In a surprisingly short time, it was done. When he uttered the final syllable, it was like dropping a stone into a bucket of water. Ripples spread outwards through his body, reaching a boundary where they rebounded and rolled inwards again. In an instant, he felt as if his entire being was humming, vibrating faster and faster. He opened his eyes and everything was blurred. Inwardly, he continued to shake more and more until he felt as if he were going to fly apart.
Suddenly, stillness. Aubrey took a long, deep breath. He was still there. The spell had worked. He felt strong, stronger than he had for some time. His head was clear. He got to his feet and joined Caroline and George at the ladder. 'What's out there?'
'It's hard to see,' Caroline said, coming back down. 'Too many shadows. I couldn't see the sniper. Holroyd and the others are scattered around the church, hugging the walls, trying to guess where the shots are coming from.'
'What can we do?' George asked.
Aubrey considered. 'The right moment will present itself if we are ready for it.' He grinned. It was the sort of thing the Scholar Tan would say.
He glanced at the trapdoor at the exact moment a bolt of violent purple light burst through it. He threw up an arm and closed his eyes, but purple and green flashes danced underneath his eyelids. His skin prickled unbearably as a boom and a high-pitched hiss rolled down from overhead, followed by shouts and screams.
He opened his eyes gingerly, to see Caroline and George doing the same. George was slapping dust off his beggar's rags.
'We have our distraction,' Aubrey said.
He bolted up the ladder and out through the trapdoor, not giving himself time to think. He threw himself onto his belly and tried to take in his surroundings.
Dozens of globes of light were hovering in the body of the church – purple, red and gold. They varied in size from marbles to footballs and were darting at the members of the Army of New Albion. Another cluster was swooping upwards like a flock of birds.
Magic, Aubrey thought as his skin itched.
Ames was standing in the middle of the nave. He was flailing his arms and screaming. 'Rats! Get them off me! Rats!'
Holroyd was hunched against the wall, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. His shrieks made the hair stand up on the back of Aubrey's neck.
Nearby, another man lay. Blood was streaming from a shoulder wound, but his curses and demands for assistance indicated that he was another member of the Army of New Albion, and still among the living.
Briggs was trapped in the middle of a flock of globes, running for his life along the length of the nave. He turned his head to see if he was being followed and ran into one of the pillars. He toppled like a tree and didn't move.
Aubrey winced as three rifle shots cracked flat and hard. Ames danced on his toes. 'Rats!' he screamed. 'The rats are everywhere!'
Caroline surged up the ladder. She threw herself next to Aubrey and George was at their side an instant later. Together, they scrambled into a tangle of rubbish and rubble. It offered concealment and a wide view of the extraordinary events unfolding in the ruins.
'Rifle?' George asked, panting.
'I saw a flash. Coming from there, I think.' Aubrey pointed at the pile of broken masonry in the remaining corner of the ruin, where the flock of globes was congregating. They flew past, darting in and out like hungry seagulls.
'Von Stralick?' Caroline said.
'I'd say so. He's after Holroyd and his friends.' Aubrey pointed. 'But he looks trapped up there now. Not by Holroyd's crew, though. There's no magic about them.' He gnawed his lip. They really should withdraw while they could. Their position was safe, but for how long?
'Then who's controlling those globes?' Caroline asked.
'I'm not sure. George, do you have the pistol Ames dropped?'
'No, old man. I couldn't find it.' George looked pale, but calm. 'Might've been useful.'
At that moment, a giant voice rolled into the burnt church. 'THROW AWAY YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT. YOU ARE OUTNUMBERED AND OUTPOSITIONED. THROW AWAY YOUR WEAPONS AND COME OUT.'
Aubrey recognised the voice. 'Craddock,' he said. 'The shrouded figures we saw must have been the Magisterium. Those magical globes would be their work.' Aubrey shook his head. How did the Magisterium fit into this?
The coloured globes clustered together and began to quiver. Slowly, they faded and vanished. A score or more black-garbed figures entered the ruined cathedral, vaulting over the crumbled wall, stepping through the gaps, and scrambling over falls of stone.
