George put the gloves back on and hurried to gather the fragments. 'The shade?'
'Is gone.'
Fourteen
AUBREY'S TIRED GAZE FELL ON A STOOL NEAR A RACK of cogs. He hobbled over to it and sat down. 'Caroline,' he said, and he was pleased to hear that his voice wasn't trembling. 'Your father didn't say where he kept his notebook? It has to be somewhere near, otherwise my spell wouldn't have been able to make George's notebook look like your father's.'
'No.'
He scanned the cluttered workshop, still trying to get some of the cold out of his bones. Where would the professor have kept a notebook?
He got up and lurched around between the benches, his hands behind his back. 'Now,' he said, 'a notebook is a working tool, something that should be close at hand for reference or for addition, correct?'
George was looking in a wooden cabinet. He grunted.
Aubrey went on. 'And – forgive me, Caroline – the professor didn't know he was going to die so suddenly, did he?'
'No,' she said, her face set.
'Then I'd say that the notebook would be accessible for the next time the professor needed it, no?'
Caroline smiled crookedly. 'While this may be obvious, I'll grant your point.'
'Thank you.' Aubrey came to the main workbench in the middle of the space. 'We do know what our missing notebook looks like, from our work with the Law of Sympathy and the phantom George.'
'Large, foolscap size at a guess,' George said. He held up a tobacco tin and examined it. 'Brown cover with a purple stain.'
'So we'll recognise it once we see it.'
'Naturally,' Caroline said, with a touch of asperity.
'So we're looking for something that isn't in sight and something which, on the other hand, should be readily accessible.'
'A paradox,' George agreed. He'd discarded the tobacco tin and had found a receipt book, which he was leafing through with some interest.
'Not entirely,' Aubrey said. 'George, come and stand here, at the main workbench.'
The main workbench was bare. The wood was dark, heavily scarred in some places where it looked as if heavy equipment had been dragged. Other scratches, score marks and stains showed that this bench had been the scene of much activity.
Aubrey stood back. 'Stand in the middle, George. A little to your left. Just so.' Aubrey motioned to Caroline. 'Come here, if you please, Caroline. Would you say George is of approximately the same stature as your father?'
Caroline studied George, tilting her head to one side. 'Father was perhaps taller, but only slightly.'
'Your father was left-handed, correct?'
She narrowed her eyes. 'And how did you know that?'
'No mystery there. At the shooting weekend, I saw him with the gun up to his left shoulder.'
She nodded.
'Excellent. Now, George. Can you stretch out your left hand, towards the end of the bench.'
'Of course.' As he reached out, he jerked his hand back, his eyes wide. 'Good Lord! Something's there!' He squinted. 'But I can't see anything.'
'I think we've found it,' Aubrey said. His head was pounding, but he smiled nonetheless.
'It's not a book, Aubrey,' George protested. 'The shape I felt was hard, like metal.'
'Of course. What good would an invisible book be? It's probably in an invisible box or cabinet.'
'Ah.' George fumbled around. 'Here.'
George's hands went through the motions of tipping back an invisible lid. Suddenly, the interior of the box was revealed. There, sitting snugly, was the notebook.
Aubrey opened the book at random. 'Let's hope this can answer some of our questions.'
The pages were filled with the professor's spiky handwriting, much crossed out and added to, with many different colours of ink. Aubrey stared when he realised that the page he was looking at dealt with death magic and the forbidden Ritual of the Way, but it soon launched from this into a bold new theory on existence itself, before breaking off into an arcane but brilliant set of jottings about the nature of magic.
I can use this, he thought, gripping the book. It could help me step back, return me to the true land of the living.
Suddenly, his neck began to prickle. He felt deep unease in his stomach and his eyes grew wide. He was horrified at what he was doing.
Aubrey dropped the notebook. He put his hands to his face and moaned – then stifled the sound, afraid that it would bring the attention of this place on to him. He knew, with awful certainty, that he was being watched. He'd had the temerity to take the book and creatures of vileness and unspeakable depravity had woken. Once they fixed on him, he was doomed.
