Word of Honour

by Michael Pryor

  He gasped when he finished, slapped by a wracking pain, but was astonished when he saw his spell create a jet black rod, two yards or more in length, a few inches in diameter. It appeared out of the air and toppled into the heart of the flame – his absorption metaphor made real.

  For an instant, the flame buckled, then it roared back as fierce as ever.

  Aubrey repeated the spell, gritting his teeth against the combination of pain and fatigue that assaulted him.

  Another rod appeared and joined the first.

  This time, Aubrey had no doubt. The flame flinched. It folded in on itself, wavered, but then jetted upward again in defiance.

  Aubrey cast the spell again. And again. And again. His throat grew hoarse, his vision blurred.

  He lost count of the rods that popped into existence and fell into the flame. The fire collapsed, grew again, collapsed, wavered, grew and collapsed until Aubrey was lost in a haze of light, sound and magic.

  And pain.

  It was the quiet that made Aubrey stop. He found it hard to breathe. He couldn't move his head and he struggled to lift his gaze.

  The flame was gone.

  Twenty-four

  CRADDOCK'S OPERATIVES FOUND THE EXHAUSTED AND battered Aubrey, Caroline and George stumbling through the tunnels after freeing themselves. Through a haze of pain and fatigue, Aubrey listened to their explanations as they half-dragged him through the tunnels.

  Dr Tremaine's urbomancy had set off multiple alarms in the Magisterium's magic monitoring department. The intensity of the magic was enough for Craddock to send a Flying Squad to find the source of such a gargantuan disturbance. Too late to have been of any assistance in quelling the magical fire, but well timed to render some useful first aid.

  Dimly, Aubrey was glad Craddock insisted on physical fitness in his operatives. Shivering, he leaned heavily on the two agents who assisted him and he let his head loll. It was simply too much effort to hold it up. Besides, he'd seen more than enough tunnel to last him a lifetime.

  A WEEK LATER, AUBREY WAS AT ST ALBAN'S, MUCH recovered and studying hard, when the door opened. A large cardboard box entered. Carrying the box, sweating and panting, was George.

  Instantly, Aubrey was on his feet. He winced at a dull pain in his back, but was inordinately pleased, too. A week ago, after the efforts of quelling the magical flame, he was in a horrible condition – weak, aching, shivering uncontrollably, wincing at bright light. Leaping out of chairs would have been right out of the question. 'What's the news?'

  George didn't answer. Gently, he placed the box on his desk. Whistling a tune, he cut the string with penknife and opened the package.

  'George?'

  George raised an eyebrow, but simply continued his whistling. He reached into the box and pulled out a small, muslin-wrapped bundle, which he tossed to Aubrey.

  Aubrey unwrapped it. 'Ham?' He sniffed it and the savoury aroma made his mouth water, his appetite a sure sign that his condition had improved.

  Another bundle sailed toward him. Hastily, he put the ham on his desk in time to catch a cold roast chicken wrapped in a linen tea towel. Looking up, he found a jar coming at him. He let out a yelp, but managed to catch it in the crook of one arm. He had time to see that the jar was full of pickled onions before he had to put down both it and the chicken. More foodstuffs were arcing toward him.

  George kept whistling and kept up a barrage – sausage, gherkins, relish, mustard, loaves of freshly baked bread, two large bottles of ginger beer, apples, pears.

  With frantic speed, Aubrey caught each of the flying foods and added them to the growing pile on his desk.

  When George flung two enamel plates his way, Aubrey plucked them out of the air and waved them over his head. 'Enough! Enough!'

  George grinned. 'I thought you'd never surrender.' He peeked into the box and took out a bread knife. 'Good timing, as I only had these left.' He held up two stoneware mugs, which he proceeded to fill with ginger beer. 'A toast, before we feast.'

  Aubrey took his mug and tasted the ginger beer. He looked sharply at George. 'This is yours, isn't it?'

  'From Mother's special stock.'

  'And the ham. That's yours too.'

  'When only the best will do.'

  Aubrey surveyed the fare spread out on his desk. His textbooks were buried under edibles. 'The news is good, I take it.'

  'We're not going to lose the farm.'

