Time of Trial (25 page)

He stared at what he'd found. It was about the size of his fist, heavy, orange-brown and misshapen. ‘Clay,' he breathed and he darted a look at the machine. ‘We must hurry.'

‘What?' Caroline said. ‘Why?'

‘I think he's making a golem.'

‘Here? Whatever for?'

‘To substitute for Bertie.'

Ever since the baron's revelation, Aubrey had been worrying about how Dr Tremaine was to achieve his end of having a puppet on the throne of Albion. His initial thought was that he would use the same method that he'd use to turn Aubrey into an assassin, but after pondering it for some time, he'd discarded this. The mind control spell had worked, in a fashion, but Aubrey hadn't acted normally. George and Caroline had quickly seen that he was behaving very strangely and were rightly suspicious. Besides, Aubrey hadn't been any good for anything else. He had one task, one mission; his whole existence had been centred on killing the Prince. He had no mind for anything else.

No, the mind control magic couldn't be used to keep a replica Bertie in place, convincing all those around, conducting itself through the thousand and one duties of the heir to the throne.

But Dr Tremaine was master of another sort of magic – one that could produce a perfect replica, and one that could operate with a degree of autonomy while still being under total control of its master.

A golem.

The clay-based magical creatures were difficult for most magicians to make, and so their use was generally limited to simple tasks. But Dr Tremaine, as Aubrey knew well, was no ordinary magician. And, to judge from his efforts with the Glauber golem and with the cloudy stormfleet, his powers were growing.

But where was he?

Aubrey gestured to Caroline. They waited their chance, then scuttled closer to another bench, only a few yards away from the machine. Aubrey lifted his head to peer across the bench, but his eyes widened when he saw what was lying there. He snatched it and lowered himself again.

Caroline stared at it. ‘I don't want to ask,' she whispered, ‘because I think I know – but whose jacket is that?'

He nodded, the confirmation turning his stomach to ice. ‘It's Bertie's.'

The machine crackled again and white light battered them. Aubrey peeped over the edge of the bench to see the masked operator dragging more clay from the drawer, spitting curses as he cast the clay over his shoulder.

The process wasn't a straightforward one, it seemed. They may have some time.

Movement caught his eye. Aubrey looked up and he nearly leaped to his feet. George was climbing through the rafters, negotiating his way through the chains and cables like an arboreal ape through the vines of a jungle.

Aubrey clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth hurt. Those electrical cables looked well enough insulated, but if George even brushed a bare wire while he was touching just about anything else, he'd be doomed.

Caroline saw him looking up and followed his gaze. Her eyes widened, then she took our her pistol. For a bizarre moment, Aubrey thought she was offering to shoot George, but then he understood that she was suggesting a shot at the golem machine – or the operator.

Aubrey was pulled between choices and, as had been his recent custom, he touched the Beccaria Cage to help him think – but in the gesture he bumped the small bottle of ink in his appurtenances vest.

The idea bloomed even as he thought of it. He leaned close to Caroline. ‘Do you have any paper?'

She raised an eyebrow and whispered back. ‘Where would I keep paper?'

‘Wherever you keep your pistol.'

She shook her head, but carefully reached up onto the bench. ‘Here.'

It was good quality foolscap, obviously meant for notetaking. Aubrey signalled his grateful thanks and then set about folding it. With a few quick movements, he had just the sort of paper glider he wanted.

Caroline watched silently as Aubrey scrabbled for a shard of the shattered glassware on the floor. With caution, he ground it under the heel of his boot, then scooped up a teaspoonful – wincing as the dust cut his fingertips – and deposited it in the folds of the paper aircraft.

Then he popped his head up. ‘Over here!' he yelled and he launched the paper glider.

The machine operator straightened and, his goggles catching the light, he peered in their direction – which is exactly what Aubrey wanted. He rattled out a spell which used the Law of Attraction. The paper glider, which had been veering wildly, suddenly changed direction as the glass embedded in it was strongly attracted to the glass in the man's goggles, thanks to Aubrey's calculations. As the glass tugged at the paper, the glider lost its shape, unfolding and fluttering through the air before it struck the bewildered man and wrapped around his head.

