'Damn! I thought they were beggars, but they're not,' the taller man said. 'It's youngsters.'
'What do we do now?' the other man said. The pistol jiggled as he sought guidance from his partner. Aubrey tried to lean away.
'Damn, damn, damn!' The taller man spat on the ground and looked around.' We can't stay here. Bring them.'
'Get up,' the pistol-wielder snapped.
Aubrey rose. They didn't sound like Holmlanders. What were they doing here?
'Move it. That way.'
They were herded towards the burnt church and urged through a gap in the broken wall.
It was an immense space. St Agnes' had been enormous, large enough to hold a coronation. The hard stone floor was empty except for rubble and the few burnt timbers that were either too large or too ruined to be scavenged.
They were marched along the length of the nave, towards the apse where the altar would once have been. The two side wings of the transept, intersecting the nave, extended to either side. Aubrey could almost see the worshippers filling the great space, the priests leading the procession.
'Stop there,' pistol-wielder said and Aubrey's vision of the cathedral of long ago vanished. 'Turn around.'
The taller man ran the palms of his hands against his jacket. 'I wish you three hadn't come here.'
'So do we,' Aubrey said. 'Let us go and we won't come back.'
The taller man looked pained. 'I'd like to, son, but we can't operate like that. Things are too serious.'
'We won't tell anyone,' Caroline said. Aubrey saw her inching closer to the man with the pistol. She held her hands out as if pleading, but Aubrey could see the tensing of her body and the way she balanced on the balls of her feet.
'Easy, now,' the pistol-wielder said. He took a step back.
'It's not our decision,' the taller man said, appealing for understanding. 'We'll have to see what the others say.'
He knelt and picked up a fist-sized piece of stone. He banged it against the floor three times.
Aubrey's eyes widened as a floor stone creaked upwards. A lantern, a pistol and a face appeared. The face was long and thin, adorned with a drooping forked moustache. The man looked like a walrus rising through a hole in the ice. 'Ames? Briggs? You saw the message?'
'Aye, it's us, Holroyd,' the pistol-wielder said. He glanced at his partner. 'Ames, steady the trapdoor.'
Ames, the taller man, seized the stone and assisted those below in lifting it. Briggs, the pistol-wielder, gestured with his head. 'Now, you three, down you go.'
Ames leaned towards the hole. 'We've got three prisoners coming down, Holroyd.'
He stood aside and Briggs waved them towards the ladder. Aubrey looked at both of them. 'Are you sure you want to do this?'
'Get moving,' Briggs growled.
Aubrey shrugged and climbed down the ladder. Caroline, her face set in hard lines, went next. George was last.
The soft light of the lantern lit a long, narrow space. The walls and the floor were made of tightly fitting stone blocks. The walrus-moustached Holroyd stood at one end, holding a lantern. He looked dismayed. Two other men stood behind him and murmured to each other. 'This way,' Holroyd managed. 'Mind your step.'
This courtesy, more than anything, convinced Aubrey that they were in the hands of amateurs. That worried him. He'd rather they were professionals. Professionals were steady, predictable. Amateurs were usually inexperienced. They could do anything.
He leaned against the stone wall. His heart was hammering and he felt cold sweat all over his body. He needed to rest.
Behind him, Ames and Briggs clattered down the ladder. Together, they eased the trapdoor shut.
They marched down the passage for ten yards before it opened into a chamber about five yards square. Lanterns hung from brackets, lighting the space and the table and chairs that were arranged in the middle of it. The passage continued on the other side of the chamber, stairs disappearing into darkness.
Ames and Briggs put their heads together and muttered, while Holroyd and the nameless two others watched their prisoners. They appeared to reach a decision. Briggs gave the pistol to Ames, took a lantern from the wall and disappeared down the stairs.
'Where are we?' George asked Aubrey.
He looked around. 'I can't see any tombs or coffins, but it must be the crypt. Perhaps the remains were removed.'
'No talking,' Ames growled. He brandished his revolver.
Briggs reappeared with a coil of rope over his shoulder. 'Sit down,' he said and he handed the rope to Holroyd. 'Tie them back to back.'
