After that, Caroline had subsided, smouldering, but as Aubrey passed her, shepherded by the baron on the way to the door, she looked at him pleadingly. She muffled a sob and she reached out for him. He took her hand in both of his, and she immediately completed the grasp with her other hand.
‘Enough,’ the baron said. ‘This way.’
He bustled Aubrey through the door, but Aubrey hardly noticed. Caroline’s little performance had fooled the baron, and for a moment Aubrey had been swept away in it, but when she’d withdrawn her hands, she’d made sure to leave her ring in his, complete with cutting edge.
It was an eminently practical display. A ruse, nothing more, and he was a little wistful at that.
The baron’s photographer was obviously delighted with his job. Even in the prison cells, surrounded by suffering, he was continually prodding Aubrey to turn his face to the camera, or straighten his head, or adjust his jacket. He spoke good Albionish and kept up a commentary, telling Aubrey what he was doing and how Aubrey could look his best.
Aubrey complied with what he hoped looked like pained reluctance, while checking the time at every chance. He was grateful for the Holmland mania for efficiency. Clocks were liberally distributed throughout the complex, like police officers in the streets of Trinovant.
Fifteen minutes. He had fifteen minutes to get himself into a position where George’s distraction would be of use.
While they were on the factory floor he looked for loose cables. When riding the lift he sized up opportunities to disarm guards. He summed up the best routes out of the complex and, when outside, he checked the perimeter fence for blind spots between towers, or shadowed areas, or overhanging trees.
‘Stop!’ the baron called as they made their way through the garden back toward the administration wing. ‘Here. Let us have a photograph of him here.’
The photographer gazed around and grinned. ‘Perfect, Baron von Grolman. The buildings, the gardens ... You have a good eye.’
‘I have a good eye for an opportunity. I want him against the animals. We can tell the Albionites that Fitzwilliam is enjoying himself at our Holmland fun fairs.’
Aubrey gazed up at the giant concrete zebra. Its stripes were faded and flaking in places, but he supposed that wouldn’t show up in the photograph.
‘The tiger would be perfect,’ the photographer suggested. ‘You stand with him, Baron von Grolman, and point up at it.’
‘Like this?’
‘Mr Fitzwilliam, if you please, do look in the direction the baron is pointing. Remember that scowling isn’t the look we’re after. Be impressed. Try opening your mouth and eyes wide.’
Aubrey took a deep breath and did his best to comply.
‘And hold that pose...’ A brilliant flare of flash powder. ‘Capital! What’s next, Baron?’
Baron von Grolman looked at Aubrey and smirked. ‘I think that’s enough, don’t you?’
Aubrey went to answer, but Dr Tremaine, standing to one side, admonished him and held up a wicked throwing knife. ‘Tcha! No speaking, Fitzwilliam.’
Gagged again. When they came back to Baron von Grolman’s office Caroline was gone. Aubrey raised an eyebrow and a glance passed between the baron and Dr Tremaine. ‘She’s safe,’ the baron said. ‘Don’t worry.’
Nothing about von Grolman convinced Aubrey that he was telling the truth. Not his words, his tone of voice, his facial expressions, his stance.
He allowed his gaze to slide over the clock on the wall and he bit hard on the rope. Ten minutes!
He pointed to his gag. Dr Tremaine nodded, but produced his throwing knife and held it to Aubrey’s throat. One of the guards undid the rope and withdrew the by now filthy gag. ‘I want to get this over and done with,’ he said slowly. ‘When can we examine this magical connection?’
‘Eager, aren’t you?’
Aubrey shrugged. ‘I’m curious. I want to know more about it.’
‘You have the passion, don’t you?’
Aubrey realised that he didn’t have to pretend. He couldn’t talk about magic this way to many people. His professors were mostly fusty theoreticians. His non-magical friends could never know what it was like to wrestle with the fundamental force that pervaded the universe, shaping it to one’s will, using language to codify and control it.
It was thrilling.
‘It burns.’ Aubrey looked directly into Dr Tremaine’s eyes. ‘I lie awake, thinking about ways to work it. I dream about alternatives. I imagine what it could do.’
Dr Tremaine grunted. ‘Leave me here with him, von Grolman. I’ve a mind to do some magic.’
The baron was vexed. ‘Are you sure? Shouldn’t I leave some guards?’
‘Don’t be tiresome. If I can’t manage him, then a few guards aren’t going to help. Besides, Fitzwilliam is going to cooperate, aren’t you, boy?’
‘He will if he wants to see his sweetheart again.’
Aubrey could have quibbled with that, as he had some trouble thinking of Caroline as a sweetheart – it sounded too soft and sugary – but he kept mum. ‘And when will I see her again?’
Another significant glance between the baron and Dr Tremaine. ‘We can’t let you go, of course,’ the baron said, ‘but we think you’ll be happy enough under house arrest in Fisherberg. We’ll set you up somewhere comfortable with your ladylove. Nice and convenient, and we’ll know where you are, for when we need to use you for more propaganda.’
Aubrey grimaced. The baron looked satisfied at that, but the grimace wasn’t for the reason the baron thought. For the fleetest of fleeting moments, Aubrey found himself thinking that that fate wasn’t so bad after all. A comfortable house, with Caroline, and not having to worry any more about trying to save the world. With a sigh, he banished the mirage, for mirage he was sure it was. Dr Tremaine may not care much about Aubrey and his fate, but he was certain that the baron wouldn’t want to see Aubrey – or Caroline – still on hand to talk to whoever may want to listen.
Not to mention Caroline’s contempt at agreeing to such a life.
No, things weren’t going to turn out all right. Not without his doing something.
The baron left, the guards left, and Aubrey was left with Dr Tremaine, who sighed. ‘You see what I have to work with?’ He laughed, then flipped his knife up in the air and caught it again. ‘I’ll take the photographic plates with me when I go to Fisherberg tonight, just to make sure they’re properly used. Now, move over there, boy, near the window.’
Thirty-three
Aubrey did as he was told. Outside, the darkness of the woods beckoned, but now to get to the door, he’d have to vault the desk as well as get past Dr Tremaine.
Tremaine started banging drawers open and closed. ‘Now, expel any hopes you have. I’m not about to share my plans or reveal my weaknesses. I’m not going to turn my back on you or allow you one chance to test yourself against me.’ He fixed Aubrey with a stony look. ‘Understand: I’m going to use you, then discard you.’
‘I’m glad that’s settled,’ Aubrey said. ‘Otherwise I’d think you were ill.’
Dr Tremaine roared with laughter. ‘Good effort, Fitzwilliam, you nearly reached panache.’ He pulled a magnifying glass from a drawer. ‘Now, don’t move.’
Aubrey could feel the magic coming from the magnifying glass, a form of amplification on top of a spell derived from the Law of Origins. His hands itched. He wanted to examine it to see if Dr Tremaine had invented the same sort of application he had for his own magic magnifying glass.