With an oath he dropped his shovel and staggered around, clumsily trying to tear the clinging paper from his face. Aubrey stood and, for good measure, uncapped the bottle of ink and chanted a variation a spell based on the Law of Propensity. The ink leaped from the bottle and flew straight at the flailing man and his paper-wrapped head, Aubrey having stimulated the ink's natural tendency to bond with paper.

The man let out a wild shout as his vision, which must have been quite obscured by the paper, was now blackened by the spreading ink.

Then Caroline appeared in front of the blinded man. With a graceful movement, she snapped the heel of her hand up under his chin. He toppled like a tree.

Aubrey hurried to her side. She looked at him, wide-eyed. ‘I didn't like the sound his head made when it hit the floor.'

Aubrey hadn't either, but he liked the shape of the back of the man's head even less, especially its flattened look.

A huge thump made them both whirl, only to see George landing on top of a crate. He eased himself down to the floor and dusted his hands together, looking disappointed. ‘A few more minutes and I would have had him.'

‘I'm sure you would have,' Aubrey said. He knew he'd acted hastily in the end, but he hadn't wanted George to do anything dangerous. He smiled ruefully when he realised that they were all doing dangerous things all too often. Still, if he could reduce the risk for his friends by taking more on himself, he was willing to do that. He owed them.

Aubrey went to the golem-making machine. Three doors, two of which they'd already seen. The third then, logically, should...

He took the handle and heaved. Another long drawer slid out on metal bearings. It was identical to the middle drawer, except this one was occupied.

‘Is he all right?' George said.

Prince Albert lay in the cold, hard confines of the drawer. His eyes were closed, his skin was waxy. He was naked.

‘I dearly hope so,' Aubrey said and the groan that came from the drawer was the most rewarding sound Aubrey had heard for some time.

The Prince blinked, then opened his eyes. ‘Aubrey?'

‘Bertie,' Aubrey said. ‘Easy now. Don't make any sudden moves.'

‘Your highness,' George said, ‘what do you remember?'

‘Remember?' He shivered. ‘Rather chilly here, isn't it.' He lifted his head and stared. ‘Good Lord. Where are my clothes?'

Aubrey and George struggled to help the Prince out of the drawer until Caroline came to their aid. George coughed. ‘We're fine. Really. Perhaps you should see to that other fellow.'

‘He's dead.' Caroline faltered, but gathered herself and went on. ‘And don't be such a prude, George. I've seen more life models while Mother has been painting than you've had hot dinners.'

Aubrey was startled by this, but concentrated on helping the Prince to the bench where Caroline and he had found the royal clothes. It was only a few yards, but by the time they'd reached it the Prince was already insisting that he was strong enough to walk by himself, really.

To give the Prince some privacy – although once he'd gathered himself he'd behaved as if being naked in a laboratory was an everyday matter – they went to the unmoving body of the machine operator.

‘He's not dead.' Aubrey squatted alongside the unmoving operator.

‘He must be,' Caroline said. She had her arms crossed on her chest, but the way she moved her mouth told Aubrey she wasn't unaffected by what had happened. She was unwilling to look steadily at the unfortunate, either, glancing at him and then looking away. ‘His head's crushed. He's not breathing.'

Aubrey squinted and touched the man just behind his ear. ‘I don't think he ever breathed. Not properly.'

He lifted an inert leg. When he let it drop it cracked on the stone floor.

Caroline jerked her gaze back and shuddered. ‘What did you say?'

Aubrey pointed. ‘His foot just fell off.'

George nudged it with the toe of his boot. ‘It's hard.'

‘A golem to tend a golem-making machine.'

‘It's a golem?' Caroline said softly. She swallowed, hard.

