Word of Honour

by Michael Pryor

'Worse?' George said. 'Dashed hard to think of anything worse, old girl.'

  Caroline shot George a look. 'Old girl?'

  'Sorry,' he said. 'Don't know what got into me.

  Caroline, I meant to say.'

  'Thank you. Where was I?'

  'Worse than a crippled economy,' Aubrey said.

  'Thank you, Aubrey.'

  'I hang on your every word.'

  She shot him a look as well, but continued. 'The bank always waits for the King's ceremony before undertaking certain customary transactions. It's tradition.'

  'It does? How do you know this?'

  'Norman Hood. The chief governor was a friend of my father's. He made sure Sir Norman gave me a number of lessons in the functions of the bank.'

  'So you're talking about annual transactions? Annual transactions that would require moving around a lot of gold?' Aubrey's heart sank as he anticipated Caroline's next words.

  'Settling international debt, in particular. Traditionally, Albion has waited until after the King's blessing before shipping gold off to any nation we owe money to.'

  Suddenly, Aubrey realised, a potentially enormous problem had just become even larger.

  'I see why you're upset,' George said. 'It'd be a nice way to offend any potential allies, wouldn't it? Offering stacks of gold to settle a debt only to find out some time later that it melted away.'

  Aubrey knew that every nation on the globe was scrambling to cement friendships in this precarious world. With every indication that a war was imminent, allies were vital. If Albion was seen as untrustworthy or – even worse – duplicitous, it could find itself alone in a hostile international landscape.

  He raked back his hair with both hands. 'Well, it looks as if we've managed to prevent this, at any rate. Should we go upstairs and raise the alarm?'

  Caroline gave him a look of approval and he vowed to do his best to earn more of them.

  He was about to offer her his arm when George cleared his throat. 'Sorry to be a wet blanket, but I've just been thinking about these magic suppressor thingies.'

  'Thingies?' Deep inside, a misgiving or two woke, as if they'd heard their name being called.

  'Well, they must have been working when they were first installed. You saw the units in the main banking chamber in action, didn't you?'

  'They worked perfectly.' Aubrey winced. His misgivings were now rampaging around inside his stomach. 'And the governors would have insisted on testing these units, especially after the failed break-in.' He bounced over to the nearest suppressor, frowning, and ran his fingers over it, peering at its flat black surface. 'So if anyone was going to do anything magical in here – such as replacing the Old Man of Albion and creating a mountain of fairy gold – these suppressors must be able to be shut off at a distance. Radio, perhaps?'

  A voice came from the corner of the vault nearest the Old Man of Albion. 'Interesting idea, but no. I used magic. A neat little application of the Law of Opposites, actually.'

  It was as if the space between Aubrey's Adam's apple and navel had been replaced by a block of ice. Slowly, he turned, while George let out an oath.

  Dr Tremaine stepped forward, brushing dust from his shoulders.

  Eighteen

  'TREMAINE,' AUBREY GROWLED. HE'D GROWN TOO accustomed to the renegade's mercurial behaviour to be surprised at his appearance, but his casual demeanour made Aubrey extremely wary.

  Dr Tremaine shook his head, as if Aubrey was a slow student. 'I was afraid you'd missed the implications of my little plan entirely. Luckily, you have Miss Hepworth to help you.'

  He bowed in Caroline's direction. She gazed at him steadily with such venom that Aubrey was surprised the ex-Sorcerer Royal didn't drop dead on the spot.

  'And your remarkably unimaginative friend even managed to play a part.'

  'Who?' George said. 'Me? I'm offended by that, Tremaine.'

  Tremaine bowed again. 'I aim not to disappoint.' He glanced at a watch on his wrist. 'Now, Fitzwilliam, I must say that your timing is abominable, as usual. Interrupting my important work like this? Most regrettable.'

  The ex-Sorcerer Royal behaved as if he belonged in the vault of the Bank of Albion. Tall, broad-shouldered, with long black hair, he leaned against the wall and yawned. He wore a midnight blue frock coat, cutaway, and he held a cane. 'And just in case you were wondering why you couldn't see me as I stood here, listening to your ponderous deductions, I played around with Dimensionality, just like the batteries in the Electra.'

  'That was you, then.'

