‘Steady, Caroline,’ George said. ‘Be brave.’
Aubrey edged through the doorway but his entrance wasn’t discreet enough. A score of faces turned slowly to stare at the interlopers over their steaming coffee cups. The accordion player stopped mid-squeeze, much to Caroline’s relief.
At the far end of the room, under the large portrait of the Elektor of Holmland, a lean, dapper man rose to his feet. He was dressed in a light grey suit, very stylish in a room full of heavy coats and scarves. He wore his hair long and over his ears. ‘Fitzwilliam. You’ve brought Miss Hepworth and the other one to see us.’
Sitting on von Stralick’s right was a young bespectacled man with a look of absolute horror on his face. He groaned, clutched both sides of his wild-haired head and let it fall forward until it hit the table with a thud.
Von Stralick looked down at him and sighed. ‘You’ve met my cousin, Mr Kiefer, I take it?’
The inner sanctum of the Istros Coffee House was the meeting place of the Holmland intelligentsia in exile, von Stralick explained once the patrons settled and the accordionist resumed, to Caroline’s irritation. Over the buzz of serious Holmlandish conversation and the gentle steaming of giant urns, Aubrey surveyed the room. Men and women, mostly middle-aged or older. The men had accepted that bald heads, beards and spectacles were essential if they were to be part of this gathering. Some, perhaps lacking confidence, took on all three. The women were less uniform in their dress and appearance, but were consistently intense in their participation in arguments ranging from, if Aubrey’s Holmlandish was up to scratch, the role of free will, the purpose of life and the puzzle of collective unconscious to whether dogs have souls.
Von Stralick was relaxed, jovial and vastly amused at Aubrey’s ordeal. Kiefer didn’t look up. He had his head in his hands. ‘Come, Fitzwilliam,’ von Stralick said after Aubrey, George and Caroline had joined them at the table, ‘tell me again about your buying a pistol. Most risible.’
Aubrey decided that von Stralick didn’t look like a clandestine enemy agent keeping a low profile.
‘It wasn’t funny,’ George said.
‘No, of course not,’ von Stralick said. ‘Not from your point of view, anyway.’ He nudged his silent tablemate. ‘What do you say, Otto? Laughable, no?’
Kiefer groaned again, but still didn’t lift his head.
‘My cousin is distressed,’ von Stralick said. ‘Ashamed of what happened to you.’
‘Wait,’ Aubrey said. ‘I’ve just run into a number of baffling things at once.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘Firstly, Kiefer is your cousin?’
Von Stralick beamed. ‘Of course. My mother’s sister’s little boy. Ambitious, brilliant, but a little erratic.’
‘So you didn’t kidnap him from Greythorn?’
‘Kidnap? Of course not. He telephoned me to say he needed to leave the university.’
Caroline leaned forward. ‘But witnesses said you bundled him into a motorcar.’
Von Stralick glanced at his cousin. ‘You’ve seen him, no? Sometimes his body and his brain seem to have only a passing acquaintance. He tripped himself while getting into the motorcar, I caught him, he became tangled. He was lucky not to dislocate a knee.’
‘Compelling,’ George said. ‘But why was he fleeing?’
‘I had to.’ The muffled voice came from Kiefer, whose head was still buried in his arms. ‘Because of what happened to Fitzwilliam.’ He lifted a woebegone face. ‘I turned him into a killer.’
‘And I take it from your reaction,’ Aubrey said, ‘that this was not your intention?’
Kiefer straightened. His eyes were wide and he held up his hands, palm first, in abject surrender. ‘Me? No! How could I? How could you believe I could? I would never do such a thing!’
Either he’s the world’s best actor, Aubrey thought, or the poor fellow is genuinely mortified. ‘I see. So you’re as much a victim here as I am?’
Kiefer beat at his chest with a fist. ‘I suffered when I heard. As if my heart was torn from me and used to assault me about the head.’
Caroline tapped the table with a finger. ‘And how exactly did you hear of Aubrey’s plight?’
Aubrey turned and stared at her. Of course. This was crucial.
Kiefer still looked miserable, unaware of the intense scrutiny turned his way. ‘Professor Glauber telephoned and told me what I’d done. It was he who suggested it was a good idea for me to leave.’ He craned his neck and looked around the room. ‘I wanted to thank him for his warning but they say he hasn’t been here for some time.’
Von Stralick caught Aubrey’s eye. ‘Professor Glauber was lecturer in metallurgy at the Holmland Technological Institute. He has been in Trinovant for five years.’
‘A regular customer here, is he?’ Aubrey asked.
Von Stralick pointed at a vacant space at the table furthest from the door, right next to a hideously ornate vase. ‘That’s his place. No-one else would dare sit there.’
‘You’ve met Professor Glauber before?’ Aubrey asked Kiefer.
‘He met me when I arrived in Albion and helped me find my feet.’
‘A not inconsiderable task,’ George pointed out.
‘Exactly,’ Kiefer said, then looked puzzled. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Never mind,’ said Aubrey. ‘The fact is that you know his voice.’
‘Of course.’
‘Even on the telephone.’
‘It was him,’ Kiefer said firmly.
‘Or a good facsimile,’ Caroline said. ‘Aubrey, is there anyone you know who is expert at assuming other identities?’
Von Stralick hissed, a long, drawn-out breath. ‘So you think he’s responsible for this?’
‘Dr Tremaine?’ Aubrey said. ‘It has every sign of his work.’
Aubrey could have sworn that no-one in the room had been listening to them. Conversations had been swirling in and out of the accordion music, waiters had been serving pastries and coffee, the fug of pipe smoke made a misty false ceiling. But immediately he mentioned the ex-Sorcerer Royal it was like dropping a crate full of china at a funeral.
Conversations ebbed to a halt. The accordionist stopped – again. A few heads turned their way but most gave every indication of straining not to do so. The affected nonchalance was so studied that Aubrey thought it could have passed the civil service examination with first class honours.
‘Ach. It is as I feared,’ Von Stralick said, ignoring the way everyone was ignoring them. ‘Dr Tremaine has increased his power in Fisherberg, you know, so his plots are going to become more dangerous.’
‘You are a bearer of good news,’ George said. He turned in his chair. He searched the room for a moment, then plucked a tray of pastries from a passing waiter. ‘Here. I think we’re going to need these.’
Conversation gradually resumed until, once again, they were wrapped in the comfortable commerce of humanity, a plausible screen for their discussion.
Aubrey took one of the pastries. It was sugared and coiled like a snail. He was about to take a bite when he had a thought. ‘Von Stralick, does Dr Tremaine know you’re in Trinovant?’
‘I hope not, but who knows what the villain knows?’
‘And why exactly are you here?’ George asked.
‘Good question, George,’ Aubrey said. ‘Well, von Stralick? Last we heard, you were in Fisherberg, taking care of your career.’
Von Stralick suddenly found his empty coffee cup vastly interesting. ‘I was. Then my career took care of itself.’
George harrumphed. ‘Not a spy any more, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Intelligence work wasn’t providing the opportunities it once had. Not with your Dr Tremaine so highly thought of.’