‘A masterly creation.' It was more than that. It was the most human-like golem Aubrey had ever seen. Dr Tremaine's craft, already great, had grown even more potent.

Aubrey tilted his head and peered at the machine, wondering how it worked. No golem could wield magic – human consciousness was required to work the magical power wrested from the universe – so the machine must have spells embedded in it. Such an extraordinary blending of machinery and magic could have come from only one man.

Again, Aubrey itched with the feeling of Dr Tremaine's presence. He shook it off with difficulty and busied himself with stripping off the creature's goggles.

It had the appearance of a well-built man in his fifties – clean shaven, heavy features, dark blond hair – but the face was rapidly cracking like poorly glazed porcelain.

‘Anyone you recognise?' Aubrey said.

‘That's Stern,' the Prince said. He'd come up behind them unnoticed during their inspection. ‘Used to be the Holmland ambassador to Albion. He was recalled a few months ago because he was too sympathetic to us.'

Aubrey had just begun feeling pleased at having foiled a plot to replace Prince Albert, but the business at hand had suddenly grown murkier. ‘I don't think he's sympathetic any more.'

Suddenly, from the shadows, came the whipping crack of a rifle – then two more. The bullets crashed into the golem machine and made it ring like a bell. George threw himself to one side, dragging the Prince with him. Caroline ducked and rolled against a nearby bench. Even though Aubrey was crouching, still next to Stern's duplicate, he felt exposed and he scrabbled his way to join Caroline.

‘Do not try to escape,' a Holmlandish voice boomed through the laboratory. ‘Come out and put your hands in the air.'

‘Neumann?' Prince Albert called. ‘Is that you?'

‘Bertie!' another voice cried. Aubrey recognised it as the Elektor's. ‘They said you were dead!'

Within seconds, the laboratory was a milling mass of politicians, royalty, adventurers and confused Imperial Household Guards. Aubrey dusted his hands, watching the Elektor and Prince Albert greet each other. It appeared to Aubrey that the Elektor was genuinely moved to see that the Prince was unharmed, and he bumped him up on his ‘Possibly To Be Trusted' scale.

The Chancellor, on the other hand, was less than moved. He had a rifle in his hands. He gave it to one of the guards then stood, phlegmatically, watching the Elektor and the Prince exchange reassurances.

Aubrey approached him. ‘What happened?'

The Chancellor shrugged. ‘In the shadows, I thought your prince was the intruder.'

‘It's good you missed.'

The Chancellor looked askance at him. ‘Most fortunate.'

George ambled over, hands in pockets, but then he stopped and sniffed. ‘What's that smell?'

Caroline hissed. ‘Smoke. It's coming from the golem maker.'

At that moment, a fountain of sparks belched from the machine, spraying from the bullet holes like fireworks. The Elektor gaped, horrified. ‘We must leave. Quickly!'

‘What is it?' Aubrey said over the hissing crackle of electrical discharge.

‘One of von Grolman's machines. I haven't had time to study it, but it requires much electricity. We could be in great danger.'

The guards crowded around the Elektor and hustled him to the door. George and Caroline did likewise with Prince Albert, which left Aubrey and the Chancellor. ‘After you, Fitzwilliam,' the Chancellor said.

Aubrey hesitated. A sharp metallic clanging came from the golem maker and more sparks flew from the bullet holes. He could smell burning and he knew that the workings of the machine were destroying themselves. Nothing would be recovered, further investigation would be useless.

Then he remembered his father's telling him about the Chancellor's past.

He'd been a rifleman. More than that, a sharpshooter.

As they stumbled away from the conflagration, Aubrey stared at the Chancellor, who kept glancing back with a look of grim satisfaction.

I don't think you missed at all
, Aubrey thought. He threw up an arm as a side of the golem maker peeled back with an awful screech.
I think you hit exactly what you aimed for.

