Sir Darius, still groggy, merely nodded.
Unsmiling, Craddock surveyed the room. 'Where's Tremaine?'
Aubrey waved a tired hand. 'You're too late. He's gone. How did you know he wasn't dead?'
'I had my suspicions. Some of my operatives were investigating, and their findings led us to the burnt church. When we arrived, we were confronted with a major magical assault.' He smiled his wintry smile. 'Soon after this, we had a visit from Tallis, of the Special Services. Apparently von Stralick, the Holmland spy, is on good terms with him. Von Stralick telephoned him to let him know what was going on – the plot against the King, your father's kidnapping – and Tallis informed us. Von Stralick also told him that you'd be heading here to look for Tremaine.'
'Craddock,' Aubrey said, 'Dr Tremaine wants to undertake the Ritual of the Way.'
Craddock's eyes widened fractionally. 'I see. That would explain much.'
'He has Professor Hepworth's notebook, too.'
'It's worse than I'd thought, then. The professor's work will help Tremaine if he's mad enough to try for the Ritual of the Way.' He studied Aubrey. 'It seems as if we have much to talk about.'
AUBREY CLOSELY WATCHED THE ORGANISATION OF THE Magisterium and made mental notes. As dawn broke, hordes of black-uniformed operatives swarmed all over Banford Park, sifting, noting, photographing, analysing and collecting. Craddock commanded with a minimum of direction; all the operatives seemed to know what they were doing. Two of them flew the ornithopter away, returning it to the Ashfields ornithopter port.
Sir Darius, Caroline, George and Aubrey were whisked away to Darnleigh House in one of the Magisterium's anonymous black motorcars. It was a quiet, strained trip, with little conversation. Sir Darius seemed to be still affected by the spell Dr Tremaine had used, sleeping all the way. The two operatives who sat with them were polite, but not forthcoming. Their repeated answer to any question was, 'I'm sorry, but you'll have to ask Commander Craddock.'
Darnleigh House and Lattimer Hall, the headquarters of the Magisterium and the Special Services, faced each other across Grainger Square in Eastride. It wasn't a huge distance from the Mire, which amused Aubrey. He imagined a steady stream of informers flowing from the Mire to Darnleigh House, across to Lattimer Hall and then home again in a vast, continuous loop.
Darnleigh House was actually a pair of three-storey townhouses. A hundred years ago they had been bought, walls knocked out, offices installed, basements converted and one entrance bricked up. From the outside, it remained the sort of anonymous architecture that told passers-by to move along as nothing extraordinary was inside. If Aubrey hadn't known better, he would have thought the place belonged to a surgeon, or a reasonably well-to-do stockbroker, perhaps one who had come into his money early and had rather let things drift a little. Modest, discreet, slightly shabby.
On the other side of Grainger Square, the Special Services' Lattimer Hall was altogether fiercer. A fire in a row of houses had provided the opportunity for a purpose-built building to take up the entire block. A squat concrete establishment, only two storeys, it looked as if it could laugh off a cannon shot. Lattimer Hall imposed itself on the surroundings the way Darnleigh House didn't, which may have said something about the way the two agencies thought of themselves.
By the time they were ushered through the well-guarded entrance of Darnleigh House, Aubrey was beginning to flag. He was pleased that this appeared to be a healthy fatigue, not the soul-sapping exhaustion that his condition usually brought about. But he couldn't help feeling nervous as he passed into headquarters of the Magisterium.
He glanced at George, who yawned, and Caroline, who looked alert, taking in the surroundings. His father had been dazed enough for Craddock to order a wheelchair be brought for him. He nodded, eyes closed, face pale.
'Craddock,' Aubrey said, and he yawned as well, 'we've been up all night. Can the interrogation wait a while?'
Craddock raised an eyebrow. 'Interrogation?' He studied Aubrey for a moment, then he gestured at the nearest operative. 'Find recovery quarters for these people. Take Sir Darius to the infirmary.'
Aubrey was feeling woolly-headed with tiredness by the time he lay down in the small room he'd been shown to. Sleep fell on him like an avalanche. It was hours before he woke up.
When he did, he found that someone had taken off his shoes and removed his Tommy Sparks clothes. He lay in a very comfortable bed in a darkened room. Enough light came through the gaps in the curtains to show him that the room was well furnished, if a little old-fashioned for his liking. He reached out and pulled back the drapes to see Lattimer Hall frowning at him from across the square. The thought of all the Special Services people inside made him close the curtains again.
