Blaze of Glory (23 page)

A
UBREY FELT BATTERED, WRUNG OUT AND BRUISED.
H
E
ached all over. George and Caroline weren't much
better. As soon as Caroline regained her senses and had
the situation explained, all three of them shambled off,
looking for treatment, rest and nourishment.

Caroline was irritated rather than grateful. She seemed,
somehow, to think that the entire ordeal was Aubrey's
doing and that it had been unnecessarily complicated. On
top of this, she took the notebook into her keeping.

Aubrey wanted it desperately, but he decided not to
argue. He needed every ounce of his strength.
Aubrey struggled to stop wincing with every step. His
muscles were stiff and all his joints felt as if they were filled
with acid. He needed, more than ever, some time to rest.
Thirty or forty years' worth should be enough
, he thought.

They left the warehouses and factories behind and
began to move through more populated streets. Houses
were lit behind drawn curtains and the smell of cooking
was in the air. It made Aubrey's mouth water, but his head
pounded whenever he moved it.

Seeking distraction, his gaze swept across the building
they were passing. It was a two-storey, red-brick establishment,
large and square, stretching back from the street a
good way. A small brass plaque near the front door – as
would normally signify a doctor's surgery – announced that
this was The Greythorn Society for Non-magical Fitness.

He stopped and stared. 'George, what did that advertisement
in your agony column say?'

George and Caroline had walked on, not realising
Aubrey had stopped, but George turned. 'What is it,
Aubrey?'

'The agony column advertisement. The one I deciphered.
It mentioned a fitness society.'

'Good Lord,' George said. He stared at the brass plaque.
'So it did.'

'Non-magical fitness?' Caroline said. 'Whatever can it
mean?'

George shrugged. 'I suppose one could use magic to
get fit. Aubrey?'

'One can use spells to increase muscle tone and
endurance. It's illegal in sports, but there are enough
private users to keep practitioners in business. Highly
expensive business.'

'Non-magical fitness sounds much more wholesome.'
George flexed his arms. 'Exercise, weights, things like
that. You could join, Aubrey. It might help you with that
cadet officer physical test.'

Aubrey ignored him. He was wondering why anyone
would use a cipher in a newspaper to meet at a fitness
society.

'What are you talking about?' Caroline asked.

George explained about Aubrey's failed cadet test, not
sparing the embarrassing details. 'So,' he concluded,
'perhaps Aubrey should make some enquiries here.'

Thank you
,
George
, Aubrey thought sourly. He braced
himself. When faced with potential embarrassment,
he had one strategy: march straight ahead and let the
embarrassment fall where it would. He squared his
shoulders, hiding the pain this caused him. 'Very well,
George, excellent suggestion. The light's on, let's go
inside.'

George gaped. 'You're serious.'

Aubrey opened the gate. 'Of course. Come on now,
don't dally.'

'It's hardly the time,' Caroline said.

'Perhaps not.' Aubrey grinned, seized by the moment.
'But opportunity has presented itself.'

Once inside, they found themselves in a waiting room.
Tall wooden chairs lined the walls. Their backs were militarily
straight, the seats bare of such luxuries as padding.
A clerk sat at a reception desk at one end of the room,
while stairs led upward to what signs indicated were
Meeting Rooms and Gymnasium.

'Gymnasium,' George pointed out to Aubrey. 'This is
the right place. I hope they have a branch in the city.'

The clerk stared at them, pencil hovering in the air. He
was short, lean, with greying hair. He was dressed in a
white shirt and black waistcoat and his whole demeanour
said that their appearance was not what he'd expected.
He was surrounded by books and pamphlets. Shelves
behind him displayed a collection of trophies and shields,
mostly tarnished, none remarkable. 'Can I help you?' he
said eventually.

Aubrey's burst of energy had deserted him. He lowered
himself onto one of the chairs.

George glanced at Aubrey, then approached the reception
desk. 'Your society, how does it work?'

The clerk didn't have a chance to reply. A door behind
the desk opened and a dark figure emerged. Cadaverous,
with a commanding profile, his face was unmistakable.
He eyed Aubrey, George and Caroline coldly. 'Get them
out of here.'