'The girl too?'
'Yes.'
Holroyd was firm without being cruel. He bound them with the experience of someone who has worked with ropes all his life, with hard, flat knots well out of reach.
When Holroyd was done, Aubrey sagged against George. Immediately, he could feel his friend flexing his muscles, working against the bonds. Aubrey was sure that George was strong enough to stretch the ropes and slip out, but it would take time, something he was sure was in short supply.
George nudged him and he jerked his head upright. 'Sorry.'
'You're unwell?'
'Not the best.'
Aubrey felt Caroline's slender strength next to him and she, too, was carefully working against her bonds. 'Are you sick?' she asked.
'Not exactly.'
Holroyd frowned. He crouched and held a lantern close to Aubrey's face. His eyes went wide. 'I thought I recognised him.'
'What is it?' Ames said. 'Holroyd, what're you carrying on about?'
Holroyd straightened. He pointed at Aubrey. 'The lad. I've seen him before, better dressed than that. He's Sir Darius's son.'
'No,' Ames said. Briggs looked startled and stared at Aubrey.
'What are we going to do?' Briggs said. He looked at Aubrey as if he were an unexploded bomb.
'Down the stairs,' Ames said. 'We need to discuss this.'
Briggs, Holroyd and the two others followed Ames into a deeper part of the crypt, grumbling.
'What next?' Caroline said. She didn't sound frightened. She sounded calculating.
'It's not good, I'm afraid,' Aubrey said. 'They're using their names. That either means that they don't think it'll do us any good to know who they are, or that they're careless. Either way, we're in a situation.'
'Who are these men?'
'Well, they're not Holmlanders,' Aubrey said. 'And that makes things very complicated.'
'How so?' Caroline asked.
'Where's von Stralick? Where are the rest of the Holmlanders? And what of the magically shrouded newcomers we saw? These men are a third party.' He shook his head. 'Too many variables here.'
Footsteps and the bobbing light of the lantern in the passage announced the return of their captors. None of them looked happy but Ames had put away his pistol, for which Aubrey was grateful.
Holroyd puffed air through his moustache and frowned. He looked to his colleagues and they waved him forward. 'This is very complicated,' he said.
'We were just saying that,' Aubrey said in a weary voice.
'It's not your presence, actually, that's the worst thing. It's who you are.'
'My father's son,' Aubrey said.
'Exactly.'
Holroyd wiped his hands together. 'Great man, your father. The hope of the country.'
Aubrey blinked. 'I beg your pardon?'
'He's the only one who knows what's good for the country, he does. Not afraid to speak his mind, either.'
Aubrey had heard these sort of reverential tones before. 'You served with him, didn't you?'
Holroyd looked thoughtful. 'In the Mataboro conflict. I was a sapper attached to his regiment. I never heard him give an order for something he wasn't prepared to do himself. When I was doing earthworks, demolitions, he made me show him how to lay a charge, the burn rates for fuses, things like that. Good man, he was, for an officer.'
Caroline had had enough. 'Exactly who are you? What are you doing here?'
<
br /> Holroyd's eyes darted from side to side, to his coconspirators.
Briggs stepped forward. 'We are the Army of New Albion, the true patriots of this benighted nation.'
Aubrey's brain was racing, trying to fit this new piece of intelligence into the puzzle. The Army of New Albion? What were they doing here?
'War is in the wind,' Holroyd said. 'Holmland aggression has made that clear.'
'Not to mention the growth in their military,' Briggs added. 'Their navy's doubled in size in the last three years. The sinking of the Osprey was a test of their new naval strength.'
'And it's obvious that Holmland sees Albion as the only real opponent to their plans for an empire,' Holroyd continued.
Aubrey nodded, hoping to encourage them to talk, even though they weren't saying anything new. The more they talked, the more likely it was that they would say something useful – and the more time George would have to work free.
'But this country has grown soft,' Ames said, his eyes narrow. 'Too many appeasers, too many who are prepared to give in, to turn a blind eye to those onion-eating scum.'
'The Prime Minister,' Briggs said.
