He tore fist-sized chunks of clay from the box until Sophie took over that task, rolling the clay into manageable pieces. The rest was up to him.
He retrieved his golem spell from his memory, turned it around and inspected it only to find, as was his wont, that he wanted to make improvements. Sophie found paper and pencil and he’d soon scrawled out the spell components so he could study them while he gnawed on the pencil.
Three full versions later, and half a dozen minor embellishments, he had a spell he was happy with. It was tighter, with less room for error, and he’d built in an element of connectivity so he could feel the whereabouts of each mannikin at a distance.
Then it was a matter of making little human-shaped figures. Not much artistic skill was required, which was fortunate as Aubrey understood his limits in this area. Head, arms, legs was all that was needed, roughly in proportion. He inscribed each mannikin with an animating symbol on its forehead. This was a flourish, for the spell would take care of all the necessary animating, but the symbol did tend to ground the spell, keeping it within the confines of the clay bodies that he was working with.
They had enough clay for thirty-two, a number Aubrey judged had no auspicious or inauspicious connotations, so he was happy with it. The mannikins lay in two rows on a length of canvas that von Stralick produced. He rubbed his hands together and ran through the spell in his mind. Caroline handed him a wet cloth and he thanked her absently.
He cleared his throat and was aware of Sophie and the watching Enlightened Ones, so he did his best to uphold the great traditions of Albionite spell casting. He strove to look calm, dignified, very much in control – not someone who hadn’t bathed for five days and who had a substantial amount of clay smeared all over him.
He began in his best Etruscan, and several of the Enlightened Ones smiled in recognition. He was careful not to hurry, and he counted a beat in his head to help him roll through each element in measured, round tones.
A final, modest signature element, and he was done.
The mannikin nearest to him quivered. A shiver ran through the next, and the next, running along the row, as if they were connected with wires. The first mannikin swelled, its rough limbs filling out and becoming more solid. Just as its neighbour began the same swelling process, the first mannikin bent in the middle and sat up, trembling. A few seconds later – where Aubrey had the distinct impression it was gathering its wits, what little of them it had – and it stood and swayed slightly, the first of his golem squad.
Aubrey heard some murmurs of approval from the Enlightened Ones, but most of his attention was on monitoring the progress of the spell. Ten minutes later and the golems were all ready. They stood solemnly like so many faceless gingerbread men.
Aubrey took a deep breath. A complicated spell, made all the more complicated by the numbers he was juggling, and he could feel the toll it had taken. Some of his weariness was no doubt due to the lateness of the hour, and the long, taxing day they’d been through, but the spell had had an effect. His limbs were weary, and he was sure his hands would be trembling if he wasn’t holding them together. As he stood there inspecting his work, he could sense each of the golems and their physical location, even if he closed his eyes. The connection element was working.
He was embarking on a dangerous strategy. Another dangerous strategy. The connection ran both ways – it could be traced back to him, revealing his location, leading the enemy to their position. Sending the mannikins was potentially compromising their security and jeopardising their ability to observe the facility in secret.
He knew this. He knew it was a risk – but the reward of detailed information about the inner workings of the factory was great enough for him to proceed. The mannikins would have to be furtive, clinging to shadows and avoiding notice at all times. He wanted them to be mice in the wainscoting, not elephants barging through the jungle.
‘Follow,’ he said, keeping his commands simple, knowing that this was essential for golems of this order.
Without looking back, aiming for an air of utter confidence, he led the mannikins up the stairs, through the trapdoor, and through the farmhouse until he could point at the factory steaming away above the tree tops to the north. He took a deep breath and pointed. ‘Go. Observe. Report back to me. Don’t be seen by anyone.’
The mannikins, as one, leaned in the direction of the factory, then back toward Aubrey, like grain in the wind. Then they set off, running stiff-legged though the night. They ran in slightly different directions, through the grassy field, then plunging into the woods that separated the farm from the factory.
