Craddock entered. 'Sir Darius,' he said. 'Glad to see you're all right.'
Sir Darius, still groggy, merely nodded.
Unsmiling, Craddock surveyed the room. 'Where's Tremaine?'
Aubrey waved a tired hand. 'You're too late. He's gone. How did you know he wasn't dead?'
'I had my suspicions. Some of my operatives were investigating, and their findings led us to the burnt church. When we arrived, we were confronted with a major magical assault.' He smiled his wintry smile. 'Soon after this, we had a visit from Tallis, of the Special Services. Apparently von Stralick, the Holmland spy, is on good terms with him. Von Stralick telephoned him to let him know what was going on – the plot against the King, your father's kidnapping – and Tallis informed us. Von Stralick also told him that you'd be heading here to look for Tremaine.'
'Craddock,' Aubrey said, 'Dr Tremaine wants to undertake the Ritual of the Way.'
Craddock's eyes widened fractionally. 'I see. That would explain much.'
'He has Professor Hepworth's notebook, too.'
'It's worse than I'd thought, then. The professor's work will help Tremaine if he's mad enough to try for the Ritual of the Way.' He studied Aubrey. 'It seems as if we have much to talk about.'
AUBREY CLOSELY WATCHED THE ORGANISATION OF THE Magisterium and made mental notes. As dawn broke, hordes of black-uniformed operatives swarmed all over Banford Park, sifting, noting, photographing, analysing and collecting. Craddock commanded with a minimum of direction; all the operatives seemed to know what they were doing. Two of them flew the ornithopter away, returning it to the Ashfields ornithopter port.
Sir Darius, Caroline, George and Aubrey were whisked away to Darnleigh House in one of the Magisterium's anonymous black motorcars. It was a quiet, strained trip, with little conversation. Sir Darius seemed to be still affected by the spell Dr Tremaine had used, sleeping all the way. The two operatives who sat with them were polite, but not forthcoming. Their repeated answer to any question was, 'I'm sorry, but you'll have to ask Commander Craddock.'
Darnleigh House and Lattimer Hall, the headquarters of the Magisterium and the Special Services, faced each other across Grainger Square in Eastride. It wasn't a huge distance from the Mire, which amused Aubrey. He imagined a steady stream of informers flowing from the Mire to Darnleigh House, across to Lattimer Hall and then home again in a vast, continuous loop.
Darnleigh House was actually a pair of three-storey townhouses. A hundred years ago they had been bought, walls knocked out, offices installed, basements converted and one entrance bricked up. From the outside, it remained the sort of anonymous architecture that told passers-by to move along as nothing extraordinary was inside. If Aubrey hadn't known better, he would have thought the place belonged to a surgeon, or a reasonably well-to-do stockbroker, perhaps one who had come into his money early and had rather let things drift a little. Modest, discreet, slightly shabby.
On the other side of Grainger Square, the Special Services' Lattimer Hall was altogether fiercer. A fire in a row of houses had provided the opportunity for a purpose-built building to take up the entire block. A squat concrete establishment, only two storeys, it looked as if it could laugh off a cannon shot. Lattimer Hall imposed itself on the surroundings the way Darnleigh House didn't, which may have said something about the way the two agencies thought of themselves.
By the time they were ushered through the well-guarded entrance of Darnleigh House, Aubrey was beginning to flag. He was pleased that this appeared to be a healthy fatigue, not the soul-sapping exhaustion that his condition usually brought about. But he couldn't help feeling nervous as he passed into headquarters of the Magisterium.
He glanced at George, who yawned, and Caroline, who looked alert, taking in the surroundings. His father had been dazed enough for Craddock to order a wheelchair be brought for him. He nodded, eyes closed, face pale.
'Craddock,' Aubrey said, and he yawned as well, 'we've been up all night. Can the interrogation wait a while?'
Craddock raised an eyebrow. 'Interrogation?' He studied Aubrey for a moment, then he gestured at the nearest operative. 'Find recovery quarters for these people. Take Sir Darius to the infirmary.'
Aubrey was feeling woolly-headed with tiredness by the time he lay down in the small room he'd been shown to. Sleep fell on him like an avalanche. It was hours before he woke up.
When he did, he found that someone had taken off his shoes and removed his Tommy Sparks clothes. He lay in a very comfortable bed in a darkened room. Enough light came through the gaps in the curtains to show him that the room was well furnished, if a little old-fashioned for his liking. He reached out and pulled back the drapes to see Lattimer Hall frowning at him from across the square. The thought of all the Special Services people inside made him close the curtains again.
A serious young woman in the black uniform of the Magisterium was sitting on a chair watching him. 'Would you like something to eat?' she asked.
'Where's my father? Where's Caroline? George?'
She stood. 'Miss Hepworth is in the mess hall. I don't know about the others.'
'What time is it?'
'Just after noon. I'll be outside when you're ready.'
She slipped out of the door. Aubrey used the small washroom to bathe hastily. When he brushed his hair, the reflection in the mirror looked tired, but not unnaturally so. A pair of black trousers, a black shirt, tie and jacket lay on the end of the bed. They were his size and he dressed quickly.
The mess was a brightly lit room, long and narrow, with no windows. Tables were lined up in rows, ten or twelve chairs to a table. The surfaces – walls, linoleum floor, tables – were utterly clean. It reminded Aubrey of the dining hall at Stonelea School, without the smell of boiled cabbage. Instead, this place had the upright and cheery aromas of coffee, toast and boot polish.
Caroline was there. She was sipping a cup of tea, holding it in both hands as if she were cold. She was wearing the same uniform as Aubrey's escort. He thought she made the jacket and trousers look remarkably striking. Aubrey's escort took up position near the swinging double doors and watched them with the ease of someone who has watched many people and in much less comfortable settings.
Caroline glanced at him without putting down her cup. 'Where's George?'
'Probably sleeping, if I know him.'
She sipped her tea, a frown creasing her forehead, then she looked up. 'What's wrong with you?'
Aubrey blinked. Now that's a big question, he thought. 'What do you mean?'
'You're looking healthy enough now, but over the last few weeks I've seen you looking like a corpse, getting better quickly, then deteriorating again.'
Aubrey shuddered. 'Not quite a corpse.'
'Well?' She put down her cup. 'What's going on? Why was Dr Tremaine taunting you about your soul?'
A shutter rolled up and a round-faced woman leaned out. 'You want something to eat, luv? We've got egg and bacon pies, sandwiches, or a mixed grill.'