'The King,' Holroyd added. He crouched in front of Aubrey. 'They're not like your father, lad. He's the man we need in charge of this country. He won't put up with the antics of the Holmlanders. He'd show them that Albion isn't a nation of weaklings and cowards. He'd stand up to them.'
'I see,' Aubrey said, when it seemed as if an answer was expected. He wondered if he should tell them of the disappearance of his father, but decided to keep that one to himself for the moment.
Briggs shook his head. 'He should still be Prime Minister, he should.'
Ames snarled again. 'That Armitage, I never trusted him.'
Holroyd looked worried, plucked at his moustache and glanced at his colleagues. As he did, Aubrey realised that these men were desperate. They might not be hardened criminals, but they had the air of people who had committed themselves to drastic action, even at great personal cost. They had the look of the fanatic about them.
His growing sense of optimism was doused by this thought. Fanatics had a habit of not being worried about their welfare, or of those around them, as long as it advanced their cause. It could explain why they were so forthcoming with their explanations.
Holroyd glanced at his colleague. 'Steady, Ames, steady.'
Ames whirled and thrust his face in Holroyd's. 'I've had enough of steady! Steady isn't going to save this country! It's action that's needed!'
Holroyd held up his hands palms outwards and spoke softly, as if to an angry dog. 'Of course, of course. That's why we're here tonight, remember? Planning, final details, timing.'
Briggs glanced at Aubrey. 'Lad, how'd you like to see your father leading this country again?'
'He will. After the election.'
Ames laughed savagely. 'Not a chance. The King's all but given the Prime Minister his blessing. The Holmlanders are telling everyone how impressed they are with our PM. Your father's reputation is being torn down. It's all cosy and wrapped up for the Royalists.'
Holroyd seemed uncertain where this conversation was going, but he didn't interrupt.
'What if,' Briggs said, 'the King and the PM weren't around any more? That'd put Prince Albert on the throne – and he and your dad get along like a house on fire. No more cosy Holmland-loving statements coming from the palace. We'd have strength instead of weakness.'
'The King's not a proper Albionite anyway,' Ames spat. 'He's Holmlander through and through. He deserves to die.'
The chamber was silent after Ames's venom. Finally, Aubrey spoke up. 'How many relatives did you lose when the Osprey was sunk?'
Ames stiffened. Briggs took him by the arm. 'We all lost people to those treacherous Holmlanders,' he said. 'I lost a cousin, same as Holroyd. Ames lost two brothers. Stokers, they were. Never had a chance when the ship sank.'
Ames's face contorted with anger. 'And Rollo Armitage and his cronies just caved in. Accepted the apologies and pretended all was well. Traitors. They deserve some of their own medicine and we're going to give it to them!'
Holroyd nodded. 'It's time to act. Things are getting dangerous for us. We were lucky to avoid the authorities up in Greythorn last week.' He sighed. 'You called this meeting to check our preparations, Ames?'
Ames looked startled. 'I thought the message was from you.'
They both looked at Briggs. He shook his head. 'Wasn't me. You told me about the meeting, Ames.'
Caroline had been silent for some time, but Aubrey had felt her tensing. She coughed a little and leaned close to him. 'Get ready,' she breathed.
Aubrey didn't have time to wonder what she meant. She rose to her feet in one sinuous action, casting the rope aside.
Holroyd, Briggs and Ames stared, Ames fumbling for his revolver. The other two had their backs to her. 'Now, lass,' Holroyd said, 'you don't want to get hurt.'
'No,' Caroline said and then she sprang. Ames didn't have a chance to move. Caroline kicked the revolver out of his hand and struck him in the mid-section with the flat of her hand. He collapsed, gasping for air.
George threw off the last of the ropes and launched himself at Holroyd, who back-pedalled frantically, arms whirling, only to run into a roundhouse kick from Caroline. He staggered against the wall, knocked his head against the stone, and slid to the floor.
Caroline twisted and dropped into a crouch. One leg shot out and she spun around, sweeping the nameless two off their feet. They fell into a tangled heap. Caroline straightened up, balanced on her toes, but the men simply lay there, staring at her. Aubrey wanted to applaud, but instead he dragged himself to his feet.
