After that, Caroline had subsided, smouldering, but as Aubrey passed her, shepherded by the baron on the way to the door, she looked at him pleadingly. She muffled a sob and she reached out for him. He took her hand in both of his, and she immediately completed the grasp with her other hand.
‘Enough,’ the baron said. ‘This way.’
He bustled Aubrey through the door, but Aubrey hardly noticed. Caroline’s little performance had fooled the baron, and for a moment Aubrey had been swept away in it, but when she’d withdrawn her hands, she’d made sure to leave her ring in his, complete with cutting edge.
It was an eminently practical display. A ruse, nothing more, and he was a little wistful at that.
The baron’s photographer was obviously delighted with his job. Even in the prison cells, surrounded by suffering, he was continually prodding Aubrey to turn his face to the camera, or straighten his head, or adjust his jacket. He spoke good Albionish and kept up a commentary, telling Aubrey what he was doing and how Aubrey could look his best.
Aubrey complied with what he hoped looked like pained reluctance, while checking the time at every chance. He was grateful for the Holmland mania for efficiency. Clocks were liberally distributed throughout the complex, like police officers in the streets of Trinovant.
Fifteen minutes. He had fifteen minutes to get himself into a position where George’s distraction would be of use.
While they were on the factory floor he looked for loose cables. When riding the lift he sized up opportunities to disarm guards. He summed up the best routes out of the complex and, when outside, he checked the perimeter fence for blind spots between towers, or shadowed areas, or overhanging trees.
‘Stop!’ the baron called as they made their way through the garden back toward the administration wing. ‘Here. Let us have a photograph of him here.’
The photographer gazed around and grinned. ‘Perfect, Baron von Grolman. The buildings, the gardens ... You have a good eye.’
‘I have a good eye for an opportunity. I want him against the animals. We can tell the Albionites that Fitzwilliam is enjoying himself at our Holmland fun fairs.’
Aubrey gazed up at the giant concrete zebra. Its stripes were faded and flaking in places, but he supposed that wouldn’t show up in the photograph.
‘The tiger would be perfect,’ the photographer suggested. ‘You stand with him, Baron von Grolman, and point up at it.’
‘Like this?’
‘Mr Fitzwilliam, if you please, do look in the direction the baron is pointing. Remember that scowling isn’t the look we’re after. Be impressed. Try opening your mouth and eyes wide.’
Aubrey took a deep breath and did his best to comply.
‘And hold that pose...’ A brilliant flare of flash powder. ‘Capital! What’s next, Baron?’
Baron von Grolman looked at Aubrey and smirked. ‘I think that’s enough, don’t you?’
Aubrey went to answer, but Dr Tremaine, standing to one side, admonished him and held up a wicked throwing knife. ‘Tcha! No speaking, Fitzwilliam.’
Gagged again. When they came back to Baron von Grolman’s office Caroline was gone. Aubrey raised an eyebrow and a glance passed between the baron and Dr Tremaine. ‘She’s safe,’ the baron said. ‘Don’t worry.’
Nothing about von Grolman convinced Aubrey that he was telling the truth. Not his words, his tone of voice, his facial expressions, his stance.
He allowed his gaze to slide over the clock on the wall and he bit hard on the rope. Ten minutes!
He pointed to his gag. Dr Tremaine nodded, but produced his throwing knife and held it to Aubrey’s throat. One of the guards undid the rope and withdrew the by now filthy gag. ‘I want to get this over and done with,’ he said slowly. ‘When can we examine this magical connection?’
‘Eager, aren’t you?’
Aubrey shrugged. ‘I’m curious. I want to know more about it.’
‘You have the passion, don’t you?’
Aubrey realised that he didn’t have to pretend. He couldn’t talk about magic this way to many people. His professors were mostly fusty theoreticians. His non-magical friends could never know what it was like to wrestle with the fundamental force that pervaded the universe, shaping it to one’s will, using language to codify and control it.
It was thrilling.
‘It burns.’ Aubrey looked directly into Dr Tremaine’s eyes. ‘I lie awake, thinking about ways to work it. I dream about alternatives. I imagine what it could do.’
