Moment of Truth

by Michael Pryor

  He imagined Dr Tremaine was feeling satisfied as nation after nation declared war on each other. It was the sort of scale he’d been after all along, the magnitude of war that was needed to complete the Ritual of the Way.

  George opened the door to the library. Aubrey could see that, in the warmth of the evening, the windows had been open. The smell of honeysuckle made his favourite room in the house even more inviting. He took one of the large leather armchairs and let his gaze wander over the thousands of volumes on the shelves.

  The Ritual of the Way was death magic of the worst sort. It was theoretical, because no-one had ever thought that a sufficient blood sacrifice could be organised. Dr Tremaine, however, was a man who dared do what others recoiled from. He had realised that war was nothing if not an organised blood sacrifice. If he could harness it and orchestrate a battle of gargantuan size, he could achieve his ends.

  Immortality. Even the warmth of the summer evening wasn’t enough to stop Aubrey from shivering at the prospect of an immortal Dr Tremaine. Given eternal life, could anything stop him?

  There was a knock at the door and Harris brought in a tray. George took it from him and placed it on the table between his chair and Aubrey’s. He poured, and Aubrey was charmed when he saw that Harris had found his favourite childhood mug. Solid brown earthenware, a smiling cow beamed out at him from it.

  George had a more mature mug – a thoughtful-looking duck – and after he sipped he sighed. ‘Good cocoa, that.’

  Aubrey sipped. ‘Harris made it himself.’

  ‘Not cook?’

  ‘Harris prides himself on his cocoa.’

  ‘I see.’ George took another mouthful, then placed his mug on the table. ‘All right, old man. Now that the cocoa discussion is out of the way, I need to ask you a question.’

  Aubrey lifted an eyebrow. ‘Mmm?’

  George pursed his lips, scratched his chin, frowned and then rubbed his hands together. Running out of time-wasting gestures, he finally fixed his gaze on Aubrey. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Aubrey put his mug on the table as well. He sat back and crossed his arms on his chest. ‘That’s a very good question, George. It deserves to have a very good answer, but I’m dashed if I know what it is.’

  ‘Let me throw a few words into the ring: duty, responsibility, obligation.’

  Aubrey made a face. ‘You don’t have to remind me about duty.’

  ‘I know, old man.’

  ‘King and country, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Sounds old-fashioned when you put it like that.’

  ‘If you mean unthinking obedience and loyalty to something as abstract as a country, then I think it is a bit old-fashioned.’

  George nodded, but Aubrey saw this was potentially upsetting. ‘Don’t mistake me, though,’ he went on. ‘I happen to think you can do the same thing for two different reasons. While some people might rally to Albion just because of patriotism, with no questions asked, I like to think that I support Albion because I’ve asked the questions and I’m satisfied with the answers.’

  ‘Like your magic,’ George said slowly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You keep going on about Rational Magic, where you magic types ask questions and work things out intelligently. Maybe you’re doing the same with patriotism.’

  ‘Rational Patriotism.’ Aubrey tried it on for size, and was quite comfortable with the fit. ‘If I’m rationally patriotic, I can admit that while Albion isn’t perfect there is a lot to be proud of.’

  ‘Freedom of the press,’ George said. ‘Freedom of thought.’

  ‘More or less. And there’s the rule of law. And Democracy.’

  ‘Votes for women?’

  ‘Coming soon,’ Aubrey said firmly. He uncrossed his arms and counted on his fingers. ‘Writing. The Arts. Sciences.’

  ‘Charity,’ George said. ‘Don’t forget charity. Albionites know that it’s the right thing to do to help those less well off than you are.’ He held up a finger. ‘And don’t forget cricket.’

  ‘How could I? Aubrey said. ‘It’s a good country. Not perfect, but it’s better than the alternative. I’d hate to see it crushed.’

  ‘That’s the other thing,’ George said. ‘We’re talking about defending ourselves here.’

