Word of Honour (36 page)

His throat started to close as the final term loomed.
He dropped his chin as much as he could, hoping that
gravity would help the term fall from his mouth.

It did; finally all he had left was his signature. It, too,
was weighty, as if infected by the other parts of the spell,
but he forced it out. He was done.

Dr Tremaine continued chanting.

Aubrey slumped against his metal bonds, oblivious of
their cutting into him. He had no triumph to keep away
the avalanche of fatigue that swept over him. No strength
was left in his limbs. His head felt too heavy for his neck.
He was defeated.

Then Dr Tremaine stopped chanting and whirled, eyes
blazing. 'Magic suppression! Magic suppression! Do you
know what you've done, Fitzwilliam?' He raged over the
increasing noise of the flame. 'You've ruined everything!'
He stormed to Aubrey and thrust his face close. He
snarled, baring his teeth like a great beast. 'Wretched boy!
You dare to interpose yourself in my plans?'

In a blur of motion, he slapped Aubrey across the face,
once then again, backhanded. Aubrey's ears rang with the
force of the blow.

Dr Tremaine glared at him, jaw clenched so tightly that
the tendons stood out on his neck. He panted, sucking air
in through his teeth. 'You've destroyed the spell.'

With difficulty, Aubrey lifted his head and smiled.
'If that means I've stopped you destroying Trinovant,
that's good enough.'

Tremaine stared at him for a moment then threw back
his head and laughed. 'That you may have, boy. But at the
cost of your own life.' He studied Aubrey. 'In that case,
you won't be needing this.'

With a fingernail, Dr Tremaine sheared through wire
as if it were butter. He plucked Aubrey's watch from his
pocket and held it up. The light from the cold fire made
the Brayshire Ruby glitter like a red star.

Aubrey threw himself against his bonds, anger
making him oblivious to the pain. He hissed, then
locked eyes with his tormentor and their connection
was re-established.

An instant lasted for an eternity, an instant where
Aubrey knew Dr Tremaine. He knew his roaring confidence,
his unbounded dreams, his utter selfishness. He also
knew his sorrow and frustration at never being able to
find his sister. A vision came to Aubrey of Sylvia, but it
was ghostly, vague, a portrait seen by cloudy moonlight.

Above all, Dr Tremaine's self dominated the experience
– raw, wild, untouched by anyone apart from his
sister. He was more a primeval force than a human being
– a storm, an earthquake, a volcano. Aubrey shuddered
and shied away from such unalloyed power.

At the same time, Aubrey was aware that Dr Tremaine
had touched him. He lay exposed – his ambitions were
naked, his confidence and insecurities on display, his skill
and talents up for measure.

Then it ended, a heartbeat where they were blended
and aware of another human being as few are.

Aubrey was dazed. Numbly, he stared at Tremaine, who
looked back thoughtfully, tapping his chin. 'My, my, my,'
he said, and the sheer banality of this utterance brought
Aubrey back to his senses.

He managed to make his mouth work again. He
wanted to demand the heirloom back, but he refused to
give Tremaine the pleasure. 'You're a petty thief as well as
a failed traitor, Tremaine.'

Dr Tremaine shrugged. 'You have something precious
of mine, Fitzwilliam. It's only fair that I have something
of yours.' A bass rumble from the column of cold fire
made the magician glance over his shoulder. 'I always say
that a true genius knows when to abandon a plan and
when to try to resurrect one. Now is the time to abandon
this one, I fear.'

Aubrey couldn't help himself. 'You didn't say that.'

Dr Tremaine frowned. 'What?'

'That's one of Scholar Tan's axioms. You stole it and
just pretended you made it up.'

Aubrey had fought hand-to-hand with Dr Tremaine.
He'd engaged in a magical struggle with Dr Tremaine.
But judging from the almost embarrassed scowl, this time
he'd managed to slip right under his guard and pierce his
pride. Hastily he chalked it up as a point to himself and
steeled himself for Dr Tremaine's reaction.

The rogue magician ignored it. Pretending he hadn't
heard Aubrey, he went to make his exit.

Aubrey had an instant of satisfaction, then he did what
he could. 'Stop him, Rokeby-Taylor!' he cried. 'Before he
gets away!'
'Yes, stop me, Rokeby-Taylor,' Dr Tremaine said, having
gathered his composure. He chuckled. 'Do something
useful instead of standing there. Use the revolver in your
pocket.'

Obediently, Rokeby-Taylor took out the revolver.
He blinked at it, owlishly. 'I say, Tremaine, it's not for
you. It's for protection.'

