The Laws of Magic 6: Hour of Need (36 page)

Aubrey whirled, and cried out at what he saw.

Sylvia had backed away to the perimeter and was leaning against one of the great marble bases. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She glared at George and Caroline, who were standing, shoulder to shoulder, pistols in hand, but instead of firing at Dr Tremaine – who was fifty feet away, ignoring them and stalking toward the window in the middle of the floor – all their attention was on the target of Sophie’s well-aimed shots.

A towering mechanical figure had clanked out from the greyness behind the pillars. It stood close to Sylvia, towering over her protectively, red eyes glowing, balefully taking in the scene. She glanced up at it and pointed at George and Caroline. The gesture was curt and dismissive, the way someone would ask a servant to get rid of an unappetising dish left on a sideboard.

Even though Aubrey knew that assumptions were dangerous where Dr Tremaine was concerned, he’d thought that his spells had ruined all of the ghastly mechanical golem hybrids. If Sylvia Tremaine were in need of a bodyguard, however, she couldn’t ask for better.

This creature was slightly larger than those he’d seen at Baron von Grolman’s factory in Stalsfrieden. It was fully twenty feet tall and it moved with well-oiled grace. The open armature on its limbs showed the extraordinary blending of clay and metal that marked Dr Tremaine’s hideous innovation, and Aubrey wasn’t surprised that in this giant prince of golem hybrids the copper wire had been replaced by shining silver.

Red eyes fastened on Aubrey’s friends. The short chimney stack over its left shoulder blasted a jet of black smoke and it bounded toward them.

Sophie fired her last shot, reloaded, then sent all five rounds hammering into the golem’s back. Six rounds from both Caroline and George chased the echoes of Sophie’s shots around the dome but the golem wasn’t inconvenienced at all. It advanced on George and Caroline, who had wisely separated as they shot. Footfalls booming on the marble, it took a huge swipe at George, who ducked and rolled away, but he needn’t have bothered. Thanks to Sophie’s displacement spell, the creature’s massive fist missed by a good few yards, leaving George unharmed and decidedly perplexed. He lay on his stomach and sought for a vulnerable spot, then gave up and simply blasted away at the creature.

Sophie ran out into the open space, pushing cartridges into her pistol as she went. Caroline fired her pistol twice, darted away, then fired twice more. The right knee of the creature shuddered – but it didn’t fall. Whirring, it swung an arm at her just as Sophie sent a volley of shots at its head.

Dr Tremaine was ignoring the bedlam. He stood with a hand on his chin, gazing down at the round window. Then he reached into a pocket and took out something so mundane, so ordinary that Aubrey had trouble understanding what the rogue magician brandished in his hand.

A spanner. A large but perfectly commonplace spanner. Dr Tremaine hefted it for a second or two, then raised it over his head. With a grunt that could be heard over the clamour of the fighting, he flung it at the window at his feet.

The window shattered. Immediately the atmosphere in the cavernous place changed, becoming less taut, less strained as the air from the outside world rushed in. Aubrey saw how Caroline, George and Sophie were taken aback for an instant until they found the source of the change. It was only Sophie’s quick action in dragging on George’s arm that prevented him from being swatted by the mechanical golem while he gaped.

Dr Tremaine glanced down and nodded. Then, with one finger, he pointed up at the highest point of the dome directly overhead. Instantly, a large crystal disc detached itself. It drifted down, sedately, and settled precisely into the gap.

Instantly, a column of light shot up, forcing Dr Tremaine to stagger back a step or two, cursing, and the atmosphere in the chamber changed again. The shaft of light splashed against the dome and the entire place
tightened
, as if every constituent part, every particle, were being squeezed. It became charged with potential, thick with magic, and Aubrey knew that the Crystal Johannes was doing its job.

His magical senses told him raw magic was boiling through the lens and shooting upward like a geyser. A fantastic conglomeration of sensations sprayed from it, spinning off in whorls – a flash of apricot, a greasy noise, a heavy taste, a touch of harsh, discordant sound – then they shifted and a whole new panoply of sensations replaced them.

Aubrey was awe-struck, both excited and dismayed at what he was perceiving. The column of light was the physical manifestation of the magic that came from the people of Trinovant, concentrated by Dr Tremaine into an almost solid shaft, which struck the dome and was fed by the silver tracery all over the arena.

