‘The guards are coming back?’
‘With reinforcements, most likely.’
‘I had hoped we’d have more time,’ Aubrey said. ‘We haven’t learned much, not really.’
‘Quickly then.’ Von Stralick picked up the rake he’d dropped. ‘Take the lantern.’
They ran through the gardens to the house, approaching from the west. Von Stralick didn’t slow down as they sprinted up the broad stairs from the gardens and across the terrace. He used the rake as a jousting lance and crashed through the glass doors. ‘No time for finesse!’ he cried.
Together, they lurched through the debris into a sunroom that was lavishly laid out with wicker furniture and a grove or two of potted palms. Gingerly, von Stralick brushed splinters of glass from his jacket.
Aubrey remembered the Directorate training facility, another handsome estate that had been taken over by military. Some things would, of necessity, be the same. ‘Somewhere on the ground floor should be an operations room. Near the front door?’
They found it off the entrance hall. Once, it had probably been the grand dining room, but instead of a long table and heraldic banners it was fully stocked with desks, each with typewriter and telephone, plus extensive pigeon holes on the walls for routing of documents.
While von Stralick hurried among the desks, glancing at documents that looked promising, Aubrey cast about in a circle, feeling for any trace of magic but being frustrated when all he could detect were mild touches in too many different places. Nothing outrageous, nothing promising at all.
To judge from the dowel hanging on the walls, and the traces of paper caught in them, maps had been torn down and disposed of. Smouldering remains in the huge fireplace showed that files and documents had also been eliminated. He stirred the ashes with a poker, hoping to find something that had only been half-burned, but whoever had had that job had been extremely thorough. The ashes were uniformly black and useless.
With a grunt, von Stralick used both hands to pick up a head-sized lump of stone from the mantelpiece. He rolled it over in his hands. ‘Remarkable.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Aubrey stared at the banded stone, dark green and blue, glittering in the lantern light.
‘This is Green Johannes stone.’
‘I’m pleased about that, but don’t we have more important things to worry about?’
‘I’m surprised to see it here. When I’m surprised, I become curious – and since I’ve seen how you respond to your curiosity I’ve decided to listen to mine.’
‘Tell me then, Hugo – what’s surprising about Green Johannes?’
‘Johannes stone is only found in one tiny mine near Korsur, just on the Holmland side of the Gallian border. It comes in a number of varieties and Green Johannes is very, very rare.’
Aubrey looked up from the undeniably attractive striped stone. Something buried in his memory was struggling to make itself known, trying to rise above the snippets of information, the sawn-off ends of ideas and the half-formed conclusions that swirled about in the deepest recesses of his mind.
‘Valuable, is it?’
‘Greatly. It’s worth a thousand times more than Brown Johannes, a hundred times more than Blue Johannes –’
‘I see the pattern, Hugo. It’s the most valuable Johannes stone there is.’
‘Apart from Crystal Johannes, but the last of that was mined a hundred years ago.’ Von Stralick hefted the shapeless stone. ‘This is freshly extracted. See? It hasn’t been worked or polished.’
‘Which is all well and good, Hugo, but what’s your point?’
‘I’m not sure. Again, like you, where Dr Tremaine is concerned I take note of anything out of the ordinary.’ Von Stralick carefully replaced the Green Johannes on the mantelpiece.
Aubrey’s memory wasn’t being cooperative. He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t have known that lump of stone was out of the ordinary.’
‘That is where you’re fortunate to be associated with a Green Johannes collector.’
‘To tell you the truth, Hugo, I have trouble thinking of you as a collector.’
‘Fitzwilliam, you still have much to learn about the spying business. When I was a cultural attaché to various Holmland embassies, being a collector gave me good reason to be out and about, poking my nose into various emporia. I became quite an expert in Green Johannes ware, to my surprise.’
‘Where’s your collection now?’
‘Probably in the home of one of the Chancellor’s good friends.’ He glanced at Aubrey. ‘I do not want you to think that my antipathy toward the Chancellor and his cronies is due to my collection’s being stolen. I’m much less straightforward than that.’
