Caroline scratched it for him.
'I don't suppose it's a good sign,' Bloch said, 'not being able to move my limbs.'
'No,' Aubrey said. He didn't see how he could say anything else.
'I didn't think so.' Bloch glanced at Aubrey. 'It's Fitzwilliam, isn't it?'
'That's right.'
'I thought so.' He paused and grimaced. 'Thought so,' he repeated, softly.
'Don't speak. Save your strength.'
'For what?' Bloch tried a laugh, but the result was horrible – wet and desperate. 'I suppose I should tell you something important, seeing as I'm dying.'
'Sh,' Caroline said. 'Easy now.'
'Don't,' Bloch said. 'I know what's happening.'
'Are you in pain?' Aubrey asked.
'I was. Now I'm not.' He licked his lips. 'There is a plot. To steal Albion's gold. From the bank.'
'The Bank of Albion?'
Bloch nodded. 'Your Albionite friend. The magician.'
Aubrey clutched the man's shoulder. 'It's Tremaine's plot? Tell me more.'
'I will.' He looked puzzled for a moment, and he cocked his head as if listening. Then he glanced at something over Aubrey's head.
And died.
THE POLICE ARRIVED, JUST AFTER THE HOLMLANDERS flooded back. Brandt came to his senses and began issuing orders before realising that nothing could be done. He moved about among his countrymen, attempting to console them.
Craddock and a dozen Magisterium operatives arrived soon after, while the ambulance porters were attending to Bloch's body. Craddock made immediately for Aubrey, while his operatives fanned out and examined the area. He crossed his arms and grimly looked over the ruins of the hall, a scene that still shocked Aubrey with the completeness of its devastation. 'Holmlanders against Holmlanders, here in Albion. Can't have this.'
'What makes you think it's Holmlanders who were responsible?'
'Who else do you think it could be? Disaffected local troublemakers?'
'It's possible.'
'Possible, but not likely. Manfred warned us that the refugee Holmlanders had attracted attention at the highest level back in Fisherberg. He didn't foresee this sort of action, though.' He rubbed his long chin. 'Ruthless or careless?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Was this action ruthless or simply sloppy work?'
Such practical issues had been far from Aubrey's mind. He'd been too stunned by the ferocity of the attack and – he admitted – too relieved that he and Caroline had survived. They had survived, where Bloch hadn't. In the lottery that was the unfolding of events, it could have happened differently. He could have opened the bag. The spell may not have gone off. Bloch may have taken the bag outside and the effects would have been felt over a wider area.
Aubrey had been lucky. Caroline had been lucky. He was thankful.
With an effort, he turned to Craddock's question. 'I hope they were careless. I'm afraid they were ruthless.'
Craddock nodded. 'This is real.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Sometimes, we forget that this struggle is real. We see it as a game, a jolly spate of push and shove, of wrangling over who's the best.' He looked tired and Aubrey was startled to find himself feeling sympathy for the man. 'It's murky stuff we're dealing with, Fitzwilliam, down in the depths that no-one sees. Are you up to it?'
'I hope so.'
'Good man. Now, I understand you're interested in forensic magic? Go and see what you can learn from my people. Top notch, all of them. Ah, Miss Hepworth, good to see you're unharmed.'
Craddock went to Caroline. Aubrey winced, and limped a little, as he picked his way over to the nearest of the black-clad Magisterium operatives.
This sort of thing signalled a new world, a world that Aubrey didn't like the look of. It made him even more determined that Holmland wouldn't force a war. With that sort of attitude, it would be a war of a sort that had never been seen before – indiscriminate, callous, but on a scale beyond imagining.
He could hear Dr Tremaine's laughter.
FORENSIC MAGIC WAS A CURIOUS MIXTURE OF THE commonplace and the arcane. Sharp eyes were useful, but more essential was a finely attuned magical sensitivity. Here, Aubrey was able to help. Such a thing was passive, like a mirror catching a sunbeam, and required no magical effort. He could sense magic, taste its flavour and feel its texture, without affecting his condition at all.
