Time of Trial (32 page)

A few mildly curious pigeons looked down from the roof below. Aubrey decided they'd have to take their chances. He began.

The elements marched from his mouth like well-drilled soldiers. It was a long spell, as he'd spared no detail in trying to get it right. Dimensionality, duration, range of effect all fell into place one after the other and his hopes rose. He felt confident in his delivery and his final, signature element was firm and steady.

The package tilted.

Aubrey took a step back and waited to be blasted out of existence.

Then he patted himself. He glanced at the pigeons, who hadn't moved and were giving him a look of ‘What was
that
all about?', decided he was still in reasonable physical shape, and reassessed. The parcel hadn't moved at all. He'd simply had the
impression
that it had tilted. It had shifted its existence, but not in a physical way. He waited a moment, savouring the feeling of not being charcoal, then probed the parcel with what was becoming his customary delicacy.

The compression spell was nailed down tightly. Probe as he might, he could find no signs of weakness, no signs of release, nothing that indicated destruction was a heartbeat away.

He sighed. With a hand that was only slightly trembling, he touched his brow. Then, his control lapsed for an instant and his body reasserted itself, relief warring with the desire for immediate flight from danger. The result? He felt like throwing up. He sagged, as if all the air was being let out of him by way of a valve in his heel, and had to steady himself against the wall. He let his head rest on the brickwork.

This can't do
, he thought, eventually. He straightened, and then realised how tense he'd been, because every muscle protested as if he'd been in the gym for hours. He shook himself, then he bent and picked up the parcel.

Now
, he thought as he limped off,
to find Kiefer
.

Outside the entrance to the Academy Hall, Aubrey found a police officer herding the crowds. He pushed the parcel on him, explained in a few words what it was, watched the police officer blanch and rush off, then he went off to try to get backstage.

He did his best to slide through the crowd that was emptying from the trade annex. Hundreds of people had apparently realised, simultaneously, that the opening ceremonies were about to start and they were all seeking their seats.

Aubrey was distracted from his quest for an instant when he saw a tall, dark-clad figure standing near one of the ornamental columns in the foyer of the Academy Hall. He was startled, for he hadn't known that Craddock was going to be present, but it made some sense. He assumed Quentin Hollows had let Craddock know of the developments in Fisherberg. Craddock would have lost no time crossing the Continent once he heard the details of the plot against Prince Albert.

It was an explanation that needed following up, but it didn't account for the extremely familiar manner in which the habitually taciturn Craddock was talking the sublimely beautiful Madame Zelinka.

Aubrey would have been gobsmacked if he'd had time. As it was, he had to postpone his amazement for another time – but he promised himself he'd have an explanation from Craddock before too long. The man was actually laughing!

Aubrey's plans to get backstage, however, were dashed when he was turned away from the wings by a pair of commissionaires. They were older men, but sharp-eyed and straight-backed, obviously ex-military, and serious about their job of keeping riff-raff away from the important speakers who were gathering offstage.

‘I have an important message for Mr Kiefer,' he said in his best Holmlandish. ‘It's urgent.'

‘We'll take it to him.' The larger of the two commissionaires eyed him suspiciously.

‘Sorry, but I've been honour bound to place it in his hand. I must see him.'

‘You'll have to wait until after the speeches,' the smaller one growled. ‘What did you say your name was?'

‘Von Stralick,' Aubrey said without hesitating. He looked over the auditorium. It was filling rapidly – the rows and rows of seats had few gaps. ‘Are you sure I can't see him?'

‘He's busy, Mr von Stralick,' the larger one said. ‘You'd better find your seat. Speeches are starting soon. You wouldn't want to miss them.'

Aubrey saw Caroline slip into the auditorium through the large rear doors. She stood at the rear for a moment, gazing about. Aubrey eased past a muttering dignitary and then hurried down the middle aisle.

‘Have you found him?' Caroline asked.

‘He's backstage already.'

‘Do you have any ideas?'

Aubrey looked up to see George on the other side of the hall, up on the balcony. At the same time, George saw him and shrugged. Aubrey shook his head in exaggerated fashion only to meet George's pointing across the auditorium. Von Stralick was arguing with the commissionaires and he appeared to be having as much success as Aubrey had. Then the commissionaires went to grapple with him. Von Stralick twisted, then hurried off.

‘What happened there?' Caroline asked.

