'An interesting family, the Hepworths, wouldn't you say, George?'
'Extraordinary.'
With Jack Figg as a guide, they had gone from the Mire to Ashfields Station in under twenty minutes. Along the way an excited urchin joined them – one of Jack's friends – and reported that the Magisterium had left the burnt church at speed, desperately pursuing a tall man who was wrapped in shadows.
At four o'clock in the morning, the ornithopter port was deserted and quiet, as was the dirigible landing field. The only sound came from the neighbouring railway yards, where the noise of the wheel-checkers and bogie-riders rang out.
Jack left them, fading back into the night, and then it was up to Aubrey. He used a sleep spell he'd honed over years at Stonelea School, utilising the contagious nature of yawning and drawing on the Law of Sympathy, to send the two nightwatchmen to sleep.
The wrought-iron gates that led to the flight platforms were bolted, but not locked. They slipped through and found an ornithopter waiting for them.
For a moment, Aubrey stood and admired the intricate machine. Its hinged wings were beaten brass and made of a thousand separate, jointed pieces. The fuselage looked fragile, a network of metal mesh and glass, long and tapering. The whole, marvellous construction looked like a dragonfly eager to soar.
'Well?' came Caroline's voice. 'What are you waiting for? Climb aboard.'
Aubrey leaned against one of the four great metal legs. They were bent, bringing the body of the ornithopter close to the ground. 'After you, George.'
Inside the ornithopter were six seats. Aubrey took the one next to the pilot and gave Caroline the thumbs-up.
'Seatbelts,' she ordered.
Aubrey had flown in an ornithopter before, an experience that was a mixture of exhilaration and terror. He knew that it was magic that allowed ornithopters to work, for the flapping, twisting action of the wings would cause any material not magically enhanced to fall apart. Applications of the Laws of Sympathy and Correspondence allowed the metal wings to beat in the same way as the wings of birds. Other spells enhanced the power of the legs of the ornithopter, which provided the initial impetus to hurl the craft into the air.
No magical ability was required to pilot such a craft, simply skill, daring and good reflexes.
'Hold on!' Caroline said.
Even though he was ready for it, Aubrey's stomach was left behind as the four powerful legs flexed and kicked the ornithopter upwards.
George let out a whoop, but it was lost in the deafening whoosh of the wings as they began beating. The ornithopter lurched left, stalled, then levelled, before mounting upwards in a series of stomach-bouncing steps, wings thrashing the air.
'Higher!' Aubrey cried, grinning. Metallic clamour filled the small craft, making it sound like the inside of a foundry.
Caroline glanced at him and grinned back. Her hands and feet moved quickly over the controls and Aubrey could see no indecision, just joy. Her eyes were bright, reflecting the lights on the instrument panel. She'd tied her hair back with a piece of string and Aubrey could see her long, slender neck and the wisps there. She glanced at him again and pointed to a small box on a rack in front of him.
Inside were sound-deadeners, small yellow pieces of magically enhanced wool. He poked one into each ear, sighing with relief when the sound of the wings faded to a dull whirring, then handed the box to George.
Caroline pushed forward on the controls, sending the ornithopter swooping. Then she banked right in a sweeping arc which had Aubrey straining against his seatbelt. He found himself looking down on Ashfields Station, then Sandway, then the river.
Aubrey promised himself that he would learn to fly an ornithopter.
A FIFTEEN-MINUTE FLIGHT LATER, THEY REACHED BANFORD Park. Caroline set the ornithopter in a long, gliding circle while Aubrey looked down.
The research facility was surrounded by a forest that extended for miles. Penhurst was to the south-west, a hike through the woods. A single road led into Banford Park, where a collection of prefabricated huts stood well separated from each other, no doubt to prevent magical interference patterns from ruining experiments. A single, squat, stone building – Banford – faced a pond in the middle of the facility. All was dark and silent. The place looked as if it had been deserted for years.
'I'm going to glide in,' Caroline said. Air whistled over the rigid wings. 'Quieter.'
But more dangerous, Aubrey thought. Nothing he'd seen made him doubt Caroline's skill, but he knew that ornithopters were more responsive when the wings were beating. He tightened his seatbelt.
Caroline brought the craft around, killed some speed by raising its nose, then feathered the wings slightly. It swooped over the pond, around the stone immensity of Banford, past the research huts, then she deliberately stalled and the machine dropped onto its legs. They flexed, then steadied, and they were down.
Aubrey looked at Caroline. Even in the darkness and the dim light thrown by the instruments, he could see her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily. 'Well done,' he said.
'Let's find your father,' she said briskly, after she'd composed herself.
Aubrey stumbled out of the ornithopter and crouched in the shadow of a rose bush the size of a house.
George joined him. 'What's the penalty for stealing an ornithopter?'
'Less than the penalty for failing to save one's country. Or one's father.'
Caroline slipped out of the flying machine. Aubrey noticed that her bare feet were tiny. 'Where now?' she asked.
Aubrey chewed his lip. 'I was sure there'd be lights.'
'Maybe there's no-one here,' George said. He looked to the east. 'Dawn can't be too far away. We could make for the station. We'd be well away from here in a few hours.'
'Wait,' Aubrey said. 'Let me see what I can feel.'
Aubrey spread his hand and placed it flat on the chill, damp grass. He pressed, trying to get as close to the earth as he could.
He could feel stirrings of magic close by, but the traces were stale, most likely the residue left behind by the researchers when the facility was disbanded. He sensed tiny remnants of old earth magic, forgotten charms from people long ago.
Then he felt a strange magical vibration tingling in his hand. It was muffled, shielded by subtle spells. Aubrey only sensed it because it was familiar. It had the flavour of the magical residue the golem assassin had left, and was very close in texture to some of the spells cast at the burnt church. 'It's underground. Under there.' He stood and pointed at Banford. 'A bunker, I'd say.'
'How are we going to get in?' Caroline asked.
'You don't have any other skills you haven't told us about?' Aubrey replied. 'Picking locks? Breaking and entering?'
'We could go and see if the place is open,' George suggested.
Aubrey shrugged. 'As long as we do it quietly.'