Aubrey saw Caroline slip into the auditorium through the large rear doors. She stood at the rear for a moment, gazing about. Aubrey eased past a muttering dignitary and then hurried down the middle aisle.
‘Have you found him?’ Caroline asked.
‘He’s backstage already.’
‘Do you have any ideas?’
Aubrey looked up to see George on the other side of the hall, up on the balcony. At the same time, George saw him and shrugged. Aubrey shook his head in exaggerated fashion only to meet George’s pointing across the auditorium. Von Stralick was arguing with the commissionaires and he appeared to be having as much success as Aubrey had. Then the commissionaires went to grapple with him. Von Stralick twisted, then hurried off.
‘What happened there?’ Caroline asked.
‘I hope he wasn’t trying to assume someone else’s identity. These officials take a dim view of things like that.’
Von Stralick joined them, at the same time as George had made his way down from upstairs. ‘I’m off to see the baron.’ The Holmlander brushed himself off. ‘He may be able to do something.’
‘Isn’t he here?’ Aubrey said, scanning the audience.
‘He said he couldn’t be dragged to the symposium.’
‘Hush,’ Caroline said. ‘They’re starting.’
‘Time to find our seats.’
They left von Stralick. The three friends worked their way to their row, second from the front. Lady Rose nodded at them from her seat, but refrained from asking any questions. Prince Albert was in the front row, just in front of Aubrey. He was sitting next to the Chancellor and the Elektor.
With the ominous sense that comes from a half-glimpsed outcome, Aubrey took out his program. The grey-haired, gowned fellow who was tottering toward the lectern on the stage was apparently the President of the University.
As he spoke, Aubrey was impressed. The President apparently appreciated his role was to take up as little time as possible before the important speeches, so he confined himself to a vague welcome and then quickly introduced the Elektor.
The Elektor was wearing the uniform of the High Admiral of the Holmland Navy, which had enough gold trappings to open a moderately sized jewellery shop. A gold sword on his hip made his walking awkward as he made his way to the lectern.
Aubrey, having a politician for a father and a famous scientist for a mother, was accustomed to being part of an audience. He was also a connoisseur of applause and he judged that the acclamation that greeted the Elektor was genuine and heartfelt. The Elektor stood at the lectern and gathered his papers while the clapping rolled around the hall. After some time he was forced, with a smile, to hold up a hand to bring it to an end, then he launched into his welcome.
As a speech, it was solid but uninspired. Well-meaning was the best description Aubrey could give it. The Elektor wasn’t a natural orator, but his earnest delivery carried weight with his audience. He spoke of the importance of scholarship and his hope that it could contribute to understanding between all nations.
Even though Aubrey’s mind was elsewhere wondering what Kiefer had planned, he saw how the Elektor gradually warmed to this topic. At one stage he forgot his notes and addressed the audience directly, unfolding his vision for a rational world of peace and understanding for an appreciative audience. Then Aubrey saw that the Elektor’s attention was diverted by someone off stage. With a minute stiffening, he slowed, then dropped his gaze to the lectern. Soon, he’d returned to his prepared speech. With a handful of the usual platitudes his speech wandered to the point where he officially declared the symposium open.
The applause was as warm as that which greeted the Elektor and Aubrey was heartened that such a call for understanding had fallen on receptive ears. Admittedly, the audience at an academic symposium may not represent the nation as a whole, but it was reassuring nonetheless.
But his curiosity was engaged wondering who had been able to curtail the Elektor’s enthusiastic outline of a better world. Who could cut short the ruler of the country?
The Elektor fumbled for a piece of paper. He stared at it for a moment then, quite obviously, read it word for word. ‘I have much pleasure in introducing a special speaker. An extraordinary man has been behind this symposium. It was his idea, and the organisation and implementation of this complex occasion has been entirely overseen by him.’ He paused. ‘The special adviser to the government of Holmland, Dr Mordecai Tremaine.’
For a moment, Aubrey felt as if his brain had been scooped out and replaced with a lump of putty. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think, all he could do was stare as the rogue magician strode onto the stage, clad in a stylish black coat, and shook the noticeably hesitant Elektor’s hand before he made his way to the wings.
