Moment of Truth (27 page)

Better off without that temptation.
Of course, it made the hostiles even more suspicious, and this only increased at the number of weapons they found on Caroline. George coughed up a few, and Aubrey was surprised to see that Sophie had nearly as many as Caroline, including a lethallooking stiletto.

Wrists bound, he was roped to the others. They were urged through the woods away from the factory, deeper into the countryside, along what turned into a small ravine before becoming a stream that cut well into the landscape. In the defile, it was eye-bafflingly black, but a few steps was all it took before Aubrey's hair stood up on the back of his head.

‘Do not step in the water,' came the hushed order.

Aubrey searched, but couldn't see a thing, let alone water – but he could feel the heavy presence of malignant magic. It made his skin crawl with shapeless, unformed dread.

‘It's too dark,' he whispered. ‘We can't see.'

A jerk on the rope stopped them short, with someone (Sophie?) colliding with his back. He was anxious about her, so he did his best to project steady, calm authority. Caroline and George were somewhat accustomed to danger and to plans taking unexpected turnings, but Sophie couldn't have anticipated this. Although she was made from stern stuff, being waylaid by ominous strangers and dragged through mad magic couldn't have been part of her outlook.

A small light the size of a bee appeared just ahead of them. Aubrey nearly whistled in admiration before he caught himself. He hadn't felt a thing, and yet one of the nearby strangers – he could now see their shadowy shapes surrounding them – had summoned it to help their way. Deft, skilled magic.

The muck at the bottom of the gully gleamed in the soft beelight, but it gleamed with the unhealthiness that Aubrey associated with the eyes of cave-dwelling fish. It didn't flow, either, at least not in the regular manner of water. It heaved and shivered, as though it couldn't quite make up its mind if it were solid or fluid, but knew that it had to keep moving down the gradient. It stank, needless to say, but it was the rolling waves of magic that came off it that turned Aubrey's stomach.

He turned to see that it was indeed Sophie directly behind him. Her eyes were wide, but she nodded gamely at him. He indicated the water with a nod and then a shake of his head, but he was sure that no-one in their right mind would step into that stuff if they had a choice.

The farmhouse they came to was only a mile or so from the factory, which loomed on top of what Aubrey saw now was a slight ridge and smoked and steamed away, sailing above its surrounds like an ocean liner ploughing through a sea of forest. He thought it looked ominous, and it brought to mind Dr Tremaine's showy, threatening skyfleet.

He couldn't contemplate this for long, however, as he was dragged through the doorway of the farmhouse.

He'd been expecting an abandoned ruin, such was the way his mind was working after the experiences of the night, so he was surprised to see it furnished with simple but comfortable fittings. They'd come in through the kitchen, which was warm thanks to the large iron stove taking up most of one wall. A round wooden table was surrounded by chairs. Cooking implements and utensils hung from racks suspended from the ceiling. It looked so much like an ordinary farm kitchen that Aubrey was automatically suspicious.

Then a well-concealed trapdoor in the floor banged back and Aubrey sighed.
Basements. It's always basements.

He rarely had good experiences underground. He recalled the incidents with the hydraulic railway (nearly drowned in a flood), the Bank of Albion vault (nearly killed by Dr Tremaine) and the buried Roman shrine (nearly crushed by malevolent magic). No, if he ever built a house, it wouldn't have a basement. He'd build it on rock. Better still, it would be a tree house, totally detached from the ground.

This basement, at least, was dry. They were ordered to sit, bound, on the stone floor while the strangers dispersed, still mysterious, still silent apart from the one that Aubrey assumed was the leader. At least he was the one who spoke.

‘It is lucky we found you,' he growled, his hands on his hips.

Aubrey looked around at the stone walls. ‘It depends on what you mean by luck.'

‘Yes?

‘Well, if you mean the sort of luck where strangers abduct you while you're going about your business, then I suppose we've hit the jackpot. If you mean the sort of luck that actually has a good outcome, then I must beg to disagree.'

‘Enough,' came another, rather familiar, voice. ‘It is him. I was not sure at first, but such nonsense shows it is him.'

One of the strangers unwound the scarf from her face. The white-blonde hair and large eyes were enough to make Aubrey stare – and to think they weren't going to die. ‘Madame Zelinka. It's good to see you.'

All in all, Aubrey judged, it was much better falling in with Madame Zelinka's Enlightened Ones than a patrol of Holmlanders. At least, that's what he hoped, and he tried to remember if he'd offended or otherwise made an enemy out of her.

Aubrey, George and Caroline had encountered Madame Zelinka in Fisherberg. Her secretive order had been attempting to cope with malignant magical residue left behind after one of Dr Tremaine's experiments. This was the ancient responsibility of the Order of Enlightened Ones, neutralising the accidental by-blows of magic before they festered and produced their own horrors. After Aubrey had managed to counteract a particularly nasty outbreak – one that had killed an Enlightened One – Madame Zelinka had disappeared abruptly.