  'Sinking it was a daft idea, I tried telling the Holmlanders that. A waste of fine engineering. Nevertheless, heads of intelligence services will insist on having ideas of their own, won't they?' He held up his cane.

  'Recognise this, Fitzwilliam? It should have a pearl on top, and I've a mind to reclaim it.'

  'That can wait,' Aubrey said. His palms prickled with sweat.

  'That's your problem, Fitzwilliam. You get your priorities mixed up. You put the public ahead of the personal.'

  'I do? I mean, isn't that the way it should be?'

  Dr Tremaine laughed. 'You couldn't be more wrong, my boy. The personal always comes first. Always, always, always. It's the only way to achieve anything.'

  'Well, you're not achieving your goals with this little scheme, are you? We've messed it up for you, well and truly.'

  Dr Tremaine clapped his hands together. 'That, of course, depends.'

  'Depends? On what?'

  'On your getting out of here alive.'

  It was the combination that took Dr Tremaine by surprise. George roared and charged from his left, swinging the pry bar. At the same instant, while his attention was taken by the whistling length of steel, Caroline slipped up from behind.

  But even then, Aubrey had bad feelings about this multiple attack. Tremaine was as far away from the traditional notion of a namby-pamby magician as one could get. He'd boxed several noted prize-fighters to standstill, both gloved and bare-knuckle. He was also a fine wrestler.

  And he's the most powerful magician in the world.

  Tremaine moved towards George's wild charge. He side-stepped just enough for the pry bar to hiss past his nose. This put George off balance and Dr Tremaine reached out, grabbed his arm and wrenched. George cartwheeled away and crashed into the wall.

  With balletic ease, the ex-Sorcerer Royal pivoted in time to meet Caroline's challenge. He grinned like a crocodile. 'Ah, Miss Hepworth! I see you've been instructed by Master Wu. Very fine indeed!'

  Caroline didn't answer. She turned side on and advanced.

  Aubrey normally would have been fascinated to watch Caroline move so gracefully, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

  He desperately needed to activate the magic suppressors.

  Dr Tremaine was playing with George and Caroline. He didn't need to meet any physical challenges – he'd have a hundred spells he could use to disable them. But if Aubrey could make the magic suppressors work again, the odds could be evened – especially if Tremaine was unaware of this change of events.

  Dr Tremaine said he'd used the Law of Opposites. Could it be as simple as thinking of the magic suppressors as having two possible states – active and inactive? With the correct spell, a magician could change the state of an object, flip-flopping from active to inactive, from hot to cold, from light to dark. The effect was simple, the spell fiendishly complex. Completely reversing a state, in its most fundamental aspects? Lanka Ravi's work suggested why this was difficult. Most magicians wouldn't even try.

  But it was just the sort of thing Dr Tremaine would attempt – and succeed at. It was uncommon, difficult, and needed sheer brilliance to achieve.

  And, Aubrey thought, it's a red herring.

  Where Mordecai Tremaine was concerned, Aubrey had learned that jumping to conclusions was a deadly pastime. When an answer fitted perfectly, it had to be wrong. He had to find the solution behind the solution.

  A spell couldn't work in the field of magic suppression c
ast by the devices, not even a clever spell using the Law of Opposites. Tremaine was lying, Aubrey should have known that.

  But what did that leave? Aubrey sprinted for the nearest suppressor. He tore it open and scanned the contents feverishly.

  Nothing.

  He straightened to see the improbable sight of Dr Tremaine flying through the air, his coat flapping like a vast pair of wings. He lost his grip on his cane and it clattered onto the nearest stack of fairy gold. He landed like a sack of wheat thrown from a first-storey window, grunted, but rolled to his feet immediately. 'A fine throw, young lady,' he cried. He slapped at his coat, dusting himself off. 'But even Master Wu has his limitations, as you're about to find out.'

  Aubrey's impulse was to help Caroline. But while she looked pale and strained Aubrey knew what a formidable fighter she was – he'd only get in the way. He raced for the next magic suppressor, knowing that all Tremaine had to do was disable one and the suppressors would be unable to generate a field.

  Aubrey cursed. Its workings were exactly the same.

  Except . . .

  With a knuckle, he banged on the block of black ceramic in the middle of the box. It made a hollow noise, as if it were a mere eggshell. Gritting his teeth, he made a fist. He punched the ceramic and it shattered.