  Aubrey held out his mug. 'Here's to the Doyle family,' he said. 'And the Doyle family farm.'

  'Hear, hear.' George drank deeply, then filled his mug again. He pulled out his chair and sagged into it. 'I can't tell you how relieved I am.'

  'Oh, I think I have a fair idea. Now, tell me, how did this all come about?'

  'Rokeby-Taylor.'

  To steady himself, Aubrey sat on the bed. 'Of all the things I thought you were going to say, that wasn't one of them.'

  'Well, once we alerted the authorities to Rokeby- Taylor's involvement in Tremaine's schemes, it was shock all round, it seems. It turns out that the bank that had our loan was one of his, and the manager was one of his underlings. Through some shifty business he brought things to a head, after actually organising the landslip in the first place. A bit of water magic, apparently.'

  'I could have discovered that,' Aubrey said. 'Some poking around, a few questions here and there.'

  'And I'm glad you didn't, old man, having given your word and all that.'

  Aubrey had nothing to say. He didn't deserve such gratitude for doing nothing. But on the other hand, he had done something: he'd kept his word, even though it ran against all his instincts. 'And now,' he said, 'we have an exhibition opening to go to.'

  George glanced at his watch, an action that caused Aubrey a pang over the fate of his own. 'Half an hour. Plenty of time to freshen up.' He stood and dusted crumbs from his chest. 'What is Mrs Hepworth's show about this time? Any sort of theme or title or such?'

  '"The Frontier of the New", which doesn't say much, I suppose. I'm going with an open mind.'

  'As you should.'

  THE EXHIBITION WAS AT THE GREYTHORN GALLERY IN THE town. This was a blocky new building, two-storeyed, with many windows. Looking at it, Aubrey imagined that the county would now be overrun with retired glaziers looking for something to spend their money on.

  On their walk to the gallery, Aubrey was still puzzling over Rokeby-Taylor's part in the plot against George's father. George had no further light to shed on it. They walked up the stairs and into the entrance hall of the gallery, only to run into the unexpected pair of Tallis and Craddock. Sounds like a pair music hall of music hall performers, Aubrey thought. Put your hands together for Tallis and Craddock – a song, a joke and some questionable interrogation methods! He didn't give them a chance to speak.

  'Rokeby-Taylor,' he said without any preliminaries. 'Why would he want to ruin George's father?'

  To give Craddock his due, he played an immaculate forward defence. 'That's where the personal becomes the political.'

  Tallis nodded, hands behind his back. 'It was part of a larger plan.'

  And when is anything not, these days? Aubrey thought.

  A stream of people came up the stairs, chattering and oblivious to the discreet meeting that was being held in the entrance hall. Society's finest disappeared through the glass doors into the exhibition room, ready to explore the Frontier of the New, while sipping champagne and nibbling on carefully constructed canapés.

  Tallis eyed these art lovers with suspicion, but went on. 'Rokeby-Taylor was trying to get at the Prime Minister through those close to him. At least, that's what the bank manager claimed during interrogation. It was all a plot to divert the Prime Minister, burden him with worries, to affect his judgement, his decision-making.'

  George muttered a series of colourful oaths. Aubrey felt they were too mild.

  This was the third plot that was directly aimed at people around Aubrey's father. First came the attempts on his mother's life, then her
near abduction on the high seas, and now this. While it may have looked like sound strategy – distracting the Prime Minister made good, if distasteful, sense – Aubrey had a feeling that it was more personal than that. Added to that the fact that Dr Tremaine had once kidnapped his father and was on the verge of doing him physical harm before thwarted, Aubrey was starting to wonder if Dr Tremaine's interest in his father had a special edge.

  'A very subtle plan,' Craddock said. 'Tell me, did Rokeby-Taylor strike either of you as a subtle man?'

  'Quite the opposite.' Aubrey leaned against one of the half-pillars that decorated the walls.

  'Since your report on Rokeby-Taylor's demise,' Tallis said, 'we've done considerable checking into the man's affairs. It seems that he had a manager who was the business mind, taking care of all financial matters while Rokeby-Taylor swanned around, making contacts and greasing up to people. Interestingly, this Mr Ingles studied business in Holmland.'

