Moment of Truth

by Michael Pryor

Aubrey had a hint of hope. Could there be something here? Some dissent, some difference of outlook that he could work on?

  Difficult, he thought, tied up and gagged like this. He wrenched at where his hands were lashed to the chair frame, but the wood and the rope were solid.

  ‘Perhaps you should get back to the train-loading platform, Tremaine,’ the Baron said. ‘Don’t you want to gloat over your invincible warriors?’

  ‘Gloating is a sign of weakness, von Grolman, try to remember that. I’ll let your people manage the loading of the golems. I’m sure they can handle things well enough.’

  ‘The interrogator–’ the baron began, but Dr Tremaine cut him off short.

  ‘Can wait. I want to talk to these two now.’

  Baron von Grolman licked his lips, quickly, his tongue moving in and out like a snake. ‘As you wish, Tremaine. No need to make a fuss.’

  Dr Tremaine stood. ‘Other people make fusses, von Grolman. I don’t.’ He gestured, and a slim knife appeared in his hand. ‘Now, girl, I’m going to slice through the ropes around your feet. Don’t attempt to kick me. I’m assured it’s painful trying to walk on a broken leg.’

  Caroline stiffened, but resisted the impulse as Dr Tremaine went to work. ‘I’m leaving your hands bound,’ he said, straightening. ‘For your good, not mine. Call me sentimental.’

  Caroline rallied. ‘Once I’ve finished making my list, I’ll call you many things.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, Fitzwilliam. The same applies to you, of course, but I’ll leave that gag on. Not just because you look foolish and it makes me laugh, but because I want to do away with the faint possibility of your working magic that could actually interfere with my plans.’

  The baron drummed his fingers on his desk while Dr Tremaine shepherded Caroline and Aubrey out. The last Aubrey saw of him, he was reaching for the telephone, and a brief moment of pity came to him. In a better, kinder world, he would have had the chance to sit Baron von Grolman down and offer him some advice: ‘Look, Baron, the only thing to do is to drop everything and run. Run fast and run far. Change your name, your appearance, your habits and hope that Dr Tremaine forgets all about you.’

  Aubrey was amazed that the baron hadn’t come to that conclusion for himself. It confounded him that so many people thought they could work with the rogue sorcerer and walk away safely, whereas Aubrey saw it as similar to working with nitro-glycerine. Take all precautions: heavy gloves, metal tongs, keep your distance, and you’d still never know when it could go off.

  Dr Tremaine walked behind them, issuing instructions, ‘Left here’ or ‘Straight ahead’, when they came to intersecting corridors. This part of the complex was obviously residential, for the baron and his people, with some administrative function, and it was quieter than the manufacturing section, so Aubrey was able to hear a strange, unfamiliar noise. Aubrey frowned as Dr Tremaine nudged them through a doorway and through the gardens, past the concrete giraffe and back into the factory, and then his eyes widened.

  Dr Tremaine was whistling.

  It was soft, but the rogue sorcerer was whistling as he went. He accompanied it by tapping his cane on handy iron stanchions, columns and balustrades while he herded them up stairs and along walkways to a control room overlooking the factory floor.

  Dr Tremaine was a virtuoso whistler, Aubrey realised, but it didn’t surprise him. As well as being an unparalleled magical genius, the man was a concert standard baritone, a sculptor whose miniatures were much sought after, and a bare-knuckle fighter banned from competition for being entirely too good, and they were only a few of his accomplishments.

  He was whistling a chorus from Ivey and Wetherall’s Major Majority, the musical farce that was all the rage in Trinovant since its premiere two months ago.

  Aubrey stared. Two months ago? Then how did Dr Tremaine come to hear it?

  The control room could have been an office for a minor clerk or bookkeeper. It was cramped, with pigeon holes and key hooks taking up the wall opposite the entrance, and it smelled of dust and paper. Three telephones were lined up on the long bench under the window. The wall that overlooked the factory floor was entirely made of glass.

  Dr Tremaine gazed outward, admiring his handiwork, then he gestured at the two wooden chairs while he leaned against the empty peg board that was the back wall.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘it goes like this. I’m going to remove your gag so you can respond. But first.’