Holroyd's wails grew louder and even less coherent. Ames stared wildly around, no doubt wondering where the rats had gone. Then he gaped at the black figures.
'SURRENDER!' came Craddock's magically inflated voice.
Aubrey tensed. He could feel something, deep in his bones. It grated, made his teeth ache. His neck prickled, then began to burn. Someone was preparing to cast potent magic, with a distinctive nature he'd felt before. 'Someone else is here,' he muttered.
George stared around the burnt church. 'Who?'
'I'm not sure,' Aubrey said, but the magic in the air reminded him of that which had animated the assassin golem, which had begun the chain of events that had brought them here.
The floor started to vibrate.
Caroline looked at Aubrey, but he frowned and shook his head. 'I have no idea.' He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Common sense suggested that it was a good time to slip away, while the Magisterium was busy with rounding up the would-be regicides. But this new magical presence was intriguing.
'This way,' he said, and crept towards what could once have been a balcony supporting a choir stall but was now a pile of rubble. He heard Caroline's exasperated sigh, but when he glanced over his shoulder both she and George were following.
The stones were solidly lodged against each other, having been too large to cart away easily. They proved to be easy to scale and provided good cover. Aubrey hauled himself up until he was able to lie flat in the shadow of a cracked slab of marble.
Holroyd and the others had been cornered by the thirty or forty black-clad Magisterium operatives and a few others, whom Aubrey recognised as Special Services agents. The fight seemed to have gone out of the Army of New Albion and they stood with heads down, shoulders sagging. Aubrey saw Craddock standing on the side, allowing the Special Services agents to conduct the arrest. Craddock was scanning the burnt church, one long finger lying along his cheek, his entire posture suggesting he was ill at ease.
Then the night was torn apart.
At first it was a single note, then a collection of deep, sonorous sounds, as if the largest organ in creation had all stops pulled out and all keys depressed at once. Aubrey clapped his hands to his ears. Perhaps we should have left, after all, he thought.
Somewhere nearby, stone crashed to the ground. George stifled an oath and stared about, wildly. Caroline's eyes narrowed. She looked poised, taut, ready to move in any direction.
Holroyd shrieked. He shot out his arm and pointed. 'They've come!' he screamed over the blast of noise that swelled, peaked and then started to subside.
Aubrey stared. Ghostly forms were rising through the stones.
Skeletal, mortified, gruesome, with remnants of ragged clothes, they drifted upwards until free of the stone. Aubrey could see through them as they floated, bony fingers by their sides. Their eyes were black and empty. Dozens, then hundreds of the spectres emerged from the stone until the ruined cathedral was filled with a ghastly congregation.
At the sight of the apparitions, the Magisterium operatives stumbled back, before grouping together under Craddock's barked instructions and presenting a united front. Chanting rose from their formation and the coloured globes reappeared, hurtling at the apparitions.
This seemed to spur the spectres into action. A wild, wordless chorus went up from them, then they raised their bony hands and surged towards the Magisterium operatives.
'Look,' whispered Caroline. 'Holroyd and the others have gone.'
>
'Where's von Stralick?' Aubrey wondered.
'If he has any sense, he'll leave while he can. And I think we should take the opportunity too,' Caroline said.
Aubrey grinned. 'After you.'
The apparitions closed with the Magisterium operatives, who seemed dismayed that the coloured globes had no effect on them. They fell back and began to resort to other measures – conjurations of half-visible creatures, ear-splitting lightning bolts, gusts of cold and heat, spatters of light that made Aubrey's eyes hurt.
One of the operatives was gripped by a spectre, but the ghost was slashed away by something that swooped in a blur of motion, a small, black, deadly shape.
George gripped Aubrey's arm. 'Did you see that?'
'No.'
'I did,' Caroline said. She stared at Aubrey. 'It was the same as in Father's workshop.'
George's face was grim. 'The Magisterium is using shades? Then could they be the ones responsible for your father's death, for the golem, everything that's happened?'
Aubrey chewed his lip. Craddock's motives had never been easy to discern. Could he be weaving a subtle web with the aim of achieving power unparalleled in Albion?