A serious young woman in the black uniform of the Magisterium was sitting on a chair watching him. 'Would you like something to eat?' she asked.
'Where's my father? Where's Caroline? George?'
She stood. 'Miss Hepworth is in the mess hall. I don't know about the others.'
'What time is it?'
'Just after noon. I'll be outside when you're ready.'
She slipped out of the door. Aubrey used the small washroom to bathe hastily. When he brushed his hair, the reflection in the mirror looked tired, but not unnaturally so. A pair of black trousers, a black shirt, tie and jacket lay on the end of the bed. They were his size and he dressed quickly.
The mess was a brightly lit room, long and narrow, with no windows. Tables were lined up in rows, ten or twelve chairs to a table. The surfaces – walls, linoleum floor, tables – were utterly clean. It reminded Aubrey of the dining hall at Stonelea School, without the smell of boiled cabbage. Instead, this place had the upright and cheery aromas of coffee, toast and boot polish.
Caroline was there. She was sipping a cup of tea, holding it in both hands as if she were cold. She was wearing the same uniform as Aubrey's escort. He thought she made the jacket and trousers look remarkably striking. Aubrey's escort took up position near the swinging double doors and watched them with the ease of someone who has watched many people and in much less comfortable settings.
Caroline glanced at him without putting down her cup. 'Where's George?'
'Probably sleeping, if I know him.'
She sipped her tea, a frown creasing her forehead, then she looked up. 'What's wrong with you?'
Aubrey blinked. Now that's a big question, he thought. 'What do you mean?'
'You're looking healthy enough now, but over the last few weeks I've seen you looking like a corpse, getting better quickly, then deteriorating again.'
Aubrey shuddered. 'Not quite a corpse.'
'Well?' She put down her cup. 'What's going on? Why was Dr Tremaine taunting you about your soul?'
A shutter rolled up and a round-faced woman leaned out. 'You want something to eat, luv? We've got egg and bacon pies, sandwiches, or a mixed grill.'
'Just tea, please.' He turned his attention back to Caroline. How much could he tell her? How much did he want to tell her? 'I have a condition,' he said, finally.
She rolled her eyes. 'Well, that doesn't tell me much. What sort of condition?'
He shrugged. 'It's unusual.'
'You're evading now, not babbling, and I'm still not getting an answer.'
Aubrey chewed his lip and studied her. Her eyes were green and probably the most arresting he'd seen.
He wavered. Perhaps he should tell her. It would be good to have another confidante, someone he could share his plight with. He was sure he'd benefit from her wit and intelligence. But another part of him was reluctant to show her how stupid he'd been. At least, to show her any more stupidity than she'd already seen.
He wanted her to be impressed by him, not to pity him.
Aubrey was relieved when, at that moment, the round-faced woman marched up to the table with a tray. 'Tea.
Some bread and butter, too. You didn't ask for it but I guessed you'd be wanting it. There's milk and sugar, just in case you need it
.'
Caroline opened her mouth, but Aubrey was blessed with another timely interruption.
Craddock opened the swinging doors. He wore a travelling cape and broad-brimmed black hat. Aubrey's escort, still by the doorway, stiffened and stood at attention, but Craddock didn't acknowledge her. 'Fitzwilliam. Miss Hepworth.' He didn't raise his voice, but it came clearly across the mess hall. A neat trick, Aubrey decided. 'I'd like you to come with me.'
George appeared in the doorway, yawning, in fresh, clean clothes. 'Not without me.' He waved to Aubrey and Caroline. 'No chance of food, is there?'
CRADDOCK LED THEM THROUGH THE WARREN OF DARNLEIGH House. After going down six flights of stairs, Aubrey began to wonder at the extent of the place. It seemed as if much more was underground than above street level.
They walked along corridor after corridor of closed doors. Aubrey decided that if he was ever taken by a foreign power and asked for the secrets of Darnleigh House, all he could tell them was that the Magisterium kept thousands of door-makers in work.
Strange noises and smells came from several rooms – mechanical chattering, organic whining, the smell of the sea. Aubrey's curiosity was jumping and his magical awareness constantly prickled, but he didn't think it wise to stop and ask.
