Blaze of Glory (19 page)

He fitted the other object over his left eye, then found
two more in his bag. He handed them to George. 'Here.
Cat's eyes.'

'What?'

'Not real cat's eyes. They're something I prepared for
our expedition.'

George held up the shells. 'I put them over my eyes,
do I?'

'They don't hurt.'

Without much enthusiasm, George placed one of the
cat's eyes over his. Instantly, he grinned. 'Very clever,
Aubrey.' He fitted the other shell to his eye and looked
around.

'Thank you.'

George wrinkled his brow. He sniffed. 'I smell fish.'

Aubrey shrugged. 'The cook at home has a cat. I made
a coat for it with pockets for this specially prepared
glass. It wore the coat and the glass for a week, not very
happily.'

'The cook feeds the cat fish?'

'Salmon. It's a very spoiled cat.'

'I see.'

'I wanted these shells to take on the characteristics of
the cat's eyes, so I used the Law of Sympathy. I was
pleased with the results for a first effort, but it's not
perfect. It's taken on some of the fishy smell, so I expect
I'll have to work on setting some of those parameter variables
rather more stringently.'

George looked at the blazing torch in his hand and
then turned away. 'We won't be needing this?'

'No.'

George threw the branch on the ground and kicked
earth over it until the flames were smothered. 'Done.'

The howl of the Black Beast of Penhurst split the
night again, sounding like a thousand demons being
tortured at once. Aubrey turned, trying to determine
where it came from. 'This way,' he said and set off through
the undergrowth.

Aubrey moved crouching low, turning his head from
side to side. They were barely in the woods, with fields
and moorland a stone's throw away.

The howling continued. It rose and fell, at times lapsing
into an almost human shrieking. Aubrey could feel it as
well as hear it. It made his skin crawl and set his heart
pounding, affecting him at a deep, primal level, telling
him to run, to flee, to hide in a hole, shiver and hope that
the owner of that cry would pass him by.

Aubrey closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself.
He motioned to George for silence.

A short crawl through some undergrowth brought
them to a fence. On the other side was a field. At first,
Aubrey thought it was empty, then he heard cattle. They
were bunched in one corner of the field, lowing and
trying to get away from the sound that was continuing to
rend the night. He could see them tossing their heads and
the whites of their eyes stood out in the darkness.

The howling began to move away. Aubrey pointed to
George and they hurried on.

The undergrowth began to thin and the woods took
on a more cared for aspect. Aubrey slowed. Ahead, he
could see outbuildings and the Big House away to his
left. It was well lit, and the light flared in his cat's eyes. He
put up a hand to shield them.

The blood-chilling noise erupted again. 'It's doubled
back,' George hissed.

They plunged back into the woods. Aubrey scanned
the ground ahead, hands outstretched, feeling for the
presence of magic. Grass, fallen leaves, rocks breaking
the skin of the earth . . . Suddenly, his palms tingled.
He stopped and dropped to his knees. George almost ran
into him.

'What is it?' George whispered.

Aubrey concentrated and swept his hands backwards
and forwards.
There!
'Magic,' he breathed.

Now that he had locked his magical senses on to it, he
could see it: a magical trail stretching away through the
woods, glowing a sickly green. 'Magical traces,' he said.

'What sort?'

'Something large.'

George picked up a few fist-size stones and stowed
them in his pockets. He saw Aubrey staring at him.
'Better than nothing,' he said.

Aubrey nodded and set off, following the trail and the
echoing howls. They were being led away from the Big
House and deeper into the woods. Aubrey narrowed his
eyes. He attempted to remember what was bordering the
estate on this side. Where did the river run? He went as
fast as he could, bent nearly double to feel the magical
spoor as well as see it.

George swore and Aubrey jumped as the roar of a
shotgun sounded up ahead. Then night was suddenly lit
by a flare of light, a vivid orange that reflected off the
trees and made them look as if they were alight.

'Hurry, George, something's gone awry.'

They charged through the trees, abandoning all
pretence at stealth. Aubrey's coat flapped like the wings of
a bat as he flew over the rough ground, vaulting fallen
branches and small bushes.

