A doomed effort, it would seem.
Immediately after the assassination, Holmland – urged on by its ally, the Central European Empire – had issued a series of demands to the Veltranian government. Some of the demands called for the quashing of anti-Holmland political parties and taking immediate action against the assassination suspects and co-conspirators. Holmland went further, insisting that the Veltran government control the press, which had been notoriously anti-Holmland. With the factions in Veltran, this was always going to be impossible, and Aubrey suspected that Holmland knew this.
Ambassadors from Holmland and the Central European Empire withdrew when the Veltranian response to the ultimatum was deemed inadequate. War was declared soon after – and Muscovia rallied behind its Goltan ally, Veltran, which meant that instead of a small-scale spat, the incident was now a heavyweight contest.
This was the headache the Continent had become. A web of treaties and alliances linked all countries, sometimes in multiple ways, and Aubrey knew that this is what his mother meant by inevitable. One country declaring war on another drew in more countries which dragged in the rest. It wasn’t so much a line of dominoes as a fishing net soaked in oil and set on fire, spreading flames in all directions at once.
Once Holmland was at war with Muscovia, its ambitions were given free rein. While it engaged the enemy to the east, one faction of the military generals apparently thought opening a western front, advancing troops through the Low Countries, would be a fine idea. Why have one battlefront when you can try out your new toys on two?
Albion had no choice. It had to go to war – and Dr Mordecai Tremaine was on his way to immortality.
Aubrey spared a thought for Rodolfo, the Veltranian patriot he’d come to know in his guise as a brigand. The last Aubrey had heard, Rodolfo had been going home to try to stop his brother from being swept up in the machinations that were only too rife in the benighted country. Rodolfo had had rumours of assassination plots, rumours that sounded ominous in the light of Duke Josef’s death.
George broke the speculation that had seized Aubrey. ‘Lady Rose,’ he said tentatively, ‘sorry to ask, but does Sir Darius say why he wanted me here? Wanted us here?’
Aubrey was pleased. George had gone to the heart of the matter.
Lady Rose looked uncomfortable. She turned her charm bracelet for a time, rotating it around her slender wrist and looking at neither George nor Aubrey. Finally, she came to a decision and lifted her head. ‘He did. I’m not sure if I agree with his motives, and I’m not sure that you will either.’
Aubrey and George looked at each other. ‘I assumed he wanted support for you,’ Aubrey said, but his words dried up as soon as he said them.
‘And why would he think I’d need support?’ she asked calmly. Aubrey thought it was the sort of calm that travellers from the colonies, survivors of tropical cyclones, reminisced about, saying, ‘Remember that lull just before the house was crushed by falling palm trees then swept away by the landslide and flood? That was the calm before the storm.’
Aubrey backtracked as fast as he could. ‘Support each other, I mean. Quite an announcement, that. Strength in numbers, someone to share the load, that sort of thing.’
‘Hmm.’ Lady Rose narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced but willing to let the matter drop. She picked up the letter, which had been lying on the table next to her wine glass, as unobtrusive as buffalo at a wedding.
‘Darius was most concerned for you both,’ his mother said after she scanned the letter again.
‘Concerned?’ Aubrey echoed. He didn’t understand. If he wasn’t safe in Darnleigh House, where on earth did safety lie?
‘Indeed. He’s worried about you doing something foolish, as he puts it.’
‘Ah.’ Aubrey sat back. ‘I think I see.’
‘You do?’ George said. ‘I’m afraid you’ve left me behind, old man.’
Lady Rose smiled at George. It was a smile with a touch of sadness. ‘He doesn’t want you to enlist, George.’
Four
After a dinner that had become understandably sombre, Lady Rose retired to her study. It was George who suggested cocoa in the library while they waited for Sir Darius to come home. Aubrey promised to join him, but with trepidation went via his room to check on his Roman fragment, the cousin to the Rashid Stone.
After he opened the safe behind the portrait of his great-great-grandfather, he found the empty velvet bag. He didn’t trust his eyes, so he plucked the bag from under the pile of legal documents. He opened it, felt inside, turned it inside out, then sat on the striped sofa against the wall, his stomach hollow.
Dr Tremaine was an astounding magician. He knew that – but he hadn’t imagined the man could cast a spell which would bring him objects he couldn’t possibly have knowledge of.
It was a pointed reminder of the capabilities of the foe with whom he was dealing.
Making his way to the library, Aubrey was at sixes and sevens, imagining the scenes in Parliament as the rumour of war swept through its halls. His father would be under siege by members of his own party and members of the opposition, all wanting extra information, or favours, or appointments. It didn’t matter what the nature of an emergency was; some saw an opportunity for advancement while others wanted to come to the aid of the country in dire times.
Aubrey hoped that his father’s Cabinet colleagues – good people, most of them – were able to keep the petitioners away. He knew his father would want to work on his speech.
His father was a fine speechmaker – and speechwriter, when it came down to it. Several of his colleagues used professional speechwriters to hammer out the words needed for the public, but this was an area where Sir Darius was old-fashioned. He insisted on writing his speeches for himself.
At times, he’d used Aubrey as a sounding board, trying out early drafts and asking for criticism. Aubrey liked the way his father used direct language and avoided the circumlocutions that too many others in Parliament were entranced by. Sir Darius loved to salt his speeches with blunt, one-syllable words and phrases that were pithy, commonplace, but memorable.
This speech, declaring that the nation was at war, would need all of his skill and care.
Aubrey wondered, too, what effect the declaration would have on the Magic Department and the Security Intelligence Directorate as a whole. It had virtually been on a war footing for some time, but the training week had suggested to him an organisation that was ready to move up a gear, to bring all its resources to bear on the twin jobs of gathering information and protecting the nation from espionage.
Of course, the university would need to take stock. Many of its people would be reserve officers, likely to be called up immediately – and Aubrey had heard rumours that many had already been seconded, abandoning courses mid-semester. Deans all over the campus would no doubt be frowning over reallocations, cancellations and amalgamations. The university was likely to become a serious place indeed. Aubrey thought of the days by the Greythorn River, the long afternoon teas and the fun of the cricket matches. It may be a long time before such carefree days ever resumed, especially if Dr Tremaine’s plans came to pass.
He imagined Dr Tremaine was feeling satisfied as nation after nation declared war on each other. It was the sort of scale he’d been after all along, the magnitude of war that was needed to complete the Ritual of the Way.