Word of Honour

'Good morning, Fitzwilliam, Doyle. On the desk?'

Aubrey gestured, a little dazed. 'Thank you. We were on our way to get our things.'

'You'll need a few trips. Looks as if you've brought enough to last off a determined siege.'

'It was my grandmother. She insisted on helping me pack.'

'Ah, the redoubtable Duchess Maria. She is well?'

'You know perfectly well how she is,' George put in. 'That's your job, knowing about things and all.'

'Mr Doyle, you go straight to the heart of the matter, as is your wont. Now, if you'd be so kind, could you go and fetch some more of those heavy things? I need a word with your friend here.'

George raised an eyebrow. 'Aubrey?'

'I'll be fine, George. Thanks.'

George frowned, but went. Craddock waited for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, then closed the door.

'You're being mysterious,' Aubrey said.

Craddock took off his black, broad-brimmed hat. Underneath, his hair was fine, and so blond as to be almost white. It was straight, thick and surprisingly luxurious.

'Mysterious?' he said. 'It goes with the job, rather.' He paused and took an envelope from the pocket of his long black coat.

Craddock, as head of the Magisterium, had responsibility for policing all magical affairs. It was a brief he interpreted broadly and Aubrey was convinced that he enjoyed the clandestine nature of his activities.

'I can't imagine this is a social visit,' he said.

'Quite right. I'll get to the nub of the matter.' He drew the curtains. Thin as they were, the room was plunged into half-light. 'I want to formalise your relationship with the Magisterium. I want you as an irregular operative.'

Aubrey almost smiled. Entering the service of the Magisterium had been one of the possibilities he'd considered for this year. He'd wondered how to do it – without having to ask his father for assistance. He'd put it aside, deciding instead to concentrate on his studies, and now here the opportunity was presenting itself. 'I can't. I'm studying.'

'That's one of the reasons I want you on board. You're at Greythorn, a legitimate student, studying magic. I need someone in that department and none of my operatives have been able to get in.'

'They've tried?'

'Tried, failed, been reassigned. I need you.'

'Surely I don't have the training, the skills.'

'The Magisterium takes all kinds, as long as they have magical ability. We can teach you the rest. As needed.'

It was tempting. 'What does my father say about this?'

'I haven't asked him. I'm asking you.'

That was enough. Aubrey put out his hand. 'I'm happy to help.'

'Good man. I'll be in touch, soon. Here.'

He held out the envelope he'd been cradling. 'It's from the Rector of your college. I took it from your letterbox on the way up.'

A bumping noise came from outside. Craddock opened the door to find a red-faced George battling with a huge steamer trunk. 'And here's your friend, just in time to hear about the invitation.'

George leaned on the trunk. 'Invitation?' he panted. 'That's quick. No-one knows we're here.'

Aubrey flapped the card. 'We've been invited to a ceremony, tomorrow. The awarding of degrees.'

'Ah,' Craddock said. 'The Rector likes it when the son of the Prime Minister is part of his college. Expect more of these invitations.'

Aubrey groaned and George chuckled. 'Don't laugh, George,' Aubrey said. 'Your name's on this invitation, too, you know.'

George's groan was even louder than Aubrey's.

THE NEXT DAY WAS A WHIRL OF FACES, NAMES, PLACES AND timetables. Aubrey didn't see George until the late afternoon, a bare few hours before the ceremony was to begin.

They hurriedly dressed in their evening dress, full white tie and then their undergraduate gowns. 'Astounding stuff,' George said as he struggled with his braces. 'The Dean of History himself interviewed me, asked what sort of history I was interested in.'

'A fair question, the past being as huge as it is. It helps to narrow it down,' Aubrey said. 'Have you seen my collar studs?'

'Over there, in that box by the door. You're right, it was a fair question, on reflection, but at the time it rather took me by surprise. You see, I'm in favour of history in general, if you like. The concept of it.'

'You're saying history is a good thing. Your shoes need a shine.'

'So do yours. Cleaning kit is in that case, I think.'

'Ah, excellent.'

'Now, I didn't think I'd be getting off on the right foot if I told the Dean of History that history was a good thing. It's the sort of stuff he knows, I'd say. So I said I was interested in Classical history.'

'Why?'

'My line of reasoning is this. The further ago the period is, the less we know about it.'

'True. Mostly.'

'And the less we know about it, the more I can make up. I didn't put it exactly in those terms, you understand.'

'I'm glad.'

'So it looks like I'm studying Roman history, which I'm not altogether displeased with.'

'The Romans? They had some fine magicians in their day.' Aubrey straightened. 'There. You look acceptable.'

'And so do you. Let's go.'

The University of Greythorn and the town of Greythorn had a relationship that Aubrey thought of in biological terms. Either the university had spread through the town like weeds through a fertile field or the town had enveloped the university like a strangler fig on a jungle palm. Regardless, it was a symbiotic relationship – each depended on the other, even though they were loath to admit it.

The heart of the university was the Prescott Theatre. It was here that the great university ceremonies were held, as well as concerts and recitals. Aubrey had always admired its stately elegance – its many-pillared façade, the hexagonal dome – and he was ready to admit that Sir Robinson Hookes was at the top of his form when he built it for Lord Prescott.

The ceremony was the sort of thing that a seven-hundred-year-old institution can get very polished at. The procession, with the most senior academics from each of the colleges, made Aubrey think he'd slipped back in time. Gowns, robes, ermine, gold and silver chains, the professors, wardens, rectors, principals, masters and other big brain boxes paraded their full spectrum of colours. Aubrey amused himself by deciding which animal each of their caps looked like. He saw quite a number of moles, a few mangy cats and one outstanding badger, while organ music made the hall shake.

Soon after the raft of post-graduate degrees, he glanced at George and almost laughed aloud – which would have ruined the solemnity of the occasion. George had the glazed, stony-eyed look that he adopted when enduring ceremonial boredom. He could keep it up for hours – like an eastern mystic on a bed of nails.

When the vice-chancellor announced that the honorary degrees were about to be awarded, Aubrey nudged George, who started. 'I wasn't asleep,' he said loudly and received a few haughty looks from people nearby.