We’re inside a machine
, Aubrey thought, still trying to come to terms with what he saw.
A machine dedicated to gathering and channelling magic.

Dr Tremaine stood facing the dazzling column of light with his arms outstretched, as if he were about to embrace it, and he began to chant.

Aubrey felt a profound shift about him, as if the entire universe had been lifted for an instant and then dropped back into place. He blinked, saw random motes of queasiness in his vision, and realised that Dr Tremaine had begun the most terrible magical spell in ten thousand years.

George let out an angry bellow and, immediately after, a cry of distress came from Sophie. More shots and Sylvia Tremaine’s laughter, cold and hard, joined the echoes of Dr Tremaine’s voice rolling about the dome.

Aubrey closed his eyes. Magic surrounded him, sparkling along the silver tracery embedded in the dome, the pillars, the floor, boiling in the shaft of light streaming up through the lens. On top of his already awesome power, Dr Tremaine had summoned an unheard-of concentration of magic ready to shape to his will. If he succeeded, not only would he become immortal – he would use up the consciousnesses of those trapped in the pillars about them, and of the populace of Trinovant below.

Aubrey had to do what he could. As much as he wanted to come to the aid of his friends, he couldn’t waste a moment. He was torn and, not entirely sure he was making the right decision, he wished his friends luck and went to work.

His task? As it had ever been: to stop Dr Tremaine.

T
HE
L
AW OF
D
IVISION AND THE
L
AW OF
E
NTANGLEMENT
had been much on Aubrey’s mind. Whenever he had a moment to spare – in between coping with ghostly cavalry raids, summoning the Holmland war leaders and making sure he and his friends weren’t killed in an ornithopter crash – he’d grappled with them. He probed them, he analysed them, he tried to recall everything he’d ever heard or read about them.

The Law of Division was a useful principle used to derive spells where objects were divided into parts, but where the parts had to retain the characteristics of the original. The Law of Entanglement described a peculiar, awkward and little-used phenomenon where magic could be used to unite two objects that could be separated by a distance, but would continue to mirror each other’s state.

It wasn’t their traditional applications that he was interested in. He wanted to use the ‘dividing’ part of a Division spell, and combine it with an inverted form of an Entanglement spell to create something to sever the magical connection Dr Tremaine and he shared.

Aubrey was aware that this was not without its risks. Messing about with magical connectors was fraught with danger, something that he knew more than most, having spent more than a year in a state of near death thanks to a spell that had severed the connection between his body and his soul. The experience, however, had taught him a great deal. He’d learned much about preservation while in a precarious state and he had invented many magical applications to strengthen and promote his essential integrity. Complete restoration had proved beyond him – only a freak accident had reunited his body and soul again – but he did have an almost unparalleled appreciation of the effects of magical connectors.

He was hoping that if he were successful with his spells and was able to sever the connector, both Dr Tremaine and he would be affected by the shock. To what extent and how seriously, he had no idea. The connector had, at times, been a conduit for memories, feelings, impressions, and at times it was almost like an organic link, something that belonged to both of them. Slicing it in two would inevitably debilitate them. He was wagering everything, hoping that his experiences in the past would stand him in good stead.

Firstly, he concentrated on the connector, bringing his magical senses to bear on it. He groped for where it merged with his chest, then he sought for its blend of Tremaineness and Fitzwilliamness. He brought up a version of the spell he’d used earlier to rouse the link. He cast it softly, increasing the intensity factor. The connector became more tangible and he was rewarded with a startled noise from Dr Tremaine, clear even over the sounds of mayhem.

Aubrey was pleased to see a cord as thick as his thumb, snaking and curling from his chest along the floor until it reached the rogue sorcerer – who was still facing the column of magic.

Aubrey lifted the cord to eye level and, for a moment, allowed it to undulate there. It was a strange phenomenon, one that had only been hinted at in a handful of medieval texts he’d found. It bore further study. Who knew how it could be useful, between doctor and troubled patient, for instance?

Plenty of time for regrets later
, he thought,
as usual.

He began his disconnection spell, starting with the elements plucked from applications he’d constructed using the Law of Division. He favoured the clear, blunt language of Achaean for this and he spoke each term, each operator with as much calmness as he could summon, moving into the elements derived from the Law of Entanglement, inverting each one so that they would work to disentangle rather than keep together.