'All right, love, all right,' Briggs said nervously. He eyed the revolver on the floor, but instead shuffled over to Ames and prodded him with a foot. 'Get up. Let's get out of here.'
'What about them?' Ames snarled. He was still holding his midriff. Aubrey wondered if Caroline had broken a rib for him.
'Leave them,' Holroyd said, tottering over. 'You won't say anything, will you, lad? We're just trying to do the right thing for the country. And your old dad.'
Aubrey decided to throw in his ace while they were off balance. It might turn up something useful. 'He's missing,' he said. 'Someone's kidnapped him.'
Holroyd's face fell. 'That's not good.'
'Holmlanders have taken him,' Ames snarled. 'We have to move, fast!'
'We'll do what we can to help him,' Holroyd said. 'All right, lad?'
Aubrey was silent. Holroyd seemed satisfied with this. Briggs picked up a chair and jabbed it at Caroline, then he held it in front of him as they backed out of the chamber. There was a boom as the stone trapdoor opened, and the Army of New Albion were on their way.
The noise echoed in Aubrey's skull and he felt as if were about to vomit. His knees were weak and a vast, rushing noise was in his ears. The effort of the spell-casting and the tense situation were combining to fray at his physical condition. He was deteriorating, and the call of the true death was growing stronger. 'Dangerous men,' he whispered to George, who had put an arm under his shoulders to support him.
'What?'
'Grief, fanaticism, stupidity and a cause. Explosive mixture.'
'Is he all right?' Caroline asked George.
'No. We have to get him home. He needs rest.'
An unmistakable sound rang out and Aubrey's head jerked up.
'Rifle shot,' George said.
Caroline raced for the ladder and Aubrey was left with George.
Another shot sounded.
'That will be von Stralick, I'd expect,' Aubrey whispered. He closed his eyes and sought for strength.
'I'd say so. How do you feel?'
'Barely holding myself together. It's got worse.'
'Be strong. It'll be all right.'
Aubrey opened one eye and looked at his friend. 'You always say that.'
'Well, I'm a very positive person.'
'Wait a moment,' Aubre
y said. He bent his head. He was trembling, drained. The tugging at his soul was sharp and painful. It felt as if it would be dragged out of his body at any time. He doubted he had the strength to resist it.
Two more shots cracked.
Trapped, with a gunfight going on over our heads, he thought. Father missing, the King about to be killed. I suppose I have no time to waste.
He attempted a grin, but it wouldn't work properly. He motioned to George.
'Yes, old man?'
'George.' Aubrey sought for words, but they all seemed cheap and theatrical. 'Go and see what's going on.'
Aubrey watched his friend go to the foot of the ladder where Caroline was crouching. Dim light was coming from the open trapdoor.
He was left with no choice. He had to use an untested spell. Of course, an untested spell had placed him in this parlous situation . . .
He would not allow himself to make the same mistakes he had then. This spell might be untested, but it would be rigorous. It was raw and unrefined, but he had hopes that it might derive power from this crudity.
The aim of the spell was to bind his soul to his body again, to bring them back to their natural state of unification. If successful, it should shield him from death's untimely call. He could not afford, however, to sever the golden cord that led through the portal to the other side. To restore himself fully, he needed to learn how to recall the cord and close death's door. This was beyond him at the present.
The spell used elements he'd rephrased into a modern terminology of his own invention. Some were derived from the spell he had used for the fly that spied on his father. Others came from his death magic research. The whole expression was unique, and the final signature element indicated this. Aubrey hoped he'd be proud of it. If it worked, it would do more than stabilise his condition, it would give him some important results towards establishing a new language for magic.
He dropped his head and closed his eyes. He relaxed as much as he could. He began.
He spoke barely above a whisper, hardly moving his lips. This made crisp pronunciation even more difficult, but he felt the syllables rolling out with precision and clarity, with no slurring. Each element fell into place as if it was meant to be there. The transitions between each element were perfect, neither stretched nor condensed.
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