'Stop him, you idiot!' Aubrey shouted.

'How can I confer eternal life on you, Clive, if you
shoot me?' Dr Tremaine said. He appeared to be enjoying
this immensely, but Aubrey noted how he kept one eye
on the shifting column of flame. 'Now listen. You stay
here, guard these troublemakers, and I'll come back and
get you in a few minutes.'

Rokeby-Taylor stared at Dr Tremaine, then he
glanced at his revolver. He weighed it in his hand, then,
slowly, he reached out and snapped off the safety catch.
'I've been called many things in my time,' he said,
and he looked like someone who believed he was
dreaming, 'and I put up with them because I knew
what I wanted.'

'And you'll get it, Clive, you will,' Dr Tremaine said.
'Keep your back to the flame and all will be well.'

'I was a fool,' Rokeby-Taylor said, in the voice of
someone discovering something for the first time. 'And
it's all come to this.'

'You'll be able to laugh at all those who scorned you,'
Dr Tremaine said. 'When they die, you will be alive.
What better revenge can anyone have?'

Rokeby-Taylor considered this. 'I could show them
that they were wrong.'

'Yes,' Aubrey said. 'Do that. Show us we were wrong.
Show us you're not a traitor. Stop Tremaine and you'll be
a hero.'

'A hero, a fool, and a disgrace.' He pocketed the
revolver. 'No. On the whole, I'd rather have eternal life.'

Aubrey closed his eyes as hope ran away. Rokeby-
Taylor had a chance at redemption, but had passed on it.

Dr Tremaine clapped his hands together. 'Excellent.

Now, remember that you're in charge until I get back.'

He strode to the latticework of conduits. Aubrey
thought he was going to crash right into it, but just as he
neared, the pipes, wires and chains drew back, making a
Tremaine-sized hole that closed behind him.

The flame he left behind continued to grow in bulk
and height. It now licked the ceiling with hungry vigour.
It began to branch, side jets flaring with their own greedy
life. Aubrey knew that, now the flame was released from
Tremaine's control, it would build on itself, a runaway
column of raw power. The chamber would be consumed,
swallowed in the boiling chaos of uncontrolled magic.

The flame bowed, shifting enough so he just make out
Caroline and George. Both were struggling, but Aubrey
knew how pointless it was. Still, he was proud that
neither of them was giving up without a fight.

Rokeby-Taylor paced along the walkway, his back to
the flames. He was a long way from the well-dressed man
about town that Aubrey had met in his townhouse. He
was unshaven, filthy and he mumbled as he marched.
His shoulders were hunched and he kept his head down
as if uncertain about this whole walking business. 'I'm
not a bad man,' Rokeby-Taylor said suddenly, popping
his head up. 'Just greedy.'

'I'm afraid I don't really care at the moment,' Aubrey
said. 'I have to stop this flame from exploding. Look at
the way it's building.'

'I can't. Tremaine said not to look at it.'

'And you believed him? He's been lying to you all
along, you know. He has no intention of giving you
eternal life. It's a trick.'

'No it's not. I'm crucial to his plans, he told me.'

Yes
, thought Aubrey,
but not in the way you think
. 'Look,
the flame's getting bigger. Move away, at least.'

'What?'

At the last moment, Rokeby-Taylor did glance over
his shoulder at the flame, Aubrey's urgency overcoming
his obedience. He was in time to see the column split and
send a branch snaking in his direction. Rokeby-Taylor
straightened, and for a moment it was as if the years had
melted from him. His eyes sparkled as he threw himself
to one side, rolling and coming to his feet with a grin.
He looked toward Aubrey and touched his nose with a
gesture that suggested that this was all a jolly lark.

Then the tentacle of flame snapped back and wrapped
itself around him.

Rokeby-Taylor's eyes flew open wide and his hands
clawed at the flame. His mouth gaped, but no scream
came out. The process was too quick for that. He was
frozen in place, trapped in the middle of terror. In an
instant, he became transparent, like smoked glass. Then
he was an outline, a sketch of a human being, an empty
husk. A burst of light and he was gone, as if he had
never been.

Aubrey cried out, but it was far, far too late. All the
breath went from him as if he'd been punched hard in
the stomach. He had no time to spare for pity, but he
couldn't help but be moved by the fate of a fellow human,
no matter how misled, how corrupt, how avaricious.

The column of flame was broader, taller, more solid.
The blue-white was shot through with deeper, shimmering
folds of gold. It began to roar like a mighty wind; it
battered at him with sheer, unfocused magical power.

