‘What?’ Caroline said. ‘How do you know that?’
Aubrey looked down. Since Dr Tremaine had undertaken his investigation of the connection in the factory, it had been stronger. He shook his head. No – not stronger. He was more conscious of it, but it was maddeningly erratic in its presence, almost disappearing at times before reappearing, clear and strong, for short periods of time. ‘I felt it. The connector. It was stronger there for a minute.’ He concentrated. ‘He’s about ten miles away, moving fast.’ He looked at all of them. ‘I have to go after him.’
Naturally, in a room of opinionated individuals, this was like dropping a stone in a pond full of ducks.
‘You can’t!’ Caroline cried, louder than the others. ‘We have to report to the Directorate.’
‘I must.’
George glanced sharply at him then, and Aubrey was sure he’d noticed the pronoun, but Caroline went on before he could say anything. ‘Aubrey, you’re being ridiculous!’
‘ I don’t think so.’ He rubbed his brow. He was tugged in all directions, and had to resist. ‘It’s Father, and the country.’
George frowned. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’
Trust George to see to the heart of the matter. ‘It’s the Ritual of the Way. I’m sure that Dr Tremaine is getting close to having it ready for the first great battle.’ He explained about the artificial magical language Tremaine was developing. ‘If I can stop that, I may be able to stop his plans entirely. Without his driving it, the Holmland war effort will fall apart.’ He sighed. ‘And I can’t let Professor Mansfield languish in his clutches.’
Caroline was breathing very deeply, her arms crossed, giving every sign of being on the edge of a fearful rage. ‘If you don’t come back to Albion with us and those photographs are made public, your name will be ruined.’
‘I’ve thought about that. It’s why I need you to convince Father to disown me before they do.’
Uproar, again, as he explained about the photographs and what he wanted to do.
After a babble of shock and discord subsided, Aubrey shrugged wearily. ‘It’s the only thing to do, strategically. Of course, I’d prefer that he knows the truth, but he must keep that private. As Prime Minister, he must declare me a traitor.’
More protests, louder than ever. Aubrey waited. ‘It’s the only way. A pre-emptive move like this will shore up his position as a strong leader and forestall any accusation of his covering up for me.’ He shrugged. ‘He must do it before the newspapers receive a mysterious envelope full of photographs. If he denounces me first, it will give him enough to survive any calls for his resignation.’ He held up both hands. ‘Caroline, Father will listen to you. Convince him. George? You too. Send a telegraph message if you can, but talking him face to face will be necessary, I’d imagine.’
‘But Aubrey!’ Caroline said, her voice catching in her throat. Then she stopped herself and took a deep breath. ‘You’re right, of course. Sophie, we can organise our journey so we find your parents first.’
Sophie had been following this carefully. ‘Théo will come with us. He will help.’
Théo nodded.
Von Stralick, too, had been watching carefully. ‘This looks like a time for some drastic rearranging.’ He stood, then took Madame Zelinka’s hand. He kissed it. ‘My dear, I have to take leave of you. It seems I have an opportunity to even the score with that madman Tremaine.’
Madame Zelinka was grave. ‘As it must be. We will be reunited.’
‘Of course. Now, Fitzwilliam, you will need assistance to get to Tremaine’s stronghold.’
Aubrey rocked on his heels. ‘You know where it is?’
‘I know where it was. I was not a valued member of the Holmland intelligence services without learning a few things. One of those was to accumulate little bits of information that might come in handy later. To protect oneself, of course.’
‘Hugo. I’d be glad of any help. But we should leave right away.’
‘Naturally.’
George stood, then took Aubrey’s hand and shook it. ‘Take care, old man.’
Sophie went to George’s side and linked her arm with his. ‘Thank you, Aubrey, for your help. I am grateful.’
Madame Zelinka unrolled a map on the table and conferred with her Enlightened Ones. Aubrey tried to see what they were pointing at but Caroline caught his eye. ‘Aubrey. Can I speak to you outside?’
Aubrey would have been lying if he’d said he agreed without trepidation. Caroline led the way without looking back, while he followed, finding that whatever he did, his hands were out of place. They were awkward by his sides, uncomfortable in his pockets, strange when his arms were crossed on his chest. He briefly wondered if should try simply holding them up and surrendering when he realised that Caroline had stopped and was leaning against the ramshackle dairy, studying him evenly.
‘Aubrey.’ She nodded. ‘Aubrey.’
‘Caroline,’ he said carefully, reluctantly engaging in this over-obvious identification exchange.
‘Aubrey,’ she said a third time. Then she took three rapid steps and, before he could move, she seized him by the shoulders, then she clasped both hands on the sides of his head.
She kissed him soundly.
‘There,’ she said, or may have. Aubrey’s hearing had gone strange. The world was coming to him through the sounds of giant bells and rushing winds. In his unsteady vision Caroline gazed at him, utterly, utterly controlled despite the moistness of her eyes and the quivering of her lips. He almost couldn’t bear it when she pushed back a stray wisp of her hair. ‘Now, do what you have to do and then come back. No silly nonsense, you hear? Or I’ll have to come and get you.’
Then she turned on her heel and marched in the direction of the farmhouse.
Aubrey put out a hand to prop himself up against the dairy. The timber was rough, needed paint, was warm in the sun. He understood, then, that his self-imposed mission to win Caroline had been taken out of his hands. He couldn’t decide if it was inoperative, lost, or merely ill-founded in the first place. Then he remembered the kiss and knew that all along, while he thought he knew what he was doing, he had actually had no idea at all.
Von Stralick was discreetly lingering at the door to the farmhouse. Aubrey gestured to him. ‘We should go.’
‘Of course. We have a mission to attend to.’
Aubrey sighed and thought of lost opportunities. ‘Don’t call it that, Hugo. Please don’t call it that.’
About the Author
Michael Pryor has published more than twenty fantasy books and over forty short stories, from literary fiction to science fiction to slapstick humour. Michael has been shortlisted six times for the Aurealis Awards (including for Blaze of Glory and Heart of Gold), has been nominated for a Ditmar award and longlisted for the Gold Inky award, and five of his books have been Children’s Book Council of Australia Notable Books (including Word of Honour and Time of Trial). He is currently writing the final book in the Laws of Magic series.
For more information about Michael and his books, please visit www.michaelpryor.com.au
Read on for a sneak preview of
The Laws of Magic Book Six: Hour of Need