Caroline didn't move. 'Who are you? Why are you
being so rude?'

Aubrey climbed to his feet. 'He's Craddock, head of the
Magisterium.'

Caroline didn't look daunted. 'That's as may be. It
doesn't mean he should be impolite.'

Craddock ignored them. He turned to the clerk.
'Green, get them out of here. Our targets should be here
at any minute.'

'It's too late, sir,' Green, the clerk, said, pointing towards
the window. 'The Holmlanders are coming up the path
now. Our trap is working.'

'Tallis!' Craddock snapped. 'Remove these people!'

Aubrey was agog when Captain Tallis hurried down
the stairs. What were the Special Services doing working
with the Magisterium? What were
Holmlanders
doing
here?

When Tallis saw them, he looked equally startled. He
stared at Craddock.

'Hurry!' Craddock snapped.

Tallis gathered himself. 'This way. Up the stairs.'

'I don't see why . . .' Caroline began, but Craddock cut
her off.

'Now. Deaths may result if you don't.'

Caroline stared at Craddock. Not with fear, Aubrey
noticed. She seemed to be trying to remember every detail
of his face, every line and every feature, saving it up for the
future. She did this with a cool determination that made
Aubrey promise not to cross her, if he could ever help it.

Caroline followed Tallis. George helped Aubrey up the
stairs that led to a windowless corridor. Gaslights were
spaced along the wooden panelled walls, but none were
alight. The nearest door was marked 'Meeting Room 1'.
Aubrey could make out three other doors before the
gloom swallowed the rest of the corridor.

'Not the Meeting Room,' Tallis barked. He looked
around, jerking his head from side to side. 'The gymnasium.
Next door along.'

Tallis stood by the door and turned on the electric
lights, exposing a vast space of well-sprung wooden floor.
Tumbling mats were stacked at one end of the room and
climbing frames covered three walls. Racks of weights
and Indian clubs took up the other. Ropes dangled from
the ceiling, while a solitary vaulting horse stood in the
middle of the floor. On the other side of the hall, across
the empty floor, was an exit door.

It looked every inch a gymnasium, but something
about it made Aubrey uneasy.

He leaned against one of the climbing frames, clinging
with one hand. He felt weak, as if he'd been ill for a
month with a fever. The worse he felt, the more he felt
the tugging on his soul. The more he felt this, the more
his body deteriorated. Until he could rest, he was trapped
in a cycle that was undoing him.

Struggling, he tried to decide what was wrong with the
place. He turned his head slowly, trying to think through
the pounding.

Then he had it.

'George,' he croaked, 'tell me what you smell.'

'Are you all right, old man?'

'Please.'

George looked askance, but took a deep sniff. 'Rope.
Floor wax. That's all.'

'It's not a proper gymnasium,' Aubrey said. 'It hasn't
been used.'

'How do you know?'

'It doesn't smell of sweat.'

Every gymnasium Aubrey had been in at school or
elsewhere, no matter how old or how new it was, had had
the indelible, ingrained smell of sweat underlying everything,
sour and sharp. It was absent from this place – it
was for show.

Voices came from below, raised and angry. Captain
Tallis was immediately alert. 'Stay here,' he ordered. He
left, shutting the door behind him.

'This way,' George said immediately. He took Aubrey's
arm while Caroline darted ahead.

'Thanks,' he said as they tottered across the floor to the
other exit. 'I know I'm being such a bore.'

'Never mind, old man. You'd do the same for me.'

Caroline was waiting for them on a landing outside the
door. 'Here,' she said, pointing down the dark stairwell.
'Servants' stairs, most probably. I'm sure we'll come out
near the back door.'

Just then, the sound of a pistol shot came from the front
of the building.

'Hurry!' George exclaimed.

'Wait,' Caroline said. She stepped back into the gym.
When she emerged again, she handed Aubrey and
George an Indian club each.

Aubrey stared at it. 'It's the nearest thing to a weapon
at hand,' she said and she brandished her own. She
glanced at him. 'You don't look well.'

'I'll be fine,' he said, even though he'd slumped against
the railing. His chest creaked as he breathed and it felt as
if hot needles were being stuck between his ribs.

'I see,' Caroline replied, but her face said she didn't
believe a word.

