The other emanations? He had no idea. Darnleigh House was a place of secrets.
Aubrey patted his appurtenances vest. He’d packed a number of helpful items before leaving home on a ‘just in case’ basis. Two segments of narrow hose pipe, for instance, magically linked, just the thing for underwater work. He imagined Caroline Hepworth’s amusement at such a thing and her admonishing him for an overactive imagination.
The thought of Caroline, apart from giving him the usual knot of confusion in his stomach, prompted him to get moving. She was always one for action instead of indecision.
He slipped past the ablutions area, out of the door and into the corridor. Furtively, he flitted past the canteen, where he was intrigued to see a few operatives talking in low voices over mugs of tea, even at this hour. Were they forensic magicians, just returned from examining the site of a magical disturbance? Or were they covert operatives who’d been tracking Holmland spies? From their weary faces, they could be interrogators, trained in sniffing out magical subterfuge, or even researchers who’d been working on the golem machine that Aubrey had brought back from Holmland.
He’d left his jacket behind in the dormitory and was wearing a black cashmere pullover. With his black trousers and softest shoes, he hoped it would make him inconspicuous without looking as if he’d suddenly joined the Burglars’ Union.
He strained both his ordinary and magical senses to avoid meeting anyone, while rehearsing his excuse for padding around the building after midnight. He’d left a fountain pen in the library, you see, a sentimental favourite, and he simply had to retrieve it.
Earlier that day, he’d actually primed this excuse by hiding his pen while he and the other irregulars were being shown the Department library. Normally, Aubrey would have been fascinated by the extensive collection, but finding a place to leave his pen so it would be plausible but not too obvious took some time. He had to secrete it near something which would be his excuse within an excuse – a book about the history of golem making. Commander Craddock, for one, would be suspicious about a pen retrieval story and would look for the real reason for Aubrey’s slinking around. He would investigate where the pen was left and see the golem book – and put two and two together. Aubrey was obviously using the pen as a cover story to obtain the book. This in itself, wouldn’t be a serious matter. It would, Aubrey hoped, show that he was intensely interested in magical issues of importance to the country. Craddock may even approve and ask no further questions.
Since being introduced into the murky world of espionage and conspiracy, Aubrey had been a quick learner. A plan was a good and fine thing, but a plan within a plan was even better. Alternatives, feints, fallbacks and ruses were vital tools in a world where appearances hid a thousand plots and countless motives.
He was aware that some people lived their life like this, as a series of ploys and gambits, where each interaction was a struggle for supremacy, each conversation a chance to establish a position of power. Many of these people ended up in politics, and Aubrey’s father had had to deal with them. They often prided themselves on being sharp, being tough negotiators. Usually, however, working with them was a war of attrition where gains were made inch by inch. Sir Darius alternated between irritation and despair at this approach, so much time being wasted with such posturing.
At times, this sort of carrying-on made Aubrey question his desire for a life in politics. Not for long, however. His view was that if he could win the confidence of the electorate, he might be able to help change these antediluvian attitudes. Bit by bit, progress would have to happen. Especially if Caroline Hepworth were serious about looking at a seat in Parliament.
As he crept down the stairs, he considered this prospect with a grin. Votes for women were one thing – and his father had assured Caroline that he was about to present a bill to bring this about – but a female member of Parliament? He couldn’t wait to see the faces of the more longstanding members. Some of the backbenchers may even wake up.
The Ancient Languages section shared the first basement level with part of the Forensic Squad. Aubrey had considerable interest in forensic magic and had been hoping that the training week would include some time with them. The specialised methods the Forensic Squad used to analyse magical residue were fascinating – and he had a notion that some aspects could be useful in other areas of magical endeavour. Madame Zelinka’s Enlightened Ones, for instance, and their battle with neutralising dangerous magical residue, could be interested in some of the machinery the Forensic Squad had developed to help their probing.
He turned left, away from the lure of the Forensic area, and saw the lock on the door of Room B6. A large, smug, Perkins’ Invulnerable cruciform lock. He recalled that this was the same model that burglars had nicknamed the ‘Don’t Waste Your Time’.
Aubrey scanned the other doors in the corridor. Each one was fitted with a cruciform lock – a sign of extreme caution? As if a normal pin tumbler lock weren’t enough, the cruciform lock effectively added three more keyways and, if he wasn’t mistaken, that wasn’t all...
Very gently, he probed the lock, a mere feather brush of his magical senses, just in case it had any sort of detection built in. He smiled grimly. The lock was fairly quivering with sensitive magic detection overlays, just ready to go off if any magical methods were used to break the lock.
He straightened and took out his pocket watch. The Brayshire Ruby, inset in the cover, gleamed softly at him. He snapped it open, studying the neat way the hand signified two o’clock, knowing all the while he was procrastinating, putting off having to come to grips with what was bound to be a fiendishly difficult lock.
Aubrey rubbed his hands together. Given enough time, he could sort out the lock. But given enough time, someone was bound to wander along and ask themselves what a black-clad intruder was doing hammering away at a door. An explosion would sort out the lock, for instance, but explosions were renowned for drawing attention, so he reluctantly discarded that option.
No, he needed to proceed with subtlety. While it may be less certain, a subtle approach had the virtue of not immediately landing him in hot water. Accustomed as he was to thermal aquatics, he preferred to avoid them if possible.
From his appurtenances vest he withdrew the slim metal object he’d spent some time working on after dinner.
He knew he didn’t have Caroline’s delicacy and sureness of movement that made her an uncanny lock picker, so he had to use magic to construct an appropriate tool.
The metal object, for which two butter knives had sacrificed themselves, was effectively a rough blank cruciform key. It would fit into the slot well enough, but, naturally, it wouldn’t match the four sets of pins and so it wouldn’t open the lock.
Not without some help.
This was the tricky part, Aubrey decided as he studied his blank key and then the lock again. With magic, he aimed to vibrate each vane of the blank. This should jiggle each of the sixteen pins inside the lock until he could turn the blank, and hey presto!
Just to make things harder, he had to set the blank vibrating and then remove all traces of magic residue from it before it came in contact with the lock. Otherwise the magic detection spells would sound an alarm. At the least.