Aubrey spent the rest of the morning with an abiding sense of relief. While the Prince had a battle on his hands to convince Quentin Hollows that he was all right and that he shouldn't be heading straight back to Albion, Aubrey was able to stay in the background and be thankful that he'd managed to thwart Dr Tremaine's plans. He shuddered whenever he thought of what strife would have followed if the rogue magician had been successful in placing a puppet on the throne of Albion.

Aubrey, Caroline and George were interviewed by both the ambassador and Major Vincent, which gave Aubrey time in his room, alone, to reflect on the affair. Stretched out on his bed, he turned over the stones of the day's happenings to see what crawled out.

It was clear that Dr Tremaine had access to the highest places in Holmland. His position as the special adviser to the Chancellor ensured that. He could easily have slipped into the laboratory and set events in motion.

But what about Baron von Grolman? Was the golemmaking machine really a product of his company? But why, then, would he divulge Dr Tremaine's plot to Aubrey?

And what about the Chancellor? At first, Aubrey had thought that the Prince was the target, but with the Chancellor's background there was no doubt he was shooting to destroy the golem maker. His story about an intruder, too, must have been a ruse to hide his involvement in the scheme.

Aubrey decided it was time to revise his reading of the situation. The Chancellor was proving to be remarkably bold in moving against Prince Albert – in the Elektor's palace, too, of all places. That sort of arrogance was a worrying sign with the prospect of imminent war.

Aubrey rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on, and he had a ghost to catch. It wasn't a good combination.

Aubrey, Caroline and George had barely entered the Blue Dog when Bruno Fromm descended on them.

‘My friends,' he said while steering them back outside, ‘your timing is good. Bruno Fromm can take you to this ghost, right now.' He went to move off, then he stopped and squinted at Caroline. ‘And who are you?'

Aubrey jumped in. ‘She's a trusted friend. Caroline Hepworth. Caroline, this is Bruno Fromm. Ghost hunter.'

Fromm leaned toward Caroline. ‘Bruno Fromm is not just any ghost hunter. Bruno Fromm is the best ghost hunter in the world.'

Caroline didn't flinch. ‘And Bruno Fromm is far from his home in Nordmarsch.'

Fromm stared, cocked his head, then bellowed a laugh that echoed through the empty tavern. ‘You hear Nordmarsch in Fromm's voice, clever one?'

‘The northern lakes are still thick in your throat.'

Fromm chuckled, then slapped Aubrey a mighty blow on the shoulder. Aubrey had been readying himself for such an expression of approval and managed not to stagger. ‘This one is smart. She will be good value.' Fromm laughed again.

Aubrey let out a sigh of relief when Caroline didn't take the ghost hunter to task, but the look she gave him clearly said not to pursue Fromm's notion of good value.

‘Ah,' George said. ‘Here's von Stralick.'

Aubrey turned to see the Holmland spy standing at the doorway, outlined against the midday sun.

‘Where's Kiefer?' Aubrey asked.

Von Stralick tugged on his gloves and grimaced. ‘Busy.'

‘I thought he was red-hot in this Dr Tremaine business,' George said.

‘So did I,' von Stralick said. ‘But all of a sudden, his historical studies are important. Books, documents, libraries, he has cartloads of them delivered to his rooms.'

Aubrey was quite grateful that Kiefer was busy. He wasn't the ideal member of a dangerous expedition team. But his lack of interest was intriguing. It seemed as if a chance for advancement was taking precedence over Kiefer's longed-for revenge. Had he lost sight of it completely, or had he merely postponed it while he chased material success?

And the abandonment of his work into catalysts was equally intriguing. What had prompted the renewed interest in historical studies? Aubrey had come to accept that Kiefer was erratic, but was there more to his changes than that?

Fromm clapped his hands together and Aubrey's thoughts snapped back to the here and now. ‘So we are all ready? Good.'

Aubrey expected ghost hunting to involve a furtive journey, lurking along laneways, flitting from shadow to shadow, sniffing the air and whatnot, but Fromm confounded him. He took them to a cart that was waiting down a lane alongside the Blue Dog. While a sceptical grey gelding in the traces studied them, Aubrey did his best to take in the sight of the ghost-hunting conveyance.