He had to stop it.

His mind worked in double time, dividing each second
into a hundred parts. He riffled through possibilities and
solutions, testing and discarding, pressing for a solution.

He couldn't imagine dousing it like an ordinary fire.
Could he smother it, choke it? How had Dr Tremaine
summoned it? How had he controlled it? What was
its fuel?

Fuel. He seized on this. A fire needed fuel, but this cold
flame had reached a stage where it was growing beyond
any supply of fuel. It was sending out infinitely more
power than could possibly be supplied to it.

It was feeding on itself. The Law of Intensification
played a part here, he was sure, but it had sent things
spiralling out of control. Intentionally or otherwise, it
didn't matter. The flame had achieved a stage where the
magic it was generating was spawning further magic,
which further fed the beast. It would grow on itself,
getting bigger and more powerful, faster and faster.

Unless he could interrupt it. He had to control it, to
absorb some of the magic it was breeding. If he could,
this would stop the process, for good.

It was a hastily constructed theory, but it was the only
one he had.

He had to adapt the magic suppressing spell. He
couldn't cancel the magic of the column of flame – it was
too fierce, too powerful for that. Instead he wanted a spell
to
absorb
it.

The image was perfect and he seized on it. He
pictured administering charcoal to a patient to absorb
poison, sponging up the deadly stuff and making it
harmless.

The metaphor helped, but he realised he had no time
to work out a careful spell. He had to launch into it
straightaway – and trust to his ability to ex-temporise.

He recalled his anti-magic spell and began, adjusting
each element, starting with intensity, duration, direction
and dimensionality, before moving on to the individual
variables and constants that shaped such an involved
spell. He hurried through it, adapting on the run. It
was easier this time as he wasn't negating magic, he was
simply mopping it up.

He gasped when he finished, slapped by a wracking
pain, but was astonished when he saw his spell create
a jet black rod, two yards or more in length, a few
inches in diameter. It appeared out of the air and toppled
into the heart of the flame – his absorption
metaphor made real.

For an instant, the flame buckled, then it roared back
as fierce as ever.

Aubrey repeated the spell, gritting his teeth against
the combination of pain and fatigue that assaulted him.

Another rod appeared and joined the first.

This time, Aubrey had no doubt. The flame flinched.
It folded in on itself, wavered, but then jetted upward
again in defiance.

Aubrey cast the spell again. And again. And again. His
throat grew hoarse, his vision blurred.

He lost count of the rods that popped into existence
and fell into the flame. The fire collapsed, grew again,
collapsed, wavered, grew and collapsed until Aubrey was
lost in a haze of light, sound and magic.

And pain.

It was the quiet that made Aubrey stop. He found
it hard to breathe. He couldn't move his head and he
struggled to lift his gaze.

The flame was gone.

C
RADDOCK'S OPERATIVES FOUND THE EXHAUSTED AND
battered Aubrey, Caroline and George stumbling
through the tunnels after freeing themselves. Through a
haze of pain and fatigue, Aubrey listened to their explanations
as they half-dragged him through the tunnels.

Dr Tremaine's urbomancy had set off multiple alarms
in the Magisterium's magic monitoring department. The
intensity of the magic was enough for Craddock to send
a Flying Squad to find the source of such a gargantuan
disturbance. Too late to have been of any assistance in
quelling the magical fire, but well timed to render some
useful first aid.

Dimly, Aubrey was glad Craddock insisted on physical
fitness in his operatives. Shivering, he leaned heavily on
the two agents who assisted him and he let his head loll.
It was simply too much effort to hold it up. Besides, he'd
seen more than enough tunnel to last him a lifetime.

A
WEEK LATER
, A
UBREY WAS AT
S
T
A
LBAN'S, MUCH
recovered and studying hard, when the door opened. A
large cardboard box entered. Carrying the box, sweating
and panting, was George.

Instantly, Aubrey was on his feet. He winced at a dull
pain in his back, but was inordinately pleased, too. A
week ago, after the efforts of quelling the magical flame,
he was in a horrible condition – weak, aching, shivering
uncontrollably, wincing at bright light. Leaping out of
chairs would have been right out of the question. 'What's
the news?'

George didn't answer. Gently, he placed the box on his
desk. Whistling a tune, he cut the string with penknife
and opened the package.

'George?'

George raised an eyebrow, but simply continued his
whistling. He reached into the box and pulled out a small,
muslin-wrapped bundle, which he tossed to Aubrey.

Aubrey unwrapped it. 'Ham?' He sniffed it and the
savoury aroma made his mouth water, his appetite a sure
sign that his condition had improved.