Dr Tremaine grunted. ‘Leave me here with him, von Grolman. I’ve a mind to do some magic.’
The baron was vexed. ‘Are you sure? Shouldn’t I leave some guards?’
‘Don’t be tiresome. If I can’t manage him, then a few guards aren’t going to help. Besides, Fitzwilliam is going to cooperate, aren’t you, boy?’
‘He will if he wants to see his sweetheart again.’
Aubrey could have quibbled with that, as he had some trouble thinking of Caroline as a sweetheart – it sounded too soft and sugary – but he kept mum. ‘And when will I see her again?’
Another significant glance between the baron and Dr Tremaine. ‘We can’t let you go, of course,’ the baron said, ‘but we think you’ll be happy enough under house arrest in Fisherberg. We’ll set you up somewhere comfortable with your ladylove. Nice and convenient, and we’ll know where you are, for when we need to use you for more propaganda.’
Aubrey grimaced. The baron looked satisfied at that, but the grimace wasn’t for the reason the baron thought. For the fleetest of fleeting moments, Aubrey found himself thinking that that fate wasn’t so bad after all. A comfortable house, with Caroline, and not having to worry any more about trying to save the world. With a sigh, he banished the mirage, for mirage he was sure it was. Dr Tremaine may not care much about Aubrey and his fate, but he was certain that the baron wouldn’t want to see Aubrey – or Caroline – still on hand to talk to whoever may want to listen.
Not to mention Caroline’s contempt at agreeing to such a life.
No, things weren’t going to turn out all right. Not without his doing something.
The baron left, the guards left, and Aubrey was left with Dr Tremaine, who sighed. ‘You see what I have to work with?’ He laughed, then flipped his knife up in the air and caught it again. ‘I’ll take the photographic plates with me when I go to Fisherberg tonight, just to make sure they’re properly used. Now, move over there, boy, near the window.’
Thirty-three
Aubrey did as he was told. Outside, the darkness of the woods beckoned, but now to get to the door, he’d have to vault the desk as well as get past Dr Tremaine.
Tremaine started banging drawers open and closed. ‘Now, expel any hopes you have. I’m not about to share my plans or reveal my weaknesses. I’m not going to turn my back on you or allow you one chance to test yourself against me.’ He fixed Aubrey with a stony look. ‘Understand: I’m going to use you, then discard you.’
‘I’m glad that’s settled,’ Aubrey said. ‘Otherwise I’d think you were ill.’
Dr Tremaine roared with laughter. ‘Good effort, Fitzwilliam, you nearly reached panache.’ He pulled a magnifying glass from a drawer. ‘Now, don’t move.’
Aubrey could feel the magic coming from the magnifying glass, a form of amplification on top of a spell derived from the Law of Origins. His hands itched. He wanted to examine it to see if Dr Tremaine had invented the same sort of application he had for his own magic magnifying glass.
Dr Tremaine bowed his head and, for an instant, Aubrey thought he had a chance, but the rogue sorcerer looked up and a brief smile crossed his lips. ‘Don’t.’ Then he shifted his shoulders and stretched his neck. He extended his hands, shaking his cuffs back from his wrists, and launched into a spell.
Aubrey actually took a step backward as Dr Tremaine’s words rolled over him, and he felt the chill of the window at his back. When the magic struck him, it was like being hit by a summer storm. He had to
narrow his eyes as the ex-Sorcerer Royal brought his will to bear and wrought great magic.
Within moments, Aubrey was reminded that he was in the presence of a master. He’d experienced it before and every encounter only reinforced it. With no doubt, no uncertainty and no lack of raw talent, Dr Tremaine routinely attempted magic that no-one ever had before.
Aubrey did his best to take mental notes, but try as he might he couldn’t place the language Dr Tremaine was using. It matched none that he knew, none of the ancient languages that were used in an attempt to get close to the natural language of magic.
The language was clipped and staccato, each syllable pure in its integrity. Aubrey knew that Dr Tremaine must be extolling elements for duration and intensity, for range and for effect, but what were they? What else was he using to grapple and shape raw magic to his will?