  Dr Tremaine struck his cane on the floor, hard, then twisted it. The head separated, and he was holding a sword. ‘Not magic, just good craftsmanship,’ he said, running a finger along the flat of the blade. He held the point just under Aubrey’s chin, tickling his Adam’s apple.

  ‘Don’t imagine you can spit out a spell faster than I can wield this beauty. And don’t think that my wrist will be bound to grow weary and the point will drop for a moment into which you can cast a spell you’re no doubt preparing.’

  Aubrey went to shake his head, thought better of it, went to nod, thought better of it, then swallowed, and regretted it as his skin feathered against the steel.

  Dr Tremaine smiled broadly and released the gag with his other hand. The sword stayed steady.

  ‘What do you want?’ Aubrey croaked. He wanted to spit out rope fibres, but he stopped himself.

  ‘Aubrey,’ Caroline said.

  ‘Let him speak,’ Dr Tremaine said. ‘I have some time, and I find that amusement is in short supply when I’m surrounded by Holmlanders.’

  ‘I’m not here to amuse you,’ Aubrey said. ‘I’m here because I’m a nuisance to you.’

  Dr Tremaine sighed. ‘You disappoint me – which, by the way, is generally not a good thing to do. You’ve made the same mistake that many people do. They imagine that I’m actually interested in them and their little lives. It gives them a sense of self-importance, I gather, to think that Dr Tremaine, the most feared man in the world, is concerned about them.’

  ‘And you’re not?’

  ‘Only in the same way that I’m concerned about the moth that’s flitting about the electric light.’

  ‘What moth?’

  Dr Tremaine gestured. A bright flash, and a tiny, ashy shape fell to the table.

  ‘That moth.’

  Aubrey swallowed again, and felt the tip of the sword. ‘Neatly done, if a little showy.’

  ‘Ah. Everyone’s a critic.’

  Aubrey bridled. ‘You say you’re not worried about me? Then what about the stormfleet? And when you turned me into a mindless assassin?’

  ‘Those? I’d almost forgotten them. Minor stuff, designed to inconvenience you and thereby inconvenience the Albion Prime Minister.’ He wagged a finger. ‘You see yourself as important. I see you as a tiny part of my plans, an infinitesimal tooth on a minute gear in one ordinary corner of the vast, interlocking and magnificent machine that I have built to serve my ends.’

  ‘Your quest for immortality. A small quest for someone so ambitious.’

  ‘I have no ambitions. I simply have so much to do that one life is too absurdly short. Which leads me to what I want from you.’

  Aubrey opened his mouth to point out that this could be seen as contradictory, his being both nugatory and useful at once, but decided that since Dr Tremaine had the better of him, it might not be a good time to go down that path. ‘Go on.’

  ‘You’re aware of this connection we have, of course.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘I’m not interested in whose fault it was. I’ve spent some time analysing it and it looks as if it was a freak accident, a blending of our magics at a time when we were both vulnerable.’ He laughed. ‘Imagine that. For an instant, I was actually vulnerable – and all that happened is that I have this flimsy connection with you.’

  ‘It’s erratic,’ Aubrey ventured.

  ‘I know. Erratic, ghostly, unreliable, but mildly interesting nonetheless. In some circumstances, I can sense your presence. Not from any distance, but it has proved useful.
I knew you were lurking about, for instance.’

  ‘You didn’t come looking for me?’

  ‘Looking for you? I left you to the baron. I knew you’d trip yourself up in time.’ He chuckled, and Aubrey thought it was a measure of the man that one minute he was making offhand death threats, and the next he was enjoying a joke.

  ‘So you want to destroy the connection,’ Aubrey said.

  Dr Tremaine started, but the tip of the blade at Aubrey’s throat didn’t move. ‘That’s not it at all. I want to study it and reproduce it because I want to connect with Sylvia.’

  Sylvia. Dr Tremaine’s much-loved sister, the only one in the world he cared for. Aubrey and Caroline had encountered Sylvia in a coma, induced by Dr Tremaine in an effort to preserve her life from the terminal illness that had been wracking her.

  ‘She’s here?’ Aubrey asked.

  ‘She’s somewhere delightful, somewhere of her own choosing. Cured now, of course.’

  That, in part, had been Aubrey’s doing. Not that he looked for any thanks. ‘So you want to connect so you can monitor her.’