  Aubrey had visions of invaders marching on Parliament House. Or the Palace. Or Maidstone. He shuddered. ‘While I wouldn’t want Mother to hear it, I’d do what I could to protect her.’ And George’s parents. And Caroline, of course. And Mrs Hepworth. And Harris. Then there’s Bertie...

  ‘Of course.’ George scowled. ‘I’m worried about Sophie and her family.’

  George had met Sophie Delroy a year ago, while on their Lutetian escapade. They’d been diligent correspondents ever since, and Sophie had visited Greythorn on one memorable occasion. Aubrey thought they were well matched. The sharp and ambitious Sophie and the clearly smitten George.

  ‘Why not ask them over here for a holiday?’ Aubrey suggested. ‘Plenty of room here at Maidstone.’

  George chewed on this. ‘Or I could ask them to the farm. Father would like that.’

  ‘They’d be out of harm’s way.’

  ‘If you allow me to leapfrog sideways, so to speak, it’s true, what you say.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘The best way to lessen worry is to do something about it. One of your maxims, that.’

  ‘It is?’ Aubrey hadn’t realised he’d appropriated one of his father’s favourite mottos. Not that he minded – he agreed. Doing something – anything – was about the only remedy for the paralysis that worry could bring about.

  ‘A favourite,’ George said firmly. ‘Now, I don’t think we’ve really decided what we’re going to do.’

  ‘A question for you, then. How do you feel about being summoned here?’

  ‘Summoned?’ George frowned. ‘I didn’t really see it like that.’

  Am I being oversensitive? Aubrey wondered, but he went on. ‘Well, what about being described as “foolish”?’

  ‘Steady on, old man. I think it was our possible actions that were described as foolish, not us.’

  ‘Aren’t you splitting hairs, George? It sounded to me as if we couldn’t be trusted and we needed to be sheltered for our own good.’

  ‘I suppose there was a bit of that...’

  ‘I’m not sure how well that sits with me.’ Aubrey reached out for his cocoa, but his cow mug was cold. ‘I’m worried about this war, George.’

  George stood and brushed off his jacket. ‘Let’s sleep on it. It’s too late to do anything now.’

  Aubrey glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece over the fire. It was after eleven. He’d wanted to wait for his father, but if he wasn’t home by now he may not be home at all. ‘Tomorrow morning it is. Plenty of time then to do something rash.’

  Five

  Sir Darius did not come to Maidstone at all. At breakfast – while George stowed away enormous quantities of bacon and eggs – Aubrey thought his mother was doing well to cover her concern, but he saw how she tensed when the telephone rang. When Harris returned, she continued buttering her toast but with the sort of studied concentration that meant she was controlling herself carefully. ‘Who was it, Harris?’

  ‘Duncan, m’lady, one of Sir Darius’s aides. He apologised and said Sir Darius was unlikely to be home at all today.’

  Lady Rose paused in her buttering. ‘I thought not.’ Then she resumed, scraping the butter over a piece of toast that was already well spread. ‘Was there any indication when he may be here?’

  ‘As soon as possible, was the message.’ Harris paused. The butler was the embodiment of discretion, but in the minute shifting of his stance Aubrey thought he detected discomfort. ‘One other thing, m’lady. Sir Darius asked to make sure that Master Fitzwilliam and Master Doyle remain at Maidst
one.’

  Aubrey and George exchanged glances.

  ‘Thank you, Harris.’

  ‘M’lady.’

  Lady Rose put her toast on a side plate. Aubrey had never seen a piece of charred bread so perfectly buttered. ‘Your father is concerned about you, Aubrey. And you, too, George.’

  ‘More concerned than usual?’ Aubrey said.

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘So he’s imprisoning us.’

  ‘Keeping you safe, I’d put it. Until he can talk to you, at least.’ Lady Rose frowned. ‘He has your best interests at heart. Oh.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Lady Rose took up her napkin and touched it to her lips. Aubrey couldn’t imagine why. She hadn’t eaten a thing. ‘I just used a platitude. Your father and I vowed we wouldn’t resort to such in raising you.’

  ‘I was getting ready for “Your father knows best”.’

