Blaze of Glory

by Michael Pryor

  Aubrey scraped his enamel plate and took a swig of ginger beer. 'In the morning we'll have a closer look at the place where the golem melted. I've brought some materials which may help me reconstruct a thing or two about the creature.'

  'I see,' said George. He was stretched out on a blanket, his head propped on a log. 'And this Black Beast?'

  'A puzzle.' Aubrey crossed his arms. 'And I'm not sure where it fits in.'

  Before George could respond, an unearthly howl split the night air. Aubrey was on his feet in an instant, staring into the darkened woods, his heart pounding, his throat suddenly dry. The back of his neck was prickling.

  George scrambled up, wide-eyed. 'Good Lord!'

  Aubrey realised he was breathing rapidly and, with an effort, he slowed until he was breathing deeply and slowly. Fear, he thought. It's so thick in the air I can taste it. 'Are you all right, George?'

  'I . . .' George shook his head and stumbled to form words. 'It's . . .'

  'George, look at me.' George stared wildly. 'It's magic. It's making you afraid.'

  George nodded.

  'Deep breaths, George. Calm yourself.'

  George blew out his cheeks, then rubbed his face with both hands. 'I say, took me quite by surprise, that.'

  'It's some distance away.'

  'I'm glad of that.' George brushed down his clothes. 'It's not so bad, now.'

  'Once you know what it is, the fear isn't as disabling.'

  'No.'

  'Did you bring a lantern, George?'

  'I thought you had.'

  So much for planning. 'Well, we'll do our best without.' He pulled a burning branch from the fire.

  George stared at him. 'You want us to go after the Black Beast?'

  The chilling howl rose again, closer this time. Aubrey swallowed. The fear was there, but it was now a small thing, easily managed. 'Yes, I think I have to.' Or my curiosity would never forgive me.

  Aubrey thrust the burning branch in George's hand and hurried to the tent. A moment later he was back with a small bag on a string. He hooked it around his neck. 'Quickly, now.'

  Before they had gone more than twenty yards, the comforting light of the campfire was left behind and they were in a world of darkness. The only light came from George's blazing torch.

  Aubrey peered into the dark. He knew that night in the countryside was rarely totally black. In his escapades over the years, he'd learned that given time to adjust, the eye can make do with surprisingly little light, picking out objects from among shadows, making sense of blackness. But this night was different. With the erratic, sobbing howls of the Black Beast of Penhurst floating through the night, suddenly shadows were thick and confusing. He found it hard to judge distances between trees and the terrain underfoot was treacherous. Brambles caught his feet and trouser legs, stones conspired to appear underfoot, stumps hid themselves until too late.

  'Wait, George.' Aubrey fumbled in the bag around his neck and found a pair of shell-like shapes. He placed one over his right eye and it attached itself there.

  Immediately, through his right eye, darkness vanished. He could see no colour; all was in shades of silver and grey, but he could see the trees, bushes, a fence in the distance, the ground beneath his feet. The scene in front of him was ghostly, without colour, but no more than a photograph. Every detail of the night was sharp and clear.

  He fitted the other object over his left eye, then found two more in his bag. He handed them to George. 'Here. Cat's eyes.'

  'What?'

  'Not real cat's eyes. They're something I prepared for our expedition.'

  George held up the shells. 'I put them over my eyes, do I?'

  'They don't hurt.'

  Without much enthusiasm, George placed one of the cat's eyes over his. Instantly, he grinned. 'Very clever, Aubrey.' He fitted the other shell to his eye and looked around.

  'Thank you.'

  George wrinkled his brow. He sniffed. 'I smell fish.'

  Aubrey shrugged. 'The cook at home has a cat. I made a coat for it with pockets for this specially prepared glass. It wore the coat and the glass for a week, not very happily.'

  'The cook feeds the cat fish?'

  'Salmon. It's a very spoiled cat.'

  'I see.'

  'I wanted these shells to take on the characteristics of the cat's eyes, so I used the Law of Sympathy. I was pleased with the results for a first effort, but it's not perfect. It's taken on some of the fishy smell, so I expect I'll have to work on setting some of those parameter variables rather more stringently.'

