Time of Trial (33 page)

Aubrey was stunned when the Chancellor actually grinned before going on. It was a broad grin, an expression of total satisfaction.

‘Thanks to one of Holmland's finest industrial magicians, we are free of this dependence on imported guano. Advances in the areas of–' the Chancellor peered at his notes ‘–catalysts and pressurised vessels have enabled the artificial production of unlimited amounts of ammonia.'

While polite bafflement ruffled the audience, Aubrey sat astounded as the implications battered at him.

The Chancellor went on. ‘This, of course, means unlimited supply of nitrates for fertilizer, leading to substantial increases our crop yields. And,' he added, almost as an afterthought, ‘unlimited nitrates for our munitions and explosives industries.'

This is what Aubrey had feared, and to judge from the consternation on Bertie's face, the implications weren't lost on him either. An increase in production of Holmland munitions was the last thing the world needed. Controlling Holmland's armament build-up by controlling its guano imports was no longer an option.

And how easy would it be to sabotage guano shipments heading to other countries?
Aubrey wondered, remembering Manfred's interest in the stolen shipping documents.

The reaction from the assembly was electric. Delight, pride and excitement greeted the Chancellor's announcement as the audience took it as a sign of Holmland's correct place in the world. Of course Holmland was leading the world in such industry. Doesn't it lead the world in all important things?

Eventually, the Chancellor signalled for quiet, then went on. ‘But enough of such things. This symposium is about more than the finest industries in the world – it is about the speakers.' He cleared his throat again. ‘And I have much pleasure in introducing a special speaker, a gifted young man whose talents lie in two distinct areas. His advances in industrial magic led to my announcement, and his historical research has resulted in his being the recipient of the inaugural Chancellor's Prize. With his prize-winning essay: Mr Otto Kiefer.'

Amid polite applause, Kiefer stumbled onto the stage. At first, he looked both bewildered and angry, gaping at the other side of the stage in the direction Dr Tremaine had gone. Then he seemed to remember where he was. He stared at the audience, then at the papers he clutched in his hands. The Chancellor took him by the hand and shook it in a firm and masculine manner, muttering some encouraging words. Kiefer was instantly wide-eyed, being so close to the leader of his nation. Gradually, he straightened and grinned sheepishly. Neumann smiled tolerantly, warmly, and swept a wide hand to beckon Kiefer to the lectern. Once Kiefer was there, Neumann moved to the edge of the stage. He stood for a moment and beamed, as if Kiefer were a pet dog he'd trained to perform a difficult trick, then he marched off stage – in the same direction Dr Tremaine had exited.

Aubrey braced himself, as if he were sailing into a hurricane, ready for what Kiefer had in store.

‘Ladies and gentlemen.' Kiefer's voice was shrill with tension. Aubrey wondered if it was simply stage nerves or whether it was foreknowledge of what was to come. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,' he repeated, ‘my paper is titled: “Some Genealogical Findings on the Lineage of Some of Our Royal Families”.'

Aubrey had been hoping that he'd leaped to the wrong conclusion about Kiefer's research, but the title of his essay let him know that he was right – horribly right. Kiefer was about to drop a bombshell that would reverberate across the Continent all the way to Lutetia and then across the channel to Albion itself.

Kiefer pushed his spectacles back on his nose. He looked at his notes, then at the audience. He blanched a little at the polite attention that awaited him from Holmland's rich and powerful, and dropped his gaze back to his notes, where it remained as if nailed.

‘As is well known,' he began, ‘the throne of Gallia has been vacant for over a century, ever since the events of the Gallian Revolution.'

Aubrey's fears were about to be realised.

Much of Kiefer's speech was hesitant, full of names and relationships, thickly littered with academic terms like ‘consanguinity' and ‘morganatic marriage', which strained Aubrey's Holmlandish. Painstakingly, Kiefer traced branches of family tree after family tree, pointing out where names were similar or repeated, which was common, the Gallian aristocracy having a profound lack of imagination when it came to names.