Aubrey dusted his hands together. ‘Now, we wait.’
Waiting was always frustrating for Aubrey, and after three hours with no appearance from his mannikins, he was on edge. He began to find the kitchen increasingly small, especially after Caroline narrowed her eyes at his finger-drumming and foot-jiggling. After the first hour, when it became apparent that no quick mannikin return was imminent, some of the Enlightened Ones retired. Those unwilling or unable to sleep stayed in the kitchen and talked in the candlelight, low voices discussing families, magic and war. Caroline took up a position by Aubrey’s side as the talk moved and flowed through loved ones left behind, to the mandate and heritage of the Enlightened Ones, then into discussion of Dr Tremaine and his motives, expanding into magic in general. Aubrey asked about the pidgin used to communicate among Enlightened Ones of different backgrounds, which launched a discussion of the connection between magic and language that made Caroline yawn. She apologised, and did her best to stay with what became a technical discussion. Aubrey was startled, however, a moment later, to feel her head against his upper arm. He immediately lost track of the finer distinctions between Babylonian and Sumerian and he stopped talking, just in case he was lapsing into unintelligibility. Carefully, he sneaked a glance at Caroline’s restful face and immediately, he was lost in admiring how the hair curled around her ears and the sweep of her eyelashes, closed in well-earned sleep.
‘Fitzwilliam.’ Aubrey carefully turned to see von Stralick. The Holmlander’s smile was without malice. Aubrey looked around. The other Enlightened Ones had gone. How long had he been looking at Caroline? ‘We are going to get some sleep. You should, too.’
‘I will,’ Aubrey whispered. His arm was numb from being in the one position for so long, but nothing on earth could have made him move it. ‘I thought I might inspect the perimeter before I do. How many are on watch?’
‘Four. Approach them carefully.’ Von Stralick touched his forehead. ‘I forgot. Your Doyle and the delightful Delroy girl are out there as well.’
‘They are?’
‘They volunteered. Our people have been here on alert for two weeks. I thought you newcomers could help share the burden.’
‘Of course.’
Von Stralick saluted with only a touch of irony and left Aubrey and Caroline alone, with a single candle for light.
Happiness sometimes came unasked for and unlooked for, Aubrey decided. Sweaty, dirty, in danger and at war wasn’t the sort of situation he’d anticipated would bring about contentment, but he knew it was the addition of Caroline to that equation that made the difference. She made his heart beat faster, his breath come more awkwardly, his throat tighten, but the physiological effects were only part of how she moved him.
He liked to think – he liked to hope – that they had a connection. Not a magical one, unless it was the ordinary yet miraculous magic that wove its way through all human history. No, it was the connection that set two people apart from the others about them. It was the connection that outlasted and overrode exasperation, irritation and frustration. It worked on conscious levels of liking how someone looked, but it also wrapped the two of them up in a million ways impossible to disentangle from each other. It was a connection that, in some ways, could best be defined by its absence: he ached when he wasn’t with her.
He wanted her to feel the same.
He sat bolt upright
, every muscle taut. ‘Connection.’
Caroline hardly moved. She opened one eye. ‘I may get tired of asking this one day,’ she said sleepily, ‘but are you all right, Aubrey?’
‘I feel it. The connection.’
She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her hair was in magnificent disarray. She stretched and yawned. ‘Aren’t you connected to your mannikins? Isn’t that what you’re feeling?’
Aubrey shook his head impatiently and started pacing as excitement bubbled inside him. ‘No, it’s not that. I can still feel them, but this is different.’ He stopped. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. ‘It’s him.’
Caroline’s hands curled slowly into fists. ‘Tremaine?’
‘Yes. I can feel him.’ Aubrey ground his teeth. His first certainty was fading. Could it be the magic he’d been performing with the mannikins, leaving him sensitive to other connections?
‘Where is he?’ Caroline said.