The cart was blue, brightly painted. It was decorated with what looked like extreme whimsy, with fine swirls of lighter paint weaving along every flat surface. In between the painted ribbons, shapes were cut in the wood – diamonds, crosses, ovals. To add to the spectacle, irregular shards of mirror were glued to the sides of the cart and flashed in the sun.

Just to add an auditory note to the bizarre display, hundreds of tiny bells were tied to the spokes of the wheels. Silent while the cart was stationary, Aubrey quickly decided they rendered the cart useless for night-time smuggling runs.

Fromm beamed with pride. ‘Is beautiful, no?'

Aubrey nodded, slowly. ‘It's distinctive.'

‘Traditional ghost-hunting cart,' Fromm said as he stroked the muzzle of the gelding. It looked at them with wise eyes. Aubrey wondered what it had seen in its time. ‘We decorate, all of us, in our own ways.'

‘The ghosts will hear us coming,' George pointed out.

‘Ghosts are hard of hearing,' Fromm said. ‘Now, ready? Bruno Fromm is a busy man.'

Fromm insisted that Caroline sit next to him on the driver's seat. Aubrey, George and von Stralick took the benches that ran on each side of the cart, behind Fromm. Aubrey felt absurd, as if he were going to a picnic rather than chasing a soul fragment that belonged to the sister of the greatest enemy of Albion. He took some comfort, however, in seeing that von Stralick looked even more uncomfortable than he felt. If it was possible to squirm while sitting absolutely still, that's what the well-dressed Holmlander was doing.

George, on the other hand, was completely relaxed, draping an arm over the sideboard of the cart, as if he were on his way to a country fair.

Fromm kept up a commentary as they rolled alongside the river. He pointed out the many barges and riverboats that were plying their trade, coming from long distances, with exotic cargoes and with raw materials for the hungry Holmland industries: iron ore, coal and – Aubrey noticed with interest – a large open barge that they could smell from where they were.

‘Guano,' George said knowledgeably at the eyewatering reek. ‘For fertilizer. And explosives.'

They skirted the Academy, which was abuzz. Aubrey noted dozens of carpenters' wagons and was impressed by the extent of the setting-up activity. He felt a little guilty at having left his mother, but Quentin Hollows had promised a squad of embassy staff to tote crates for her.

Soon, they left the heart of the city behind and climbed the gentle rise that led to more residential parts of Fisherberg – Liseburg, and Gret overlooking the river. Aubrey could make out the imposing bulk of Baron von Grolman's castle on its hilltop a few miles away and again appreciated its defensive position, so useful in days of offensive neighbours.

In a neighbourhood of discreet wealth – signalled by the size of the detached houses, the utilitarian nature of the walls and gates, and the sort of abundant greenery in gardens that only came from decades of good tending – Fromm slowed his horse at the top of a cul-de-sac that sloped down to a dead end. The sun was warm and the breeze was half-hearted, wafting a little and then giving up and resting for a while.

‘Down there.' Fromm pointed. ‘Yesterday, after leaving you, Fromm did his work. Fromm found it wandering around.' He reached into his pocket. ‘Here.'

With an expression of distaste, Fromm dropped the Tremaine pearl into Aubrey's palm and then wiped his hand on his jacket.

‘Are you sure it's still there?'

Fromm climbed down from the cart. He held out his hand to help Caroline, and she surprised Aubrey by taking it. ‘Yes. It's a lingerer.'

Aubrey joined them on the pavement, as did von Stralick and George. ‘Lingerer?' von Stralick asked Fromm.

‘Some of these soul fragments roam about, lost, nothing to hold them anywhere. They're hardest to find. Others mope around a place, anchored to it. That's a lingerer.'

‘And why do they linger?' Caroline asked.

‘Sometimes it's a place that meant something to them in their past. Sometimes it's just a place that catches their attention. They get stuck to it, like flies to flypaper.' He flexed his shoulders, then pushed his hands out in front of himself, stretching his arms. ‘We go now.'