At the end of one long corridor – ceiling, walls and floor completely tiled in green – Craddock opened a door. He stood back and motioned. 'Inside.'
Aubrey entered first and stepped into a hospital ward.
It had sunny yellow walls, and two rows of beds, with severe hospital chairs between the beds. Only one bed had an occupant. 'Father,' Aubrey said.
Sir Darius looked up, smiled and extended his hand. 'Aubrey. Can you get me out of this place? I've spoken to your mother and she insists I come home. There's much to be done.'
Aubrey smiled at his father's impatience. 'I'll try.'
'Good man.' Sir Darius saw Aubrey's companions. 'George, you've been keeping Aubrey out of trouble, I hope?'
'Impossible, sir. I'm doing my best just to make sure he doesn't bring about the end of civilisation.'
'True, George, and we thank you for it,' Sir Darius said. 'I don't think the Magisterium and the Special Services combined could keep Aubrey out of trouble.'
'Sir.'
'Miss Hepworth.' He turned and glared at his son. Aubrey didn't mind. 'I hope my son hasn't been imposing himself on you any more?'
'No, sir. He's been helpful.'
'Good, good.' Sir Darius looked unconvinced. 'I'm sure there's a story behind all this. I'd like to hear it soon, Aubrey.'
'Yes, sir.'
Craddock came to the bed. Sir Darius nodded at him. 'Craddock.'
'Sir Darius, I'm glad to see you're well.'
'I'm fully recovered.'
'I'm sure you are. We'll just have to wait for the doctor to confirm that.'
Sir Darius nodded. 'Craddock, thank you for your help in all this. You're doing a fine job.'
'It's what I aim for. Now, you should rest.'
Aubrey watched this exchange with interest. Had he detected an easing of tension between the two men? Years of distrust weren't broken down in an instant, but were there the beginnings here?
Sir Darius harrumphed. 'I have an election to win.' He eyed Craddock. 'No sign of Tremaine?'
'No. He's disappeared entirely.'
'I see,' Sir Darius said.
'You may not have been in any condition to hear last night, but the Special Services has rounded up the Army of New Albion.'
Aubrey let out a long, relieved breath.
Sir Darius glanced at his son then stroked his moustache.' Why?'
'They were going to blow up the King and the PM during the King's birthday procession.'
'A week before the election?' Sir Darius looked thoughtful.' That would have thrown a cat among the pigeons.'
'After the conspirators were all arrested,' Craddock continued, 'Tallis's people found the explosives they'd fitted under the Old Bridge, near Parliament House.'
'They were serious,' Sir Darius muttered. 'The King and the PM at once.'
'Yes,' Craddock said. 'Amateurs in some ways, but deadly serious. If they hadn't been unmasked, the King would have died.' He looked at Sir Darius. 'And the Prime Minister.'
Sir Darius glanced at Aubrey. 'Before Tremaine fled, his hold on me weakened somewhat. I managed to hear about his being behind the Army of New Albion. And his plans for the Ritual of the Way.'
'Indeed,' Craddock said. 'We have a formidable foe out there.'
Aubrey's curiosity got the better of him. 'But why did he kidnap you?' he asked his father. 'How did that help his plans?'
Sir Darius grimaced and looked uncomfortable. 'I may have forced his hand a little there. A New Albion hanger-on contacted me about supporting them. I made a few enquiries and what I heard made me very nervous, even though a plot to kill the King was never mentioned. I was on my way to see you, Craddock, to put all this on the table, when Tremaine abducted me.'
'He couldn't just kill you, of course,' Craddock noted, 'because he wanted you to lead the next government. The government which would oppose Holmland aggression most strongly.'
'Quite. Although if he thinks I'm as straightforward as that, he's underestimating me,' Sir Darius said. He raised an eyebrow. 'And what about the Holmlanders? I know they were mixed up with the Army of New Albion.'
'Von Stralick,' Craddock agreed. 'We're still determining his full level of involvement, but we're sure he was the one who lured the Army of New Albion into our trap at the Greythorn Society for Non-magical Fitness.'
George waved his hand, interrupting. 'That's right. Von Stralick told us he thought it was a good chance to get rid of them.'
'Indeed. Well, we thought we were about to capture von Stralick's spy ring, but he managed to out-manoeuvre us.'