Aubrey experienced it then, the not-quite-itch that was the connection between Dr Tremaine and him. It was both a physical and non-physical sensation, where he felt it as absence and presence. As the sorcerer completed his spell the feeling intensified and Aubrey, with his magical awareness, was jolted by the connection. When he concentrated, the rest of the office dimmed and the cord that ran from his chest to Dr Tremaine’s became more solid and appreciable. It was still insubstantial, a softly glowing mirror shine, but it was the strongest he’d ever beheld it.
‘Well, boy?’ Dr Tremaine said and the sense of his words echoed along the cord, along with a taste of Dr Tremaine’s feelings – not disdain, but an almost detached lack of concern. ‘This is what has perturbed you for these months. Unremarkable, really.’
In the unreality of their shared experience, Aubrey’s voice sounded hollow in his own ears. ‘It’s like the golden cord, the one that–’
‘The one that held your body and soul together before whatever lucky accident has recently reunited them.’
Aubrey was about to contradict that hotly when he realised it was true. It had been a lucky accident. Despite all his research and clandestine experiments, he hadn’t been able to reunite his body and soul, and it was only the clash of two aspects of Dr Tremaine’s magic – the neutralised Beccaria Cage and the magical residue from Tremaine’s weather magic – that had welded his body and soul together.
‘The language you used.’ Aubrey stopped, but his curiosity wouldn’t allow him not to go on. ‘I didn’t recognise it.’
Dr Tremaine took his attention from the connector, glancing at Aubrey for an instant. ‘You wouldn’t have. It’s new.’
‘What?’
‘Your Professor Mansfield has been very helpful. And that Lanka Ravi chap.’
Aubrey was taken aback. Professor Mansfield, his missing lecturer in Ancient Languages. Lanka Ravi, the mysterious genius. ‘Wait. You’re telling me that Ravi isn’t dead?’
Dr Tremaine slowly moved the magnifying glass along the cord and didn’t look up. ‘It was a useful story. It prevented people looking for him.’
‘No. He and Professor Mansfield wouldn’t help you. They wouldn’t.’
‘I’m very persuasive. Especially when I know about their families.’
Ruthless perhaps wasn’t the correct word for Dr Tremaine, Aubrey realised. Ruthless implied an ability to countermand one’s conscience. He had serious doubts about Dr Tremaine having had a conscience to begin with.
‘You’re constructing an artificial language.’
‘You’re not altogether dim, are you?’ Dr Tremaine grunted and tossed the magnifying glass on the desk with a dreadful lack of care. ‘The Ritual of the Way has failed in the past because of the failures of language. Even the purest, most ancient languages have inherent ambiguities. My magical language, although based on a selection of ancient tongues, will be free of that.’
Aubrey’s head whirled with the implications of this. Professor Mansfield had been abducted, with the Rashid Stone. And add Lanka Ravi. Dr Tremaine had a pair of formidable intelligences at his call.
‘Now,’ Dr Tremaine said. ‘Quiet. Don’t interrupt me again.’
The room continued to shimmer and shift around them. It was as if Dr Tremaine and he were the only real parts of a tiny universe, the rest being merely shadows, devoid of colour and substance, hints of reality rather than reality itself. To Aubrey’s pseudo-sight, the office walls became ghostly. The desk, the filing cabinets, the letter racks were translucent, shadows of what they were.
Dr Tremaine ignored him. The great sorcerer was frowning, a hand rubbing his chin, as he studied the connection. His magical awareness was fixed on it in his efforts to understand its composition. The ferocity of his attention was staggering, as if simply by an act of will he could parse the connection, apprehend all its constituents, grasp its making, and immediately concoct improvements and devise other applications.
Aubrey hesitated. This was his chance, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Part of him simply wanted to stand back and watch the master magician at work. Some of this was selfish, simply wanting to learn from a unique practitioner, but most of it was born of automatic respect.
Magicians respected magicians, colleague to colleague, initiate to initiate. Good magic was approved of, clever spell casting was appreciated, articles were published in journals to spread knowledge. Of course there was jealousy, but the field of magic was renowned for its collegiality. Magicians readily shared findings, understanding that a group approach in the exploration of magical fields was best.