He shook his head. Craddock did not seem ambitious for power and status, not like so many others Aubrey had seen. Not like the Prime Minister. Not like the Foreign Secretary. It had to be someone else.
'We mustn't jump to conclusions,' he finally said. 'For a start, we can't assume that the Magisterium was behind the shade in Professor Hepworth's workshop.'
George looked frustrated, but there was no time to argue as their attention was drawn back to the nave of the church. The apparitions were slowly being annihilated by the Magisterium operatives. Bolts of magic were shredding the spectres, but they had managed to injure three or four operatives, who were slumped with their backs to the cracked base of the pillar.
But Aubrey's attention was caught by movement at the top of the pillar. Watching from this precarious vantage point was a man, but a man shrouded in magic so as to hide his identity. It was like looking through poorly made glass for, while the figure was tantalisingly apparent, Aubrey could make out nothing distinctive at all, except that the mysterious watcher seemed to be holding a stick in one hand. Aubrey frowned. Or was it a wand? Could someone have found a genuine magic wand?
This watcher was surrounded by a dozen or more shades, but he paid little attention to them even though they were attacking, slicing towards him before veering off. Aubrey saw one skim too close. The watcher slapped at it almost absently, backhanding it into oblivion. The shade folded in on itself and vanished.
The watcher leaned forward, studying the Magisterium operatives clustered at the base of the pillar. Aubrey could feel the power emanating from him. He had used potent spells to raise the spectral horde, combinations of approaches that Aubrey had never thought possible. The spells were audacious, full of bravado, and Aubrey realised the watcher was using them again. More apparitions rose from the floor of the burnt church and shambled to reinforce the dwindling ranks of their fellows, but the watcher was not content with this show of power. Aubrey gasped as, with almost scornful ease, the watcher called a rain of fire down on the hapless Magisterium operatives.
Aubrey knew, in theory at least, how difficult such a spell was. Uniting water and fire required such a strong application of the Law of Opposites that few seriously considered attempting it. Even experimenting with such a spell required an ego far beyond that of commonplace magicians.
With a hissing, crackling roar, the liquid fire cascaded down on the Magisterium operatives but, just before they were enveloped in the blazing torrent, a protective dome sprang up, neatly shielding them from fiery death. Aubrey was impressed by the training and teamwork that had allowed the operatives to respond so quickly.
He felt a tug on his sleeve. 'We should go,' George whispered.
Aubrey sighed, nodded, and allowed Caroline to lead them away from the magical battle. She made good use of cover, moving from shadow to niche, always avoiding open ground. Aubrey struggled to keep up with her decisive progress. The ruins were lit up by the rain of fire and the magical bolts that pierced it as the Magisterium fought back, sending shadows dancing across the crumbling stonework. Aubrey took a last look at the watcher. He was standing on top of the pillar, hands on hips, and Aubrey had the distinct impression he was laughing.
Who was he?
IT TOOK THEM SOME TIME, BUT THEY MANAGED TO LEAVE THE ruins and stagger back to where they'd left Jack and Oscar. Behind them, the burnt church was a riot of hurtful light, strange smells and cries that did not belong in this world.
From out of the darkness and the rain, Jack Figg's voice greeted them. 'Glad you're back. We've got a surprise for you.'
When they drew closer, Aubrey saw that Jack was standing next to a horse and cart. The driver was a small, dark man, who tipped his cloth cap to Caroline and gave a lopsided grin as water poured from the brim.
'Charlie will take us back to my place,' Jack said, 'and then he'll forget he ever saw us. Right, Charlie?'
The driver waved a hand and mumbled. It sounded as if he had a doormat stuck in his throat. He jerked his thumb at the rear of the cart and Aubrey didn't need a second invitation. He dragged himself aboard, watching as Caroline vaulted in with the grace of a dancer.
'Where's Oscar?' George asked when he'd settled on the rough, wet timber and the cart set off with a jerk. The horse glumly splashed its way through an enormous puddle.
Jack was sitting next to the driver. 'That's the other part of the surprise,' he said over his shoulder. 'Some speed please, Charlie. It's best to be well away from here.'
