Time of Trial

by Michael Pryor

  Aubrey was glad that the city architects and town planners of Fisherberg worked on generous proportions. The streets were wide, the pavements substantial, the way well lit. This meant that he could walk alongside Caroline instead of having to trail behind the Hepworths like some sort of flunky. He did, the three of them walking side by side for some time. They told him about their earlier times in the city, the places they’d enjoyed, the delights it had to offer.

  Then Mrs Hepworth quickened her pace a little, striding ahead a dozen or so steps, just at a time when Caroline slowed. Aubrey, of course, matched her pace.

  ‘Mother is discreet,’ Caroline said softly. ‘I didn’t even have to ask her.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Aubrey said, confused.

  ‘She knew I’d want to find out what you’ve been up to since leaving Albion. She’s giving us a chance.’

  Aubrey admired Caroline’s mother, and was thankful for her modern outlook. As well as being an outstanding artist, she was a famous free-thinker, one of the most progressive women in Albion. Her views on raising her daughter were generally thought of as scandalous, but she never cared for public opinion.

  And, Aubrey had found, she treated him well – better than he probably deserved.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘We started on a train.’

  Aubrey was conscious of Mrs Hepworth leading the way, not far ahead, and he kept the report as concise as possible. Caroline was shocked when he told her of Manfred’s reappearance, and she gasped when he described his plummet from the train. She wrinkled her immaculate brow at the details of the brigand encounter, but the near-fatal raft trip through the gorge only made her smile.

  ‘It wasn’t funny,’ he said stiffly. ‘Not at the time.’

  ‘It’s not that.’ Without looking at him, she patted him on the arm.

  His heart was butter, and melted. ‘What is it then?’

  ‘I was wondering why you didn’t burst through a wall of flame, right at the end.’

  ‘You’ve lost me, I’m afraid.’

  She ticked items off on her fingers. Aubrey had always loved her hands. Elegant, dextrous, beautiful. ‘You fell through the air, went into the bowels of the earth, then careered through water. Of the four elements, only fire was left. It was unlike you not to complete the set.’ She smiled a little. ‘Not all that funny, really.’

  Maybe not, he thought, but I’ll listen to you for as long as you’ll let me. ‘Clever, though.’

  ‘Don’t be patronising,’ she said, but grinned. ‘I’ve warned you about that before.’

  ‘Sorry. You’re the last person I want to be patronising to.’

  She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. She began walking a little faster. Aubrey kept up and soon they were alongside Mrs Hepworth again. ‘And tomorrow, Aubrey,’ Caroline said, ‘are you free? I have some unfinished matters.’

  ‘Unfinished matters?’ Aubrey repeated, despite his intentions never to parrot her. Instead of listening, he’d been looking at how the light from the gaslamps caught her eyes, conscious of a special moment having passed. ‘Ah, yes. Of course. Happy to help.’

  ‘I hope you’ve made some progress in this area already.’

  ‘Certainly, certainly. We’ve been talking to ghost hunters.’

  Caroline gave him a look that promised serious consequences if he didn’t fully explain this when they were alone. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Ghost hunters?’ Mrs Hepworth said. ‘I thought they’d vanished years ago. What are you after them for, dear boy?’

  ‘Research,’ he said, grasping for an explanation that was true without going anywhere near the heart of the matter.

  ‘Research,’ she echoed. ‘How Lionel loved his research.’

  She put a hand to her lips and Aubrey desperately sought for something to change the topic away from the late Professor Hepworth. ‘And this friend that you’re staying with,’ he said to Mrs Hepworth as they waited for an omnibus to roll past before they crossed the road. ‘You’ve known him for a long time?’

  ‘The baron? Absolutely ages. He spent some time in Albion years ago.’

  ‘Well travelled, is he?’ Aubrey asked, unable to stop himself from accumulating information. One never knew what would prove useful. Of course, sometimes it was a fine line between subtle intelligence-gathering and outright inquisitiveness...

  ‘He’s a man of the world. Rather too much of it, sometimes.’

  ‘He’s a businessman,’ Caroline said. ‘Extraordinarily rich.’

  ‘It’s a pity,’ Mrs Hepworth said. ‘He was a fine sculptor in his youth.’