  'And so I'd say he won't see the outside of one of His Majesty's prisons for some time,' Craddock said. 'We can continue our chats with him there.'

  'And this plan to ruin George's family?' Aubrey asked.

  'Who do you think could invent such a scheme, if Rokeby-Taylor was incapable of it?' Craddock asked.

  'Dr Tremaine.'

  'So it would appear,' Craddock said.

  'One thing that still puzzles me,' Aubrey said.

  'And what is that?' Craddock asked. Tallis eyed him suspiciously.

  'Why are you two here?'

  'In Greythorn?' Tallis said.

  'At this exhibition.'

  'A number of reasons,' Craddock said, after several significant glances were shared between the two men. 'We were invited, for one. We've both known Ophelia Hepworth for years.'

  'Superb artist,' Tallis growled, 'not afraid to experiment with space and perspective.'

  So unexpected was the artistic insight, for an instant Aubrey was sure that Tallis had vanished and an alien had taken his place.

  Craddock went on. 'And Professor Mansfield is another reason. We're wondering why she left so suddenly for Aigyptos, so visiting Greythorn was a useful start.'

  Aubrey drew on his years of amateur dramatics and constructed the best puzzled face of all time. 'Aigyptos?'

  'We know she's been there before,' Tallis said, 'and is friends with the Sultan, so it's no real surprise. The haste was, though. Sudden leave of absence, mid-term?'

  The silence that stretched out after this observation was not embarrassed, nor awkward. It was more like a challenge.

  Aubrey was surprised when Craddock cracked first. 'I'm keen to get in to see the paintings,' he said. 'Rumours are that Ophelia has done something extraordinary with light.'He glanced at Aubrey. 'Did you hear that the Rashid Stone was stolen from the Museum?'

  'Rashid Stone? Museum?' Aubrey said.

  'Stolen?' George supplied, to round out the set.

  'Well, if that display doesn't convince us that you know nothing about it, I don't know what would,' Craddock said dryly.

  'The gang of thieves that was rounded up at the museum were quite forthcoming,' Tallis said. 'They claimed they'd been hired to steal the Rashid Stone, but had been prevented by magical defences. They couldn't tell us who contracted them either. A mysterious man, was all they could provide, and they were being most helpful by that time.' He studied Aubrey. 'Your information that Rokeby-Taylor was involved with this scheme tallies with this perfectly.'

  'I had some of my best operatives search the workshop for magical residue,' Craddock said, 'but we'd waited too long and couldn't find a thing.'

  Aubrey's heart restarted. 'Pity.'

  'So we seem to have a mystery here, which shouldn't surprise us,' Craddock said, 'mysteries being the order of the day, lately.'

  'Lovely,' George said, but his attention seemed to be on the people entering rather than fully on the conversation. 'But you haven't really answered Aubrey's question. Why are you both here? Why didn't you just abduct us if you wanted a chat?'

  Again, Craddock and Tallis shared a look.

  Tallis cleared his throat. 'Apparently one of Tremaine's plans was to sow discord between our two services. Futile, obviously, but it was felt that a united front may be the best thing to present for a few months. In public, most particularly.'

  'You're on your best behaviour!' George said, delighted. 'You've been scolded and now you have to put your best foot forward!' Both men looked as if they'd sucked on a lemon apiece. 'That's a rather simple view,' Craddock said.

  'But not incorrect,' George said.

  Aubrey kept a straight face. He could only think of one person who could bring about such a rapprochement between the two men. He hoped his reports had been of assistance to his father in this matter.

  'Some other news we thought you'd like to know,' Tallis said. 'Count Brandt and his people have all been arrested.'

  'You've taken them into custody? What for?'

  'Ah. You haven't heard?' Tallis said. 'We didn't arrest them.'

  'At their request, Count Brandt and a number of his most influential people were conveyed to a remote part of the Holmland coast in a submersible, in order to arrive undetected,' Craddock said. 'The Rokeby-Taylor experimental submersible.'

  'The Electra? How on earth did they organise that?'