A shotgun barked again, twice, and an angry cry rose
from nearby.

Aubrey leaped over a log and immediately regretted
it. The ground on the other side fell away sharply. He
plummeted, sliding and tumbling down the slope, picking
up leaves and twigs as he went.

'Aubrey!' George cried, then he, too, was over the log
and plunging down into the shallow dell.

Aubrey rolled to his feet and was immediately knocked
over by a black-clad assailant. He scrambled to his feet,
but the mysterious foe was on him again, grappling with
wiry strength. Aubrey had time to notice, with astonishment,
that his foe was wearing a loose-fitting black outfit
and a balaclava, then he was struggling to avoid being
thrown again. He shifted his weight and dropped to one
knee, but his foe was too quick, matching his move and
countering it by turning side on. An elbow caught him
in the jaw and then he was slammed into the ground,
all his breath driven from him.

'Aubrey!' George called again. He charged and
slammed into Aubrey's attacker.

'Well done, George!' Aubrey panted, his hands on his
knees. The black-clad figure had fetched up against a tree
stump and was sprawled, motionless, next to a shotgun.

'Hit his head against the stump,' George said.
'Unconscious.'

Aubrey stripped the balaclava from the assailant and
stared, open-mouthed.

'What is it?' George said. He came close. 'Oh. I mean,
her
head.'

They were looking at the unconscious face of Caroline
Hepworth.

'I
WAS INVESTIGATING MY FATHER'S DEATH,'
C
AROLINE
explained, glaring. Aubrey rubbed his jaw and made
a resolution never to make her hit him again.

Aubrey and George were leaning against the wall in
the kitchen of the Big House. Aubrey had made sure
they'd removed their cat's eyes before they went inside, to
avoid comment.

Caroline had been put on a chair in front of the largest
stove. Mrs Butterly, the cook, had draped a blanket
around her shoulders. Mrs Butterly was glaring, too, and
continually rearranged the woolly covering.

'Of course,' Aubrey said. 'I was sorry to hear of it.'

'Yes,' George said. 'Terribly sorry.'

'Mrs Butterly,' Aubrey said, 'you'll organise a place for
the young lady to stay tonight?'

The cook nodded, not willing to interrupt her fussing.

'George and I will need rooms as well. If that's convenient.'

The cook crossed her arms across her enormous
bosom. 'I'm sure we'd insist on it,' she said in an unexpectedly
high-pitched voice. 'At least we'd have some
hope of keeping an eye on you, Aubrey Fitzwilliam.'

She rang for a maid. Aubrey wanted to say something
more to Caroline, but she was pointedly ignoring them.
He shook his head. He supposed he couldn't expect
gratitude after they had rendered her unconscious, then
dragged her back to the house, while the Black Beast of
Penhurst lurked nearby in the night.

When two maids arrived, Mrs Butterly made the arrangements.
Aubrey and George left her trying to get Caroline
to take some barley water to get over the shock. Aubrey
hadn't seen much sign of shock. He'd seen indignation
and a desire to rush back out into the night with her magically
enhanced shotgun, but shock? He had a feeling that
Caroline Hepworth was made of tougher stuff than that.

Aubrey waited while his bed was made up for him and
towels fetched. When the maid left, Aubrey went next
door to George's room and knocked.

'Well, George,' he said, collapsing onto the chair, 'did
you ever have the feeling that you were caught in a very
tangled spider's web?'

'Constantly. Ever since I've known you.'

Aubrey clasped his hands together and leaned forward.
He grinned. 'Quite right. Exciting, isn't it?'

He rubbed his forehead then, and his enthusiasm
subsided somewhat.

George noticed. 'How are you?'

'I'm keeping myself together well enough. I daren't let
myself get knocked around too much, I think.'

'You were lucky Miss Hepworth didn't hurt you too
much.'

'Quite. I thought she was an assassin dressed in that
costume.'

'It wasn't very . . .' George searched for the right word.
'Demure.'