  The street began to trend upward. ‘Businessman.’ Aubrey’s curiosity gave him another nudge. ‘What sort of business?’

  Mrs Hepworth laughed. ‘When you’re as rich as Siegfried, your business is just about everything. That’s why every Holmland government in the last thirty years has wanted him in their inner circle. He’s had enough of that sort of thing, apparently. Retired from the world of politics.’

  Alarm bells started ringing so loud in Aubrey’s mind that he actually looked around for their source. ‘He’s a politician, too?’

  ‘Anyone who’s anyone in Holmland is either involved in politics, or wishes they were.’

  ‘Just like Albion, really,’ Caroline said, but for once Aubrey let this impish jibe slide right by.

  ‘This baron of yours...’

  Another laugh. ‘He’s hardly mine, dear boy. Although, at one time – before I met your father, darling – we were close. Ah, here we are.’

  It wasn’t the largest castle Aubrey had ever seen, but as a private residence it was definitely remarkable. Sited on the top of the hill and surrounded by a massive wall, it loomed over the Empire Gardens and the Istros River like a citadel.

  ‘It’s more comfortable than it looks,’ Mrs Hepworth said. ‘Siegfried’s given Caroline and I the east wing. He is most generous.’

  Aubrey stared at the two square towers, the hundreds of windows. ‘Siegfried is your baron.’

  ‘Of course. Siggy is Baron von Grolman.’

  Aubrey contained his shock by the novel method of imitating a stunned goldfish.

  The Hepworths were staying with Hugo von Stralick’s mysterious mentor.

  Twenty-one

  The next morning, early, Aubrey and George stood in front of Baron von Grolman’s residence. In the daylight the edifice was even more impressive. Once, Aubrey thought, it must have dominated the whole area, squatting on top of the hill like a great beast. Even though housing had swallowed up most of the approaches to the castle, it was still the most prominent building in the area, almost a suburb in itself, tucked behind its thick stone walls. Aubrey imagined it having its own postal service, its own police force.

  A bell at the gate was connected to a cunning speaking tube which Aubrey sensed, with interest, was magically enhanced. After being admitted, they set off toward the distant buildings. Crunching along well-kept, perfectly clean gravel, he kept wondering about the careless show of wealth behind the speaking tube. It was good, discreet magic – and that was costly. The Law of Attenuation, inverted? Or a novel application of the Law of Similarity? Mulling over the possibilities kept him busy during their trek along the driveway.

  After mounting the broad stone steps, they were met at the front door by an officious fellow, somewhat more than a butler, somewhat less than a chamberlain. He looked down his impressive nose at them while they explained they’d arrived to meet Caroline Hepworth. He made them wait in the daunting entrance hall for an uncomfortable time, probably from some sense of necessity. It gave Aubrey and George a chance to become acquainted with each of the six suits of armour standing in the hall, and also to find out how uncomfortable antique Holmland furniture could be.

  Eventually, Caroline appeared from one of the arched doors that opened off the entrance hall. ‘Aubrey, George. The baron wants to see you.’

  She looked fresh and excited. Aubrey knew it was the prospect of
a day’s adventuring that invigorated her and, wistfully, he longed for her to feel that way about him. On the other hand, he was willing to settle for hoping that his presence didn’t actually detract from her good spirits.

  ‘The baron? He’s in?’

  ‘I didn’t realise it, but he arrived late last night,’ Caroline said. ‘He’s invited you to breakfast, with mother and me. And his guests.’

  ‘Guests?’ Aubrey said. He straightened his jacket.

  Caroline did her best to hide a smile. Aubrey found the effort fascinating. ‘You’ll see.’

  It was a baronial dining hall. It was so much a baronial dining hall that Aubrey imagined all the other baronial dining halls in the world getting together and talking about how they’d like to be like the von Grolman baronial dining hall when they grew up. Lashings of stone and dark timber. Narrow arched windows high in the walls. Lofty ceiling somewhere high overhead, past the age-blackened beams. Coats of arms and intricate heraldic banners hanging from the walls, interspersed with crossed pikes, swords, halberds and other cunning implements of destruction. The aroma of a savoury breakfast was possibly the only thing not hundreds of years old.

