Dr Tremaine bowed his head and, for an instant, Aubrey thought he had a chance, but the rogue sorcerer looked up and a brief smile crossed his lips. ‘Don’t.’ Then he shifted his shoulders and stretched his neck. He extended his hands, shaking his cuffs back from his wrists, and launched into a spell.
Aubrey actually took a step backward as Dr Tremaine’s words rolled over him, and he felt the chill of the window at his back. When the magic struck him, it was like being hit by a summer storm. He had to narrow his eyes as the ex-Sorcerer Royal brought his will to bear and wrought great magic.
Within moments, Aubrey was reminded that he was in the presence of a master. He’d experienced it before and every encounter only reinforced it. With no doubt, no uncertainty and no lack of raw talent, Dr Tremaine routinely attempted magic that no-one ever had before.
Aubrey did his best to take mental notes, but try as he might he couldn’t place the language Dr Tremaine was using. It matched none that he knew, none of the ancient languages that were used in an attempt to get close to the natural language of magic.
The language was clipped and staccato, each syllable pure in its integrity. Aubrey knew that Dr Tremaine must be extolling elements for duration and intensity, for range and for effect, but what were they? What else was he using to grapple and shape raw magic to his will?
Aubrey experienced it then, the not-quite-itch that was the connection between Dr Tremaine and him. It was both a physical and non-physical sensation, where he felt it as absence and presence. As the sorcerer completed his spell the feeling intensified and Aubrey, with his magical awareness, was jolted by the connection. When he concentrated, the rest of the office dimmed and the cord that ran from his chest to Dr Tremaine’s became more solid and appreciable. It was still insubstantial, a softly glowing mirror shine, but it was the strongest he’d ever beheld it.
‘Well, boy?’ Dr Tremaine said and the sense of his words echoed along the cord, along with a taste of Dr Tremaine’s feelings – not disdain, but an almost detached lack of concern. ‘This is what has perturbed you for these months. Unremarkable, really.’
In the unreality of their shared experience, Aubrey’s voice sounded hollow in his own ears. ‘It’s like the golden cord, the one that–’
‘The one that held your body and soul together before whatever lucky accident has recently reunited them.’
Aubrey was about to contradict that hotly when he realised it was true. It had been a lucky accident. Despite all his research and clandestine experiments, he hadn’t been able to reunite his body and soul, and it was only the clash of two aspects of Dr Tremaine’s magic – the neutralised Beccaria Cage and the magical residue from Tremaine’s weather magic – that had welded his body and soul together.
‘The language you used.’ Aubrey stopped, but his curiosity wouldn’t allow him not to go on. ‘I didn’t recognise it.’
Dr Tremaine took his attention from the connector, glancing at Aubrey for an instant. ‘You wouldn’t have. It’s new.’
‘What?’
‘Your Professor Mansfield has been very helpful. And that Lanka Ravi chap.’
Aubrey was taken aback. Professor Mansfield, his missing lecturer in Ancient Languages. Lanka Ravi, the mysterious genius. ‘Wait. You’re telling me that Ravi isn’t dead?’
Dr Tremaine slowly moved the magnifying glass along the cord and didn’t look up. ‘It was a useful story. It prevented people looking for him.’
‘No. He and Professor Mansfield wouldn’t help you. They wouldn’t.’
‘I’m very persuasive. Especially when I know about their families.’
Ruthless perhaps wasn’t the correct word for Dr Tremaine, Aubrey realised. Ruthless implied an ability to countermand one’s conscience. He had serious doubts about Dr Tremaine having had a conscience to begin with.
‘You’re constructing an artificial language.’
‘You’re not altogether dim, are you?’ Dr Tremaine grunted and tossed the magnifying glass on the desk with a dreadful lack of care. ‘The Ritual of the Way has failed in the past because of the failures of language. Even the purest, most ancient languages have inherent ambiguities. My magical language, although based on a selection of ancient tongues, will be free of that.’
Aubrey’s head whirled with the implications of this. Professor Mansfield had been abducted, with the Rashid Stone. And add Lanka Ravi. Dr Tremaine had a pair of formidable intelligences at his call.
‘Now,’ Dr Tremaine said. ‘Quiet. Don’t interrupt me again.’
The room continued to shimmer and shift around them. It was as if Dr Tremaine and he were the only real parts of a tiny universe, the rest being merely shadows, devoid of colour and substance, hints of reality rather than reality itself. To Aubrey’s pseudo-sight, the office walls became ghostly. The desk, the filing cabinets, the letter racks were translucent, shadows of what they were.
Dr Tremaine ignored him. The great sorcerer was frowning, a hand rubbing his chin, as he studied the connection. His magical awareness was fixed on it in his efforts to understand its composition. The ferocity of his attention was staggering, as if simply by an act of will he could parse the connection, apprehend all its constituents, grasp its making, and immediately concoct improvements and devise other applications.
Aubrey hesitated. This was his chance, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Part of him simply wanted to stand back and watch the master magician at work. Some of this was selfish, simply wanting to learn from a unique practitioner, but most of it was born of automatic respect.
Magicians respected magicians, colleague to colleague, initiate to initiate. Good magic was approved of, clever spell casting was appreciated, articles were published in journals to spread knowledge. Of course there was jealousy, but the field of magic was renowned for its collegiality. Magicians readily shared findings, understanding that a group approach in the exploration of magical fields was best.
In Dr Tremaine, Aubrey had the chance to watch a once-in-a-lifetime magician – perhaps the magician of the ages – so he stood and watched when he may have been able to do something.
Dr Tremaine’s fearsome scowl increased, if anything. He reached out, hand extended, and grasped the insubstantial connection.
Aubrey gasped and stumbled forward, his eyes wide. It was impossible – such connections were intangible – but Dr Tremaine had actually taken hold of it.
‘Steady, boy,’ Dr Tremaine growled absently, as he raised the connector to his eyes to examine it more closely. Aubrey’s amazement was nudged up another notch when Dr Tremaine actually sniffed at it before looking thoughtful.
The tug of the connector had set Aubrey back like a solid blow in the midriff. It had reminded him, uncomfortably, of the constant battle he’d had to hold his body and soul together. The wrenching hadn’t been just a physical thing. It was a spiritual buffet, something that affected him on a level beyond the mere bodily.
He had an idea. So simple, it was, and yet it was only because of his unique situation that he could see it.
Connection. The whole self-evident truth about connections was that they work in two ways. If Aubrey could duplicate Dr Tremaine’s extraordinary handling of their connection, he may be able to do more than knock him off balance.
Aubrey had something in his favour. Out of the battling to keep his body and soul connected, he had a special appreciation of the phenomenon – and because he’d suffered, he had a tolerance for the discomfort involved. So if anything he did rebounded on him, he was sure he would be able to endure it – and his hope was that Dr Tremaine may not be so inured.