'Ah. He wanted you to arrest the New Albionites. He saw them as a loose cannon, no doubt, liable to disrupt Holmland's own plans.' Sir Darius frowned.
'Von Stralick was remarkably forthcoming when he telephoned the Special Services. Said he was in need of a good rest and he was going back to Holmland. Before he hung up, he told Tallis to thank someone he called "young Fitzwilliam" for doing him a great favour.' Craddock studied Aubrey and waited for his response.
'A favour?' Aubrey said. 'Well, we did run into von Stralick, and he was injured. I suppose I patched him up –'
'He nearly died,' Caroline put in. 'Without Aubrey, he would have.'
'I see,' Craddock said, and Aubrey knew the head of the Magisterium was filing this away for later consideration. 'Sir Darius, I think it fair to tell you that the Magisterium has had its eye on your son since the failed attempt on Prince Albert's life. He has shown a penchant for becoming involved in dangerous matters.'
'I'm aware of that, Craddock,' Sir Darius said. 'He causes me no end of worry, even though he usually contrives to fall on his feet.'
Craddock nodded. 'Resourceful chap. He managed to get to you well before we did, and he held off Tremaine. Who knows what Tremaine would have done to you, given more time? It may have been another long-term plot of his.' Craddock looked at Aubrey. 'Remarkable lad you have here, Sir Darius.'
'I know.'
Craddock took off his hat and brushed some invisible lint from it. 'I wonder if he's ever thought of a career in the Magisterium?'
Aubrey's mouth dropped open. Sir Darius raised an eyebrow. 'Craddock, I do believe you've managed to surprise my son. And me.' He looked at Aubrey. 'My son's magical ability is a wonder to me. He can do things I've never dreamed of. His horizons are vaster than mine ever will be. I'm proud of him – and I envy him.'
Aubrey's knees felt weak. He sat on the chair by the bedside, humbled. He thought he'd known where he stood, but the rug of certainty had been pulled out from beneath his feet. Craddock's offer was unexpected, and his father's words had caught him utterly unawares. Perhaps he'd been guilty of making assumptions. Again.
Craddock gave a small movement of th
e lips that – on another person – could have been called a smile. 'You'll consider my offer, Fitzwilliam?'
Aubrey nodded. 'I have much to consider.'
Twenty-
Three
WITH LESS THAN TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE ELECTION, Aubrey found that twenty-four hours was not enough time in a day.
Despite George's reluctance to become involved in politics, Aubrey dragged him in to help with the campaign. Together they organised the distribution of pamphlets and the hanging of posters, as well as helping to arrange public rallies and meetings. Aubrey's arms grew sore from cranking printing machines, and ink became ingrained under his fingernails. His hands were red and sore from clapping during his father's numerous speeches. He met with Jack Figg and gained his assistance in rallying workers behind the Progressive Party.
Aubrey also assumed a key role in scrutinising and editing Sir Darius's speeches. 'Adding a touch of theatre,' was how he explained this contribution to George.
Aubrey tried to involve Caroline, but she declined. Then Lady Fitzwilliam invited her, telling her of the Progressive Party's commitment to giving women the vote. After that, Caroline made sure Sir Darius and his colleagues addressed Suffragette rallies, which provided a sharp distinction from the Prime Minister and his Royalist cronies, who refused invitations from Suffragette leaders and, at times, heaped scorn on Suffragette hopes.
Sir Darius campaigned vigorously on a platform of a strong Albion. With news of more Holmland aggression in the Goltans, this resonated with the public. The Prime Minister tried to distance himself from the King, who had the extraordinary lack of both wit and tact to have Count Herman, the brother of the Elektor of Holmland, visit his country estate. The newspapers reflected the general unhappiness with this. George made a point of cutting out the best headlines and pasting them on the walls of the tiny office Aubrey and he worked from so that whenever Aubrey looked up from typing, telephoning or duplicating, he saw 'Is Our PM A Holmland Man?' in large, black letters all over the walls. Aubrey wondered if Bertie had had anything to do with the invitation to Count Herman.
The King's birthday parade went ahead, as tradition demanded, but the Prime Minister was not overly pleased with the result. The King insisted that the royal coach was full of his imaginary friends and that Sir Rollo had to walk behind. The sight of the red-faced, waddling PM trying to keep up with the royal coach caused gales of laughter along the entire parade route.
Blaze of Glory Page 31