  At the head of the long table, a broad-shouldered man rose to his feet when they entered. He waited patiently with his hands behind his back while Caroline, Aubrey and George crossed the mile or two between the door and the table. As they drew closer, Aubrey guessed that he was in his late sixties or early seventies, but his bulk and ruddy complexion gave every indication that he was in good health. His head was bald apart from a slight fringe of grey on either side, a reminder of the past. His moustache made up for the lack of hair on his head, however, being long and defiantly pointed, jutting out an inch or two on either side of his cheeks. Aubrey imagined he could be a danger to bystanders if he turned around quickly.

  ‘Baron von Grolman,’ Caroline said. ‘This is Aubrey Fitzwilliam and George Doyle.’

  The baron made a noise – half snort, half chuckle – that Aubrey took as a good sign. He held out his hand, then saw that he still had a white linen napkin tucked into the neck of his jacket. He barked a full, throaty laugh this time, removed it and shook Aubrey’s hand then George’s. ‘Come,’ he said in good Albionish, ‘come, join us. We eat, we talk, all goes well.’ He gestured. ‘You know my other guests.’

  Mrs Hepworth smiled at Aubrey, but he wasn’t surprised when he saw the other two guests, small worlds being what they were.

  Von Stralick leaned back from the table. ‘Sit, Fitzwilliam and the other fellow. Close your mouth or put some food in it. You look most foolish gaping like that.’

  Next to von Stralick, Kiefer looked up, blinked, nodded at Aubrey and George then went back to his plate of bacon and eggs with all the appearance of someone with more important things on his mind.

  ‘You managed to find the baron this time?’ Aubrey asked von Stralick.

  ‘I did. Through the novel method of visiting his home. I should have tried it earlier, but it lacked the sort of deviousness that I aspire to.’

  By the time Aubrey had found a seat – strangely enough, next to Caroline – George was already helping himself to the dishes on the table, right under the approving eye of the baron. Von Stralick was sitting opposite, next to Kiefer, at the end.

  Aubrey busied his hands with arranging his napkin and keeping himself from tangling with the stony-faced servants as they piled his plate with food. He hardly noticed what he was taking, because he was trying to fit these developments into some sort of framework.

  It was von Stralick who took pity on him. ‘Fitzwilliam, what is there to look so anxious about? Lovely ladies, a generous host, good friends and fine food. Could a day start any better?’

  It could if I knew what was going on, Aubrey thought. ‘I’m sorry. Your presence here is unexpected. I thought you were staying at the embassy.’

  ‘Ach, no. We are doing some work for your Ambassador Hollows, but we are now staying with the most excellent Baron von Grolman. Much safer here. True, Otto?’

  Kiefer lifted his gaze from his plate. Aubrey was startled at how pale he looked, with dark circles under his eyes. ‘Fisherberg is a dangerous place,’ Kiefer said, then turned his attention back to his breakfast.

  ‘Do not mind him,’ von Stralick said. ‘He has had no sleep. Researching all night, he tells me, in the baron’s library.’

  ‘You’re lucky to have such a patron,’ Aubrey said carefully.

  ‘Von Stralick is one of my best people,’ the baron said down the length of the table. ‘I do what I can to help him.’

  Von Stralick nodded at this and caught Aubrey with a significant look. ‘The baron has withdrawn from politics–’

  ‘For the moment,’ the baron interjected.

  ‘For the moment. But that doesn’t mean that he is without influence.’

  ‘What can I say?’ The baron spread his hands. ‘People feel compelled to repay the many favours they owe me.’

  I can imagine how they feel compelled, Aubrey thought. The baron was a jovial host, but Aubrey had the distinct impression that he was a man accustomed to getting his own way.

  Again, von Stralick caught Aubrey’s eye and the look he gave him convinced Aubrey that von Stralick knew what he was thinking – and he agreed. ‘The baron has had news about a certain Dr Tremaine,’ von Stralick went on. ‘He is up to something.’

  Aubrey bit his tongue. When wasn’t Dr Tremaine up to something?