The audience had descended into a diplomatic state of boredom, where impatience was expressed by shuffling of feet, uncreasing and creasing of programs, coughing that was immediately infectious. It was only after nearly half an hour of speaking that Kiefer stopped, coughed himself, then looked up. After an instant's faltering when he saw the audience looking back at him, he went on.

‘With the extinguishment of the Gallian royal family in 1793 it was assumed that no legitimate claim to the throne could be found. But new evidence has recently come to light which suggests an astonishing development.'

The shuffling in the audience immediately stopped. Programs were forgotten. Respiratory complaints underwent miraculous recoveries.
This
was something interesting. Rumours of missing heirs to the Gallian throne had kept people entertained for a hundred years or more, but they were always in the realm of the fairytale. Something concrete, however, would be delicious.

Kiefer dropped to his notes again, but this time he had the attention of the entire audience. After another fifteen minutes pursuing a sidetrack into minor Gallian peers, he launched, without warning, into an examination of the Albion royal line.

A murmur hurried around the hall. Aubrey saw Bertie stiffen and he wished he could see his friend's face.

Lady Rose leaned over. ‘Do you know anything about this?' she whispered.

Aubrey made a half-shrug, half-wave that he hoped was inconclusive. He glanced at his mother to see that she knew exactly what he was doing. ‘I'll expect a full account later,' her expression said.

As Kiefer blundered on, closer and closer to his conclusion, the auditorium was so full of bated breaths that Aubrey had genuine fears the hall would explode when everyone exhaled again.

He began to experience a dreadful sense of inevitability, the inexorable approach of a disaster. It was like watching someone trying to walk across a frozen lake, knowing that each step was taking him closer to his doom.

Kiefer, however, was mistaking the tension in the hall for acclaim. He began to look up more frequently, and he even started adding jaunty gestures of emphasis, abandoning the death-grip he'd had on the lectern.

Oh, don't smile
, Aubrey thought when Kiefer peered outward again, but his silent plea went unanswered. Kiefer attempted a raffish grin, which slid into a grimace before finally coming across as a demented smirk.

Aubrey could see that they were on the downhill slope now. He thought of trying to stop Kiefer by casting a spell, then he looked around and he realised how well Dr Tremaine had set up this manoeuvre. Aubrey couldn't interrupt the ceremony. Any attempt to do so, here, in the heart of Holmland, would be an undeniably hostile act. And by the son of the Albion Prime Minister? That way lay diplomatic horror.

Aubrey could almost imagine the whistling sound as the bombshell came closer and closer. Kiefer paused, pursed his lips and, with a confidence hitherto unseen, gazed over the audience. For a moment, he was a scholar, a holder of incontrovertible evidence, imbued with authority and gravitas far beyond his years. It was his moment, and he savoured it.

‘And so,' he said gravely, ‘it is indisputable that the late Count de Vere of Carleon was the rightful King of Gallia.' Kiefer gestured. ‘As he died with no brothers, and only one daughter, that means his grandson, Prince Albert here, is the heir to that throne as well as that of Albion.'

The bombshell exploded and, to Aubrey, it sounded like the laughter of Dr Mordecai Tremaine.

A week after the extraordinary events of the symposium opening, a launch pulled alongside the HMS
Invulnerable
with commendable sureness, given the choppy sea. Aubrey watched from the bridge as his father came onto deck looking neat and trim. He took his time to greet the captain and his officers, even though it was apparent to Aubrey that he'd rather be on his way to meeting Lady Rose. It was subtle – the duration of the handclasp, a touching of his hand to the brim of his hat – but Aubrey knew his father well. He was sure that every man on the
Invulnerable
would remember the Prime Minister's visit and how he talked with them about their particular duty.

‘I'm surprised he could get away,' George said. His sandy hair ruffled in the wind as they walked down the passageway from where the captain had let them watch their arrival into Imworth harbour.