The spell was monolithic. It felt as if he were a slave of one of the ancient Aigyptian kings, attempting to move great blocks of stone into place. He had to strain, to summon his strength to keep the elements moving, slotting them into their positions one by one. Sweat ran from his forehead and he heard a worrying waver in his voice – but he was nearly there. An element of directionality, one of a particular dimensionality – tricky – then his signature element and he was done.

A glowing knife appeared in his hand. Aubrey’s spell hadn’t prescribed the form it would take. He assumed that it had been plucked from his unconscious, for it was the very model of a cutting implement, an almost perfect representation of sharpness. The handle was golden and the blade curved slightly from hilt to tip, as subtle as a dancer.

Aubrey swayed a little, sapped by the effort of casting the spell, but he gathered himself. He twisted the cord. He manoeuvred the magic knife, inserted it in the loop he’d formed, and he cut.

C
LUTCHING THE SHREDS OF HIS CONSCIOUSNESS
, A
UBREY
was lashed with indifference. The connector had recoiled, bringing a wave of Dr Tremaine’s emotions, and the overwhelming impression was of disinterest. It was humbling to realise how unimportant he was to the rogue sorcerer. Dr Tremaine’s preoccupations were far loftier than worrying about Aubrey Fitzwilliam.

Staggering, bent over double, Aubrey was bombarded with a tumble of impressions, of nations, governments and magical advances. In all of them he was stunned to see how few people actually featured. His father, briefly, and Chancellor Neumann, but even they were almost featureless, more important for their positions than for their person. The only fully formed, fully realised person that emerged from this welter of memories and recollections was Dr Tremaine’s sister, Sylvia. She burned with a fire that was only matched by Dr Tremaine’s appreciation of himself. They were the only ones who were alive, who were vital, who were important.

Aubrey didn’t feature. His interruptions to Dr Tremaine’s plans did, but only as irritations to be overcome. The frustration of the foiled assassination plot against King William, the rescuing of the Gallian Heart of Gold, the ruination of the twin plot to animate Trinovant and to destroy the currency of Albion, all were inconveniences when measured against the vast canvas that Dr Tremaine was working with.

This attitude pervaded all of the feelings and thoughts that battered Aubrey as his head spun. It wasn’t even contempt. It was as if people were an alien species with which Dr Tremaine – and his sister – had little in common. They simply didn’t matter.

Aubrey struggled, sickened almost to the point of vomiting, but he was determined to prove Dr Tremaine wrong. People did matter.

Dr Tremaine’s world roared over the top of Aubrey, and swept him away.

Even though it seemed as if an age had trudged past, when Aubrey was next able to frame coherent thought, he was dimly aware that he was lying on the marble floor. He was unable to do much about it as his limbs had apparently turned to jelly. He could lift his head, a little, to see that Dr Tremaine was lying on the floor as well, yards away from the column of magic. A stone’s throw away, George was crumpled, unmoving, and Sophie was running to him. Behind them, Caroline had managed to trip the steaming golem hybrid with the silken rope, and to tangle a sword-wielding Sylvia in it as well.

Aubrey really wanted to remain there for a while and recover, but he knew that he couldn’t afford that luxury. Personal hurts, and wants, and dreams, could wait. He had to complete his plan.

Climbing to his feet was one of the harder things he’d had to do in his life. His chest felt as if it were one single, great bruise. The rest of his body wasn’t much better, but it was functioning, more or less, in the same way that the Gallian police functioned, more or less. His head thrummed and thumped whenever he moved, which was unfortunate because he had no prospect of holding still because Dr Tremaine, too, was climbing to his feet.

‘Fitzwilliam,’ the rogue sorcerer called and Aubrey was remarkably heartened to hear that his usually powerful voice had been reduced to a croak. ‘Why do you think you’re different?’

Aubrey’s heavy, aching head dropped. His eyes widened, slightly, painfully, when he saw, still attached to his chest, the ghostly remains of the magical cord that had once connected him to Dr Tremaine. He followed it with his magical senses and realised that his spell had been successful – it was the short length that remained on his side of the cut. Wearily, he sought for the other part and saw it was still connected to Dr Tremaine’s chest.

