He didn’t really want to contemplate the most the spells could do.
The vibration spell was a simple application of the Law of Position. He effected a minute shifting of the edges of the blank, backward and forward. Or was that up and down?
One way to find out, he thought, and softly uttered the spell. Immediately, he grinned as the blank began humming, numbing the bones in his hand. He cast a neutralising spell which removed the tiny residual effects and the key continued humming.
It was a high-pitched, whining noise, hardly noticeable, more a mosquito than a hummingbird. He had to steady himself to insert the blank into the key slot as it wove backward and forward, but in it went. Cautiously, he let it work for nearly a minute, restraining himself from jiggling it just to help, but then the vibrations lessened, dying away until the blank was still again.
He grimaced and withdrew the blank, cast the vibration and neutralising spells on it again, and slid it back in the slot.
Three times he repeated this, asking himself if he was flogging a dead horse, until, abruptly, the lock turned.
It was some time before he realised that his plan had worked.
He scrambled about, pushed the door slightly open, slipped his blank back into a pocket, and stepped into Room B6.
Once he closed the door behind him it was black inside. He stood for a moment, gathering his breath and fumbling in his appurtenances vest until he found what he was after.
He fitted the shell-like cups over his eyes and was immediately rewarded when the darkness disappeared. He could see clearly. The room was in shades of grey and silver, giving the workaday setting a gloss of moonlit glamour.
At least this modified cat’s eye spell was working well. He’d refined the magic he’d used in their Banford Park escapade last year, and had succeeded in eliminating the fishy smell that he’d accidentally incorporated into the hasty first version. With the aid of these useful devices, he was able to make out the benches, the chairs – and the man-sized dark shape he’d come all this way to investigate.
Of course, having entered a secure, top secret area, he now had to do his best to investigate and return to the dormitory undetected. No cover story would be enough now. ‘These cat’s eyes? I thought they might help me find my pen...’
He approached the stone carefully, scanning the floor ahead for any dropped objects, anything that would make a clatter or a crunch.
Then he froze. Arms extended, feeling the air ahead, he stopped dead in his tracks. Something was in the room. All was still, but Aubrey had the overwhelming impression that he wasn’t alone. His mouth was suddenly dry. Cautiously extending his magical awareness, he probed ahead, but sensed nothing. Then he tried to listen past the thundering in his ears that was his own heartbeat, but nothing came to him. At least, nothing rational. Instead, all he had was a primeval certainty, an impression no doubt formed from a collection of subliminal clues – a minute sound, a shifting in the air currents, a change in the temperature, in the way sounds echoed around the room...
Light – sudden, blinding light. Aubrey hissed and threw himself sideways, then realised that he was dazzled because of his cat’s eyes. He swept a hand over his eyes and rolled to a crouch, trying to see in all directions at once.
In the corner of the room, leaning against the wall, was Commander Craddock. He held a slim silver fountain pen in one hand. ‘You’re looking for this, Fitzwilliam?’
Three
It was probably too late for Aubrey to pretend he was only sleepwalking, but desperation prompted him to give it a try. ‘Sir?’ he said, groggily. He put a hand to his head. So tired, I’m so tired...
‘Your pen, Fitzwilliam. You left it in the library. And that’s one of the worst attempts at sleepwalking I’ve seen all week.’
So much for somnambulism. Aubrey climbed to his feet. He wondered exactly how much trouble he was in. Was his time in the intelligence community over before it had really begun?
‘How did you get in here?’ Craddock’s voice was even. Aubrey detected no censure. Not yet.
‘The lock.’ Aubrey gestured vaguely.
‘Go on.’
Aubrey realised that he wasn’t about to get away with a nebulous explanation. He found the blank key. ‘I used this.’
‘Explain.’
When Aubrey had finished his explanation, Craddock was silent for a moment, then he nodded. ‘Ingenious.’ Aubrey’s spirits rose a little. ‘And costly.’
Aubrey’s spirits sank. ‘Sir?’
‘We’re going to have to replace all the locks with something more secure.’ Craddock narrowed his eyes. ‘Can you do this again?’
‘I think so, sir.’
‘Good. I want to you write down your procedure in detail. We may be able to adapt it for our field teams. It could be quicker than teaching them lock-picking, especially since some of the more fumble-fingered never seem to acquire the knack.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘By Friday.’
Two days. ‘Of course, sir.’
Craddock studied him for a time. Aubrey was prepared for this and stood at ease, hands behind his back, and waited. ‘You do understand that you’re being tested while you’re here,’ Craddock said finally, ‘don’t you?’
‘I’m fit and well, sir.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. But we’re testing for other things. Aptitudes. Talents. Specialisations.’
Aubrey thought of the other irregulars he’d seen that day and wondered where their talents lay. ‘Glad to be able to help, sir.’
‘From these tests and the tasks you’ve done for us in the past, it has been noted that you’ve developed some skills for covert activities. What your father calls unconventional approaches.’
‘Sir?’
‘You have a flair for coping with the unexpected, and you have the sort of curiosity that is beneficial in this field.’ Craddock put his hand on the script-covered stone. ‘As such, I suppose you’re wondering about this.’
Aubrey’s first impulse was to feign indifference at seeing the artefact. He quickly abandoned this. Craddock was no fool. ‘I glimpsed it earlier, sir. I thought it had disappeared.’
‘That’s right. You had some connection with Professor Mansfield, didn’t you?’
‘She was my lecturer in Ancient Languages. And a friend of my parents.’
‘The last report we have is that she is missing. With the Rashid Stone.’
‘But what’s this then? Sir?’
‘Use your magic.’
Aubrey did as he was told, then raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s a fake.’
‘A reconstruction. We worked it up using the Law of Similarity and the Law of Seeming.’
‘It looks perfect.’
‘With one small problem. Look at this.’
Arms crossed on his chest, Craddock walked around to the back of the stone. Bewildered, Aubrey followed and was agog when the reverse of the stone was completely bare. ‘Where’s the rest of the script?’
‘We don’t have it.’ Craddock ran his hand over the smooth, unmarked surface. ‘The Rashid Stone was in the Albion Museum for a hundred and fifty years. In that time, dozens of people copied the script, from both sides. When the stone was stolen from the museum, we became interested in it. Before we could begin studying it in any serious way, however, every copy we knew about vanished as well.’
‘Magic.’ It was the only way Aubrey could think of to achieve such a thing.
‘Gone. From Albion, from the Continent, from all the world. The only record we could find was a muddy stereographic image which we used for the front.’