His fears that he'd transgressed in some way were dispelled when, after a few awkward minutes, she shook her head. ‘Unbind them. They are harmless, but I want to know what they are doing here, interfering with our work.'

Aubrey saw Caroline bristle at being described at harmless, but she caught his look and subsided. ‘Much appreciated.' He rubbed his wrists and stood. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?'

Madame Zelinka smiled a little at that. A touch frosty, but definitely on the way to a thaw. ‘We will have tea. Katya.'

One of the Enlightened Ones detached herself from the silent onlookers and disappeared into the further reaches of the basement. Madame Zelinka gestured at the long table that took up much of the space in the basement and Aubrey sensed a shifting in the tension in the air. When they were sitting down, it wasn't frosty any more. Not quite warm, but it was approaching mild.

While mugs were distributed, the other Enlightened Ones shed coats and scarves. Aubrey introduced Sophie to Madame Zelinka, but he was careful to scan the range of faces that were intent on him and his companions.

The even dozen of Enlightened Ones were of all sorts, a multiplicity of nationalities that Aubrey had only seen hints of at great academic seminars or symposia. Madame Zelinka came from somewhere east of the Continent, one of the shifting regions in dispute with Muscovia. The silent man on her left had the aquiline features and shockingly white hair that announced his origins were north of Muscovia, in Zeme, the land of lakes and forests. In the others, he saw men and women from the far Orient, from either side of the African continent, from the islands of the Great Ocean, and from the heights of the Andean mountains. These last spoke a clipped language that intrigued Aubrey and he wished he could listen to it more carefully. It was accompanied by much hand-waving and he assumed it was designed to facilitate communication between those not sharing a common language.

But another possibility occurred to him and made him itch with impatience. It was simplified, but could it simply be primitive? Did the Enlightened Ones, with their ancient heritage, have access to languages not known elsewhere?

The last of Madame Zelinka's companions to remove his concealing cap and scarf was the man sitting on her right. When he did, Aubrey only dimly heard Caroline's gasp and George's stifled oath, because it was as if someone had just hit him behind the ear with a mallet.

‘Is that any way to greet an old friend, Fitzwilliam? You look like a codfish.'

Aubrey struggled, but eventually put words together. ‘Von Stralick. I should have guessed.'

‘Really?' Von Stralick looked disappointed.

Aubrey was rallying after the shock of the Holmland spy's appearance. ‘I should have guessed because you have a habit of turning up when least expected.'

‘And here I am.' Von Stralick beamed, but Aubrey thought the usually immaculately groomed Holmlander looked worn and tired. His hair was worn long, as usual, to hide his missing ear, but it looked as if it needed a good trim. His moustache, too, looked more utilitarian than ornamental. ‘Ah, the delightful Miss Hepworth.' He stood and bowed to Caroline. ‘And who is your friend? Is that Miss Delroy? My reports said you were beautiful, my dear, but they missed the mark by a long way. You are most striking.'

‘Steady on, von Stralick,' George growled.

‘Ah,' von Stralick said, ‘it's ... please don't remind me ... I'll have it in a minute or two.'

‘It's no time to play games, von Stralick,' Aubrey said.

Von Stralick sighed. ‘I apologise, Doyle. It was petty of me, but we have had little chance for levity here. No sense of humour, these Holmland patrols.'

‘I can't imagine they have,' Aubrey said.

Von Stralick sipped his tea. ‘Do you know what would have happened if we hadn't saved you from being snapped up by one that was on its way?'

Aubrey went cold. ‘We didn't see a patrol.'

‘They're quite good,' Von Stralick said. ‘And they know the terrain.'

‘What would have happened?' George said evenly.

Von Stralick shrugged. ‘It wasn't a rhetorical question. We've lost people and we have no idea of their fate.'

Aubrey sat back. He'd last seen von Stralick in Fisherberg, at the disastrous symposium. The Holmlander's status was more than ambivalent. He'd fallen out with the Holmland intelligence service after his superiors had been removed, and he'd abandoned his attempts to win favour with Baron von Grolman once he realised that the baron was working hand in hand with Dr Tremaine. Aubrey wondered if von Stralick's actions assisting Aubrey and his friends had further compromised his position.

‘Wait,' Aubrey said, holding up both hands. ‘You might want to know what we're doing here–'

‘It had occurred to us,' von Stralick said. He sat, and Aubrey couldn't help but notice how close he was to the imperious Madame Zelinka. And how she shifted her position so she was even closer to him.

Amazing,
he thought, but steered himself to the matter at hand. ‘But I want to know what you're doing here.'
Even though I've just seen at least part of the reason.

Madame Zelinka had an arresting beauty, and could only have been a year or two older than von Stralick, while he was dashing, intelligent and remarkably adaptable. A good couple?

‘Self-interest,' von Stralick said proudly. ‘Look no further than that, Fitzwilliam. I intend to make a great deal of money from this exercise. I believe that while the Enlightened Ones are clearing up other people's messes, I may have a chance to put my hands on a few items for which the highest bidders will be very high indeed.'

