Moment of Truth (29 page)

‘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.

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 points (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?'

‘Miss Hepworth told Katya she wanted a closer look at von Grolman's place. Your Miss Delroy joined her at that moment and–' He looked at both of them carefully. ‘They appeared to argue, according to Katya.'

‘Argue?' George said. ‘Caroline and Sophie? What about?'

‘Katya did not hear every word, but there was much pointing in the direction of the factory. And Miss Delroy was concerned about a relative.'

Aubrey and George exchanged looks. George, to Aubrey's eyes, looked as close to frantic as he'd ever seen.

‘Do not worry about them,' von Stralick said. ‘They appeared to reach some compromise, for they did go off together.'

George frowned. ‘We are going after them, aren't we, old man?'

‘Straight away,' Aubrey said. ‘Hugo?'

Von Stralick rubbed his chin. ‘I cannot. We have our work to do. The residue we've found will need much spellcraft, apparently.' He coughed discreetly into his hand. ‘We will be here, when you return.'

Aubrey silently thanked von Stralick for not using ‘if'. ‘George? Ten minutes to get a few things ready?'

‘I'll be ready in five.'

It was Katya who guided them through the forest, but Aubrey was aware of other presences nearby. Nothing magical, just good scouting, only revealing themselves in a few half-glimpses of figures darting from tree to tree.

The hundred yards or so of woods surrounding the factory was uncomfortable work: belly crawling through a mess of ivy, bracken and clumps of bushes that were unidentifiable despite being proudly and defiantly prickly. These were the fringe dwellers of the vegetative world, the ones that would slink out of a line-up, unrecognised, with the witness behind the glass saying, ‘Sorry, officer, but they all look the same to me.'

Katya led them to a place that she was sure – from some arcane sort of woodcraft, Aubrey assumed – was the launching place for Caroline and Sophie's assault on the factory. She waved away their thanks and said they could thank her by killing many, many Holmlanders – something which made Aubrey most ambivalent – before fading away with her colleagues.

From the edge of the undergrowth, they looked across fifty yards of cleared area to the chain link fence. Although it was at the rear of the property, half a mile or more from the main road, the fence was in good repair. The barbed wire on top looked formidably new and sharp.

They'd approached the south side of the facility. In the early morning light, the complex was all clangour and activity. None of the soldiers Aubrey saw moving between buildings was tarrying, and he wondered if one of them was Théo. They moved on the trot or better, while lorries both heavy and light tore along with no regard for the soldiers, who appeared accustomed to leaping aside at their approach.

The main road ran past the western end of the complex, and a fortified gatehouse guarded the approach to the original building. Some distance behind the old buildings was an open expanse, with a large squat construction on the south side. Bundles of cables ran from this building to the others, looping from strategically placed poles. Aubrey tentatively marked the squat building as the location of an electricity generator.

North of the open expanse was a cluster of buildings, the centre of most of the activity and the source of most of the smoke and steam. These buildings were new and Aubrey guessed they were the heart of the manufacturing. If golems were being manufactured they would probably be stored in the huge warehouse building that bulked large behind the factories. If he could judge distances properly, the warehouse was also the receiving and dispatch end of the railway spur. Beyond it, and overtopping it, were huge black heaps of coal, one after the other, stretching the entire length of the far side of the immense structure.

Abutting the eastern edge of the open area were buildings that could only be huts for the soldiers. They stretched off in rows to the back of the property. If they were needed to house all of the soldiers, it gave Aubrey pause. This was a substantial military investment.

He rolled onto one elbow and, while he was stowing his field glasses, he studied George, who continued to observe through his own binoculars.

‘Right, George,' he said. ‘Before we get going, I think we need to clear up something.'

‘We do? What is it, old man?

‘What's wrong with you, George?'

‘Wrong?' George answered without lowering his binoculars.

‘Ever since we discovered Sophie had gone, your face has been so long you've had trouble not tripping on it. You've been sighing like a traction engine. If you looked any more like a consumptive poet you'd have to join their union.'

George lowered his field glasses. ‘Hello, Mr Pot, I'm Mr Kettle. What colour are we?'

‘You may have a point. But you must admit that I've some practice in this, while it may – dare I suggest it – be a novelty for you.'

George frowned. ‘Maybe.'

‘So what's causing it? Sophie hasn't run off. She's just over there. Somewhere. Behind barbed wire and in the middle of an enemy military industrial complex, admittedly, but she's not lost to you.'

George chewed this over. ‘That's assuming, of course, that her intentions were honourable in the first place.'

Aubrey had to work this one through for a while then he stared at George, incredulous. ‘You think that Sophie was just using you to get to her brother.'

The silence was so stony Aubrey could have used it to pave half a dozen streets. ‘You can see how one could come to that conclusion,' George finally said. ‘She was trapped on the border, no way to get to her brother, and we lob into the area. Now, I'm not saying that she latched onto me with a plan immediately in mind, but when we started talking about heading across the border, she made sure of coming along.'

‘By ... being nice to you?' Aubrey ventured.

‘If you're insinuating anything, old man, I'd be very careful if I were you.'

‘George, you know I'm not. And I'm convinced you're not thinking clearly.' He paused. ‘May I speak frankly?'

‘If you must.' George's face was bleak.

‘Well, if I'm speaking frankly, I need to tell you that Sophie Delroy is wonderful, and she is obviously, evidently and wholly enamoured of you. As she should be.'

‘Really?'

‘George, you fathead, of course she is.'

‘She's not just using me?' George looked away for a moment. ‘I couldn't stand that. She's ... special.'

Aubrey had never heard George talk like this. He liked girls. All girls. Lots of girls. He always had the highest opinion of them. Apparently, though, there was something special about Sophie.

‘George, you can grump about thinking the worst, or you can have faith in someone you appear to admire so much.'