Blaze of Glory (18 page)

'Exactly. Banford Park is highly secret and highly important
to the military. Important enough that they tolerate
such eccentrics as we saw. You don't hobble genius with
rules like a dress code or grooming requirements.'

'Is Professor Hepworth a genius?'

'Undoubtedly.' Aubrey rubbed his hands together. 'Let's
get to Penhurst. I want to see what we can find.'

George strapped his bags back on to his bicycle. 'I
didn't think you proposed this trip solely as a nature
ramble.'

'I could never pull the wool over your eyes, could I,
George?'

T
HEY REACHED
P
ENHURST
E
STATE LATE IN THE AFTERNOON.

A grey-haired groundskeeper greeted them, recognised
Aubrey, and opened the gates. He waved them through
and assured them he'd inform the Big House of their
presence.

Aubrey led the way through the gardens. The place
looked strangely deserted after the omnipresent watchers
of the shooting weekend. He saw a gardener in the
distance, raking weeds from a pond, but he didn't look
anything like the Special Services agents who had
swarmed over the estate last weekend.

A gate, and then they were into less tamed regions, an
expanse of fenced-in grass bordered by woodlands. A
wagon track ran alongside the fence. It was rough, but
usable enough for the bicycles, even if they did have to
dismount and walk over some of the more broken
patches leading to the shooting ground.

Aubrey found the situation idyllic. The air was full of
the smell of green and growing things; the countryside
had the composite richness that reminded him that the
world was an intricate and mysterious thing.

Aubrey called a halt. George pulled up beside him.

Aubrey could see the Big House in the distance. Smoke
rose from its chimneys. From this distance, it looked like a
battleship, an enormous bulk on the landscape, reassuring
and permanent, much like the Empire itself.

They struck across the fields, pushing their bicycles,
heading for the woods and the shooting ground beyond.
Aubrey stopped when a horse and rider appeared at a
gate to their left. 'Hullo, it's Hoskins.'

Hoskins waved and urged his horse towards them.
He was dressed in sensible woollen trousers and jacket. He
wore a hat that looked as if a badly made flowerpot had
been squashed on his head. A pipe grew from the side of
his mouth.

'Fitzwilliam,' he said, without removing the pipe from
his mouth. He gestured with his head. 'Who's your
friend?'

Aubrey grinned. 'George Doyle. George, meet
Hoskins, the farm manager.'

George raised his cap. 'Hoskins.'

'Doyle.' He ran his eye over George, much as if he was
a horse. 'You don't look like a cyclist.'

'No, sir. I'd rather a fine horse like you're riding.'

Hoskins smiled at that. 'Bess is a good 'un, right
enough.' He ruffled her mane and she snorted. 'Now,
young Fitzwilliam, what're you up to in these parts?'

'Camping, Hoskins. George and I have just finished
exams and are looking for some peace in the countryside.'

'Nothing to do with the ruction at the shoot last
weekend?' Hoskins said. He took out his pipe and studied
it. 'Or the Black Beast?'

Aubrey grinned. 'Has the Black Beast of Penhurst been
seen again?'

The Black Beast of Penhurst had been a local legend
for as long as Aubrey had been visiting the estate. He'd
heard many a tale of its nightmarish appearances, of how
it had haunted the owners for centuries, the bringer of
death and doom. He remembered how both Bertie and
he had been deliciously terrified when first told about
the apparition.

Hoskins replaced his pipe in the corner of his mouth.
He cleared his throat and looked into the distance. From
somewhere not too far away came the sound of a woodcutter
and his axe. 'The Beast's been around for a few
months, off and on,' he said in his gravelly voice.

'Since before the golem?' George said.

'Aye. Well before the golem.' He was silent for a time
after that, seeming to consider this. 'You know what it
means.'

'They say that once the Black Beast of Penhurst
appears, it doesn't leave until it's taken three lives,' Aubrey
explained to George.

'Dr Tremaine from Banford Park, he was the first,'
Hoskins said. 'And then that Professor Hepworth. He
died too, he did.'

'Professor Hepworth? Dead?' Aubrey gripped the
handlebars of his bicycle. 'When did this happen?'

'A few days after the shoot. The Black Beast was howling
all night, it was. Next morning, they found the professor,
dead, in the woods up that way.' He pointed with his pipe.

'What was he doing up there?' George asked.

'That's the direction of Banford Park. The professor
and his chums were always traipsing backwards and
forwards between there and the Big House, this last year
or so.' Hoskins sucked on his pipe for a moment. 'They've
closed the place down, now. All those researchers have
been sent back to where they came from.'

Poor Caroline
, Aubrey thought. He rubbed his temple.
Professor Hepworth gone. Coming on top of the death
of Dr Tremaine, this was going to set back magical theory
for decades.

Another mystery to add to the puzzle of the golem
assassin. Aubrey wasn't inclined to believe that it was the
Black Beast of Penhurst who had killed the professor.
He'd heard that story too often when he was young to
place much credence in it. But what did happen to the
professor? And what had he been up to at the secretive
Banford Park?

'What sort of creature is this Black Beast?' George
asked.

'That'd be hard to say,' Hoskins replied. 'It's hard to get
a good look at the creature. Mostly it's the eyes you see.
Red, burning eyes.'

George glanced at Aubrey. 'And we plan to camp in
the woods.'

Aubrey's curiosity was well and truly roused. He
couldn't turn away now. 'We'll be safe.'