Aubrey had doubts that von Stralick was as selfish as that, but he also knew that if he dared suggest that von Stralick was doing anything that had a whiff of altruism about it, he would blanch and recoil in horror.

‘And how did you two ... meet?' George asked.

Von Stralick took Madame Zelinka's hand. ‘Your Commander Craddock was responsible.' She clasped his hand fiercely. ‘I still find that remarkable.'

Aubrey looked around for the bus that just run him over.
Remarkable?
he thought at the prospect of Commander Craddock acting as a matchmaker.
‘Inconceivable' fits better.
It was like imagining Dr Tremaine having second thoughts, renouncing his plans for worldwide slaughter and becoming a dentist instead.

‘Pompey thought we could work together,' Madame Zelinka said. ‘He said we had much to offer each other.'

‘Wait.' Aubrey held out a hand. The other, he put to his brow. He was dizzy. ‘Pompey. You're not saying that Commander Craddock's first name is Pompey, are you?'

‘I didn't know he had a first name,' George said. ‘I thought he was like a dog.'

Aubrey couldn't believe what his friend was saying. ‘Dogs have first names. They just don't have last names.'

‘What are you talking about, old man? My old terrier was called Morris. That was his last name, obviously. Short and sharp.'

‘He was part of your family, wasn't he? His full name was Morris Doyle.'

‘I'm sorry,' Caroline interrupted. ‘I think more important matters are at hand.'

Sophie nodded solemnly. ‘I have been warned about Albion men and their dogs. They take them very seriously.'

Aubrey was about to launch into an explanation of why this was so – citing the importance of stick throwing in the development of national character – but caught Caroline's warning glance. He put the matter aside for later.

‘Pompey Craddock,' von Stralick said with relish, enjoying the effect it had on Aubrey. ‘Pompey Craddock is a fine, perceptive man.'

With a superhuman effort, Aubrey stopped himself from pursuing this line of thought and stuck to the idea of Craddock seeing some utility in the coming together of Madame Zelinka and Hugo von Stralick. Some utility apart from being a strange sort of experiment.

Von Stralick knew his way around the Holmland intelligence community. Despite being an outcast since the falling from grace of his mentor, he had contacts aplenty and had garnered a great deal of information about key people in government. He had hinted to Aubrey in the past that he kept what he called useful documents on file, secrets that a number of important figures wouldn't want revealed. In a war where the notion of weaponry was being redefined almost daily, such information could be in a weapon class of its own.

Allied to this was von Stralick's antipathy to Dr Tremaine, who he held responsible for the death of his mentor. This ill will had to be harnessed correctly, however. Von Stralick might declare that patriotism was an old-fashioned concept, but he was a Holmlander through and through. He saw the current Chancellor and his crew as misguided, unfortunate and ultimately dangerous but he didn't feel that the Holmland people should be held responsible for the idiots who led them, voting and representation being the flawed systems they were, in his estimation.

And Madame Zelinka? Aubrey assumed Craddock knew more about the Enlightened Ones than he did, but a powerful mystical organisation that was hostile to Dr Tremaine, seeing him as reckless in the extreme, could only be a useful partner.

Aubrey asked himself why Craddock didn't work directly with the Enlightened Ones and he had the distinct feeling that there was more beneath the skin of this particular rice pudding than met the eye.

‘So,' von Stralick continued, ‘we have an unholy alliance here. Our Baron von Grolman and your Dr Tremaine united for the Holmland war effort, pursuing nefarious, top secret plans.'

‘So it would seem,' Aubrey said. ‘You wouldn't have any idea exactly what they're up to, would you?'

‘Exactly? No, I wouldn't say we know exactly. But look at this.' He signalled to one of the other Enlightened Ones. A tall Oriental woman handed a wooden box the size of a large bible to von Stralick. He thanked her. ‘We captured this sample from a rail delivery two days ago.'

‘I assume the train would be armed,' Caroline said. ‘For a delivery to a top secret facility, it would stand to reason. How did you get the sample?'

Madame Zelinka pursed her lips. ‘Some of our people have expertise in shrouding magic. The train slows down for a sharp bend a mile or so to the south. They were on and off before anyone knew it.'

Von Stralick grinned. ‘Katya is quite bloodthirsty, too. Something about revenge for Holmland aggression in Veltrania.'

Veltrania. Aubrey glanced at the tea-bringing Katya, a slim, serious-looking woman in her thirties. She had prominent cheekbones. Aubrey wondered if she knew Rodolfo and his people.

Von Stralick put the box on his lap and fiddled with the top before removing it with a sound of satisfaction.

‘Clay,' Caroline said. She looked at Aubrey, waiting.

‘It's more than just clay.' Aubrey could feel it from where he was, playing on his skin like a swarm of tiny insects. ‘It's potentialised clay.' He looked through the basement wall, through the ceiling, through the farmhouse to where Baron von Grolman's factory was waiting. ‘They're making golems.'