After a quick briefing, he became part of the line of Magisterium operatives that picked its way across the site, bent nearly double. He concentrated hard and was only dimly aware of the activity to one side, where the police were blocking off access, hauling wooden barricades across the lanes between the surrounding buildings.
He could feel the magical residue that overlay the disaster area, a wasteful, clumsy sign that tended to suggest the perpetrators were in the careless camp rather than the ruthless. Although he admitted they could be both. Some of the residue had a tantalisingly familiar aspect about it, but he couldn't find enough to be more definitive than that. It could be a Continental approach; it could be a Holmland style of magic. Or it could be someone who'd studied under a Continental master and actually lived around the corner.
A shout came from the opposite side of the courtyard. One of the operatives had a long pole and was fishing about in the denuded branches of an elm tree. Craddock hurried to her side and helped retrieve a singed and battered object that flapped about in the breeze.
'Eyes down,' the operative next to Aubrey – a few yards away – growled, and Aubrey went back to poring over the broken floorboards. He spread his hands, fingers stretched, as if warming them over a fire. He felt the buzzing magical leftover, and he did his best to break it into its constituent parts. What was the exact nature of the spell? Where did it come from? And, more importantly, could he detect any fragment that hinted at the final element of a spell, the identifying signature? He grappled with what he was sensing, but although he could identify parts, he couldn't grasp the larger picture.
He needed more information, and there was only one way to find it.
Eyes down.
Some hours later darkness fell, putting a halt to any further investigation of the site. Around the corner, in the Incident Room set up in the vestry office of St Olaf 's, he listened to each of the operatives report their findings to Craddock. The operatives were packed in, shoulder to shoulder. Craddock stood at a desk, his hands behind his back. He had the manner of a man who'd prepared himself for the worst, only to have his expectations exceeded.
Aubrey sat against the wall and felt as if he'd been hammered all over by gnomes with rolling pins. He knew he'd have bruises in the morning. Caroline sat next to him and listened carefully. He wondered where she'd been while he was intent on his magical business. He started to ask her, but she hushed him with a look.
The most interesting contribution came from the tree raider, the operative who had fished the object from the tree. It was placed on a table for all to examine. Aubrey peered over shoulders to see that it was the remains of a leather bag.
'No doubt that this contained the spell?' Craddock asked.
'None,' the pole-wielding operative said. 'Feel the residue. I'm surprised the bag lasted as long as it did.'
Craddock looked up. 'Fitzwilliam. You were there. Tell us what you saw.'
The operatives drew back and allowed Aubrey space. He took a deep breath, regretted it when a pulled muscle tugged on his ribs, then reported on the events leading up to the explosion. He went on to describe the thundercloud's passage and disappearance. He began to tell of Bloch's strange final words, but he held back. He told himself that he wanted to clear up any possible doubt that it was Dr Tremaine that Bloch had meant. It was an excellent reason, he decided. 'Weather magic,' he concluded.
'Obviously,' Craddock said.
Aubrey shuffled a little. 'The bag could have been put there by anyone at the meeting.'
'Or it might have been placed there before the meeting by persons unknown.'
The operatives – and Craddock – turned to see Caroline standing. 'True,' Craddock said. 'But not very helpful.'
'It's only helpful if it reminds us that our potential suspects are not limited to those at the meeting,' Caroline pointed out.
'And that the suspects need not be magicians,' Aubrey put in.
'Go on,' Craddock said.
'Well,' Aubrey said, 'one of the uses of compression spells is to allow non-magicians to use magic. They can transport a spell, site it, then let it go off, provided the original magician has limited the time variable accurately enough.' Aubrey blinked. Is that what happened on the Electra?
'And that's a question,' Caroline said. 'Did the spell go off when intended? Or was it too late? Or too early?'
'Did you two work this performance out beforehand?' Craddock said, with chilly amusement.
Aubrey looked at Caroline. She looked at him. 'No,' they said simultaneously.
'Pity.' Craddock moved on. 'It is as you say. Many questions. Few answers.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Unless you two have answers as well as questions?'
'No, nothing helpful,' Aubrey said. 'But you could ask Rokeby-Taylor if he saw anything suspicious. He was here right before the explosion.' Aubrey paused. Rokeby-Taylor was in the Electra, too, when it was magically attacked. Unlucky, or . . .