The driver growled at the horse. Immediately, it lurched forward over the uneven cobblestones, picking up pace until the cart was bouncing along, every jolt making Aubrey's head ache. He screwed up his face and peered through the wind-whipped rain.
Charlie obviously knew the best routes. The cart slid wildly around corners, clattered down narrow laneways and along noisome drains, but never had to stop for traffic. Aubrey clutched the side of the cart with a strength that surprised him and he wondered what would happen if a pedestrian staggered out of one of the many doors they passed.
Charlie had some difficulty getting his horse to stop. It appeared as if the nag had enjoyed the exercise. It looked almost disappointed when the cart rolled to a halt outside Jack's hovel. The light from the single window showed that someone was inside.
Jack climbed down from the cart. George helped Aubrey, while Caroline alighted and patted the horse on the flank. It turned its head and stared at her quizzically.
'Thanks, Charlie,' Jack said, but the enigmatic driver was already moving off through the rain without a word or a backward glance.
'A good man,' Jack said. 'His wife was very ill until your clinic helped her, Aubrey.'
Aubrey wished he'd thanked the driver. The cart ride had given him a chance to gain some strength after his exertions at the burnt church.
Caroline stepped up and rapped on the door of Jack's hovel.
Oscar opened it, his bulk filling the doorway almost completely.
Inside, sitting on a bench, was a man with a large bandage covering the side of his head and another wrapped around his hand. He looked pale and strained.
'Say hello to Hugo von Stralick,' Jack said.
Twenty-
One
THE RAIN DRUMMED ON THE ROOF OF THE HOVEL WHILE Jack explained how they'd come upon the fleeing von Stralick and insisted he join them. The Holmlander sat on the bench with Oscar's massive hands on his shoulders, restraining him. The bandage on his hand had begun to redden as blood seeped through and he cradled it with his good hand.
Aubrey was perched on the desk. Jack had given Caroline the only chair, while George and he sat on boxes. One of Jack's cats jumped into his lap and looked unhappily at the bedraggled intruders.
'Well, Hugo,' Jack said to von Stralick. 'I know now that I shouldn't have told you t
he way to the burnt church. Why didn't you tell me you were a spy?'
Von Stralick attempted to shrug, but winced under Oscar's firm grip. 'Greetings, Miss Hepworth, Mr Fitzwilliam, Mr Doyle. I trust you have recovered from the wretched shooting party we shared?'
'Quite,' Aubrey said. 'What happened to your hand?'
'I've lost a finger.' Von Stralick managed to make it sound as if it was merely forgetfulness rather than a throbbing wound. 'One of those ghouls at the burnt church ripped my rifle from me and happened to take my finger with it.'
Aubrey was impressed by von Stralick's calm. And despite the bandages on his wounded ear and maimed hand, he looked clean and presentable. He'd smoothed back his black hair and had somehow kept his moustache trimmed. He spoke without any noticeable Holmlander accent.
Jack sighed. 'Hugo? Why didn't you tell me what you are?'
'I thought you knew I was a spy.'
'I thought you were a troublemaker, that was all.'
Von Stralick smiled a little. 'I'm very good at what I do.'
'Then why did you miss at the burnt church?' Aubrey cut in. 'You fired a number of shots and didn't hit anyone.'
'I'm a good spy, but a mediocre assassin.'
'Then why were you shooting at all?' Caroline asked.
Von Stralick gazed at the ceiling. 'My, that rain is heavy, isn't it?'
Aubrey fumed. 'You're not going to say anything?'
Von Stralick smiled and spread his hands. 'I have a duty, you understand.' He wrinkled his brow. 'I . . .' He coughed, covering his mouth with his good hand and wincing as he jolted the other. 'Excuse me,' he said. 'It must be the weather.'
Suddenly, his eyes opened wide in surprise. He touched his chest with his good hand and uttered a pained grunt.
'Quickly,' Caroline said. 'It's his heart. Lay him on the floor!'
Oscar looked puzzled and stood back as Jack seized the sagging von Stralick. George helped and they stretched him out on the only uncluttered part of the floor. His eyes were closed and his face had turned a flat grey colour. He was breathing shallowly.
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