‘It would take more than chaos in Gallia to keep him away,' Aubrey said. Almost unconsciously, he touched his chest – where once the Beccaria Cage had nestled – and then put his hand to his pocket to feel the comforting weight of his pocket watch. He was glad to have it back, even if its return simply meant it was
more
difficult to fathom Dr Tremaine and his motives.

Kiefer's announcement had caused such an uproar that the symposium had been abandoned. While Prince Albert was ushered out safely, pandemonium ruled. Academics and analysts gathered and argued about the political implications of the revelation, diplomats hurried out to spread the news, curious guests surged about trying to glimpse the young man who could soon be the ruler of two countries. Within an hour, the only people left were trade exhibitors, who were glumly packing up their displays and counting the costs of the lost opportunities.

Fisherberg exploded with gossip and speculation. In packed coffee houses and tense meeting rooms, Albion's ambitions were dissected, international treaties discussed, and plans were redrawn.

The Albion Embassy was besieged. Prying journalists, countless petitioners and the simply inquisitive had trapped Prince Albert, Lady Rose, Aubrey and the others for days – time which Aubrey used to probe what had happened when the chaotic magic interacted with the Beccaria Cage. The way that it had fused his body and soul together was baffling, but it showed no signs of deteriorating. The events of the Fisherberg trip had been mixed in their outcome, but this looked as if it was undeniably positive.

He really was cured.

They found a ladder and went below to the next deck. He peered over the rail to see a large group of able seamen grappling with a large crate. In the days of chaos after Otto Kiefer's speech, Ambassador Hollows had done well to organise the payment and shipment of the golem maker to the
Invulnerable
. Craddock was below, supervising the loading of the crate onto the same launch that had brought Sir Darius. Aubrey was sure the arcane machinery would be whisked into the lowest reaches of the Darnleigh Buildings, home of what used to be the Magisterium. He could imagine magicians in the employ of the military rubbing their hands in anticipation, ready to deconstruct it.

Before leaving Fisherberg, Aubrey caught up with an angry Hugo von Stralick. Betrayed and bitter, von Stralick dropped a number of broad hints that made Aubrey very suspicious about the origin of the golem-making machinery. Aubrey was keen to examine the apparatus itself to see if he could find anything to connect it to a certain Holmland industrialist. If they were, the events in Holmland were even more complex than they seemed. Baron von Grolman was a player who needed further analysis.

Seeing Craddock reminded Aubrey that he hadn't questioned him about how he knew Madame Zelinka. Since the symposium, he'd learned that Craddock and Tallis had indeed caught an emergency dirigible flight to Fisherberg as soon as news had made its way back to Albion about the plot to replace Prince Albert, but they'd barely spoken to Aubrey – apart from insisting on his compiling a detailed report. Their attention was on ensuring that the Prince – and Lady Rose – were safely escorted from Holmland.

Tallis was waiting for Aubrey and George on the deck below. He was standing, arms behind his back, eyeing the sea with the suspicion of the true land dweller. ‘Thomson the bookseller,' he said without any preliminaries. ‘Hollows sent your report on to my department.' He scowled. ‘We've investigated further. You may be right.'

‘You've taken him into custody?'

Tallis turned away from the sea. He smiled. ‘Hardly.'

‘He's given you the slip?' George shook his head. ‘Cunning chaps, those booksellers.'

‘We'll keep a good eye on him,' Tallis said, ignoring George, ‘and use him to feed false information to his masters. It may prove invaluable.'

‘And Stafford Bruce?'

‘He was mortified,' Tallis said. ‘Resigned immediately. The Opposition is disarray. Some analysts in Foreign Affairs are saying that this could have been the actual plan in the first place.'

Aubrey saw the shifting movements of international intrigue all over again, the shadows under the surface of the sunny world. Complex, tortured, tangled, the unseen armies already at war.