Didn’t I trap you in a pearl? Aubrey thought, dazed. Dimly, he realised that his arm was in the process of developing five neat bruises, right where Caroline’s fingers were gripping him. He glanced at her, but her attention was locked on Dr Tremaine as he took his place at the lectern.
Kiefer was forgotten as Aubrey actually felt dizzy. What is going on?
Mundane senses only told him so much, so, with great trepidation, he focused his magical awareness with as much will and as much force as he could muster.
And with his magical senses, he sensed it. He ground his teeth, he wanted to leap to his feet and shout to the assembly that the man in front of them was a liar, a manipulator, a thief and a murderer, because he sensed it – and it confirmed what had happened.
Aubrey’s magical awareness showed the silvery, insubstantial thread that curled and twisted – passing right through solid objects, undisturbed by the physical world – and connected Aubrey Fitzwilliam and Dr Mordecai Tremaine.
Then he knew that he’d been hoodwinked. Despite having been witness to Dr Tremaine’s trickery at Banford Park, in Lutetia, under Trinovant, he’d been duped again. How could he believe that he could trap Dr Tremaine so easily? The creature that he’d cast into the pearl was a fake, a substitute. It was no wonder he hadn’t been able to detect a magical connection with it.
Pieces fell into place. It had to be a golem – and if that was the state of Dr Tremaine’s golem-making art, then the world had a great deal to fear.
I should have realised, he thought, but at the time he’d been too rushed – and also, he had to admit, too pleased with himself to doubt, too sure of his talent to observe, too carried away to worry.
He shook his head. He hadn’t heard a word of Dr Tremaine’s speech, but it didn’t seem to matter. When Aubrey came to himself, the sorcerer paused and looked directly at him.
And he winked.
It was so brief that Aubrey knew no-one else could see it but him – and it struck him like a blow to the chest. Aubrey flinched, and immediately, Dr Tremaine made an odd movement, reaching out and patting his pocket while he went on, echoing the sentiments of the Elektor.
Automatically, Aubrey did the same and he wondered at the deft, subtle magic involved when he felt something in a pocket that he’d known was empty just a few moments before.
He took it out and unwrapped the small package. Dumbly, he stared at his stolen pocket watch. The Brayshire Ruby glowed warmly, set in the gold cover.
Nonplussed, he eventually realised that the paper wrapping was written upon.
I return your family trinket, for you returned my sister to me – a treasure beyond reckoning.
But did you really think you could out-manoeuvre me? it said. You’ve been a useful decoy. Take some satisfaction in that and accept that you cannot match me.
It was like a blow to the chest. He found it hard to breathe as he remembered the chaos in the hospital. Despite his efforts, there must have been a window, a tiny opportunity for Dr Tremaine to whisk Sylvia out of the pearl from a distance.
He went to screw up the paper, but Caroline plucked it from his hand. When she looked up, her cheeks white with shock, Dr Tremaine was already concluding his address, notably not thanking
anyone else.
Aubrey felt like a puppet and even glanced overhead, looking for the strings and the puppet master, so he nearly missed it when Dr Tremaine introduced Chancellor Neumann before he bowed, made a half-salute in Aubrey’s direction and exited, stage right.
Immediately, Aubrey wanted to leap up and follow, but a cooler part of his brain told him that Dr Tremaine had organised events beautifully. By the time Aubrey could push his way to the end of the aisle – if he was prepared to create an unseemly disturbance on such an august occasion – Dr Tremaine would no doubt be through the wings and out via a backstage entrance.
There was no point pursuing him. Besides, Kiefer hadn’t appeared yet – and Aubrey couldn’t leave before he heard what he was up to.
Dazed, Aubrey had trouble concentrating on the Chancellor’s speech. It was punctilious, the work of many underlings, Aubrey assumed. While he worked through welcoming the important guests, the Chancellor’s mighty bald head began to sweat. Without any embarrassment, he mopped it with a red handkerchief, and lumbered through his official duties with dogged determination. His role, as far as Aubrey could tell, was the official welcome to Holmland and he discharged this conscientiously, but Aubrey felt that his monotonous tone of voice would have been the same if he were speaking in the Assembly, ordering a meal at a restaurant, or giving the eulogy at a funeral.