‘Hugo, I promise: I’ll never think you’re straightforward.’
Von Stralick looked wistfully at the lump of stone. ‘It’s a fine specimen.’
‘Don’t worry. Once we’ve sorted out all this mess, I’ll help you start your collection again. I think we have a pair of candlesticks made out of the stuff, up in the attic somewhere. I’m sure Mother and Father wouldn’t miss them.’
Especially since Mother called them ghastly and bundled them away as soon as she could.
‘That is decent of you,’ von Stralick said. ‘And I use that word carefully, knowing what it means to you Albionites.’
‘In a land of understatement, there is no higher praise than being called decent.’
Von Stralick put a finger to his lips. ‘I have an idea.’ He strode from the operations room.
Aubrey decided to continue investigating the operations room. He began rummaging through the nearest Out tray, looking for incriminating invoices or delivery dockets, something to give concrete evidence of the comings and goings, but all he found were internal documents. It was as if the outside world didn’t exist.
This room had been the centre of Dr Tremaine’s activities for over a month. It was inconceivable that he could leave no trace of what he’d been up to. If Aubrey had time he was sure he could find something, but admiring a piece of undeniably handsome stone had meant little time was left before the lorry would arrive.
‘We have to go,’ von Stralick snapped as he rushed back into the operations room.
‘Did you find anything useful?’
‘I found the switchboard. Three operators, it had, if each required a chair. No documents, but as I hoped, one of them had used a pencil on the counter to list frequently called exchanges. I have them. They may be of some use.’
He handed Aubrey a scrap of paper. ‘Many of the numbers are in Fisherberg, but more are in Bardenford.’
‘That’s only natural. Bardenford is the nearest major city to the estate. The others?’
‘Scattered around Holmland, the important cities and ports, Stalsfrieden on the border with Gallia.’ Von Stralick tapped the list with a finger. ‘The only oddity is the exchange listing for Korsur.’
Aubrey frowned. Why was a Holmland village, the home of Green Johannes, featuring in Dr Tremaine’s schemes? ‘I may have an idea.’
Von Stralick stopped. ‘You have no shortage of ideas. Tell me, though: is it a good one?’
Aubrey answered a question with a question. ‘What’s your experience with interrogation, Hugo?’
‘I’ve been on both sides. I prefer to be the one asking the questions.’
‘You can do it humanely?’
‘Ah, now there’s a question.’ Von Stralick took his time before answering. ‘In my view, torture is a most unreliable way of obtaining information. People will tell you anything to make it stop, so how do you know what to believe?’
‘You’ve done this?’
‘I’ve seen it done by stupid people and by people who thought they were clever. It is distasteful.’
‘But the other way. You can get information from people without using torture?’
‘I have my methods.’
‘Good. When these guards come back, what do you say to capturing them and getting information out of them?’
<
br /> Von Stralick nodded sharply and, together, they ran from the operations room – but just before Aubrey left, he snatched a handful of rubber bands from one of the desks.
AUBREY AND VON STRALICK POSITIONED THEMSELVES IN the bushes on either side of the stairs that led from the doors of the main house. From there, they could see the gates; soon, the lorry, after complaining its way up the steepest part of the ascent, lumbered through the entrance to the estate.
Aubrey had one hand in the pocket of his jacket as the lorry crunched its way along the gravel of the driveway, white in the night-time. He was prepared. He’d put together a spell using the Law of Amplification, the Law of Action at a Distance and the Law of Propensity and he was confident. The guards would be in the one place at the one time and he was sure he could bind them with the ensorcelled rubber bands.
The headlights of the lorry flashed across the bushes as it followed the curve to the main entrance. Aubrey couldn’t help but duck, even though he was well hidden.
With a screech of brakes, the lorry pulled up. One of the guards alighted, followed by the broad-shouldered driver. They stood inspecting the main house as if they’d never seen it before and Aubrey waited, frustrated, for the others to climb down from the rear of the lorry.