  George looked at the blazing torch in his hand and then turned away. 'We won't be needing this?'

  'No.'

  George threw the branch on the ground and kicked earth over it until the flames were smothered. 'Done.'

  The howl of the Black Beast of Penhurst split the night again, sounding like a thousand demons being tortured at once. Aubrey turned, trying to determine where it came from. 'This way,' he said and set off through the undergrowth.

  Aubrey moved crouching low, turning his head from side to side. They were barely in the woods, with fields and moorland a stone's throw away.

  The howling continued. It rose and fell, at times lapsing into an almost human shrieking. Aubrey could feel it as well as hear it. It made his skin crawl and set his heart pounding, affecting him at a deep, primal level, telling him to run, to flee, to hide in a hole, shiver and hope that the owner of that cry would pass him by.

  Aubrey closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself. He motioned to George for silence.

  A short crawl through some undergrowth brought them to a fence. On the other side was a field. At first, Aubrey thought it was empty, then he heard cattle. They were bunched in one corner of the field, lowing and trying to get away from the sound that was continuing to rend the night. He could see them tossing their heads and the whites of their eyes stood out in the darkness.

  The howling began to move away. Aubrey pointed to George and they hurried on.

  The undergrowth began to thin and the woods took on a more cared for aspect. Aubrey slowed. Ahead, he could see outbuildings and the Big House away to his left. It was well lit, and the light flared in his cat's eyes. He put up a hand to shield them.

  The blood-chilling noise erupted again. 'It's doubled back,' George hissed.

  They plunged back into the woods. Aubrey scanned the ground ahead, hands outstretched, feeling for the presence of magic. Grass, fallen leaves, rocks breaking the skin of the earth . . . Suddenly, his palms tingled. He stopped and dropped to his knees. George almost ran into him.

  'What is it?' George whispered.

  Aubrey concentrated and swept his hands backwards and forwards. There! 'Magic,' he breathed.

  Now that he had locked his magical senses on to it, he could see it: a magical trail stretching away through the woods, glowing a sickly green. 'Magical traces,' he said.

  'What sort?'

  'Something large.'

  George picked up a few fist-size stones and stowed them in his pockets. He saw Aubrey staring at him. 'Better than nothing,' he said.

  Aubrey nodded and set off, following the trail and the echoing howls. They were being led away from the Big House and deeper into the woods. Aubrey narrowed his eyes. He attempted to remember what was bordering the estate on this side. Where did the river run? He went as fast as he could, bent nearly double to feel the magical spoor as well as see it.

  George swore and Aubrey jumped as the roar of a shotgun sounded up ahead. Then night was suddenly lit by a flare of light, a vivid orange that reflected off the trees and made them look as if they were alight.

  'Hurry, George, something's gone awry.'

  They charged through the trees, abandoning all pretence at stealth. Aubrey's coat flapped like the wings of a bat as he flew over the rough ground, vaulting fallen branches and small bushes.

  A shotgun barked again, twice, and an angry cry rose from nearby.

  Aubrey leaped over a log and
immediately regretted it. The ground on the other side fell away sharply. He plummeted, sliding and tumbling down the slope, picking up leaves and twigs as he went.

  'Aubrey!' George cried, then he, too, was over the log and plunging down into the shallow dell.

  Aubrey rolled to his feet and was immediately knocked over by a black-clad assailant. He scrambled to his feet, but the mysterious foe was on him again, grappling with wiry strength. Aubrey had time to notice, with astonishment, that his foe was wearing a loose-fitting black outfit and a balaclava, then he was struggling to avoid being thrown again. He shifted his weight and dropped to one knee, but his foe was too quick, matching his move and countering it by turning side on. An elbow caught him in the jaw and then he was slammed into the ground, all his breath driven from him.

  'Aubrey!' George called again. He charged and slammed into Aubrey's attacker.

  'Well done, George!' Aubrey panted, his hands on his knees. The black-clad figure had fetched up against a tree stump and was sprawled, motionless, next to a shotgun.

  'Hit his head against the stump,' George said. 'Unconscious.'

  Aubrey stripped the balaclava from the assailant and stared, open-mouthed.

  'What is it?' George said. He came close. 'Oh. I mean, her head.'

