Baron von Grolman’s factory was making golems on a scale unheard of – enough golems for an army – thanks to Dr Tremaine’s magic and machinery
He was frustrated by the lack of detail in the mannikins’ reporting, even though it was what he’d expected. They recognised that huge creatures were being made, and that clay was part of the process, but that was all. Exact numbers, dimensions, capabilities were too much for the tiny scouts.
Aubrey’s head was aching with the glut of sensation and image that he’d taken on board, and he was sickened by what he’d been shown. He straightened, but before the quizzical von Stralick could ask, George rushed around the corner of the milking shed nearby. ‘Have either of you seen Sophie?’ he panted.
‘Sophie?’ Aubrey echoed. ‘No.’
‘She’s gone off somewhere.’ George ran a hand through his hair, then grimaced. Aubrey had rarely seen his placid friend so upset. ‘I don’t like to think about her out there on her own, so close to the factory. Holmland patrols are out there.’
‘I don’t think you have to worry,’ von Stralick said. ‘Katya said she saw her with Miss Hepworth.’
The alarm bells that sounded in Aubrey’s head were so loud he was actually worried that the sound would leak out of his ears and startle the others. He slapped his forehead. He was an idiot! He should have been more suspicious of Caroline’s easy acquiescence when he’d left her to get some sleep. ‘With Caroline? Heading in which direction?’
‘Miss Hepworth told Katya she wanted a closer look at von Grolman’s place. Your Miss Delroy joined her at that moment and–’ He looked at both of them carefully. ‘They appeared to argue, according to Katya.’
‘Argue?’ George said. ‘Caroline and Sophie? What about?’
‘Katya did not hear every word, but there was much pointing in the direction of the factory. And Miss Delroy was concerned about a relative.’
Aubrey and George exchanged looks. George, to Aubrey’s eyes, looked as close to frantic as he’d ever seen.
‘Do not worry about them,’ von Stralick said. ‘They appeared to reach some compromise, for they did go off together.’
George frowned. ‘We are going after them, aren’t we, old man?’
‘Straight away,’ Aubrey said. ‘Hugo?’
Von Stralick rubbed his chin. ‘I cannot. We have our work to do. The residue we’ve found will need much spellcraft, apparently.’ He coughed discreetly into his hand. ‘We will be here, when you return.’
Aubrey silently thanked von Stralick for not using ‘if’. ‘George? Ten minutes to get a few things ready?’
‘I’ll be ready in five.’
It was Katya who guided them through the forest, but Aubrey was aware of other presences nearby. Nothing magical, just good scouting, only revealing themselves in a few half-glimpses of figures darting from tree to tree.
The hundred yards or so of woods surrounding the factory was uncomfortable work: belly crawling through a mess of ivy, bracken and clumps of bushes that were unidentifiable despite being proudly and defiantly prickly. These were the fringe dwellers of the vegetative world, the ones that would slink out of a line-up, unrecognised, with the witness behind the glass saying, ‘Sorry, officer, but they all look the same to me.’
Katya led them to a place that she was sure – from some arcane sort of woodcraft, Aubrey assumed – was the launching place for Caroline and Sophie’s assault on the factory. She waved away their thanks and said they could thank her by killing many, many Holmlanders – something which made Aubrey most ambivalent – before fading away with her colleagues.
From the edge of the undergrowth, they looked across fifty yards of cleared area to the chain link fence. Although it was at the rear of the property, half a mile or more from the main road, the fence was in good repair. The barbed wire on top looked formidably new and sharp.
They’d approached the south side of the facility. In the early morning light, the complex was all clangour and activity. None of the soldiers Aubrey saw moving between buildings was tarrying, and he wondered if one of them was Théo. They moved on the trot or better, while lorries both heavy and light tore along with no regard for the soldiers, who appeared accustomed to leaping aside at their approach.
The main road ran past the western end of the complex, and a fortified gatehouse guarded the approach to the original building. Some distance behind the old buildings was an open expanse, with a large squat construction on the south side. Bundles of cables ran from this building to the others, looping from strategically placed poles. Aubrey tentatively marked the squat building as the location of an electricity generator.
North of the open expanse was a cluster of buildings, the centre of most of the activity and the source of most of the smoke and steam. These buildings were new and Aubrey guessed they were the heart of the manufacturing. If golems were being manufactured they would probably be stored in the huge warehouse building that bulked large behind the factories. If he could judge distances properly, the warehouse was also the receiving and dispatch end of the railway spur. Beyond it, and overtopping it, were huge black heaps of coal, one after the other, stretching the entire length of the far side of the immense structure.
Abutting the eastern edge of the open area were buildings that could only be huts for the soldiers. They stretched off in rows to the back of the property. If they were needed to house all of the soldiers, it gave Aubrey pause. This was a substantial military investment.
He rolled onto one elbow and, while he was stowing his field glasses, he studied George, who continued to observe through his own binoculars.
‘Right, George,’ he said. ‘Before we get going, I think we need to clear up something.’
‘We do? What is it, old man?
‘What’s wrong with you, George?’
‘Wrong?’ George answered without lowering his binoculars.
‘Ever since we discovered Sophie had gone, your face has been so long you’ve had trouble not tripping on it. You’ve been sighing like a traction engine. If you looked any more like a consumptive poet you’d have to join their union.’
George lowered his field glasses. ‘Hello, Mr Pot, I’m Mr Kettle. What colour are we?’
‘You may have a point. But you must admit that I’ve some practice in this, while it may – dare I suggest it – be a novelty for you.’
George frowned. ‘Maybe.’
‘So what’s causing it? Sophie hasn’t run off. She’s just over there. Somewhere. Behind barbed wire and in the middle of an enemy military industrial complex, admittedly, but she’s not lost to you.’
George chewed this over. ‘That’s assuming, of course, that her intentions were honourable in the first place.’
Aubrey had to work this one through for a while then he stared at George, incredulous. ‘You think that Sophie was just using you to get to her brother.’
The silence was so stony Aubrey could have used it to pave half a dozen streets. ‘You can see how one could come to that conclusion,’ George finally said. ‘She was trapped on the border, no way to get to her brother, and we lob into the area. Now, I’m not saying that she latched onto me with a plan immediately in mind, but when we started talking about heading across the border, she made sure of coming along.’
‘By ... being nice to you?’ Aubrey ventured.
‘If you’re insinuating anything, old man, I’d be very careful if I were you.’
‘George, you know I’m not. And I’m convinced you’re not thinking clearly.’ He paused. ‘May I speak frankly?’