Hoskins leaned forward. 'Maybe you would be, at that.'
He sighed. 'But I don't think I can allow you to stay
out, in all good conscience. If anything happened to you
I don't know how I'd answer to Lady Fitzwilliam.'

Aubrey nodded. Hoskins was what the locals called 'a
straight 'un'. Utterly trustworthy, reliable and honest, the
burden of his responsibilities lay heavily on him. He was
stubborn in carrying out what he thought were his duties
and this made it difficult to get around him. Unless he
was approached tactically. 'You don't want us to stay
outside tonight, is that right, Hoskins?'

Hoskins adjusted his seat, then his tie. 'I'm sorry.'

'So you want to take us back to the Big House and
have us stay there tonight?'

'Aye.' Hoskins looked increasingly uncomfortable. He
had the attitude of a man who is tied to a railway track,
hearing a train whistle in the distance.

'And you think you could stop me from slipping out?
If I really wanted to, I mean.'

'Well . . .'

'The Special Services have left, now the Prince is no
longer in residence, correct?'

Hoskins didn't answer.

'So you're here with the cooks, the gardeners and
some household staff,' Aubrey said. 'Hard to cover all
exits with them. Especially old Corrigan, with his
rheumatism.'

'Ah.'

'So, all in all, I think it better that you allow us to proceed
with our plans. At least you'll know exactly where
we are, and you can check on us in the morning.'

Hoskins's look was partly hostility, partly admiration,
partly recognition that he'd been beaten. 'Hrmph.' He sat
up straight. 'You always managed to get your own way,
Fitzwilliam.' He managed a chuckle. 'Be it on your own
head, then.'

'Don't worry, Hoskins. We'll be safe. We'll stay by the
trout stream, near the old bridge.'

Hoskins looked in that direction. 'That should be as
safe as anywhere.' He sighed. 'What shall I tell your
mother, though?'

He didn't wait for an answer. Bess ambled off.

'The Black Beast of Penhurst?' George said to Aubrey.
'You didn't tell me about that.'

'I didn't want to worry you. Come on. We can land a
few trout before the light's gone.'

O
NCE THE TENT WAS PITCHED, DARKNESS CLOSED IN.
A
UBREY
cooked some sausages in place of the trout they hadn't
caught, and the potatoes he'd popped into the coals were
hot and tasty. Sparks flew skywards and the sound of
water running over the stony bed of the stream burbled
beneath all the other sounds of the woods moving from
their daylight mode to their night-time mode.

Aubrey scraped his enamel plate and took a swig of
ginger beer. 'In the morning we'll have a closer look at
the place where the golem melted. I've brought some
materials which may help me reconstruct a thing or two
about the creature.'

'I see,' said George. He was stretched out on a blanket,
his head propped on a log. 'And this Black Beast?'

'A puzzle.' Aubrey crossed his arms. 'And I'm not sure
where it fits in.'

Before George could respond, an unearthly howl split
the night air. Aubrey was on his feet in an instant, staring
into the darkened woods, his heart pounding, his throat
suddenly dry. The back of his neck was prickling.

George scrambled up, wide-eyed. 'Good Lord!'

Aubrey realised he was breathing rapidly and, with an
effort, he slowed until he was breathing deeply and
slowly.
Fear
, he thought.
It's so thick in the air I can taste it.
'Are you all right, George?'

'I . . .' George shook his head and stumbled to form
words. 'It's . . .'

'George, look at me.' George stared wildly. 'It's magic.
It's making you afraid.'

George nodded.

'Deep breaths, George. Calm yourself.'

George blew out his cheeks, then rubbed his face with
both hands. 'I say, took me quite by surprise, that.'

'It's some distance away.'

'I'm glad of that.' George brushed down his clothes. 'It's
not so bad, now.'

'Once you know what it is, the fear isn't as disabling.'

'No.'

'Did you bring a lantern, George?'

'I thought you had.'

So much for planning.
'Well, we'll do our best without.'
He pulled a burning branch from the fire.

George stared at him. 'You want us to go after the
Black Beast?'

The chilling howl rose again, closer this time. Aubrey
swallowed. The fear was there, but it was now a small
thing, easily managed. 'Yes, I think I have to.'
Or my
curiosity would never forgive me.

Aubrey thrust the burning branch in George's hand
and hurried to the tent. A moment later he was back
with a small bag on a string. He hooked it around his
neck. 'Quickly, now.'

Before they had gone more than twenty yards, the
comforting light of the campfire was left behind and they
were in a world of darkness. The only light came from
George's blazing torch.

Aubrey peered into the dark. He knew that night in
the countryside was rarely totally black. In his escapades
over the years, he'd learned that given time to adjust,
the eye can make do with surprisingly little light, picking
out objects from among shadows, making sense of
blackness. But this night was different. With the erratic,
sobbing howls of the Black Beast of Penhurst floating
through the night, suddenly shadows were thick and
confusing. He found it hard to judge distances between
trees and the terrain underfoot was treacherous.
Brambles caught his feet and trouser legs, stones conspired
to appear underfoot, stumps hid themselves until
too late.

'Wait, George.' Aubrey fumbled in the bag around his
neck and found a pair of shell-like shapes. He placed one
over his right eye and it attached itself there.

Immediately, through his right eye, darkness vanished.
He could see no colour; all was in shades of silver and
grey, but he could see the trees, bushes, a fence in the
distance, the ground beneath his feet. The scene in front
of him was ghostly, without colour, but no more than a
photograph. Every detail of the night was sharp and clear.