Aubrey ground his teeth. If he enacted his spell now he could lose the advantage of surprising the other guards, but if he waited, they’d separate and he could lose the chance.
Von Stralick nudged him and glared. Aubrey parted the bushes, squinted, then quickly stood and threw the rubber bands. He chanted the spell and then ducked again, joining von Stralick scuttling through the vegetation along the front of the house.
When they reached the corner of the house, they had a good line of sight. Aubrey’s magical awareness allowed him to see the enspelled rubber bands, hooping through the air toward the unsuspecting guards. The bands were expanding as they went and moving with a single intent like a flock of birds. He clenched his fist and, silently, cheered them on.
At the last moment, the shorter of the guards looked up and cried out, but it was too late. The bands swooped, and in an instant they were looping and tangling in precisely the way Aubrey’s spell had encouraged them.
Aubrey was on his feet and running as the oaths and cries came from the guards. Von Stralick overtook him. When the Holmlander reached the knot of swearing intruders on the gravel, he leaned against the lorry and yawned. He brandished his revolver. ‘Do not move,’ he said, in Holmlandish, ‘if you value your life.’
Immediately, all struggling ceased. A throaty female voice responded. ‘Hugo, I hope you have a way out of this mess, for all our sakes.’
Von Stralick leaped as if the lorry had suddenly become red hot. ‘Zelinka? What are you doing here?’
‘Helping my friend George Doyle find you two, of course. Now, get me out of here.’
THE DRAWING ROOM OF THE MAIN HOUSE HAD remained a drawing room, even while the rest of the place had been taken over by Dr Tremaine and his lackeys. It remained, however, a drawing room of a Holmland hunting lodge, which meant that it was full of furniture that was so heavy that each piece could be used to anchor a battleship. The walls were panelled with depressingly dark wood, but only a little of this could be seen in between the hunting trophies that made Aubrey think, as soon as he entered the room, that entire walls were looking at him.
The trophies were the stuffed and mounted heads of beasts that had proven they were slower, duller or unluckier than their comrades. Many of these were local animals – boar, a bear or two, even a few desperately unfortunate wolves – but some had obviously been brought in from far, far away. Unless, Aubrey reflected, a circus had become lost, crashed, and a horde of jungle animals had taken up residence in the woods of the Alemmani Mountains.
After von Stralick did his best to convince a sceptical Madame Zelinka that his gaunt appearance wasn’t a true reflection of his state of health, she sat on a vast leather sofa and, with some distaste, set about combing through her hair with her fingers to get rid of the remnants of the ensorcelled rubber bands. Her dark green, no-nonsense skirt and jacket were also sporting the remains of the rubber and von Stralick stood behind her, picking it off her shoulders.
George sat in an armchair, ran a hand over his short military crop, shrugged, glanced at his nondescript black trousers and jacket, shrugged again, then jammed a beret back on his head. ‘Lovely place. Have you had it long?’
Aubrey was delighted to see his old friend again, but his presence – and the presence of the mysterious Madame Zelinka – posed a thousand questions. Not the least of them concerned the whereabouts and health of Caroline Hepworth, and it had taken all of Aubrey’s strength of character not to try to shake the answer out of George in the driveway.
Aubrey couldn’t sit. He paced the room, back and forward in front of a dormant fireplace wide enough to roast an entire ox.
‘What were you doing driving a Holmland lorry?’ von Stralick asked.
‘We were coming up the mountain as it was coming down,’ Madame Zelinka said. ‘My Enlightened Ones insisted that I would be more comfortable driving than walking, so they took it.’
Von Stralick chuckled, rounded the sofa and sat by her side. ‘And the guards who were in this lorry?’
‘They are out there, in the woods. Under the watch of my people.’
‘What did you do to them, old man?’ George asked Aubrey. ‘They were terrified.’
‘I threw a scare into them. A magical scare.’
‘They panicked when they thought we were going to drag them back to this place. Quite happy, they were, to be tied up to trees.’
