Aubrey struck gold on the third telephone call. ‘Her name is Sylvia Jesperson? And she’s twenty-two years old? Tragic. And how soon can I visit?’
Aubrey scratched an address on a notepad George thrust on him. ‘Tomorrow? I’ll be there. And I’m able to bring some colleagues? Splendid.’
He replaced the earpiece, then sat back and crossed his arms on his chest. ‘I love modern technology.’
Von Stralick snorted. ‘How do you know this is the woman we’re after?’
‘She sounds a good deal more likely than anything we were able to turn up today,’ George said.
‘You are correct, Doyle, if labouring the obvious. I apologise for wasting the day.’
George looked at him suspiciously. ‘You do?’
‘I do. And for baiting you. I found it amusing, at first, but I now realise you are taking it seriously.’
George didn’t look convinced. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than to make trouble?’
Von Stralick put a hand on his chest. ‘But I am a professional troublemaker! Can I help it if my hobby is the same as my vocation?’
‘That’s enough,’ Aubrey said. ‘We’re not going to get anywhere if we’re on at each other like this all the time.’
‘Quite,’ von Stralick said. ‘Most unproductive. Now, where does that leave us?’
‘We still have the means to lure Tremaine to where we want him,’ Caroline said fiercely.
George made a face. ‘True, but where do we want him? We haven’t really spoken about the details of actually taking him.’
‘That would be my job, I suppose.’ Aubrey pushed his hair back. It was getting long. He should have it cut. ‘I need to think about this.’
Even as he said it, though, plans were presenting themselves. The connection, the tenuous, fragile connection he had with Dr Tremaine. Perhaps he could do something with it. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. The connection was a potential conduit, a magical link that could be the conductor of more than just an awareness of each other.
Could it be used to bind the most powerful magician in the world?
Twenty-six
The next day, Von Stralick was waiting for them in front of the Western Hospital, a grand brick building that took up a whole block in Barnstadt, a busy commercial part of Fisherberg. ‘Hello, everyone,’ he said as he tucked his newspaper under his arm. ‘I had intended to bring Otto along to help you with any magic, Fitzwilliam, but the scamp insisted that his preparation for his symposium paper was at a crucial stage.’
‘What happened to his obsession with Dr Tremaine?’ George asked.
‘I asked him the very same thing. He simply scowled at me, so I assume that he hasn’t forgotten.’
‘I should hope not.’ Aubrey studied the entrance of the hospital. ‘Now, remember that you’re all medical students. Take notes, look serious, nod at whatever the real doctors say.’
‘I brought a stethoscope.’ George pulled it out of a jacket pocket. ‘Pilfered it from the embassy infirmary.’
‘I have one also,’ von Stralick said. ‘I know someone who works for a surgeon.’
Aubrey was grateful he wouldn’t be carrying the single most clichéd item of medical equipment. He caught Caroline’s eye. She was stifling a grin. ‘Caroline and I will have to do without, it seems.’
‘I’m sure we could scout up a pair, old man,’ George offered.
‘We’ll content ourselves with looking knowledgeable and full of anatomical learning,’ Caroline said.
‘Exactly,’ Aubrey said.
The nurse at Reception was polite and had been apprised of their visit. She handed them on to a hospital orderly, who took them to the fourth floor. The orderly was a voluble fellow, middle-aged, a few wisps of sandy hair, and Caroline managed to find out that he’d worked at the hospital for over thirty years. He remembered the arrival of the patient they were going to see, and the ministrations of her brother, a wealthy benefactor to the hospital. Somehow – and here the orderly’s knowing smile hinted that he knew the workings of the world – this had ensured the comatose woman had a private room with the best of care.
Caroline coaxed a description of the brother from the orderly, and the details were enough to make Aubrey very satisfied with his telephonic detective work. Dr Tremaine was a memorable figure.
In front of an impressive pair of glass doors, the orderly handed them over to the senior doctor in charge of the Neurological Ward.
‘I am Dr Gottfried,’ he said in Albionish. He was well dressed in an expensive blue suit under his white coat. He had a silvery spade-shaped beard and rimless spectacles that made his eyes appear slightly larger than they were. ‘You are the foreign medical students?’
Aubrey made the introductions. Dr Gottfried was courteous, interested and his Albionish was very good indeed, which wasn’t what Aubrey wanted at all. Why couldn’t they get a perfunctory official who’d simply leave them to get on with their business?
Frustratingly, Dr Gottfried made a point of enquiring about their studies. ‘Ah, the fine Greythorn University. I spent some time there, years ago, in my training. I know many scholars there.’
‘Well.’ Aubrey sensed a sticky situation looming. ‘There has been much movement in the last year or so, people coming and going, retiring...’
‘Dying,’ George put in helpfully.
‘Is that so?’ Dr Gottfried looked troubled. ‘I had heard none of this. Still, relations between our two countries have not been the best of late.’ He looked at them with a degree of speculation. ‘Foolishness, though, you know. This is the modern world. We should be above all that.’
With that, Dr Gottfried strode off, leaving them to follow in his wake, and for Aubrey to reflect on the nature of people.
They were led through a long ward. Their feet echoed on the hardwood floor, but the noise was comforting, filling a silence that would otherwise have been daunting. A few nurses were present, but they seemed to have taken on the quietness of the patients; they moved about the ward like moths.
Dr Gottfried took them to a room at the end of the ward. ‘Remarkable case, this is. Requires very little tending or turning. She manages most of her own bodily functions. Even eats when food is placed in her mouth.’
Aubrey paused at the door. ‘But doesn’t wake.’
‘No. We noted a magical component to her condition, of course. But our finest medical magicians have been unable to make any headway. It’s a hopeless case, I’m afraid.’
‘And her relatives?’ George asked. ‘Did they shed any light?’
‘There is only a brother. He still comes in to see her.’
Caroline took the doctor’s elbow. ‘He does? When?’
Dr Gottfried looked down. ‘A strong grip for someone so charming, young lady.’
Caroline blushed and took her hand away. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘She wants to know everything about this patient,’ von Stralick said. ‘You never know what may be important.’
‘I see,’ Dr Gottfried said, even though it was plain that he didn’t. ‘In any case, the gentleman in question isn’t bound by routine. He comes and goes. Sometimes we don’t see him for months. At other times he is here nearly every day.’
‘And lately?’ Aubrey asked.
‘He was here yesterday, I think. I’d have to check with the nurses.’
Aubrey resisted an impulse to whirl around and check if Dr Tremaine were creeping up on them. His presence was suddenly very, very real.
‘Thank you, Dr Gottfried,’ he said. His mouth was dry. ‘Can we see the patient now?’
Dr Gottfried nodded and opened the door. He stepped inside, then reeled back, stifling a most unprofessional oath. Ashen-faced, he clutched both sides of the doorway and stared at what lay within.