Aubrey felt exposed as they walked along the pavement, following the burly Fromm. He would have preferred some sort of disguise, perhaps tradesmen, or merchants delivering goods, but Fromm wasn't fazed at all. He marched along, assessing the houses on either side with an appraising eye.

Aubrey imagined the good folk in the houses peering past the curtains. The ghost hunter's garb was unmistakeable. Would they see him as bringing shame to the neighbourhood, as the presence of a ratcatcher announces an infestation of vermin? Or would he be seen as a godsend, bringing relief?

He glanced at von Stralick, looking for an answer, but the Holmlander's appearance surprised him. He was pale, his face tense and strained. He wiped his face with a hand and frowned at Aubrey's regard, but before Aubrey could question him, Fromm stopped abruptly, holding up a hand. The end of the street was thirty or forty yards away. For a moment, Aubrey caught von Stralick's tension. The air felt still, the breeze having died away completely. The houses on either side of the street took on a brooding aspect, silent and watchful. No birds sang, no dogs barked, no sound of gardeners at work with hedge shears or lawn edgers. Uneasy urban silence had enveloped them.

Look for fear and you will find it
, the Scholar Tan had written, but Aubrey felt a moment's irritation with the ancient sage. Although his words were wise, they weren't much practical help at the moment, apart from prodding his uneasiness toward outright nervousness.

Fromm hissed unhappily, then he edged along until he stood right underneath an oak that overhung a formidable garden wall. Cautiously, he tilted his head back and stretched up on tiptoes. He sniffed the air, nostrils flaring, his hands at his side making tiny grasping motions. ‘She is still there.'

Aubrey sniffed, following Fromm's lead. All he could smell was a faint hint of lilac, from a tree cascading its purple blossoms over a wall on the other side of the street.

‘No?' Fromm's gaze was bright on Aubrey.

Aubrey shrugged.

‘You let plumbers do your plumbing,' Fromm said. ‘Let ghost hunters do your ghost hunting.'

He went to set off again, but George grabbed his arm. ‘Someone's down there.'

With impressive speed, Fromm faded back under the branches of the oak. Shielded by the shadows, all five of them waited in a line, backs to the wall.

Fromm shrugged. ‘Intruders. It's not unusual in such places.'

‘You've been here before?' Aubrey said.

‘No.'

‘I have,' von Stralick said. ‘On the night of the fire. Most of Fisherberg was here, watching.'

‘Fire?' Aubrey said.
Enough is enough.
‘What do you know, von Stralick?'

Von Stralick touched a hand to his forehead. ‘Down there is all that remains of Tremaine's residence. The one he took up after he fled your country. It burned down last year.'

‘It's more than that.' Fromm seemed to be enjoying von Stralick's discomfort. ‘Your ghost? The person it came from grew up here. That's why it lingers.'

Aubrey stared, and put a hand against the wall to steady himself. He added this information to Kiefer's revelation that Dr Tremaine was born in Holmland. He tried to picture Dr Tremaine as a little boy, but had difficulty imagining the manipulator of whole nations in short pants. ‘So this could be the Tremaine family home.'

‘Ah.' Von Stralick rallied. He adjusted his cuffs. ‘Then we should prepare. It may be Tremaine himself who is down there.'

‘Tremaine?' George said. ‘Why on earth would he be here?'

‘His sister's soul fragment,' Aubrey said. ‘He may have sensed it.' Von Stralick nodded.

‘Good,' Caroline said. ‘If Tremaine is down there, we have him.'

It was George who put into words what Aubrey was thinking. ‘Not wanting to put too fine a point on it, but are we ready to take him now?'

‘I have a revolver,' Caroline said.

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you always armed?'

‘I make sure of it whenever I go out with you, Aubrey.'

Aubrey began several answers, but before he could come up with anything intelligible, von Stralick chipped in. ‘I, too, am armed.' He patted his left breast.