  'Rokeby-Taylor,' Tallis said. 'Before his demise and exposure, he still had influence. He had an audience with the King and apparently explained how brave and noble Brandt and his crowd were. With royal backing, Rokeby- Taylor was able to convince the navy that Brandt should have the blasted thing.'

  'Their plan was to meet with the leaders of this Circle, the secret opposition group in Holmland,' Tallis said. 'Arriving undetected was vital, so they could spend time gathering their strength, meeting key people, planning and so on.'

  Aubrey had that most useless of premonitions – one that happens just a split-second before the event. He knew what Craddock was about to say.

  'The Circle was a hoax. It was carefully constructed by a branch of the Holmland intelligence services to appear like a real, functioning dissident group. It meant that they were able to know exactly what Count Brandt and his crowd were up to, and move in on them as appropriate. They've been taken and the experimental submersible captured.'

  Aubrey's heart sank. All those innovations, financed by Albion, built by the best Albion minds, now in the hands of Holmland. He now saw that the first attempt on Count Brandt's life – the thunderstorm spell – was just a way of nudging Count Brandt into action. Nothing like a deadly attack to make someone feel their foes meant business – and that they needed counter-attacking.

  Craddock nodded. 'I have a suspicion that the whole business with Count Brandt and the Circle was really a ruse to get hold of the submersible. First, they tried to destroy it, but someone must have suggested this complex plan to steal it.'

  'Complex plan. That's a synonym for "Dr Tremaine", isn't it?' Aubrey rubbed his temples. 'How were Count Brandt and his people captured?'

  Tallis glowered with, it appeared, some pleasure. 'The Great Manfred was with them. He promised to introduce them to key members of the Circle, but instead he handed them over. He'd been in constant contact with a branch of their intelligence agencies.'

  Aubrey's head spun. 'Wait. Manfred was one of ours. A counter-spy.'

  'So we thought,' Tallis said. He glanced at Craddock. 'It seemed he was playing a double game.'

  'A double-double game,' Aubrey corrected absently, as his mind raced through the implications. He felt suddenly chill when he remembered how Manfred was eager to get him to Fisherberg.

  Perhaps there were four plans to get at the Prime Minister through those closest to him.

  George snorted. 'I don't know what the world's coming to. If you can't trust a counter-spy, who can you trust?'

  'Brandt was sending money to the Circle,' Aubrey said. 'With the best intentions.'

  Tallis and Craddock both looked pained. 'A great deal of money,'
Craddock said. 'It was a superb scheme.'

  'All's not lost. The money we've been pouring into the Holmland treasury this way will be balanced neatly by the fairy gold the Imperator is taking over there,' Tallis said.

  'The Imperator is on its way?' Aubrey said.

  'A lovely birthday present for the Elektor,' Craddock said.

  'What about Count Brandt?' George asked. 'What about his people?'

  'They're in Harsgard Prison,' Tallis said bleakly.

  Aubrey knew that Harsgard Prison was notorious for 'incidents'. Many who went into the place never left.

  Craddock took out a notebook. 'On more magical matters – if you'll excuse us, Tallis – you haven't had any more thoughts on the nature of the magic Dr Tremaine was wielding?'

  It had also been the Magisterium who'd freed Maggie's Crew. After painstaking, meticulous work, they were removed from the array through a combination of careful stabilising magic and delicate engineering, but their recovery needed long-term treatment. They were still in the care of the specialised team at St Michael's Hospital, but the latest outlook was positive.

  Other squads of Magisterium operatives had spread through the under-city, mapping Tremaine's tunnels and beginning the work of disconnecting his underground web. Trinovant had experienced more than the usual number of disruptions to trains, water and electricity, but in a city where grumbling was as natural as breathing, it simply made everyone feel vaguely satisfied that they had a hard lot.

  'On urbomancy?' Aubrey said. 'I want to do some more research. It might be important, it might be nothing. I'll need more time.' And the assistance of Professor Mansfield, when she gets back after her little job.

  Professor Mansfield had been only too happy to return the Rashid Stone to her good friend the Sultan, especially after Aubrey showed her the mysterious fragment. She was just as fervent in her desire to return the stone to its rightful owners as Lady Rose was.