They met the others in what had been the officers' dining room but had, out of necessity, become a debriefing room. The room itself was well lit, with many ports allowing light in from the outside, and it was surprisingly well appointed. A number of round tables with heavy, starched tablecloths were surrounded by heavy-based chairs that swivelled – a sensible arrangement for heavy weather.

Caroline and Lady Rose were already there. Caroline waved to him as he entered and Aubrey's heart was hers. He wasn't sure if she knew it, but he wouldn't have been surprised if she did. She was anything but unperceptive. If she chose not to acknowledge it, Aubrey had decided, it must be her sense of responsibility again, laying as heavily on her as his did on him. She was determined to pursue her studies, her career and her wider ambitions in the world. Aubrey had had the tantalising hint from her that politics was something that she was thinking of. And then there was this adventuring, which she had thrown herself into in a way that only increased her appeal to him – if that were possible.

With such aspirations, Caroline's firm view that single-mindedness of outlook was paramount meant that any personal dalliances were seen as unnecessary uses of time. The optimum route to success called for dedication and couldn't countenance anything frivolous.

But had he detected some thawing in Caroline's attitude? He was aware of how easy it was to misinterpret such things. Acutely aware. He swallowed at the multitude of memories that presented themselves, evidence of his inability in this area. They made him hesitant to conclude anything, but could there be some hope?

He greeted Caroline and his mother, then sat next to Caroline. She didn't object, and even patted his elbow absently as she craned her lovely neck to look toward where the captain was entering via another door.

I can always hope
, Aubrey thought and vowed to be content with this.

Sir Darius strode into the room. Immediately, he found his wife and crossed to her side.

Aubrey had grown accustomed to warm displays of affection between his parents. It set them apart in a society where decorum was the norm and Aubrey loved them for it. The genuine feeling that had brought them together was as strong as ever, unaffected by the censorious eyes of the world.

Lady Rose stood. Sir Darius swept his wife into his arms and held her tightly. She put her head on his shoulders and closed her eyes. They said nothing.

Having seen this before, Aubrey discreetly watched Caroline. She smiled at Sir Darius and Lady Rose. Aubrey thought her smile was wistful, and the way she rested her hand on her cheek added to the contemplative cast of her face. Or did it? Perhaps she was simply tired. Or thinking of something else.

I have no idea
, Aubrey admitted to himself, and he sighed.

‘Something wrong, Aubrey?' Caroline asked.

‘Apart from Gallia questioning their alliance with us and thereby providing an opportunity for Holmland to start aggression?'

‘No need to be so testy.' She patted his arm again. ‘You did well.'

Aubrey had never had fireworks go off inside his skull, but he imagined that this is what it would feel like. ‘I did?'

‘You did, old man.' George leaned across the table. ‘Don't you think that Dr Tremaine would have actually taken the Prince, even if that wasn't his main aim for the symposium?'

Lady Rose smiled. ‘Aubrey, dear boy. You can be hard on yourself. Take some pride in what you've achieved.'

Aubrey sat back, surprised. Ever since their precipitous departure from Fisherberg, he'd been kicking himself for not anticipating Dr Tremaine's plot within a plot within a plot. Even now, warming to the praise, he wondered if he'd missed a plot or two.

Craddock entered. He took his hat from his head and beat it against his leg. Behind him was Tallis and Prince Albert, who was accompanying Caroline's mother. The Prince saw the party at Aubrey's table, waved and escorted Mrs Hepworth across the room.

Requisite greeting, bowing and curtseying completed, the Prince waited until Mrs Hepworth was seated before taking a place himself. ‘Have you heard the news? Your friend Kiefer has disappeared.'

‘Not exactly a friend,' Aubrey said, with a pang. He'd liked Kiefer, despite his eccentricities, and he hated seeing the way Dr Tremaine used people and then discarded them. ‘An acquaintance.'

Tallis glanced at the open notebook he held. ‘Hollows's people report that he's not been seen in any of his old haunts since his speech.'