Another bundle sailed toward him. Hastily, he put the
ham on his desk in time to catch a cold roast chicken
wrapped in a linen tea towel. Looking up, he found a jar
coming at him. He let out a yelp, but managed to catch
it in the crook of one arm. He had time to see that the
jar was full of pickled onions before he had to put down
both it and the chicken. More foodstuffs were arcing
toward him.

George kept whistling and kept up a barrage –
sausage, gherkins, relish, mustard, loaves of freshly
baked bread, two large bottles of ginger beer, apples,
pears.

With frantic speed, Aubrey caught each of the flying
foods and added them to the growing pile on his desk.

When George flung two enamel plates his way, Aubrey
plucked them out of the air and waved them over his
head. 'Enough! Enough!'

George grinned. 'I thought you'd never surrender.'
He peeked into the box and took out a bread knife.
'Good timing, as I only had these left.' He held up two
stoneware mugs, which he proceeded to fill with ginger
beer. 'A toast, before we feast.'

Aubrey took his mug and tasted the ginger beer.
He looked sharply at George. 'This is yours, isn't it?'

'From Mother's special stock.'

'And the ham. That's yours too.'

'When only the best will do.'

Aubrey surveyed the fare spread out on his desk. His
textbooks were buried under edibles. 'The news is good,
I take it.'

'We're not going to lose the farm.'

Aubrey held out his mug. 'Here's to the Doyle family,'
he said. 'And the Doyle family farm.'

'Hear, hear.' George drank deeply, then filled his mug
again. He pulled out his chair and sagged into it. 'I can't
tell you how relieved I am.'

'Oh, I think I have a fair idea. Now, tell me, how did
this all come about?'

'Rokeby-Taylor.'

To steady himself, Aubrey sat on the bed. 'Of all the
things I thought you were going to say, that wasn't one
of them.'

'Well, once we alerted the authorities to Rokeby-
Taylor's involvement in Tremaine's schemes, it was
shock all round, it seems. It turns out that the bank
that had our loan was one of his, and the manager
was one of his underlings. Through some shifty
business he brought things to a head, after actually
organising the landslip in the first place. A bit of water
magic, apparently.'

'I could have discovered that,' Aubrey said. 'Some
poking around, a few questions here and there.'

'And I'm glad you didn't, old man, having given your
word and all that.'

Aubrey had nothing to say. He didn't deserve such
gratitude for doing nothing. But on the other hand, he
had done something: he'd kept his word, even though it
ran against all his instincts. 'And now,' he said, 'we have an
exhibition opening to go to.'

George glanced at his watch, an action that caused
Aubrey a pang over the fate of his own. 'Half an hour.
Plenty of time to freshen up.' He stood and dusted
crumbs from his chest. 'What is Mrs Hepworth's show
about this time? Any sort of theme or title or such?'

'"The Frontier of the New", which doesn't say much,
I suppose. I'm going with an open mind.'

'As you should.'

T
HE EXHIBITION WAS AT THE
G
REYTHORN
G
ALLERY IN THE
town. This was a blocky new building, two-storeyed,
with many windows. Looking at it, Aubrey imagined that
the county would now be overrun with retired glaziers
looking for something to spend their money on.

On their walk to the gallery, Aubrey was still puzzling
over Rokeby-Taylor's part in the plot against George's
father. George had no further light to shed on it. They
walked up the stairs and into the entrance hall of the
gallery, only to run into the unexpected pair of Tallis
and Craddock.
Sounds like a pair music hall of music hall
performers
, Aubrey thought.
Put your hands together for Tallis
and Craddock – a song, a joke and some questionable interrogation
methods!
He didn't give them a chance to speak.

'Rokeby-Taylor,' he said without any preliminaries.
'Why would he want to ruin George's father?'

To give Craddock his due, he played an immaculate
forward defence. 'That's where the personal becomes
the political.'

Tallis nodded, hands behind his back. 'It was part of a
larger plan.'

And when is anything not, these days?
Aubrey thought.

A stream of people came up the stairs, chattering and
oblivious to the discreet meeting that was being held
in the entrance hall. Society's finest disappeared through
the glass doors into the exhibition room, ready to
explore the Frontier of the New, while sipping champagne
and nibbling on carefully constructed canapés.

Tallis eyed these art lovers with suspicion, but went on.
'Rokeby-Taylor was trying to get at the Prime Minister
through those close to him. At least, that's what the bank
manager claimed during interrogation. It was all a plot to
divert the Prime Minister, burden him with worries,
to affect his judgement, his decision-making.'