  ‘Monitor? I want to be sure she is safe. I want to take the feeble thing you produced and improve it so I know all about her at all times.’

  Aubrey wondered if Dr Tremaine had bothered to ask his sister if this is what she wanted. He saw that the same thought had occurred to Caroline. ‘And what will happen to her once you’re immortal?’ Caroline asked him. ‘You’ll be leaving her behind.’

  Dr Tremaine shook his head. ‘That’s the beauty of my machine for the future. It can change, it can be adapted, it can have bright new components bolted on. In this case, once I had recovered Sylvia, it meant that she, too, would need the Ritual of the Way performed.’

  Aubrey went cold. ‘So that means your blood sacrifice will need to be doubled.’

  ‘That’s right, yes.’ Dr Tremaine withdrew the sword, but before Aubrey could react he flipped it to his left hand and then it was back at his throat. ‘Practice, practice, practice. Just being good isn’t enough, you know?’

  ‘Stop,’ Caroline said, half rising from her chair before a cock of Dr Tremaine’s head toward Aubrey stilled her. ‘You’ve just said you want hundreds of thousands more people to die. Just to fuel your personal aims.’

  ‘To my mind, at least it’s better than fuelling the personal aims of a handful of stupid generals and politicians. At least my aim is an aim that will resound for the ages.’ He paused, thoughtfully. ‘Of course, being immortal I can make sure of that.’

  Aubrey was exhausted. It had been a long day and Dr Tremaine’s revelation didn’t surprise him. From his point of view, with his single-minded view of the world, it made perfect sense. ‘And that’s it? What happens once you’ve worked out what this connection is all about?’

  Another chuckle. ‘I could lie, tell you that is the totality of my need for you, and then roll out my next task, but I choose not to. I’m going to be straightforward.’

  ‘That must be refreshing,’ Caroline said.

  ‘Ah, she jokes! A witticism trips from those lovely lips! Here I was, assuming it would be the boy who endeavoured to keep up spirits with a quip. You must be learning from him.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish,’ Caroline said but Aubrey couldn’t help notice that her cheeks were flaming. In other circumstances it would be a delightful sight but ... He reconsidered. No, it was delightful, even in this unfortunate situation.

  Dr Tremaine studied her, then he glanced at Aubrey, then back at Caroline. A smile crept to his face. Aubrey prepared himself for the rogue sorcerer’s taunting, but all Dr Tremaine did was raise an eyebrow and tilt his head at Aubrey. It astonished him. A murdering genius, having some delicacy with affairs of the heart? Who would have guessed it?

  At that moment, the door banged open and Baron von Grolman stood there. ‘I have an idea,’ he said. ‘We can use the boy.’

  Thirty-two

  Dr Tremaine turned his head – but the sword still hovered at Aubrey’s throat. ‘You’ve interrupted me, von Grolman,’ he said in a voice full of wonder.

  ‘Sorry, Tremaine, but I wanted to catch you before it was too late.’

  That’s has an unspoken implication that I’m not altogether happy with, Aubrey thought. He went to speak, but Dr Tremaine moved the sword tip infinitesimally.

  ‘And what is so important that you burst in here like that?’ Dr Tremaine said to the baron.

  The baron clasped his hands together. He was sweating, beads appearing on his broad forehead. ‘I’ve just realised what a godsend we have here, Tremaine.’

  ‘You’ve just realised? Are you sure someone hasn’t been in your ear? The Mattingly girl?’

  To Aubrey, the baron’s blustering denial was as good as an admission, and from Dr Tremaine’s amused expression, he thought so as well. ‘Look, Tremaine,’ the baron said eventually, desperately trying to wrest back the initiative, ‘you understand that we have the son of the Albion Prime Minister here, don’t you?’

  ‘There is little I don’t understand, von Grolman, but do go on.’

  ‘Imagine what the effect would be on the Albion populace if he defected.’

  Aubrey couldn’t help himself. He blurted. ‘Defected?’

  The baron ignored him. ‘We photograph him, shaking hands with you, inspecting Holmland troops, conferring with the generals I’ve brought here. It would destroy his father, for a start.’