  Inside was the workings of a clock.

  Aubrey actually turned away and then looked back, unwilling to believe his eyes. The second time, he realised that while the gears and springs may have been clockwork, it had never driven a pair of hands to tell the time. It was a machine set to disable the magic suppressor.

  A small pair of spring-loaded, very sharp blades had been arranged either side of a wire which ran between the top compartment and the bottom. The clockwork mechanism was attached to these blades. When it unwound, it released the tension on the blades and they snapped shut, severing the wire. A crucial wire, Aubrey had no doubt.

  It was simple, it was ingenious, it was nearly foolproof.

  But all it needed was for the wire to be reconnected for the suppressor to work again.

  Feverishly, Aubrey tore away the clockwork mechanism and flung it to the ground. He dragged his new watch out of his pocket and yanked. The chain tore away the button and it dangled, loose. The Brayshire Ruby winked at him.

  He spared an instant to regret his actions, then he went ahead. He tugged, the chain parted. He slipped the watch into his pocket and caught the chain before it fell.

  With quick, precise movements, he bent the remains of the wires and linked them with the gold chain.

  Heart pounding, he swivelled in time to see Dr Tremaine block a lightning-fast blow from Caroline.

  He was grinning, fiercely. 'Good!' he shouted. 'But this is better!'

  He twisted, moving both forearms against each other, catching Caroline's fist in mid-strike. She was flung aside as if she was a doll. The wall was too close. Before she had time to cry out, she crashed into it.

  Dr Tremaine turned, panting, and faced Aubrey. 'Ah, the child wonder! You're still here?'

  'Where else would I be?' George was slumped on the floor near Tremaine. Aubrey was relieved to see that he was still breathing, even though his eyes were closed.

  Where was that pry bar?

  'And that's the pity of it.' Dr Tremaine's dark eyes glittered. 'You should leave well enough alone, Fitzwilliam. Stay out of things that don't concern you. Adopt a quiet, contemplative life. It's the only way to ensure your integrity, shall we say?'

  Aubrey blinked. While Dr Tremaine had been talking, he'd made his way halfway across the vault, weaving in and out of the stacks of gold. Aubrey hadn't even noticed.

  'If you're talking about my condition, I've made some significant improvements there. It's no longer an issue.'

  'I'm sure you've done what you can. But death magic is a perilous area to work in for the uninitiated. And leaving yourself unprotected, as you did, is a difficult mistake to remedy. Adopting the life of a recluse is best for you, you know that. No strain, no excitement. You should be able to live out a relatively normal span, if a boring one.'

  Aubrey was strangely heartened by Dr Tremaine's advice. It showed that despite his powers, he didn't know everything. If he thinks I'd be happy mouldering away, living as a hermit, he's insane. 'Excellent advice,' he said to Dr Tremaine, who had sidled his way to within a few yards. 'After I make sure you're safely imprisoned, I'll think about it.'

  Dr Tremaine shook his head. 'You disappoint me, like everyone else.' He sighed and let his hands drop to his sides. 'Despite that, I will try to make this as painless as possible. Which is an interesting point in itself, as no-one has ever come back to report on the pain levels of this particular method of demise.'

  Aubrey backed against a stack of gold. Dr Tremaine barked a spell – a long, convoluted series of expressions that Aubrey recognised as Akkadian. It ended with a flourish – not a cryptic one, but a defiantly Tremaine-esque finial that stamped the ego of the originator on the spell.

  Nothing happened.

  Aubrey took great delight in the expression on the magician's face. Disbelief, astonishment and fury warred for possession, with the result that the great ex-Sorcerer Royal stood looking as if he'd been struck between the eyes with a cricket ball. He actually rocked on his feet, then his eyes narrowed and he snarled. 'The magic suppressors.'

  Aubrey shrugged and scrabbled behind his back. 'Good machinery. It was a shame to see them sitting idle.'

  'So I am left to my own resources.' Dr Tremaine flexed his shoulders and strode towards Aubrey. 'I don't imagine this is going to be much of a problem. More painful for you, I'm afraid, but you've brought it upon yourself.'