Aubrey's train of thought was completely disrupted when Craddock went on: 'Rokeby-Taylor? Good idea. He's on Tallis's payroll so he's used to keeping an eye open.'
Aubrey actually swayed a little at the unexpectedness of the revelation. Rokeby-Taylor working for Special Services? With his connections he could be a useful source of information, however unlikely an operative he seemed. And it could provide another reason for his presence at St Olaf 's, other than generosity.
Or mayhem.
Craddock looked at the frowning faces of his operatives. 'Does anyone else have anything? No? Right, back to Darnleigh House with the lot of you. Fitzwilliam, Miss Hepworth, would you mind waiting behind a moment?'
Obediently, the operatives filed out.
'What is it, Commander?' Aubrey asked, but he was stunned into silence by the figure who slipped into the room.
'Ah, Manfred,' Craddock said. Aubrey had thought that Craddock had looked tired, but any sign of exhaustion vanished at the entrance of the Holmland performer. 'Let me introduce Miss Hepworth and Mr Fitzwilliam. You've been asking to meet them and here they are.'
The Great Manfred bowed. 'I am honoured to meet both of you. Especially the son of the Prime Minister.'
He wore a dark grey topcoat over a dark suit. His black gloves and bowler hat looked expensive. Aubrey decided that the sleight-of-hand business must pay well.
Or perhaps it was the spying business.
'It's been Manfred's investigating that suggested all is not well between Holmlander groups in this country,' Craddock said.
'Indeed,' Manfred said. He seemed remarkably unaffected by the attack. Aubrey wondered what he was accustomed to. 'It would appear as if the obvious culprits come from a rival group here. Count Brandt has made few friends in the established Holmlander community.'
Aubrey frowned. 'So you don't think it's the work of the Holmland espionage agencies?'
'Unlikely. My information does not support this conclusion. I have made the recommendation that your government may have to begin interning Holmlanders who are in sensitive positions.'
'What?' Caroline said. 'How can such an action be taken in good conscience? We're not at war.'
'Not yet,' Manfred said.
'But it's inevitable,' Aubrey said, 'isn't it?'
Manfred shook a finger at Aubrey. 'Mr Fitzwilliam, you should come to our country, you know. Top members of the Circle are eager to have you visit, so you could see for yourself how strong the pro-Albion sentiment is. There is a chance we can stop this war before it starts.'
'The Circle?'
'Bloch mentioned them,' Caroline said. 'Arguing with Brandt.'
'Not all Holmlanders support the Chancellor and his government,' Manfred said. 'The Circle is a secret group of those against him. Powerful people. Influential people. Come, meet them, you will see for yourself that there is a chance to topple the Chancellor and stop this madness.'
It was appealing. Aubrey had never been to Holmland and he was all in favour of forestalling a war.
'I don't think so,' Craddock said before Aubrey could respond. 'The Prime Minister's son on a clandestine mission to talk to chief opponents of the Chancellor's government? The relations between our two countries is much too delicate for that.'
'I beg you to reconsider, Craddock,' Manfred said. 'It could be important.'
'Perhaps. We will monitor the situation.'
Manfred bowed. 'I hope we can facilitate this. It may be vital.' He adjusted his gloves. 'One more thing, Craddock. Count Brandt needs twenty thousand pounds. He has a chance to sow serious dissent in Fisherberg and we can't miss it.'
Aubrey had trouble believing what he heard. Twenty thousand pounds?
'It shouldn't be a problem,' Craddock said and Aubrey's astonishment was redoubled. Twenty thousand pounds, just like that? 'See me at Darnleigh House tomorrow.'
Manfred left. Aubrey felt as if he were a shop assistant and he'd been handed another sale item to fit into an already crowded window display. He stood, hesitated, glanced at Caroline, then hesitated again. She nodded, very slightly, and he knew they were partners in intrigue.
'Yes?' Craddock said. 'Is there something else?'
'No, no. Just trying to make sense of everything.'