Dimly, Aubrey heard whimpering. He cursed it silently, wishing it would stop before it drew their attention.
His only hope was that they might not see him. Small and insignificant as he was, perhaps their terrible regard would miss him. He might be able to hide in the mud and slime. He closed his eyes.
A small, frightened sound came from nearby. For a moment Aubrey wanted to open his eyes, take his fingers away from his face and see what it was, but he didn't dare. The cold, malignant gaze of the guardians had been aroused.
He huddled on the floor, bringing his arms over his head, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. His mouth was dry. His jaw ached as he clamped down on the scream that was trying to escape. His heart hammered so fast it threatened to burst from his chest. His hands were clenched in hard, painful fists.
No, he thought, with an effort. It's a trick. Remember the Black Beast of Penhurst?
Aubrey opened his eyes. With the strength of will he'd learned since he found himself standing on the edge of the true death, he turned away from the terror. Slowly, it began to recede. His heart started to slow, his fists unclenched. He still felt the terror, distantly, but he no longer wanted to shriek with fear.
It was magic working on him. Gritting his teeth, he noted that the terror had the same flavour as the terror that went with the Black Beast, but here it was closer and a hundred times stronger.
He stood. Panic beat down on him as if he were in a tropical downpour. He shook his head, refusing to give in to it.
A short distance away, Caroline and George were lying on the ground, their knees drawn up as they tried to hide themselves from the horror. Their eyes were screwed tight.
He walked over to them with legs that were heavy and unresponsive. 'George.'
His friend ignored him.
'George. It's all right. Come with me.'
Aubrey touched him on the shoulder. He screamed.
Aubrey stepped back, but George screamed again and lashed out blindly. Aubrey grabbed at him, but his friend shrieked and flailed, rolling along the floor, eyes still shut tight. He gibbered, moaning with fear.
Aubrey tried to subdue him, but George was lost in the grip of terror. He swung his arms and kicked, and it was only because his eyes were closed that he didn't connect.
George rolled over and tried to flatten himself against the concrete floor of the workshop. Aubrey leapt on his back to trap his arms by his side. George thrashed and tried to dislodge him, but Aubrey hung on.
Sobbing, George flung himself sidewards. Aubrey threw out a hand to balance himself and he grinned when it touched rope.
Aubrey wrenched at the rope, dragging out a length. He threw it over George's head, slipping it down as his friend clawed at it. Aubrey used the opportunity to pass more loops of rope around his arms and shoulders. George tried to bite, heaving and throwing himself from side to side, but Aubrey eventually had him solidly bound.
Aubrey slumped against the wall, panting. The things I do for you, George.
His whole body was a source of pain, with his nose a particularly bright spot. Before he seized up entirely, he dragged George towards the door, passing the still whimpering Caroline lying on the floor.
Outside, the cool air was like a balm. Aubrey threw his head back. The stars looked down on him with astonishment. It's night? Aub
rey thought, dazed. We've been in there longer than I thought.
He looked down. 'George, we're outside the workshop. I have to go back in and get Caroline.'
George opened his eyes. His gaze darted from side to side, but the panic was fading. He tried to shrug, but the ropes prevented him. He smiled, then grimaced. 'I think I'm about to be sick.'
Aubrey managed to untie his friend so that he could crawl to the gutter, then he looked away to give him some privacy.
'You'll be all right?' Aubrey asked when George had finished. He nodded and wiped his mouth.
Aubrey staggered back to the workshop and plunged into the miasma of terror.
This time, Aubrey had rope ready before he tackled Caroline. But when he touched her she slammed an elbow into his cheekbone, just below his eye. It made lights jump around inside his head. He reeled back and she was on him, hands outstretched like claws.
She wasn't as strong as George, but she was quicker and her blows were more calculated, even in her terror. He backed away, tripped, and she threw herself at him.
Aubrey rolled to one side and she hissed, missing him. She came to her feet, eyes wild, but she slipped and her head struck the corner of a bench. She slid to the floor insensible.
Chest heaving, Aubrey lifted her and stumbled towards the door, not too exhausted to marvel at the muscularity, the firmness of her body.
