good friends.'
'But Holmland wants war,' George said. 'Your generals are always talking about it.'
'No, Holmland doesn't want war at all,' von Stralick said. 'Not right now.'
Caroline narrowed her eyes. 'Later, then. At a time of your choosing.'
Aubrey pushed on with his chain of thought. 'Tremaine wanted to stop you. For some reason, he didn't want the Army of New Albion to fail. If they did, the plot to kill the King would be no more. Albion and Holmland would be friends.' He scowled. 'Tremaine wants to bring us to the brink of war.'
'Holmland would be blamed if your King was killed,' von Stralick said. 'It wouldn't matter who was responsible. We are always blamed.'
Aubrey put his hands together and squeezed, hard. 'My father is missing, Hugo.'
Von Stralick looked surprised for an instant, before he gathered himself. 'Sir Darius? I didn't know.' He scowled. 'I don't like not knowing such things. I'm sorry, Fitzwilliam.'
'I'm sure you are,' Caroline said.
'You must believe me,' von Stralick continued. 'We would never move against Sir Darius. Not only would we be the natural suspects –'
'Which you are,' George pointed out.
'But it would harden the Albion people against us, which we do not want at the moment. Sir Darius is a very popular man.'
'I'm inclined to believe you. Which means Dr Tremaine must have my father,' Aubrey said. 'Tremaine wants war. Somehow, abducting my father is going to help advance his plot. It makes sense. From what we know of Tremaine, he likes to have more than one iron in the fire.'
'But why?' von Stralick said.
Why indeed? Aubrey thought. It came to him then, perfectly, the last piece in the puzzle. Without all his research into his own condition, Aubrey would never have seen it. Tremaine, Banford Park, magic, the Black Beast . . . Looking for a solution to his own condition, of teetering on the edge of true death, Aubrey had come across references – oblique and guarded – to a vast, inconceivable horror, something that could be satisfied under certain conditions. It was a way to power beyond belief, but it was at a cost that would be inhuman to contemplate. It was one reason why death magic was a forbidden area.
'War,' he repeated. 'Tremaine wants a war.'
'But how does he stand to benefit from conflict like that?' George asked. 'Is he working for Holmland?'
Jack jumped in. 'Or is it money? Does Tremaine own armaments factories? Is he going to get rich from the blood of the workers?'
They all looked to Aubrey for an answer. 'No,' he said eventually, 'Tremaine's game is more subtle and more terrifying than that.' He took a deep breath, then let it out. 'War as sacrifice. With Holmland and Albion at war, the whole Continent will be drawn into it.' Aubrey went on, hoping that speaking his thoughts aloud would expose holes in his reasoning, but knowing it was the only answer that made sense. 'Millions will die. With modern weapons, the Continent will be a slaughterhouse. If Tremaine can harness this blood sacrifice in the correct way, he will have enough death, enough souls, to conduct the Ritual of the Way.'
'Immortality,' von Stralick breathed.
Aubrey looked sharply at him. 'How do you know about the Ritual of the Way? Are you a magician as well as a spy?'
'No magician, just a good reader. I study history. I know that the Ritual of the Way is a theoretical method of gaining immortality, but no-one has ever worked out how to arrange enough deaths.'
'The ritual is meant to grant immortality and power,' Aubrey said. 'Enough for an eternal reign.'
Von Stralick appeared to come to a decision. 'Fitzwilliam, look to Banford Park. Tremaine was head of that facility and we have reliable intelligence to suggest that it is not totally shut down, as was announced.' He pounded the wall with his good hand. 'Tremaine must be stopped!'
Aubrey agreed. An immortal ruler who was prepared to sacrifice millions for his own good? One who thought he was beyond petty considerations such as human life? He shuddered. A nightmare was unfolding in front of them.
At that moment, many things happened in quick succession. One of Jack's cats went out through a hole in the wall, then hissed and hurried back, confronted by the rain. The sodden animal wore an expression of utter distaste. Just as it reappeared, Oscar shifted his weight, easing his massive feet off the ground for relief then placing them back down again. Unfortunately, his left foot settled on the cat's tail.
The cat gave an ear-splitting screech and Aubrey thought, at first, that someone had launched a demon into the hovel. Oscar was startled and tottered backwards. He put out a hand to steady himself, but the flimsy wall offered no support. With the crunch of breaking timber, he toppled right through the wall and into the only other room of the tiny dwelling. He lay there, blinking.