‘I hope he wasn't trying to assume someone else's identity. These officials take a dim view of things like that.'

Von Stralick joined them, at the same time as George had made his way down from upstairs. ‘I'm off to see the baron.' The Holmlander brushed himself off. ‘He may be able to do something.'

‘Isn't he here?' Aubrey said, scanning the audience.

‘He said he couldn't be dragged to the symposium.'

‘Hush,' Caroline said. ‘They're starting.'

‘Time to find our seats.'

They left von Stralick. The three friends worked their way to their row, second from the front. Lady Rose nodded at them from her seat, but refrained from asking any questions. Prince Albert was in the front row, just in front of Aubrey. He was sitting next to the Chancellor and the Elektor.

With the ominous sense that comes from a half-glimpsed outcome, Aubrey took out his program. The grey-haired, gowned fellow who was tottering toward the lectern on the stage was apparently the President of the University.

As he spoke, Aubrey was impressed. The President apparently appreciated his role was to take up as little time as possible before the important speeches, so he confined himself to a vague welcome and then quickly introduced the Elektor.

The Elektor was wearing the uniform of the High Admiral of the Holmland Navy, which had enough gold trappings to open a moderately sized jewellery shop. A gold sword on his hip made his walking awkward as he made his way to the lectern.

Aubrey, having a politician for a father and a famous scientist for a mother, was accustomed to being part of an audience. He was also a connoisseur of applause and he judged that the acclamation that greeted the Elektor was genuine and heartfelt. The Elektor stood at the lectern and gathered his papers while the clapping rolled around the hall. After some time he was forced, with a smile, to hold up a hand to bring it to an end, then he launched into his welcome.

As a speech, it was solid but uninspired. Well-meaning was the best description Aubrey could give it. The Elektor wasn't a natural orator, but his earnest delivery carried weight with his audience. He spoke of the importance of scholarship and his hope that it could contribute to understanding between all nations.

Even though Aubrey's mind was elsewhere wondering what Kiefer had planned, he saw how the Elektor gradually warmed to this topic. At one stage he forgot his notes and addressed the audience directly, unfolding his vision for a rational world of peace and understanding for an appreciative audience. Then Aubrey saw that the Elektor's attention was diverted by someone off stage. With a minute stiffening, he slowed, then dropped his gaze to the lectern. Soon, he'd returned to his prepared speech. With a handful of the usual platitudes his speech wandered to the point where he officially declared the symposium open.

The applause was as warm as that which greeted the Elektor and Aubrey was heartened that such a call for understanding had fallen on receptive ears. Admittedly, the audience at an academic symposium may not represent the nation as a whole, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

But his curiosity was engaged wondering who had been able to curtail the Elektor's enthusiastic outline of a better world. Who could cut short the ruler of the country?

The Elektor fumbled for a piece of paper. He stared at it for a moment then, quite obviously, read it word for word. ‘I have much pleasure in introducing a special speaker. An extraordinary man has been behind this symposium. It was his idea, and the organisation and implementation of this complex occasion has been entirely overseen by him.' He paused. ‘The special adviser to the government of Holmland, Dr Mordecai Tremaine.'

For a moment, Aubrey felt as if his brain had been scooped out and replaced with a lump of putty. He couldn't move, he couldn't think, all he could do was stare as the rogue magician strode onto the stage, clad in a stylish black coat, and shook the noticeably hesitant Elektor's hand before he made his way to the wings.

Didn't I trap you in a pearl
? Aubrey thought, dazed. Dimly, he realised that his arm was in the process of developing five neat bruises, right where Caroline's fingers were gripping him. He glanced at her, but her attention was locked on Dr Tremaine as he took his place at the lectern.

Kiefer was forgotten as Aubrey actually felt dizzy.
What is going on?

Mundane senses only told him so much, so, with great trepidation, he focused his magical awareness with as much will and as much force as he could muster.

And with his magical senses, he sensed it. He ground his teeth, he wanted to leap to his feet and shout to the assembly that the man in front of them was a liar, a manipulator, a thief and a murderer, because he sensed it – and it confirmed what had happened.

Aubrey's magical awareness showed the silvery, insubstantial thread that curled and twisted – passing right through solid objects, undisturbed by the physical world – and connected Aubrey Fitzwilliam and Dr Mordecai Tremaine.