Then he remembered the notebook. He put her down and crawled to where he'd dropped it. He tucked it into his jacket and picked her up again, groaning as his head threatened to explode. Then he saw Caroline's hat, which had become dislodged during their struggle. It had fetched up under a bench. For an instant he was tempted to leave it there, but he thought better of it. Balancing his precious load, he felt around under the bench with his foot, eventually snagging the reluctant headgear. Then, with the hat on the tip of his shoe, he shuffled and staggered out of the benighted workshop.
Outside, he sagged at the knees, but managed to ease Caroline to the pavement.
He sat on the ground for a moment, head bowed, Caroline's hat in his hands. He looked up to see George staring at her. 'She hit her head,' he explained. 'She tried for my eyes, but I was just quick enough.'
'That's twice, you know, that she's been knocked unconscious grappling with you.'
Aubrey sighed. He hoped Caroline wouldn't resent it, but he had his doubts.
'What was it, Aubrey?' George said. 'What happened in there?'
Aubrey looked back at the workshop. 'Terror, George, a purer, more concentrated version of what we felt at Penhurst with the Black Beast. It's powerful magic.'
George was silent for a moment. 'Things were about to attack me. I thought I was going to die.'
'I'm sure Caroline felt the same. We were meant to be reduced to mindless, terrified wrecks.'
'I was. There was nothing I could do about it.'
'It works with primal fears, I'd say,' Aubrey mused. Caroline muttered a few nonsense words and lifted a limp hand. 'Things that haunt us all at some deep part of ourselves. Fear of ancient evil, of powerful things waiting to see us, to devour us.'
George shuddered. 'Enough, Aubrey.'
Aubrey nodded. 'I think she's regaining her senses.' He sighed. 'It probably used some of the professor's recent work. A concentration of emotion, a field triggered by our unauthorised opening of the notebook, designed to incapacitate us. I can see that the military would be interested in such magic.'
'And why weren't you affected by the terror?' George asked. 'Weren't you scared?'
Aubrey looked up at the night sky. 'I was. But once you've gazed on the face of death, ordinary fears don't seem to matter as much any more.'
Fifteen
AUBREY FELT BATTERED, WRUNG OUT AND BRUISED. HE ached all over. George and Caroline weren't much better. As soon as Caroline regained her senses and had the situation explained, all three of them shambled off, looking for treatment, rest and nourishment.
Caroline was irritated rather than grateful. She seemed, somehow, to think that the entire ordeal was Aubrey's doing and that it had been unnecessarily complicated. On top of this, she took the notebook into her keeping.
Aubrey wanted it desperately, but he decided not to argue. He needed every ounce of his strength. Aubrey struggled to stop wincing with every step. His muscles were stiff and all his joints felt as if they were filled with acid. He needed, more than ever, some time to rest. Thirty or forty years' worth should be enough, he thought.
They left the warehouses and factories behind and began to move through more populated streets. Houses were lit behind drawn curtains and the smell of cooking was in the air. It made Aubrey's mouth water, but his head pounded whenever he moved it.
Seeking distraction, his gaze swept across the building they were passing. It was a two-storey, red-brick establishment, large and square, stretching back from the street a good way. A small brass plaque near the front door – as would normally signify a doctor's surgery – announced that this was The Greythorn Society for Non-magical Fitness.
He stopped and stared. 'George, what did that advertisement in your agony column say?'
George and Caroline had walked on, not realising Aubrey had stopped, but George turned. 'What is it, Aubrey?'
'The agony column advertisement. The one I deciphered. It mentioned a fitness society.'
'Good Lord,' George said. He stared at the brass plaque. 'So it did.'
'Non-magical fitness?' Caroline said. 'Whatever can it mean?'
George shrugged. 'I suppose one could use magic to get fit. Aubrey?'
'One can use spells to increase muscle tone and endurance. It's illegal in sports, but there are enough private users to keep practitioners in business. Highly expensive business.'