'We'll make it,' George said. 'But we shouldn't linger
here.'

Another shot rang out, then another, then a fusillade
of gunfire. Aubrey could hear at least three different
firearms, then breaking glass and heavy footsteps, more
gunshots, shouts and wordless threats.

Has the war started?
Aubrey wondered, then George
dragged him away from the door.

Caroline was already halfway down the darkened stairs.
She went quickly, but stopped frequently to look ahead
and listen for anyone in the vicinity. She'd lifted the hem
of her skirt to allow easy movement, but hair kept
escaping from the tight chignon on the back of her head.
She batted it away, and Aubrey could see from the gesture
that unruly hair was a long-time problem.

She led them to the ground floor which was, mercifully,
in darkness. At that moment Aubrey heard footsteps
overhead, a dozen or more heavily booted people
running along the corridor. Loud crashes seemed to
indicate bodies falling or being thrown against walls.

They set out along a corridor, past five doorways, two
on one side of the corridor, three on the other. Aubrey
paused at the third, which was open and full of wooden
crates. 'A minute.' He stood straight and took a deep
breath.

Caroline hissed with irritation as Aubrey lurched into
the small room. 'What are you doing?'

Aubrey came back with a pamphlet. 'I couldn't leave
without seeing what this society has to offer.'

Caroline stared at him. 'You're insane.'

Aubrey considered this. 'No, I don't think so.'

George snorted. Caroline turned and hurried towards
the door at the end of the corridor. Aubrey grimly
struggled after her, tossing his Indian club aside and
stuffing the pamphlet into his jacket pocket. He was in
pain, but determined not to lag behind.

The corridor led to a kitchen, lit only by a dim street
lamp in the lane behind the house.

'Not used,' Aubrey observed before Caroline found the
door to the outside. 'The kitchen,' he added.

He put a hand to the back of his neck. It was itching.
He closed his eyes and felt a magical upwelling in the
vicinity. He stiffened. 'Close your eyes!' he cried.

He saw Caroline turn, irritated, about to argue. George
dropped his Indian club, leaped, clapped his hand over
her face and dragged her to the ground.

A flash of brilliant light lit the night. Aubrey could see
it through the hands he'd clamped over his eyes. It left red
spots dancing in his vision.

'Is it safe, Aubrey?' George said after a moment.

'Yes, I think so.'

He looked up to see Caroline glaring at George. 'What
was that?' she demanded.

Aubrey chose to interpret her question carefully.
'Magic. Someone upstairs has unleashed a spell.'

She narrowed her eyes.

'Aubrey knows what he's talking about,' George said.

'Doesn't he always?' she said.

'I beg your pardon?' Aubrey said, but she deflected
this with an impatient hand and eased open the outside
door.

The back garden was overgrown. In the darkness, trees
and bushes loomed over shadowy shapes. Grass had swallowed
up garden beds and was knee-high elsewhere.

George peered through the darkness. 'There's a gate in
the back fence.'

'It will do,' Caroline decided.

A window broke overhead. They ran along the path
through the jungle-like growth. Aubrey was startled to
see that the shapes poking through the wilderness were
rusty farm machinery: harrows, scarifiers, headers,
ploughs. They looked as if they had been there for years.

They'd nearly reached the gate when Caroline glanced
back. 'Hide!'

Together, all three tumbled behind the remains of an
ancient seed drill. Lying on his stomach and peering
through the rusty metal flanges and wheels, Aubrey
looked towards the house in time to see figures pouring
through the rear door. At that moment, a man leaped
from a window on the first floor and landed on the
back of another below. A third man ran around the side
of the house and tackled two others. It rapidly became
a melee.

The overgrown garden became a battleground. Men
were brawling, standing toe to toe, trading blows,
wrestling on the ground. Some had ripped palings off
a fence and were belabouring each other. It was hard
to say how many there were, but Aubrey guessed twenty,
perhaps more.

A gun fired from a window on the first floor. In return,
light suddenly erupted from a figure on the ground. It
struck the window, sending glass into the air. In that
glaring moment, Aubrey stared. The figure standing at
the window was von Stralick, the Holmland spy. He
cursed, blood pouring from the side of his head.