‘No doubt.’ Aubrey remembered their terror. ‘Now, George, what on earth are you doing here?’
George surrendered. ‘You win, Madame Z.’
‘If you insist. One of these Albionish wagering games,’ she said to a puzzled von Stralick. ‘Doyle wagered that he knew what question Fitzwilliam would ask first, and I had to guess another.’
Von Stralick was perplexed. ‘Your winnings?’
Madame Zelinka shrugged. Her face, usually grave, had a hint of a smile. ‘He owes me a favour. I shall call on it some time.’
George blinked. ‘Er … Not when it’s too inconvenient, if you don’t mind.’
‘What is inconvenient for you may be convenient for me. We shall see.’
Aubrey could never resist a sidetrack. ‘And what was the question you thought I’d ask first, George?’
‘I thought you’d ask about Caroline, old man.’ George grinned.
‘Ah.’
‘Remarkable strength of character, your forbearance. Before we get to her, though, you need to know that Madame Z and her pals have come over to our side.’
Madame Zelinka made a face. ‘We have not come over to your side, Doyle. How many times have I told you this?’
‘Probably a few dozen,’ George said. ‘All the way from Trinovant to here, if I recall correctly.’
‘We have ways and means to cross borders,’ Madame Zelinka said, responding to Aubrey’s naked curiosity. ‘The Enlightened Ones always have.’
‘Which is why the Directorate contacted them, apparently,’ George said. ‘Commander Craddock was hoping that they might be able to do something.’
‘This is only the third time in our history that we have abandoned our neutrality,’ Madame Zelinka said. ‘It is not done lightly, but Dr Tremaine …’
Aubrey jumped in. ‘Your people see the threat that Dr Tremaine is posing to the world?’
‘It is greater than you imagine, perhaps.’
‘Greater than destroying nations?’ George said. ‘Greater than killing hundreds of thousands of people?’
Madame Zelinka shook her head. ‘The wisest magicians in our order think that he aims to control magic himself.’ She looked at Aubrey. ‘Have you heard that he has been abducting magicians from all over the world?’
‘After seeing unwilling magicians being delivered here, I’d pu
t two and two together.’
‘They are here?’
‘They’re gone now.’
She hissed through her teeth for a moment. ‘The magicians are part of his plan.’
‘How? What?’
‘We think that he has found a way to use their magical ability, whether they are willing or not.’
‘As if we needed another reason to stop him,’ George said gruffly.
‘Tell me about Albion,’ Aubrey said abruptly. ‘What about Mother and Father?’
George crossed his arms. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that your father did exactly as you wanted. You’ve been declared a traitor and you’ve been vilified the length and breadth of the land.’
‘Ah. That’s good.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that it was good, but it was enough to save your father and the Progressive government, as you’d hoped. In fact, having been betrayed by a blackhearted villain of a son has actually gained Sir Darius a great deal of public sympathy.’
‘Splendid,’ Aubrey muttered.
George went on. ‘An ungrateful son, one who shunned his father’s example and spurned all that Albion had to offer.’
‘I think I understand the picture, George.’
‘Speaking of pictures, Holmland has supplied some of those photographs they took, with your being chummy with Baron von Grolman and the like.’
Aubrey sighed. ‘It was inevitable.’
‘While the newspapers aren’t printing them just yet, they’re all making reference to them. How you’re breaking the heart of your mother, betraying your country to the enemy, the promising talent who became the Turn-coat Thaumaturge, the Wicked Wizard, the Malignant Magician, the Dreadful Young Man.’
‘Dreadful Young Man?’
‘That was the Daily Post. They always have unconvincing headlines.’
Madame Zelinka tapped the armrest of the sofa. ‘I think that is enough, Doyle.’
‘Just giving him the flavour of the press.’ George fiddled with a cuff for a moment. ‘When news of the photographs was made public, the uproar was astounding, but thanks to your warning, at least everyone was calling for your head, old man, rather than calling for your father’s.’
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