  ‘That the sort of thing that platitudes lead to,’ Lady Rose said.

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ George said. ‘Have your best interests at heart, old man. Your father.’

  ‘I know,’ Aubrey said. ‘But when anyone says that, it seems to me, it denies one’s own wishes and responsibility. It suggests that they know better than you do yourself.’

  His mother considered this. ‘He does know you rather well.’

  ‘Granted.’ Aubrey toyed with his cutlery. ‘I wonder what he thinks I’m going to do?’

  ‘Try to save the world, of course,’ George said gruffly. ‘It’s what you usually try to do in an emergency.’

  ‘This is rather more than an emergency,’ Aubrey pointed out. ‘What can one person do?’

  What can one person do? The question rolled around Aubrey’s head as he finished breakfast and excused himself, saying he needed to do some magical research. He went to his room and stretched out on the chaise longue, arms behind his head, and thought.

  I’m only one person, what can I do? was an excuse that resounded through the ages, and Aubrey had never subscribed to it. It was the refuge of the half-hearted and it gave comfort to those who preferred to do nothing. He didn’t like that attitude but it did mean that he went too far the other way, at times. He acted precipitously, trying to do something when it may have been better to wait for help. When he found a sleeping dog, he found it hard to leave it lie.

  And he had a father who thought he knew best.

  It rankled. Even though he respected his father and wanted to make him proud, it still rankled. While he wasn’t as contrary as Caroline tended to be, he still found it difficult to do something just because someone told him to. If he agreed, it was different. But blind obedience wasn’t his forte, despite the spirit of the age – even when the Fitzwilliam family name was at stake.

  He laced his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Trapped at Maidstone, he was, confined to quarters. It was frustrating, and he understood the unhappiness of the tiger at the zoo, pacing backward and forward interminably, wishing for the bars to disappear.

  He wanted to talk to his father. He needed to talk to him, to get the talk out of the way and then embark on action. In dire times like these, actions were necessary.

  He sat up and took out his pocket watch. He didn’t want to look at the time. He wanted to remind himself of the Fitzwilliam legacy.

  He was at a cusp, he realised, a time where many futures beckoned – but only one was the way forward.

  Set in the cover of the watch, the Brayshire Ruby glowed like a drop of blood. The ruby had been handed down through the generations, each owner having the responsibility to set it in a way that they chose. When Dr Tremaine took it from Aubrey, he had been distraught at losing a part of his family heritage. On a whim, Dr Tremaine had returned it. Suspicious, Aubrey had spent some time investigating it, using multiple magical techniques, probing with his magical senses to see if Dr Tremaine had invested the watch with any malignant surprises.

  To Aubrey’s puzzlement, the watch had proven totally clean. Which made him all the more puzzled about the ex-Sorcerer Royal’s motives.

  He cradled the watch in both hands. Fitzwilliams had been prominent throughout history and he was fully aware of the challenge of living up to the family name.

  And where the family name was involved, he knew the perfect person who could offer advice.

  Lady Maria looked up when Aubrey entered and frowned over the letter she was reading. She wore a mauve gown with long, black sleeves, and was sitting in a huge leather chair in front of a window in her sitting room. It looked over the potting shed and glasshouse, which Aubrey had once thought odd, as it wasn’t the most picturesque vista Maidstone had to offer. His grandmother explained, however, once he asked her, that she liked watching people at work. She approved of busyness – and she also managed to overhear some interesting gossip at the same time.

  ‘Aubrey.’ Lady Maria’s hair was bright silver, almost white, but her face was smooth and unlined. She held out her hand and Aubrey took it while she studied him. Although she was well into her eighties, Lady Maria had lost none of her acuity. She noticed everything.

  ‘Grandmother.’ Unbidden, he pecked her on the cheek and she studied him even more closely as he took a chair opposite her.

  ‘You’ve heard the news?’ she asked.