  ‘He has a plan for this symposium of the Elektor’s,’ the baron said with some relish. He seemed to be enjoying his role as holder of information as much as he was enjoying his breakfast, where he had moved from an enormous plate of eggs and tomatoes to an equally large platter of assorted sausages. Even George was impressed by the baron’s trencherman talent. The baron speared a sausage with his fork then looked up. ‘It is your prince he’s after, you know. Tremaine knows that he has arrived in Fisherberg early.’

  Aubrey had to put a hand on the table to stop himself from leaping to his feet.

  Caroline was horrified. ‘No. He wouldn’t dare move against the Prince.’

  George had frozen with a forkful of omelette halfway to his mouth. He glanced at Caroline. ‘That’s right. Not when the Elektor himself invited him.’

  ‘And the Chancellor promised safe passage,’ Aubrey added, but he couldn’t help reminding himself that Dr Tremaine was a law unto himself.

  ‘Ah, but that is Tremaine’s genius,’ the baron said. With some reluctance, he put down his knife and fork. He placed both hands on the table in front of him, in an effort to appear grave and trustworthy, Aubrey guessed, but the way his eyes kept flicking to the plate of sausages in front of him tended to ruin the pose. ‘He isn’t going to kill your prince. He’s going to control him. Your prince will be Tremaine’s puppet.’ He waved a hand. ‘Or so I have heard.’

  ‘He can do it,’ Aubrey said, and everyone at the table turned to him. He remembered how Dr Tremaine had turned him into a mindless assassin. ‘If he can get his hands on the Prince, Dr Tremaine has the spells to control him at a distance. Utterly.’

  ‘Tremaine will do it, that is all you need to know,’ said the baron. He picked up his fork and jabbed a piece of sausage that disappeared into his mouth. He chewed on it as if he wanted every last iota of flavour from it. ‘And he will do it before the symposium.’

  Twenty-two

  Aubrey excused himself from the breakfast as soon as he politely could. It caused an exodus. Kiefer hurried off, saying he had still much research to attend to. Von Stralick watched his cousin go, thoughtfully, and then made his excuses as well. Aubrey wondered if von Stralick was having some pangs over his mentoring role for the young magician. It looked as if it was proving harder than he’d expected, with Kiefer’s changes of mood. The young man was driven, there was no doubt about that, but Aubrey wondered if revenge or ambition were proving the stronger motivation.

  Caroline was keen to go as well, but George looked mournfully
at his plate before joining his friends.

  Aubrey promised himself he’d treat his friend to a fine meal – when they had time.

  Back at the embassy, Aubrey accosted the first official he saw. ‘Where’s the Prince?’

  The man gaped. ‘The Prince?’

  Aubrey saw Quentin Hollows descending the stairs. ‘Never mind. Hollows, where’s the Prince? He’s in danger.’

  Hollows looked alarmed. ‘He’s gone to visit the Elektor. I say, what’s going on?’

  ‘He’s taken his bodyguard?’

  ‘Only a pair of them. He’s visiting the Elektor, after all.’

  Aubrey grimaced. The last place you’d expect an incident is exactly the best place for someone to plan one. ‘Send a squad around to the Elektor’s palace straight away. Is a motorcar ready?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. Can you telephone ahead? Let them know to expect us?’

  ‘I can.’ Hollows frowned. ‘Can’t you tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Remember the attempt on the Prince’s life? The one we were sure wasn’t going to happen? It looks as if it could be under way.’

  The motorcar trip was rapid and probably illegal, thanks to George’s sitting in the front seat next to the driver and brandishing a gold ten-mark piece whenever he slowed down.

  At the palace, a troop of Imperial Household Guards was waiting for them. George put his arm over the back of the seat. ‘Not quite the welcome we were expecting, old man?’

  ‘Not quite. But let’s see.’

  The officer in charge clicked his heels, but Aubrey noticed how he kept his hand on his sabre. Even though the uniform was laden with gilt and crimson, the sabre looked rather more than ceremonial. ‘Mr Fitzwilliam?’ the officer said in passable Albionish. ‘You will come with us, if you please. And your friends.’

  ‘Sorry, but we must see the Elektor. Or Prince Albert.’

  ‘You will come with us,’ the officer repeated and it was clear that the invitation had moved from a request to a demand.