  Heart pounding, Aubrey lifted the gold bar he'd separated from the stack behind him. Crying out with the effort, he heaved it at the charging figure of Dr Tremaine.

  With a sickening crack, it took him flush on the chest. Dr Tremaine grunted and fell sideways. He sprawled across the nearest stack of gold where he clung, one-handed. ' That, Fitzwilliam,' he gasped, 'was uncalled for.'

  'Uncalled for?' Aubrey picked up another gold bar. 'You were going to kill me!' 'For the greater good.' Dr Tremaine groaned. 'For the greater good.' He closed his eyes and rested his head on the bullion.

  'For the greater good? Whose greater good?'

  Dr Tremaine opened eyes that were full of contempt. 'Mine, of course, you idiot.'

  He struggled upright, using the stack of bullion for support. His right arm was held tightly against his side, but now he had a revolver in his left.

  Aubrey couldn't help it. Part of his brain noted that it was a Symons service revolver, the Mark V model, not the more common Mark IV, and that it had been well used. It was large: a . 450 calibre. It was more than enough to punch a hole right through him from this distance.

  'I always have backup.' Tremaine's voice was hoarse and he had blood at the corner of his mouth. He winced as he breathed. Aubrey hoped he'd cracked a rib. 'Noisy, messy, but it should do the trick.'

  Tremaine coughed and grimaced. As a distraction, Aubrey decided it was as good as it was going to get. He flung himself sideways behind the nearest stack of bullion. The revolver roared. The air was instantly full of cordite smoke and the enclosed space of the vault echoed with disapproval.

  Aubrey crawled as fast as he could through the aisles made by the stacks of bullion, his back itching as he imagined Dr Tremaine rounding the corner. He went left, then right, then the revolver fired again, but it was followed by bellowing and a string of quick, heartfelt curses.

  Aubrey risked a quick head bob. Dr Tremaine was standing in the middle of the stacks of gold. He was trying to complete the difficult task of clamping one arm to his side while using it to cradle his other wrist. The revolver was nowhere to be seen, but the handy pry bar was. Spinning on top of the bullion, it was the object of Dr Tremaine's wrath.

  'Call it an unimaginative throw, Tremaine,' George cried. 'I think it worked well enough.' Then he hefted a bar of gold and heav
ed it at the wounded magician.

  Dr Tremaine ducked and let out an almost animal growl. He glanced at George, then at Aubrey, then at the gold. He glowered, bared his teeth, then, with an enormous effort, he used his damaged hand to extract a glass globe from the inner pocket of his coat. It was the size of an orange, but something green inside it swirled ominously.

  'Look out!' Aubrey shouted, but Dr Tremaine dismissed him with a snarl. He hurled the globe to the floor and immediately the vault was full of dense, white smoke.

  'Stop him!' Aubrey called. 'The door!' He choked, then coughed, and groped for clearer air. The smoke was thick, and stung his eyes. He knew he wouldn't be able to see if an elephant happened to choose that moment to stroll though the Vault Room. He took a step, but collided painfully with a chest of sovereigns.

  'Which door?' George shouted.

  'The Old Man of Albion!'

  At that moment, revolver fire cracked – once, twice, three times. Aubrey dived for where he hoped the floor was and flung his hands over his head. Exactly what good that would do, he wasn't sure, but he was grateful when the floor was where it promised to be.

  A dark-clad figure loomed in front of him. Ears ringing, Aubrey lifted his head, but all he could see were black trousers and a revolver dangling at knee height in front of him. He was relieved to see that the legs in those trousers were infinitely more attractive than Dr Tremaine's.

  'Get up, Aubrey,' Caroline said. 'I think I hit him.'

  'You hit him?'

  'Oh yes. He managed to lock the Old Man of Albion behind him, but I got in three shots before it materialised fully. And I don't miss. Not at that range.'

  'I don't doubt it,' Aubrey said fervently.

  IT TOOK SOME TIME – AND SEVERAL TELEPHONE CALLS – before they could establish their credentials to the satisfaction of the nightwatchman who'd been aroused by the commotion. Despite Aubrey's best efforts at persuasion, he kept them waiting behind the locked, barred gates of the Vault Room. Even after Caroline slid the revolver to him, the nightwatchman continued to eye them with the sort of caution that rabid dogs usually inspired.