  Aubrey didn’t expend any effort trying to guess how Lady Maria knew. She hadn’t been present when Lady Rose read Sir Darius’s letter, because of her recent habit of taking most of her meals in her room. Her information network – which she preferred to call her ‘many correspondents’ – was extensive and very well credentialed. Aubrey was sure that Harris had no secrets from her, for instance, and her friends on the Continent included many prominent figures.

  ‘I have. War has been declared.’

  ‘Again.’ Lady Maria sighed. ‘It was inevitable, but it is never good. Which is exactly what your grandfather said last time, and the time before that.’

  ‘He did?’ Aubrey’s grandfather was a military man through and through. He’d commanded regiments and been important in bringing about changes which had modernised the army. He was a cavalry man at heart. Aubrey had always thought of him as bluff and straightforward, a man who loved the headlong charge at the enemy.

  ‘Whenever Albion embarked on a war, he wanted it over and done with as soon as possible. What he saw as efficiency, others saw as ruthlessness.’

  ‘The Bloody Duke,’ Aubrey murmured absently.

  His grandmother stiffened. ‘I do not like that name.’

  Aubrey could have kicked himself. He knew that. Everyone in the family knew that, and they avoided using it at all times, despite it being in common parlance and even featuring in history books. Lady Maria’s view of her husband, Aubrey’s grandfather, did not include such unsavoury aspects as nicknames. ‘Sorry, Grandmother. I was distracted.’

  ‘By your plans.’

  ‘Rather thrown up in the air by all this, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘They are your plans, Aubrey, not mine. You should know their trajectory better than I would.’

  True, Aubrey thought, so why am I here?

  ‘So why are you here?’ Lady Maria said, echoing his thoughts so neatly that Aubrey winced.

  ‘I was looking for some advice.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ Then she held up a hand to forestall his protests. ‘People come to me for advice on many things, Aubrey, but I cannot remember you doing so since you were very, very young.’

  ‘And what was that about?’ Aubrey asked, intrigued.

  ‘Apparently your teddy’s parents weren’t letting him do what he wanted to do. You wanted to know the best way to help him organise them.’

  Aubrey blushed. ‘Ah, yes. I remember.’

  ‘And your toy soldiers had a somewhat similar problem with their toy commanders.’

&n
bsp; ‘I see. A long time ago, of course.’

  ‘Of course. And here you are again. Regular as clockwork: once a decade. I’m fairly rushed off my feet, advising you.’ She paused and gazed at him until he became uncomfortable. ‘I cannot counsel you in much, Aubrey.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He went to stand. ‘Perhaps I should go.’

  ‘Sit,’ she said and Aubrey’s knees gave way before he was able to give them a conscious command. ‘Let me tell you in what areas I may be of some help.’ She gathered herself. ‘As you know, I am the custodian of the Fitzwilliam family name and reputation, correct?’

  ‘That’s true.’ True, if an understatement. Lady Maria had devoted much of her time to establishing the Fitzwilliam heritage. She was currently overseeing four separate books on the family’s contribution to Albion history, one of them a biography of her husband – the third so far.

  ‘And in wartime, Fitzwilliams have distinguished themselves. When duty calls, Fitzwilliams are first in line, never shirking their duty.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Aubrey’s grandfather wasn’t the only Fitzwilliam military hero Aubrey was conscious of. His father had been decorated many times for his bravery in combat and his inspirational leadership had won the day on more than one occasion.

  ‘And you’re wondering what you should do.’

  ‘I always wonder what I should do.’ He ran a finger up and down the arm of the chair, absorbed in the way the velvet nap moved. ‘I was hoping you might have some more information from Holmland.’

  ‘When undecided, seek more information. Your grandfather would approve. Seek more information then act decisively.’ She tilted her head at the letter in her hand. ‘I have had some news from Professor Delroy, but that is all that I have had from the Continent in the last week.’

  ‘I hope Holmland agents aren’t intercepting your letters,’ Aubrey said, mostly to cover his surprise. Lady Maria was in correspondence with the father of George’s special friend?

  ‘They always have in the past, but they haven’t been so clumsy as to cut off delivery.’