  They were looking at the unconscious face of Caroline Hepworth.

  Eleven

  'I WAS INVESTIGATING MY FATHER'S DEATH,' CAROLINE explained, glaring. Aubrey rubbed his jaw and made a resolution never to make her hit him again.

  Aubrey and George were leaning against the wall in the kitchen of the Big House. Aubrey had made sure they'd removed their cat's eyes before they went inside, to avoid comment.

  Caroline had been put on a chair in front of the largest stove. Mrs Butterly, the cook, had draped a blanket around her shoulders. Mrs Butterly was glaring, too, and continually rearranged the woolly covering.

  'Of course,' Aubrey said. 'I was sorry to hear of it.'

  'Yes,' George said. 'Terribly sorry.'

  'Mrs Butterly,' Aubrey said, 'you'll organise a place for the young lady to stay tonight?'

  The cook nodded, not willing to interrupt her fussing.

  'George and I will need rooms as well. If that's convenient.'

  The cook crossed her arms across her enormous bosom. 'I'm sure we'd insist on it,' she said in an unexpectedly high-pitched voice. 'At least we'd have some hope of keeping an eye on you, Aubrey Fitzwilliam.'

  She rang for a maid. Aubrey wanted to say something more to Caroline, but she was pointedly ignoring them. He shook his head. He supposed he couldn't expect gratitude after they had rendered her unconscious, then dragged her back to the house, while the Black Beast of Penhurst lurked nearby in the night.

  When two maids arrived, Mrs Butterly made the arrangements. Aubrey and George left her trying to get Caroline to take some barley water to get over the shock. Aubrey hadn't seen much sign of shock. He'd seen indignation and a desire to rush back out into the night with her magically enhanced shotgun, but shock? He had a feeling that Caroline Hepworth was made of tougher stuff than that.

  Aubrey waited while his bed was made up for him and towels fetched. When the maid left, Aubrey went next door to George's room and knocked.

  'Well, George,' he said, collapsing onto the chair, 'did you ever have the feeling that you were caught in a very tangled spider's web?'

  'Constantly. Ever since I've known you.'

  Aubrey clasped his hands together and leaned forward. He grinned. 'Quite right. Exciting, isn't it?'

  He rubbed his forehead then, and his enthusiasm subsided somewhat.

  George noticed. 'How are you?'

  'I'm keeping myself together well enough. I daren't let myself get knocked around too much, I think.'

  'You were lucky Miss Hepworth didn't hurt you too much.'

  'Quite. I thought she was an assassin dressed in that costume.'

  'It wasn't very . . .' George searched for the right word. 'Demure.'

  Aubrey smiled. 'No, definitely not demure. A person of surprises is Miss Hepworth.'

  'Showing up here in the middle of the night? Rather.'

  'It's more than that. She had some sort of magic with her. Remember the orange flash? I managed to look over her shotgun while we carried her back here. It had some interesting magical modifications.'

  'Where would she get such a thing?'

  'I don't think she'll tell us. Not tonight.' Aubrey hummed under his breath. 'I'm off to bed. Early start tomorrow, George.'

  WHILE THEY WERE EATING A GARGANTUAN BREAKFAST UNDER the stern eye of Mrs Butterly, Aubrey looked out for Caroline, but she did not appear. Several times he went to ask the cook about her, but Mrs Butterly's gaze was stony and he left well enough alone.

  Feeling as if he'd eaten enough for a fortnight, Aubrey went out into the morning and marched back to where he had encountered Caroline the night before. George accompanied him, totally at ease with the world now daylight had come.

  A heavy dew had fallen and their boots were soon sodden. Aubrey scowled but quickly forgot about them. The morning was too delightful, with blue skies stretching overhead and only the gentlest of breezes. Without realising it, he began humming as they climbed the stile and skirted the hedgerows, retracing the path they had taken with the unconscious Caroline the previous night.

  When they found the dell, Aubrey stood and surveyed it for a moment.

  'Seemed larger last night,' George said.

  Aubrey nodded. He found the pouch around his neck and took out a specially treated magnifying glass. He'd magically attuned it by using a combination of spells bound up with sensitivity and appearance. He was pleased with the result, which allowed him to see the most minute traces of magical residue.