George muttered a series of colourful oaths. Aubrey
felt they were too mild.

This was the third plot that was directly aimed at
people around Aubrey's father. First came the attempts
on his mother's life, then her near abduction on the high
seas, and now this. While it may have looked like sound
strategy – distracting the Prime Minister made good, if
distasteful, sense – Aubrey had a feeling that it was more
personal than that. Added to that the fact that Dr
Tremaine had once kidnapped his father and was on the
verge of doing him physical harm before thwarted,
Aubrey was starting to wonder if Dr Tremaine's interest
in his father had a special edge.

'A very subtle plan,' Craddock said. 'Tell me, did
Rokeby-Taylor strike either of you as a subtle man?'

'Quite the opposite.' Aubrey leaned against one of the
half-pillars that decorated the walls.

'Since your report on Rokeby-Taylor's demise,' Tallis
said, 'we've done considerable checking into the man's
affairs. It seems that he had a manager who was the
business mind, taking care of all financial matters while
Rokeby-Taylor swanned around, making contacts and
greasing up to people. Interestingly, this Mr Ingles studied
business in Holmland.'

'And so I'd say he won't see the outside of one of His
Majesty's prisons for some time,' Craddock said. 'We can
continue our chats with him there.'

'And this plan to ruin George's family?' Aubrey asked.

'Who do you think could invent such a scheme, if
Rokeby-Taylor was incapable of it?' Craddock asked.

'Dr Tremaine.'

'So it would appear,' Craddock said.

'One thing that still puzzles me,' Aubrey said.

'And what is that?' Craddock asked. Tallis eyed him
suspiciously.

'Why are you two here?'

'In Greythorn?' Tallis said.

'At this exhibition.'

'A number of reasons,' Craddock said, after several
significant glances were shared between the two men.
'We were invited, for one. We've both known Ophelia
Hepworth for years.'

'Superb artist,' Tallis growled, 'not afraid to experiment
with space and perspective.'

So unexpected was the artistic insight, for an instant
Aubrey was sure that Tallis had vanished and an alien had
taken his place.

Craddock went on. 'And Professor Mansfield is
another reason. We're wondering why she left so
suddenly for Aigyptos, so visiting Greythorn was a useful
start.'

Aubrey drew on his years of amateur dramatics and
constructed the best puzzled face of all time. 'Aigyptos?'

'We know she's been there before,' Tallis said, 'and is
friends with the Sultan, so it's no real surprise. The haste
was, though. Sudden leave of absence, mid-term?'

The silence that stretched out after this observation
was not embarrassed, nor awkward. It was more like a
challenge.

Aubrey was surprised when Craddock cracked first.
'I'm keen to get in to see the paintings,' he said.
'Rumours are that Ophelia has done something extraordinary
with light.'He glanced at Aubrey. 'Did you hear
that the Rashid Stone was stolen from the Museum?'

'Rashid Stone? Museum?' Aubrey said.

'Stolen?' George supplied, to round out the set.

'Well, if that display doesn't convince us that you know
nothing about it, I don't know what would,' Craddock
said dryly.

'The gang of thieves that was rounded up at the
museum were quite forthcoming,' Tallis said. 'They
claimed they'd been hired to steal the Rashid Stone, but
had been prevented by magical defences. They couldn't
tell us who contracted them either. A mysterious man,
was all they could provide, and they were being most
helpful by that time.' He studied Aubrey. 'Your information
that Rokeby-Taylor was involved with this scheme
tallies with this perfectly.'

'I had some of my best operatives search the workshop
for magical residue,' Craddock said, 'but we'd waited too
long and couldn't find a thing.'

Aubrey's heart restarted. 'Pity.'

'So we seem to have a mystery here, which shouldn't
surprise us,' Craddock said, 'mysteries being the order of
the day, lately.'

'Lovely,' George said, but his attention seemed to be on
the people entering rather than fully on the conversation.
'But you haven't really answered Aubrey's question. Why
are you both here? Why didn't you just abduct us if you
wanted a chat?'

Again, Craddock and Tallis shared a look.

Tallis cleared his throat. 'Apparently one of Tremaine's
plans was to sow discord between our two services.
Futile, obviously, but it was felt that a united front may be
the best thing to present for a few months. In public,
most particularly.'

'You're on your best behaviour!' George said,
delighted. 'You've been scolded and now you have to put
your best foot forward!'
Both men looked as if they'd sucked on a lemon
apiece. 'That's a rather simple view,' Craddock said.