'Non-magical fitness sounds much more wholesome.' George flexed his arms. 'Exercise, weights, things like that. You could join, Aubrey. It might help you with that cadet officer physical test.'
Aubrey ignored him. He was wondering why anyone would use a cipher in a newspaper to meet at a fitness society.
'What are you talking about?' Caroline asked.
George explained about Aubrey's failed cadet test, not sparing the embarrassing details. 'So,' he concluded, 'perhaps Aubrey should make some enquiries here.'
Thank you, George, Aubrey thought sourly. He braced himself. When faced with potential embarrassment, he had one strategy: march straight ahead and let the embarrassment fall where it would. He squared his shoulders, hiding the pain this caused him. 'Very well, George, excellent suggestion. The light's on, let's go inside.'
George gaped. 'You're serious.'
Aubrey opened the gate. 'Of course. Come on now, don't dally.'
'It's hardly the time,' Caroline said.
'Perhaps not.' Aubrey grinned, seized by the moment. 'But opportunity has presented itself.'
Once inside, they found themselves in a waiting room. Tall wooden chairs lined the walls. Their backs were militarily straight, the seats bare of such luxuries as padding. A clerk sat at a reception desk at one end of the room, while stairs led upward to what signs indicated were Meeting Rooms and Gymnasium.
'Gymnasium,' George pointed out to Aubrey. 'This is the right place. I hope they have a branch in the city.'
The clerk stared at them, pencil hovering in the air. He was short, lean, with greying hair. He was dressed in a white shirt and black waistcoat and his whole demeanour said that their appearance was not what he'd expected. He was surrounded by books and pamphlets. Shelves behind him displayed a collection of trophies and shields, mostly tarnished, none remarkable. 'Can I help you?' he said eventually.
Aubrey's burst of energy had deserted him. He lowered himself onto one of the chairs.
George glanced at Aubrey, then approached the reception desk. 'Your society, how does it work?'
The clerk didn't have a chance to reply. A door behind the desk opened and a dark figure emerged. Cadaverous, with a commanding profile, his face was unmistakable. He eyed Aubre
y, George and Caroline coldly. 'Get them out of here.'
Caroline didn't move. 'Who are you? Why are you being so rude?'
Aubrey climbed to his feet. 'He's Craddock, head of the Magisterium.'
Caroline didn't look daunted. 'That's as may be. It doesn't mean he should be impolite.'
Craddock ignored them. He turned to the clerk. 'Green, get them out of here. Our targets should be here at any minute.'
'It's too late, sir,' Green, the clerk, said, pointing towards the window. 'The Holmlanders are coming up the path now. Our trap is working.'
'Tallis!' Craddock snapped. 'Remove these people!'
Aubrey was agog when Captain Tallis hurried down the stairs. What were the Special Services doing working with the Magisterium? What were Holmlanders doing here?
When Tallis saw them, he looked equally startled. He stared at Craddock.
'Hurry!' Craddock snapped.
Tallis gathered himself. 'This way. Up the stairs.'
'I don't see why . . .' Caroline began, but Craddock cut her off.
'Now. Deaths may result if you don't.'
Caroline stared at Craddock. Not with fear, Aubrey noticed. She seemed to be trying to remember every detail of his face, every line and every feature, saving it up for the future. She did this with a cool determination that made Aubrey promise not to cross her, if he could ever help it.
Caroline followed Tallis. George helped Aubrey up the stairs that led to a windowless corridor. Gaslights were spaced along the wooden panelled walls, but none were alight. The nearest door was marked 'Meeting Room 1'. Aubrey could make out three other doors before the gloom swallowed the rest of the corridor.
'Not the Meeting Room,' Tallis barked. He looked around, jerking his head from side to side. 'The gymnasium. Next door along.'
Tallis stood by the door and turned on the electric lights, exposing a vast space of well-sprung wooden floor. Tumbling mats were stacked at one end of the room and climbing frames covered three walls. Racks of weights and Indian clubs took up the other. Ropes dangled from the ceiling, while a solitary vaulting horse stood in the middle of the floor. On the other side of the hall, across the empty floor, was an exit door.
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