‘What do you mean?’ Aubrey said and his mind, sluggish though it was, began to arrange magical elements and string them together.

Dr Tremaine was dragging his left leg as he worked his way around the column of magic. ‘This thing. This connection. Gave me a glimpse at you. Your thoughts. You.’ Dr Tremaine glanced upward. He changed direction and shuffled toward the light. ‘You think you’re different from all the others, but you’re not. You’re all alike.’

‘We are.’ Aubrey squinted. He could make out the remnants of Dr Tremaine’s end of the connector more clearly, stretched limply on the floor. ‘We are all alike and we are different.’

‘Ah. The uniqueness argument. Tedious and meaningless.’ Dr Tremaine grunted as he reached the column of power. It roared, rich with magic culled from all the consciousnesses in Trinovant. ‘To me. Meaningless to me, which is all that matters. You are all alike. I can manipulate you all, move you all around, to suit my ends. None of you matters.’

Aubrey took a step in the direction of the rogue sorcerer. ‘And that’s going to be your downfall. If you thought more about how we are different, and the different ways we can all contribute to bringing you down, then you might have had a better chance.’

Dr Tremaine laughed. It was a weary laugh, but it held no doubt. ‘A better chance? I need no chances. My plan is a certainty.’

With that, he spoke a sharp series of syllables and plunged both hands into the pillar of light. For an instant, he jerked backward, his spine arching, his teeth bared. Then a sigh came from his lips and when he turned to Aubrey his eyes were shining. All trace of pain and exhaustion had disappeared. ‘Such power,’ he whispered. ‘Such power you’ll never know.’

Aubrey hardly heard. He was still stunned at the spell Dr Tremaine had spoken. The economical, clipped, syllables bore no resemblance to any language Aubrey had ever heard. The sounds, the rhythms, the patterns were almost inhuman in their brutality. Aubrey doubted that his mouth could cope with such a thing, so awful was it – but its effect was undeniable. Was this the Universal Language for Magic?

Aubrey started to run. ‘I’m glad. If it makes people like you, I don’t want a part of it.’

Dr Tremaine barked a hard laugh. He withdrew one hand from the pillar of light. In it, he held a blinding mass, a lump of raw magic that changed as the rogue sorcerer worked his fingers, shaping it like clay. Small bolts of false lightning darted from it and he chuckled. ‘Goodbye, Fitzwilliam.’

With a careless, backhand action, the sorcerer flipped the magical missile at Aubrey. Shedding light and magic, it hurtled at him.

Aubrey didn’t stop running. He snapped out a few syllables, the elements he’d used to deflect the worst of his Transference spell onto the soldiers on either side of no-man’s-land, and raised an elbow. The boiling magical missile glanced off, veered away wildly and burst harmlessly.

Aubrey didn’t stop. He spat out a tiny spell that was concentrated on the specific area between the soles of his boots and the marble floor, decreasing the coefficient of friction a few thousand per cent so that it was nearly zero. He went into a long, braced slide at a speed that took his breath away.

It was like wet ice on wet ice and Aubrey’s sudden transformation from a galloping nuisance to a lightning bolt surprised Dr Tremaine enough for Aubrey to throw himself forward in a long, shallow dive. He thumped onto his chest and stomach, adding to the indignities that his poor body had experienced, and slid, just missing Dr Tremaine’s feet, but close enough to grab the remains of the magical connector still embedded in the sorcerer’s chest.

Lying on his back, only a few feet away from the torrent of magic, Aubrey shielded his eyes and flung the loose end of the connector into it.

Dr Tremaine shouted, a huge wordless cry that filled the chamber. It roared like a storm, reverberating until it was elemental in its rage. His limbs were flung wide, star-like, his mouth jerked open and he hung, spread against the magic pillar like an insect in a museum.

His eyes were on fire. They filled with blinding light, consumed by the raw power channelled by the connector, which had swelled and grown, three or four times its previous diameter, jerking and throbbing with crude potency.

Aubrey lay on the floor, panting, horrified and triumphant at once. Dr Tremaine was caught in the grip of a magic that was beyond his control. The combined power of the magical artefacts, the captive magicians and a million Trinovantans was too much even for him when it was pumped into his very being via a magical connector. The control he wielded as a master magician was no use here, as the connector bypassed his intellect. Magic poured into him unchecked.