When he finished, he held up both hands to acknowledge the applause, which was, to Aubrey’s learned ears, definitely polite rather than wholehearted. Aubrey took the time to look around, trying to see into the wings to spy Kiefer.
His head whipped back, however, when the Chancellor pointedly paused, then uttered a single word – a word Aubrey guessed had never been used in the Academy Hall, and certainly not with such satisfaction and relish: ‘Guano.’
The Chancellor visibly enjoyed the effect this had on the audience. Muted expressions of disgust rippled around the auditorium while the Chancellor shuffled his notes, doing little to hide the smile on his face. When the reaction had lessened, he looked up, eyebrows bristling. ‘Holmland’s industry is the finest in the world.’
This was much more to the liking of the audience, but the connection was clearly puzzling. The Chancellor waved a hand placatingly. ‘While our industry is the finest in the world, it has been hampered by a number of issues. Procurement of guano is one of these. While many countries have access to great quantities of this precious substance–’ he bowed slightly in the direction of Prince Albert ‘–Holmland’s munitions and fertilizer producers have been hamstrung, held back in their efforts. But not any more.’
Aubrey was stunned when the Chancellor actually grinned before going on. It was a broad grin, an expression of total satisfaction.
‘Thanks to one of Holmland’s finest industrial magicians, we are free of this dependence on imported guano. Advances in the areas of–’ the Chancellor peered at his notes ‘–catalysts and pressurised vessels have enabled the artificial production of unlimited amounts of ammonia.’
While polite bafflement ruffled the audience, Aubrey sat astounded as the implications battered at him.
The Chancellor went on. ‘This, of course, means unlimited supply of nitrates for fertilizer, leading to substantial increases our crop yields. And,’ he added, almost as an afterthought, ‘unlimited nitrates for our munitions and explosives industries.’
This is what Aubrey had feared, and to judge from the consternation on Bertie’s face, the implications weren’t lost on him either. An increase in production of Holmland munitions was the last thing the world needed. Controlling Holmland’s armament build-up by controlling its guano imports was no longer an option.
And how easy would it be to sabotage guano shipments heading to other countries? Aubrey wondered, remembering Manfred’s interest in the stolen shipping documents.
The reaction from the assembly was electric. Delight, pride and excitement greeted the Chancellor’s announcement as the audience took it as a sign of Holmland’s correct place in the world. Of course Holmland was leading the world in such industry. Doesn’t it lead the world in all important things?
Eventually, the Chancellor signalled for quiet, then went on. ‘But enough of such things. This symposium is about more than the finest industries in the world – it is about the speakers.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘And I have much pleasure in introducing a special speaker, a gifted young man whose talents lie in two distinct areas. His advances in industrial magic led to my announcement, and his historical research has resulted in his being the recipient of the inaugural Chancellor’s Prize. With his prize-winning essay: Mr Otto Kiefer.’
Amid polite applause, Kiefer stumbled onto the stage. At first, he looked both bewildered and angry, gaping at the other side of the stage in the direction Dr Tremaine had gone. Then he seemed to remember where he was. He stared at the audience, then at the papers he clutched in his hands. The Chancellor took him by the hand and shook it in a firm and masculine manner, muttering some encouraging words. Kiefer was instantly wide-eyed, being so close to the leader of his nation. Gradually, he straightened and grinned sheepishly. Neumann smiled tolerantly, warmly, and swept a wide hand to beckon Kiefer to the lectern. Once Kiefer was there, Neumann moved to the edge of the stage. He stood for a moment and beamed, as if Kiefer were a pet dog he’d trained to perform a difficult trick, then he marched off stage – in the same direction Dr Tremaine had exited.
Aubrey braced himself, as if he were sailing into a hurricane, ready for what Kiefer had in store.
‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ Kiefer’s voice was shrill with tension. Aubrey wondered if it was simply stage nerves or whether it was foreknowledge of what was to come. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he repeated, ‘my paper is titled: “Some Genealogical Findings on the Lineage of Some of Our Royal Families”.’
Aubrey had been hoping that he’d leaped to the wrong conclusion about Kiefer’s research, but the title of his essay let him know that he was right – horribly right. Kiefer was about to drop a bombshell that would reverberate across the Continent all the way to Lutetia and then across the channel to Albion itself.
Kiefer pushed his spectacles back on his nose. He looked at his notes, then at the audience. He blanched a little at the polite attention that awaited him from Holmland’s rich and powerful, and dropped his gaze back to his notes, where it remained as if nailed.
‘As is well known,’ he began, ‘the throne of Gallia has been vacant for over a century, ever since the events of the Gallian Revolution.’
Aubrey’s fears were about to be realised.
Much of Kiefer’s speech was hesitant, full of names and relationships, thickly littered with academic terms like ‘consanguinity’ and ‘morganatic marriage’, which strained Aubrey’s Holmlandish. Painstakingly, Kiefer traced branches of family tree after family tree, pointing out where names were similar or repeated, which was common, the Gallian aristocracy having a profound lack of imagination when it came to names.
The audience had descended into a diplomatic state of boredom, where impatience was expressed by shuffling of feet, uncreasing and creasing of programs, coughing that was immediately infectious. It was only after nearly half an hour of speaking that Kiefer stopped, coughed himself, then looked up. After an instant’s faltering when he saw the audience looking back at him, he went on.
‘With the extinguishment of the Gallian royal family in 1793 it was assumed that no legitimate claim to the throne could be found. But new evidence has recently come to light which suggests an astonishing development.’
The shuffling in the audience immediately stopped. Programs were forgotten. Respiratory complaints underwent miraculous recoveries. This was something interesting. Rumours of missing heirs to the Gallian throne had kept people entertained for a hundred years or more, but they were always in the realm of the fairytale. Something concrete, however, would be delicious.
Kiefer dropped to his notes again, but this time he had the attention of the entire aud
ience. After another fifteen minutes pursuing a sidetrack into minor Gallian peers, he launched, without warning, into an examination of the Albion royal line.
A murmur hurried around the hall. Aubrey saw Bertie stiffen and he wished he could see his friend’s face.
Lady Rose leaned over. ‘Do you know anything about this?’ she whispered.
Aubrey made a half-shrug, half-wave that he hoped was inconclusive. He glanced at his mother to see that she knew exactly what he was doing. ‘I’ll expect a full account later,’ her expression said.
As Kiefer blundered on, closer and closer to his conclusion, the auditorium was so full of bated breaths that Aubrey had genuine fears the hall would explode when everyone exhaled again.
He began to experience a dreadful sense of inevitability, the inexorable approach of a disaster. It was like watching someone trying to walk across a frozen lake, knowing that each step was taking him closer to his doom.
Kiefer, however, was mistaking the tension in the hall for acclaim. He began to look up more frequently, and he even started adding jaunty gestures of emphasis, abandoning the death-grip he’d had on the lectern.
Oh, don’t smile, Aubrey thought when Kiefer peered outward again, but his silent plea went unanswered. Kiefer attempted a raffish grin, which slid into a grimace before finally coming across as a demented smirk.
Aubrey could see that they were on the downhill slope now. He thought of trying to stop Kiefer by casting a spell, then he looked around and he realised how well Dr Tremaine had set up this manoeuvre. Aubrey couldn’t interrupt the ceremony. Any attempt to do so, here, in the heart of Holmland, would be an undeniably hostile act. And by the son of the Albion Prime Minister? That way lay diplomatic horror.
Aubrey could almost imagine the whistling sound as the bombshell came closer and closer. Kiefer paused, pursed his lips and, with a confidence hitherto unseen, gazed over the audience. For a moment, he was a scholar, a holder of incontrovertible evidence, imbued with authority and gravitas far beyond his years. It was his moment, and he savoured it.
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