Craddock laughed a little. It was a quiet, almost noiseless, laugh, mostly in the intake of breath. Aubrey couldn't imagine the man putting his heart into a laugh. 'If you can make sense of everything, let me know. It's a grand aim.'
Aubrey paused, then decided that giving Craddock something might deflect the man's natural suspicions. 'Bloch mentioned that Dr Tremaine is advising the Chancellor now.'
'Bloch mentioned this, did he?' Craddock nodded. 'Of course, it's something we've known for a while, but it's useful to hear it from another source. Well done.'
He nodded to Caroline, then left, and Aubrey felt guilty at not telling him everything, but also irritated that Craddock hadn't shared his information about Dr Tremaine with him.
'Can I walk you home?' he said to Caroline.
'Why didn't you tell him what Bloch said about Dr Tremaine's plot?'
'I was just wondering that myself.' Aubrey shrugged. 'I thought we could investigate a bit more, first. Clear things up.'
'Good. That's what I thought too.'
'We're holding a live grenade here,' Aubrey said. 'This information could be vital.'
'I know. Let's not drop it.'
ONCE THEY WERE AWAY FROM THE VICINITY OF THE attack, Aubrey saw that the streets were themselves again. In the north, toward the river, was the great brewery of Rawlinson and Sons. A soupy, yeasty smell hung over the whole neighbourhood. Various industrial yards were strung out, silent in the darkness. A derelict pumping station stood forlornly outlined against the night sky.
Aubrey thought of catching the underground, but the stations were few and far between south of the river. Instead he and Caroline walked, side by side, silently for a time, making their way towards Earlchester Bridge.
'You want to catch Dr Tremaine by yourself, don't you?' Caroline said. They were passing an old cable car terminus. Aubrey wondered if they would ever rebuild it.
'I'm not the only one, I'm sure. But I'd like to be the successful one.'
'I don't suppose I could interest you in something else? Something perhaps more immediate?'
'Ah. You've been withholding information from Craddock, too?'
'I made myself useful while you were busy. I talked to people.'
'Information gathering. Commander Tallis would be pleased.' He looked sharply at her. 'You didn't tell Craddock what you found because you're going to tell Tallis, is that it?'
'I haven't told
anyone yet. I'm about to tell you. Then we'll see what we'll do.'
'Excellent.'
'I wasn't just gossiping. We had injured among the Holmlanders who hadn't left the area. I helped your Dr Wells, from the Broad Street Clinic, tend to them, and assisted those who seemed to know what they were doing. A number of the Holmlanders were doctors, you know, and one was a surgeon.'
Aubrey nodded. 'I thought they seemed well-educated.'
'I did notice one young woman who wasn't doing anything. She was on the edges of the crowd, observing, it seemed.'
'Holmlander?'
'Oh yes. A Holmlander suffragist – apparently a very difficult thing to be. After some prompting, she was quite scornful of Brandt's people.'
'Brandt's people aren't her people?'
'What she told me supports Manfred's story. Brandt's group is only one of several Holmland ex-patriate communities in Trinovant. Not all of them are friendly toward each other.'
'Why should they be?'
'It's not just unfriendliness. My suffragist friend was downright suspicious of Brandt's group. Too aristocratic, she said. Couldn't understand what they were doing here.'
'Things move quickly in politics. People fall out of favour. Alliances shift.'
'But my informant was adamant that Count Brandt is great friends with the Elektor's younger brother. They hunted together, and my young friend worked in the kitchens and as a serving maid. She said they were thick as thieves.'
'So why did Brandt leave the country?' Aubrey wondered. Then he remembered something. 'And last night . . . he was on his way to see Spinetti, you said.'
'What does that mean?'
'It could mean the Holmlanders simply enjoy his singing. Or it could mean something much more sinister, if Spinetti is Dr Tremaine.'
'But how does this explain the attack today?'
Aubrey shrugged. 'It doesn't. But once I apprehend Dr Tremaine, then his web will be revealed.'
'I see. As easy as that?'
Aubrey stopped. They'd reached the bridge. Traffic clattered across it, while a steam barge chuffed its way underneath, smoke easing its way from under the vaults. 'Apprehending Dr Tremaine easy? I don't think so.'
Word of Honour Page 14