Jack sprang to Oscar's side, then was torn between helping his friend and his spitting, hissing cat. When he saw the cat was sitting in a corner washing its tail, he left it alone. 'Oscar, are you hurt?'
Oscar sat up, smiling and wiping dust from his chest with both plate-sized hands. 'Righto, Jack. Righto.'
Aubrey smiled, but Caroline seized his arm. 'Von Stralick, he's gone.'
Aubrey turned to see the open door. George peered up and down the street. 'No sign of him.'
'Right,' Aubrey said. 'No help from that quarter, then.'
'What's the best course of action, old man?' George asked.
'I still have to get my father back.'
'And how are we going to do that?' Caroline asked.
'By finding Tremaine. Von Stralick's suspicions about Banford Park make very good sense to me. Tremaine has had plenty of time to set up equipment there since it was shut down, readying it to act as a base for his plotting.' He hummed a little, then grinned. 'Can anyone fly an ornithopter?'
Twenty-
Two
'YOU'RE SURE YOU KNOW HOW TO FLY AN ORNI-thopter?' Aubrey asked.
'Of course.' Caroline reached up and tested one of the wing struts. 'I learned years ago.'
'One of your father's friends taught you?' George guessed.
'My mother taught me,' Caroline said. She'd abandoned her beggar's rags, revealing that underneath she'd been wearing the loose black outfit she'd had on when confronting the Black Beast at Penhurst. Aubrey admired the cut of the garments as she opened the door into the cabin, mounted the three steps and disappeared inside.
'An interesting family, the Hepworths, wouldn't you say, George?'
'Extraordinary.'
With Jack Figg as a guide, they had gone from the Mire to Ashfields Station in under twenty minutes. Along the way an excited urchin joined them – one of Jack's friends – and reported that the Magisterium had left the burnt church at speed, desperately pursuing a tall man who was wrapped in shadows.
At four o'clock in the morning, the ornithopter port was deserted and quiet, as was the dirigible landing field. The only sound came from the neighbouring railway yards, where the noise of the wheel-checkers and bogie-riders rang out.
Jack left them, fading back into the night, and then it was up to Aubrey. He used a sleep spell he'd honed over years at Stonelea School, utilising the contagious nature of yawning and drawing on the
Law of Sympathy, to send the two nightwatchmen to sleep.
The wrought-iron gates that led to the flight platforms were bolted, but not locked. They slipped through and found an ornithopter waiting for them.
For a moment, Aubrey stood and admired the intricate machine. Its hinged wings were beaten brass and made of a thousand separate, jointed pieces. The fuselage looked fragile, a network of metal mesh and glass, long and tapering. The whole, marvellous construction looked like a dragonfly eager to soar.
'Well?' came Caroline's voice. 'What are you waiting for? Climb aboard.'
Aubrey leaned against one of the four great metal legs. They were bent, bringing the body of the ornithopter close to the ground. 'After you, George.'
Inside the ornithopter were six seats. Aubrey took the one next to the pilot and gave Caroline the thumbs-up.
'Seatbelts,' she ordered.
Aubrey had flown in an ornithopter before, an experience that was a mixture of exhilaration and terror. He knew that it was magic that allowed ornithopters to work, for the flapping, twisting action of the wings would cause any material not magically enhanced to fall apart. Applications of the Laws of Sympathy and Correspondence allowed the metal wings to beat in the same way as the wings of birds. Other spells enhanced the power of the legs of the ornithopter, which provided the initial impetus to hurl the craft into the air.
No magical ability was required to pilot such a craft, simply skill, daring and good reflexes.
'Hold on!' Caroline said.
Even though he was ready for it, Aubrey's stomach was left behind as the four powerful legs flexed and kicked the ornithopter upwards.
George let out a whoop, but it was lost in the deafening whoosh of the wings as they began beating. The ornithopter lurched left, stalled, then levelled, before mounting upwards in a series of stomach-bouncing steps, wings thrashing the air.
'Higher!' Aubrey cried, grinning. Metallic clamour filled the small craft, making it sound like the inside of a foundry.
Caroline glanced at him and grinned back. Her hands and feet moved quickly over the controls and Aubrey could see no indecision, just joy. Her eyes were bright, reflecting the lights on the instrument panel. She'd tied her hair back with a piece of string and Aubrey could see her long, slender neck and the wisps there. She glanced at him again and pointed to a small box on a rack in front of him.
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