She was sitting upright and doing her best to remain calm, but her burning hatred for Dr Tremaine had never diminished. Her eyes were bright and hard as her desire for revenge on the man who killed her father.
Aubrey couldn’t refuse her. ‘He’s in the factory. His presence is ... everywhere.’
‘Why? I thought you said the whole idea of the clay and the machinery was so he could go about his evil ways elsewhere, while others finished the golem work.’
‘You’re asking me to divine Dr Tremaine’s thoughts?’
Caroline nodded sharply, acknowledging Aubrey’s point. ‘So how are we going to get in there?’
‘Into the factory?’ That wasn’t the plan. Reconnoitre, observe, then report, that was the plan. When Aubrey’s mannikins came back he was sure he’d have enough information to satisfy the Directorate. Any action after that would be up to the planning bigwigs.
‘We can’t walk away.’ Caroline stood and crossed her arms, hands clutching elbows. ‘He’s here, we’re here, and we have allies. It’s a good chance to strike a blow against Holmland. Imagine if we can remove him.’ Aubrey wisely didn’t question Caroline on exactly what that meant. ‘Holmland would be thrown into disarray. We could stop the war before it really starts.’
Quibbling with Caroline when she was in this mood was a delicate affair. He doubted, for instance, that she’d appreciate it if he pointed out that the relatives of the soldiers and civilians already killed in the Low Countries would be convinced that the war had started. ‘Taking him would certainly thwart his plans.’
‘Oh yes,’ Caroline said softly. ‘It would do that.’
Aubrey wondered if he would be the same if the situations were reversed. When his father had been abducted by Dr Tremaine, he had been outraged at the affront. He’d rushed to do something to get back at the man, but his anger had cooled once his father had been rescued. His attitude to Dr Tremaine after that was shifting, not quite fixed. The rogue sorcerer’s gusto and utter self-confidence had undeniable appeal. He was never struck by the self-doubt that crept up on Aubrey when he least needed it.
What a gift to go through life undisturbed by such nigglings, he thought. How clear everything must seem.
But Dr Tremaine was without conscience, in a way that was shuddersome. Aubrey had wondered whether the man was truly human, so unconcerned was he for other people. When he disposed of them, it wasn’t with cruelty, or spite, it was with a casual lack of regard. Aubrey doubted if he could remember the names of any of them.
Through their magical connection, Aubrey knew how deeply this attitude ran. It wasn’t a pose. It wasn’t a guise. He simply had no sympathy with other people on any level at all.
Aubrey shivered at the contemplation of such a condition. Was such a person actually human? Anyone who had so little connection – and there was that word again – was frightening. It meant he was capable of anything, and would feel as little concern about sending hundreds of thousands to their deaths as he would demolishing a potting shed.
Aubrey could admire the wide-reaching intellect of Dr Tremaine, but he could never admire the man. He was dangerous on a level that was beyond any other single person. Even the leaders of nations were pawns in his cosmic game.
Caroline hated Dr Tremaine for a simple reason: he had killed her father. Sometimes a simple response was enough.
‘Let’s wait until we have more information,’ he said, hating both how priggish and how feeble that sounded. ‘If Dr Tremaine is in the factory, we can report, wait for reinforcements, then move on him. We can round up Sophie’s brother then, too.’
‘More information,’ Caroline murmured. ‘Yes, that’s standard procedure, isn’t it?’
‘The mannikins shouldn’t be long, I’m sure. Then we can decide.’
She patted him on the arm. ‘You’re right, Aubrey. Now, where are George and Sophie? Perhaps we could see about some breakfast.’
Aubrey realised, then, that dawn was breaking. His eyes were gritty. He yawned. ‘I might see about catching an hour of sleep, first, if that’s all right.’
‘By all means.’
Caroline patted his arm again, looking thoughtful and rumpled in a way that made Aubrey’s heart nudge his breast bone. She wandered out through the kitchen door and into the farm yard, touched gold and pink in the dawn.