Aubrey smiled. 'No, definitely not demure. A person of
surprises is Miss Hepworth.'

'Showing up here in the middle of the night? Rather.'

'It's more than that. She had some sort of magic with
her. Remember the orange flash? I managed to look over
her shotgun while we carried her back here. It had some
interesting magical modifications.'

'Where would she get such a thing?'

'I don't think she'll tell us. Not tonight.' Aubrey
hummed under his breath. 'I'm off to bed. Early start
tomorrow, George.'

W
HILE THEY WERE EATING A GARGANTUAN BREAKFAST UNDER
the stern eye of Mrs Butterly, Aubrey looked out for
Caroline, but she did not appear. Several times he went to
ask the cook about her, but Mrs Butterly's gaze was stony
and he left well enough alone.

Feeling as if he'd eaten enough for a fortnight, Aubrey
went out into the morning and marched back to where
he had encountered Caroline the night before. George
accompanied him, totally at ease with the world now
daylight had come.

A heavy dew had fallen and their boots were soon
sodden. Aubrey scowled but quickly forgot about them.
The morning was too delightful, with blue skies stretching
overhead and only the gentlest of breezes. Without
realising it, he began humming as they climbed the stile
and skirted the hedgerows, retracing the path they had
taken with the unconscious Caroline the previous night.

When they found the dell, Aubrey stood and surveyed
it for a moment.

'Seemed larger last night,' George said.

Aubrey nodded. He found the pouch around his neck
and took out a specially treated magnifying glass. He'd
magically attuned it by using a combination of spells
bound up with sensitivity and appearance. He was
pleased with the result, which allowed him to see the
most minute traces of magical residue.

With George looking on bemused, Aubrey crept on all
fours around the dell, peering through his magical magnifying
glass. Eventually, his friend wandered off and Aubrey
was left alone with the sounds of the working farm – a
lonely dog, cows, an engine of some sort in the distance –
filtering through the woods surrounding the dell.

Half an hour later, George ambled back to find Aubrey
just completing his inspection. 'It's strange, George,' he
said. He stood, wiping his hands on his trousers, which
were equally muddy as his hands. He hardly noticed.

'What's strange?'

'If I knew what it was, I wouldn't call it strange.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Never mind.' Aubrey frowned. 'This Black Beast
appears to have left some residue here, but I'm damned if
I can determine what it is. I've never seen its like before.'

'Are you sure you're not just seeing stuff left behind by
the magical shotgun?'

'No. It was strange stuff, too, but I accounted for all of
it. This is something else.'

'Hmm. What do we do next?'

'I want to see where we discovered the golem. Then
we go home.'

'If we can stow our bicycles in the guards' van, we
could take the train,' George suggested.

'Good idea, George, even if it makes your laziness more
obvious. Now, to the shooting grounds.'

T
HE SITE UNDER THE OAK TREE LOOKED AS IF AN ARMY HAD
been through. Aubrey stood back and imagined dozens
of Special Services agents trampling the grass and undergrowth
as they searched for clues. Even so, the outline of
the golem was still clear, because the grass had blackened
and died where the creature had melted. Aubrey
wondered how long the earth would stay barren.

He scraped some earth samples into small bottles,
frowning as he did so. The magnifying glass revealed
more of the puzzling residue. Did this mean that the
golem and the Black Beast were made by the same hand?

They made their way back to the campsite and packed
up their belongings. The tent was a devil to fold and
stow, still being wet from the dew. Aubrey attacked it
with vigour rather than science, glad to be grappling with
something as solid as canvas.

The tent, however, refused to be intimidated. After
George managed to stop laughing, he instructed Aubrey
on how to hold corners, fold carefully, press seams and
roll out air. Aubrey took this as an important lesson in
humility, and a timely one at that.

They pushed the bicycles back towards the Big House,
stopping at Hoskins's cottage on the way. Aubrey assured
him that they were well and that they wouldn't impose
on him like that again. Hoskins looked both relieved
and dubious.

The stationmaster greeted them as they trundled the
bicycles up to the station. He informed them that they'd
have a half-hour wait. 'Perhaps you'd like to sit with the
young lady,' he suggested.