Then he knew that he'd been hoodwinked. Despite having been witness to Dr Tremaine's trickery at Banford Park, in Lutetia, under Trinovant, he'd been duped again. How could he believe that he could trap Dr Tremaine so easily? The creature that he'd cast into the pearl was a fake, a substitute. It was no wonder he hadn't been able to detect a magical connection with it.

Pieces fell into place. It had to be a golem – and if that was the state of Dr Tremaine's golem-making art, then the world had a great deal to fear.

I should have realised
, he thought, but at the time he'd been too rushed – and also, he had to admit, too pleased with himself to doubt, too sure of his talent to observe, too carried away to worry.

He shook his head. He hadn't heard a word of Dr Tremaine's speech, but it didn't seem to matter. When Aubrey came to himself, the sorcerer paused and looked directly at him.

And he winked.

It was so brief that Aubrey knew no-one else could see it but him – and it struck him like a blow to the chest. Aubrey flinched, and immediately, Dr Tremaine made an odd movement, reaching out and patting his pocket while he went on, echoing the sentiments of the Elektor.

Automatically, Aubrey did the same and he wondered at the deft, subtle magic involved when he felt something in a pocket that he'd known was empty just a few moments before.

He took it out and unwrapped the small package. Dumbly, he stared at his stolen pocket watch. The Brayshire Ruby glowed warmly, set in the gold cover.

Nonplussed, he eventually realised that the paper wrapping was written upon.

I return your family trinket, for you returned my sister to me – a treasure beyond reckoning.

But did you really think you could out-manoeuvre me?
it said.
You've been a useful decoy. Take some satisfaction in that and accept that you cannot match me.

It was like a blow to the chest. He found it hard to breathe as he remembered the chaos in the hospital. Despite his efforts, there must have been a window, a tiny opportunity for Dr Tremaine to whisk Sylvia out of the pearl from a distance.

He went to screw up the paper, but Caroline plucked it from his hand. When she looked up, her cheeks white with shock, Dr Tremaine was already concluding his address, notably not thanking anyone else.

Aubrey felt like a puppet and even glanced overhead, looking for the strings and the puppet master, so he nearly missed it when Dr Tremaine introduced Chancellor Neumann before he bowed, made a half-salute in Aubrey's direction and exited, stage right.

Immediately, Aubrey wanted to leap up and follow, but a cooler part of his brain told him that Dr Tremaine had organised events beautifully. By the time Aubrey could push his way to the end of the aisle – if he was prepared to create an unseemly disturbance on such an august occasion – Dr Tremaine would no doubt be through the wings and out via a backstage entrance.

There was no point pursuing him. Besides, Kiefer hadn't appeared yet – and Aubrey couldn't leave before he heard what he was up to.

Dazed, Aubrey had trouble concentrating on the Chancellor's speech. It was punctilious, the work of many underlings, Aubrey assumed. While he worked through welcoming the important guests, the Chancellor's mighty bald head began to sweat. Without any embarrassment, he mopped it with a red handkerchief, and lumbered through his official duties with dogged determination. His role, as far as Aubrey could tell, was the official welcome to Holmland and he discharged this conscientiously, but Aubrey felt that his monotonous tone of voice would have been the same if he were speaking in the Assembly, ordering a meal at a restaurant, or giving the eulogy at a funeral.

When he finished, he held up both hands to acknowledge the applause, which was, to Aubrey's learned ears, definitely polite rather than wholehearted. Aubrey took the time to look around, trying to see into the wings to spy Kiefer.

His head whipped back, however, when the Chancellor pointedly paused, then uttered a single word – a word Aubrey guessed had never been used in the Academy Hall, and certainly not with such satisfaction and relish: ‘Guano.'

The Chancellor visibly enjoyed the effect this had on the audience. Muted expressions of disgust rippled around the auditorium while the Chancellor shuffled his notes, doing little to hide the smile on his face. When the reaction had lessened, he looked up, eyebrows bristling. ‘Holmland's industry is the finest in the world.'

This was much more to the liking of the audience, but the connection was clearly puzzling. The Chancellor waved a hand placatingly. ‘While our industry is the finest in the world, it has been hampered by a number of issues. Procurement of guano is one of these. While many countries have access to great quantities of this precious substance–' he bowed slightly in the direction of Prince Albert ‘–Holmland's munitions and fertilizer producers have been hamstrung, held back in their efforts. But not any more.'