  Dr Tremaine smiled. At the sight of that smile, Aubrey immediately wanted to be on another continent, and couldn’t understand why the baron wasn’t running for his life. ‘Von Grolman,’ Dr Tremaine said, ‘I like this. It’s underhand and grubby, just the sort of thing I’ve come to expect from you. But I fail to see what you will get out of it, which makes me suspicious.’

  The baron swallowed. ‘Partners shouldn’t be suspicious of each other, Tremaine. I’m being open.’

  ‘Yes, you are. So just to make sure, tell me how you’ll benefit from this little plan.’

  ‘I am a patriot. This will help us win the war.’

  ‘Now you’re starting to disappoint me...’

  ‘I have access to certain shares,’ the baron groped for a handkerchief in his pocket and used it to mop his brow, ‘in companies that are owned by Sir Darius. If I sell these now and buy them back later when the price tumbles, I’ll make a fortune.’

  Dr Tremaine turned to Aubrey and Caroline. ‘Finance. It’s a magic of its own and I have little time or inclination for it.’

  ‘It could be your undoing,’ Caroline said, but Aubrey could see that her heart wasn’t in it.

  ‘I doubt it. I have a man who takes care of such things for me.’

  Caroline perked up at this. ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Excellent?’

  ‘They’re the ones – after the embezzling and running off with all your money – about whom you say, “But I trusted him completely.”’

  Dr Tremaine laughed. ‘You’re right, I always read that in the paper. But my man can’t run off, you see. I’ve placed a small locative spell on him. He can’t move outside the room I’ve placed him in without his heart stopping.’

  The baron paled and his hand crept to his chest. ‘Well, Tremaine, what do you think about my plan for the boy?’

  ‘I have a potential problem with this scenario, delicious though it sounds. I don’t think that young Fitzwilliam will cooperate.’

  ‘Turn traitor?’ Caroline said. ‘I should think not!’

  ‘Not willingly, perhaps,’ the baron said, and colour began to return to his cheeks. ‘But with the right sort of lever, much can be achieved, no?’

  ‘No,’ Caroline said.

  ‘I will ask him. Tremaine, let him answer.’

  Dr Tremaine moved the sword tip away a little. He was immensely amused by what was going on, as if it were a divertissement arranged purely for him. ‘He is yours, von Grolman.’

  The baron moved until he was facing Aubrey squarely. He leaned over, hands on his kn
ees, until his face was at Aubrey’s level. ‘Now, Fitzwilliam, I want to make this very clear. Unless you cooperate, I will kill her immediately.’

  The baron straightened and pushed back his jacket. He removed an Oberndorf pistol from his waistband with a grunt of relief. He armed it and pointed it at Caroline.

  Who laughed. Her eyes held only contempt, not fear, and Aubrey loved her for it. ‘Aubrey, don’t you dare.’

  It was permission. Caroline had just given him permission to stand fast, to ignore whatever they would do to her. In training, they had been warned about interrogation. The promises made, the threats, the bribes, the tactics used. Worse than physical harm, a grey-haired colonel lectured, was the possibility of harm to a loved one.

  The fate of a someone dear versus the fate of the country.

  He shrugged. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Thus followed a galling round that Aubrey would rather forget. Shaking hands with a smiling Dr Tremaine. Dr Tremaine with a casual arm draped over Aubrey’s shoulders. Aubrey examining the mechanical soldiermaking machinery (carefully arranged at an angle to show little detail of the actual apparatus). Aubrey inspecting a row of the gigantic creatures, accompanied by recognisable members of the Holmland High Command and, most horribly, Aubrey inspecting a handful of Gallian prisoners who had been obviously and shockingly beaten. Here, he found it almost impossible to keep his demeanour acceptable. The baron stood next to the photographer for all the shots, requiring Aubrey to do it again when he wasn’t satisfied with his expression, which had to be either delight or approval or – at appropriate times – awe. Each expression was designed to let all Albion know that the Holmland war effort was so mighty that resistance was a poor option.

  Between photo arrangements, guards gagged him and he had time to reflect on the scene in the control room once he’d agreed to cooperate.

  Caroline had been shocked and angry at his acquiescence and managed to rise from the chair, flinging off her bonds and kicking the baron in his vast belly before Dr Tremaine subdued her. Aubrey had an inkling that Dr Tremaine had actually waited before moving, allowing Caroline to lash at the baron first, to judge from his grin.