Aubrey swung around to see Caroline at the station
gate. 'I've been waiting for you,' she said. 'What's kept you
so long? The Black Beast?'

The stationmaster stared at her, then at Aubrey.

'It's all right,' Aubrey said smoothly to him. 'Miss
Hepworth, it's good to see you again.'

The stationmaster went inside, muttering into his
beard.

There was no sign of the black outfit Caroline had
been wearing the previous evening, and Aubrey was
disappointed. On this bright morning she'd donned a
smart tweed skirt and jacket. In the breeze, her hat was
tied under her chin with a green and white ribbon.

'I need to talk to both of you,' she said. 'And I hope
I can do it without your attacking me again.'

'Of course,' Aubrey said hastily. 'About your father, no
doubt, and his work?'

'Yes,' Caroline said, her eyes distant. 'His work.' She
snapped her gaze onto Aubrey. 'I need to talk to you
about that, too.'

'Oh?'

'The waiting room would be more private,' George
pointed out. 'We could talk there.'

'Quite right, George. Miss Hepworth?' Aubrey bowed
and gestured for her to lead the way.

The waiting room had a settee, a small table, two
armchairs with loose, flowery chintz covers, and a fireplace.

This left very little free floor space in the small
room. They shuffled around, with Caroline taking the
settee. Aubrey and George took a chair each.

'Quite a waiting room,' George said.

'Fit for a Prince,' Aubrey pointed out.

Caroline studied them both dispassionately, which
Aubrey thought a great pity. She reminded him of a
heroine in a romantic painting, a warrior maid with steel
in her spirit and fire in her eye, but he had a feeling that
she would scoff at such a notion.

She appeared to come to a decision. 'I don't know if
I should be telling you this.'

'Ah,' Aubrey said. 'That's always a good start.'

She frowned, a crease dividing her eyebrows. 'Are you
always flippant?'

'No,' George put in. 'Sometimes he's overbearing,
sometimes he's rash, sometimes he's maddening, or
arrogant. But he's rarely dull.'

'Thank you, George.' Aubrey clasped his hands
together and glanced at Caroline. 'He knows me too
well,' he said wildly.

She looked at him. He could see her weighing up
whether they were worth talking to at all. Something
about them must have reassured her, because she went
on. 'My father was not happy,' she said. 'For some time
before his death, he was trying to escape from his duty.'

'I'm sorry,' Aubrey said. 'His duty? What do you mean?'

'I'll have to go back some time,' Caroline said. She
touched the ribbon at her neck, fingering the knot under
her chin.

'By all means. We're in no hurry, are we, George?'

'Not at all.'

She put her hands in her lap and composed herself.
'Father was happiest at the university at Greythorn, away
from the city. It was where he could talk with like-minded
researchers in laboratories just down the hall from his, or
over a pint in one of his favourite taverns in the town. The
library facilities, the laboratory equipment, all were first
class, but it was the people that Father loved. He said it was
like being a coal in a furnace, where individual coals make
the whole hotter and hotter, each feeding the other.'

'But he left,' Aubrey said.

'He didn't leave,' Caroline said, eyes flashing. 'His
commission was activated.'

'He was in the army?' George said.

'He was an officer, a major.'

Aubrey was intrigued. He couldn't imagine Professor
Hepworth in battle, leading men and issuing orders.

'It was before I was born,' she went on, 'and it was only
for a short time, but apparently he never resigned. He was
simply on reserve.'

'Ah,' said Aubrey. 'The military has ways of keeping a
hold on valuable people.'

'What do you mean?' She frowned again. Aubrey
found himself hoping that he would, one day, see her
smiling more frequently than frowning.

He sat back in the armchair. He tilted his head, looked
at the ceiling and steepled his fingers in front of his chin.
Professor Hepworth in the army. Perhaps not the regular
army . . .

'Imagine if certain people within the military had the
task of taking a long view of things, charged with the
safety of the country, but particularly with preparing for
threats that may take years to appear.'