In Dr Tremaine, Aubrey had the chance to watch a once-in-a-lifetime magician – perhaps the magician of the ages – so he stood and watched when he may have been able to do something.
Dr Tremaine’s fearsome scowl increased, if anything. He reached out, hand extended, and grasped the insubstantial connection.
Aubrey gasped and stumbled forward, his eyes wide. It was impossible – such connections were intangible – but Dr Tremaine had actually taken hold of it.
‘Steady, boy,’ Dr Tremaine growled absently, as he raised the connector to his eyes to examine it more closely. Aubrey’s amazement was nudged up another notch when Dr Tremaine actually sniffed at it before looking thoughtful.
The tug of the connector had set Aubrey back like a solid blow in the midriff. It had reminded him, uncomfortably, of the constant battle he’d had to hold his body and soul together. The wrenching hadn’t been just a physical thing. It was a spiritual buffet, something that affected him on a level beyond the mere bodily.
He had an idea. So simple, it was, and yet it was only because of his unique situation that he could see it.
Connection. The whole self-evident truth about connections was that they work in two ways. If Aubrey could duplicate Dr Tremaine’s extraordinary handling of their connection, he may be able to do more than knock him off balance.
Aubrey had something in his favour. Out of the battling to keep his body and soul connected, he had a special appreciation of the phenomenon – and because he’d suffered, he had a tolerance for the discomfort involved. So if anything he did rebounded on him, he was sure he would be able to endure it – and his hope was that Dr Tremaine may not be so inured.
The connector was about the thickness of a fire hose. It hovered between them, undulating slightly as if weightless, and with a ghostliness about it that signalled its preternatural qualities. It was like an object that had moved while being photographed, making it slightly blurred. Nonetheless, it was familiar. It belonged to him. It had an Aubreyness about it that he could feel, but it was mixed with the overpowering presence of Dr Tremaine.
He recalled that Dr Tremaine hadn’t uttered a spell before he grasped the connector. This suggested that the ability to do so must be inherent, part of the natural expression of the connection itself and the people it connected.
Aubrey glanced at Dr Tremaine. He had lowered the connector and had placed both hands in front of him. He was rubbing them together slowly. His eyes didn’t move from contemplating the connector itself.
Slowly, Aubrey shifted his stan
ce. Tiny, tiny movements, nothing to concern anyone, and soon he was turned sideways to Dr Tremaine, his body shielding what he was about to do next.
Without taking his eyes from the connector, he extended his left hand. Delicately, he touched it with his fingers – and had to steel himself against the flood of sensation. Mingled with a welter of confusion, he had the sensation of utter familiarity. This was something that belonged to him, as recognisable as his own nose.
He grasped the connector more firmly, barely daring to breathe. Then, with his other hand, he scratched his head.
Such an innocent movement, he hoped that Dr Tremaine – if he were aware at all – would see it for what it was. Harmless. Not threatening in any way – so Aubrey could drop his hand from his head to join the other one grasping the connector.
At that, Dr Tremaine looked up – in time to see Aubrey to seize the connector and heave.
Aubrey had steadied himself, ready for the effort, and he put his back into it, dragging for all he was worth. Dr Tremaine was taken completely by surprise. He bellowed, pulled forward and entirely off balance. Before he could use his extraordinary reflexes to recover himself, though, Aubrey snapped the connector like a whip.
A great curve hurtled along the connector and Dr Tremaine’s forward staggering motion was instantly arrested. He was flung backward and crashed into the wall behind him.
The connector dissolved – and Aubrey had his chance.
The exposed beam that divided the room in half was integral to supporting the weight of the two storeys on top of it. Using the most powerful magic he could summon quickly, Aubrey altered its dimensions. In an instant, the beam became a single point – and thereby incapable of holding the weight of the building above it.
So, as Aubrey leaped for the door, the building collapsed.
The thunderous crash behind him sent a billow of dust through the door and a gust of displaced air that threw him off his feet, but by then he had enough momentum to roll, come to his feet, and continue running. He hunched his shoulders as he went, fully expecting a shot or a bolt of snarling magic, but it was from in front that he had to worry, as four Holmland troops rushed around the corner ahead of him.
Moment of Truth Page 33