  With George looking on bemused, Aubrey crept on all fours around the dell, peering through his magical magnifying glass. Eventually, his friend wandered off and Aubrey was left alone with the sounds of the working farm – a lonely dog, cows, an engine of some sort in the distance – filtering through the woods surrounding the dell.

  Half an hour later, George ambled back to find Aubrey just completing his inspection. 'It's strange, George,' he said. He stood, wiping his hands on his trousers, which were equally muddy as his hands. He hardly noticed.

  'What's strange?'

  'If I knew what it was, I wouldn't call it strange.'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'Never mind.' Aubrey frowned. 'This Black Beast appears to have left some residue here, but I'm damned if I can determine what it is. I've never seen its like before.'

  'Are you sure you're not just seeing stuff left behind by the magical shotgun?'

  'No. It was strange stuff, too, but I accounted for all of it. This is something else.'

  'Hmm. What do we do next?'

  'I want to see where we discovered the golem. Then we go home.'

  'If we can stow our bicycles in the guards' van, we could take the train,' George suggested.

  'Good idea, George, even if it makes your laziness more obvious. Now, to the shooting grounds.'

  THE SITE UNDER THE OAK TREE LOOKED AS IF AN ARMY HAD been through. Aubrey stood back and imagined dozens of Special Services agents trampling the grass and undergrowth as they searched for clues. Even so, the outline of the golem was still clear, because the grass had blackened and died where the creature had melted. Aubrey wondered how long the earth would stay barren.

  He scraped some earth samples into small bottles, frowning as he did so. The magnifying glass revealed more of the puzzling residue. Did this mean that the golem and the Black Beast were made by the same hand?

  They made their way back to the campsite and packed up their belongings. The tent was a devil to fold and stow, still being wet from the dew. Aubrey attacked it with vigour rather than science, glad to be grappling with something as solid as canvas.

  The tent, however, refused to be intimidated. After George managed to stop laughing, he instructed Aubrey on how to hold corne
rs, fold carefully, press seams and roll out air. Aubrey took this as an important lesson in humility, and a timely one at that.

  They pushed the bicycles back towards the Big House, stopping at Hoskins's cottage on the way. Aubrey assured him that they were well and that they wouldn't impose on him like that again. Hoskins looked both relieved and dubious.

  The stationmaster greeted them as they trundled the bicycles up to the station. He informed them that they'd have a half-hour wait. 'Perhaps you'd like to sit with the young lady,' he suggested.

  Aubrey swung around to see Caroline at the station gate. 'I've been waiting for you,' she said. 'What's kept you so long? The Black Beast?'

  The stationmaster stared at her, then at Aubrey.

  'It's all right,' Aubrey said smoothly to him. 'Miss Hepworth, it's good to see you again.'

  The stationmaster went inside, muttering into his beard.

  There was no sign of the black outfit Caroline had been wearing the previous evening, and Aubrey was disappointed. On this bright morning she'd donned a smart tweed skirt and jacket. In the breeze, her hat was tied under her chin with a green and white ribbon.

  'I need to talk to both of you,' she said. 'And I hope I can do it without your attacking me again.'

  'Of course,' Aubrey said hastily. 'About your father, no doubt, and his work?'

  'Yes,' Caroline said, her eyes distant. 'His work.' She snapped her gaze onto Aubrey. 'I need to talk to you about that, too.'

  'Oh?'

  'The waiting room would be more private,' George pointed out. 'We could talk there.'

  'Quite right, George. Miss Hepworth?' Aubrey bowed and gestured for her to lead the way.

  The waiting room had a settee, a small table, two armchairs with loose, flowery chintz covers, and a fireplace.

  This left very little free floor space in the small room. They shuffled around, with Caroline taking the settee. Aubrey and George took a chair each.

  'Quite a waiting room,' George said.

  'Fit for a Prince,' Aubrey pointed out.

  Caroline studied them both dispassionately, which Aubrey thought a great pity. She reminded him of a heroine in a romantic painting, a warrior maid with steel in her spirit and fire in her eye, but he had a feeling that she would scoff at such a notion.