‘The poor boy who made the speech at the symposium?' Ophelia Hepworth said.

‘The poor boy who seems to have helped Holmland to the secret of ammonia synthesis.' Aubrey stopped and blinked. ‘He was studying pressure containment magic while he was at Greythorn. I'll warrant that Dr Tremaine organised his placement here to facilitate that.'

‘Used and then thrown away,' George said.

‘He's not the only one who's missing,' Craddock said. ‘I believe you know Professor Mansfield? Ancient Languages at Greythorn? She was meant to present at the symposium but didn't appear. Our Holmland operatives think she's been abducted.'

Lady Rose put a hand to her mouth. ‘Mercy. Anne.'

Sir Darius took her other hand. ‘We'll do what we can?'

Tallis made a decisive note. ‘Of course.'

Ophelia Hepworth looked puzzled. ‘I'd still like to know why poor Kiefer's work on ammonia is so important. I thought his revelation about the Prince was far more interesting.'

Aubrey went first. ‘Explosives. Munitions. Holmland's war preparations have been hampered by uncertain supplies of nitrates – which can be extracted from guano.' He paused. ‘If you don't have guano, you have to get it from ammonia, and that process has been hideously expensive.'

‘Until now,' the Prince said.

‘Oh dear.' Mrs Hepworth folded her hands on the table.

Sir Darius touched his moustache. ‘Our best estimates have said that the Holmland armed forces only had three months' supply of bullets, for instance. Not enough for a serious war.'

‘But that's all changed now,' Aubrey said. ‘Cheap ammonia means plenty of bullets. Plenty of bombs. Plenty of torpedoes.' He shuddered at the prospect. ‘I'm starting to think war is inevitable.'

‘That's depressing,' George said.

‘Is Dr Tremaine behind this?' Caroline asked.

‘If it was just him, I think we'd have a chance of doing something. But after seeing the state of play in Fisherberg ... Too many important Holmlanders seem to think war might be an opportunity.'

‘War as an opportunity?' Lady Rose said. ‘What a depraved notion.'

Sir Darius shrugged. ‘They see it as a chance to expand Holmland's borders, to seize resources, to become the dominant nation on the Continent.'

‘And don't forget profit,' George pointed out. ‘War's good for business, if you're in the right business.'

George's suggestion suddenly threw light on something that had been nagging at Aubrey. ‘That's it, George. Baron von Grolman. That's what he's up to.'

‘The consummate businessman,' Caroline said softly, immediately following Aubrey's lead. She clenched a fist. ‘He's not against war. He just wants to be in a position to make the most money from it.'

‘That would explain why he was interested in getting rid of Dr Tremaine,' George said. ‘Tremaine was keeping the baron away from power.'

‘Sorry, Caroline,' Aubrey said. ‘Sorry, Mrs Hepworth.'

‘Ophelia, Aubrey dear. And no need to apologise. Siggy has changed. I was glad to leave him behind.'

Aubrey slipped away as the others pulled apart the revelations. He was pleased when Caroline and George followed.

Together, they stood at the rail and watched as the great ship edged its way toward the dock. The pretty town of Imworth was perched overlooking the harbour, white-washed houses cheery in the sunlight.

‘Well, George,' Aubrey said. ‘I suppose our adventure had left you with enough to fill a few newspapers?'

‘I'm not sure if the papers would be after the sort of thing I want to write.'

‘Meaning?'

‘I wouldn't mind writing about the Holmland people, the ordinary folk, not the politicians. Good sorts, they are.'

‘Sounds as if you're talking about a book.'

George looked alarmed. ‘A book? Steady on, old man. An essay is the sort of thing I was thinking about. Find a place for it in one of the journals, perhaps.' He put his hands in his pockets. ‘Speaking of such, I'm heading down to talk to some of the sailors. Get their opinion about things, their view of what's going on.'

Whistling, he strolled away, leaving Aubrey and Caroline alone.