Twenty-five
The next morning, he discovered what ‘bone weary’ truly meant. It wasn’t just his muscles that were complaining, every single part of his skeleton was picketing for a nice, long holiday. Hunched over, he limped to the kitchen to find that the mannikins were waiting for him. He groaned as they bounced about at his presence.
He desperately wanted to sit down for a moment to gather himself, with a cup of tea as a restorative, but mannikins didn’t last forever. The animating spells for such low-level golems had a duration determined by the clay. With time and movement, the creatures simply wore out, their joints fraying and failing. Overcoming these problems was one of the main challenges of creating and maintaining the higher order golems – a Dr Tremaine speciality.
Von Stralick climbed out of the trapdoor to the basement. He was dressed in what looked like army khakis, but with no emblems or insignia. ‘Ah, little dolls.’
‘Mannikins.’
‘How quaint. Mannikins. I hope they have news for us. Did you see that the factory is busy this morning? Producing more spell muck for us to clean up, no doubt.’
‘It’s probably because Dr Tremaine is managing the operation.’
Von Stralick’s easy demeanour disappeared. ‘Dr Tremaine?’ he said harshly. ‘He is here?’
‘I can sense him.’
Von Stralick scowled in the direction of the factory. ‘We thought he was elsewhere.’
‘He has a habit of getting about unobtrusively.’
‘This ... this changes the situation.’ Von Stralick cast another glance toward the factory, tugged at the hair covering his missing ear. ‘What is he doing there?’ he wondered, and he raised an eyebrow. ‘Ask your dolls. What have they seen?’
Aubrey felt a fool, crouched in the kitchen of a Holmland farmhouse communing with a squad of four-inch-tall clay people while a collection of assorted magicians from around the world stood guard, but he decided it would make a nice episode in his memoirs.
Sometimes, in difficult circumstances, he liked the idea of writing his memoirs. Not because he desperately wanted people to read about his life, but because if he wrote them it meant that he’d lived through whatever dangerous predicament he was currently in.
The reporting back was on the same sort of level as the little golems themselves. It wasn’t a detailed military report complete with diagrams and troop numbers. It was more an impression of what each mannikin experienced. As a result, it took some time for them to work through their recollections, and it took Aubrey more time to sift through the dross to find nuggets.
As he worked through the mannikins he became more and more concerned. Each one recounted the same experience from different vantage p
oints (under benches, in rafters, in between banks of shadowy machinery) and they affirmed what he’d guessed at.
Baron von Grolman’s factory was making golems on a scale unheard of – enough golems for an army – thanks to Dr Tremaine’s magic and machinery
He was frustrated by the lack of detail in the mannikins’ reporting, even though it was what he’d expected. They recognised that huge creatures were being made, and that clay was part of the process, but that was all. Exact numbers, dimensions, capabilities were too much for the tiny scouts.
Aubrey’s head was aching with the glut of sensation and image that he’d taken on board, and he was sickened by what he’d been shown. He straightened, but before the quizzical von Stralick could ask, George rushed around the corner of the milking shed nearby. ‘Have either of you seen Sophie?’ he panted.
‘Sophie?’ Aubrey echoed. ‘No.’
‘She’s gone off somewhere.’ George ran a hand through his hair, then grimaced. Aubrey had rarely seen his placid friend so upset. ‘I don’t like to think about her out there on her own, so close to the factory. Holmland patrols are out there.’
‘I don’t think you have to worry,’ von Stralick said. ‘Katya said she saw her with Miss Hepworth.’
The alarm bells that sounded in Aubrey’s head were so loud he was actually worried that the sound would leak out of his ears and startle the others. He slapped his forehead. He was an idiot! He should have been more suspicious of Caroline’s easy acquiescence when he’d left her to get some sleep. ‘With Caroline? Heading in which direction?’
Moment of Truth Page 24