Word of Honour

Politicians headed the list, receiving doctorates for their useful generosity to higher learning. An ex-ambassador received a doctorate of economics for working for ten years in the Antipodes. Aubrey thought that was rather rich. The ex-ambassador should have been grateful for the privilege. An archbishop picked up a doctorate of divinity, which he seemed very pleased with, almost a tick of approval.

Then the name of Arturo Spinetti was announced and Aubrey nearly leaped to his feet.

A tall figure mounted the stairs to the stage two at a time. On him, the red robes didn't look foolish – they looked dashing. His shoulders were broad, his hair long and dark. He crossed the stage with balance and grace, like the most expert of fencers. When he took the scroll from the vice-chancellor he gripped the old man's hand and grinned, fiercely.

'It's him,' Aubrey hissed to George.

'Spinetti? I know. That's what the vice-chancellor said.'

'No. It's Dr Tremaine.'

George gave Aubrey an odd look. 'Are you all right, old man?'

Aubrey didn't get a chance to answer. A magnificently whiskered gent in the seat in front of them turned and glared.

Aubrey subsided.

Spinetti (Tremaine!) launched into a speech of acceptance. Within a few words, the whole mood of the audience had changed. Even those who'd fallen asleep were waking and paying attention. Gone was the pained forbearance. Instead, the members of the audience began to smile and nod.

The singer charmed them. With a mixture of self-deprecation and suave aggrandisement, he spoke of his delight in accepting his doctorate. He wasn't just grateful, he made every audience member feel as if he or she were being personally thanked by someone very special.

Except Aubrey. He sat, shocked, trying to work out how Tremaine had smuggled himself into the country from Holmland, why no-one recognised him, and exactly what he was up to this time.

The new doctor finished by inviting everyone to his performances in Trinovant, promising them the time of their lives.

The Prescott Theatre had heard applause many times, but most of it was polite – especially at tedious award-giving ceremonies. The applause that the singer received was different. It echoed enough to make the windows shake; he bowed, managing to be both flamboyant and humble at the same time.

Magic, Aubrey thought frantically. Tremaine must be using some sort of concealing magic.

'Let's go,' he murmured to George while those around were still clapping wildly. Aubrey slipped out of his seat and hurried up the aisle towards the exit.

'What is it?' George asked once they were outside.

The wind was cool in the evening and felt good on Aubrey's brow. 'Theatre door. This way.'

George shook his head, but trotted alongside as Aubrey hurried around the curving flank of the theatre. 'Mistaken identity, old man. Granted, Spinetti looks a bit like old Dr Tremaine, but do you really think he'd front up like this? A bit blatant, isn't it?'

Aubrey stopped, suddenly, and George had to jog back to join him. 'It is blatant. And that's just the sort of thing he'd do.'

'You're starting to sound strange.' George rubbed his chin. 'I tell you what. Let's wait out here and see this character up close as he's leaving. I'll guarantee that you'll come to your senses.'

Aubrey found that he'd clenched his fists and that it was an effort to unclench them. 'You think I'm mad? Is that it?'

'If there's anything I've learned from my time with you, it's that if you have a bizarre notion, it should be taken seriously.'

They didn't have long to wait. The organ began again, signalling the recessional. Soon, gowned and capped academics began to spill out of the theatre entrance. They were chattering, full of high spirits, as they made their way down the stairs, a gorgeous waterfall of colour and pomp.

Aubrey grabbed George's arm. 'There he is.'

'I see him.' George frowned. 'D'you really think he looks like Dr Tremaine?'

'Looks like? George, he is Dr Tremaine!'

'I don't think so. Dr Tremaine is taller, for a start. And his nose is longer. Different coloured eyes, too.'

'What are you talking about?' Aubrey grabbed George's arm, hard. 'It's him, I tell you!'

'Aubrey,' George said softly, 'people are looking at us. Lower your voice.'

Aubrey blinked. He saw the concern in his friend's face and he realised he'd been on the verge of creating a scene. 'George?'

'Easy now. What would Dr Tremaine be doing here? And don't you think someone would spot him if he was stupid enough to appear? He's one of the most notorious people in the world.'

Aubrey rubbed his forehead and searched the crowd for the Dr Tremaine lookalike, but he'd gone. He let go of George's arm. 'I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me.'

'Let's head off, shall we? You're looking pale.'

Aubrey nodded. His stomach felt hollow, as if he hadn't eaten for days. 'If you say so.'

Together they slipped away from the Prescott Theatre back to St Alban's College.

AUBREY HELD THE CUP OF TEA IN BOTH HANDS. 'I DON'T know what came over me. I'm sorry.'

'No need to apologise. Remarkably tame occurrence, that, compared to some of the hullabaloos we've been involved with.'

'Still, it's not the sort of thing for our first week at university. Not a good reputation enhancer.'

'Not exactly.' George munched on a biscuit. 'Protective colouration, old man, that's what's needed.'

'Protective colouration? You've been talking to Caroline, haven't you? Sounds all natural historyish to me.'

George finished his biscuit, grinned and dusted both hands together. 'Camouflage. What animals do to blend in with their surroundings so they won't get eaten.'

'I see. And how is this relevant to me? I can't see I'm in any immediate danger of being devoured.'

'No, but it might be useful to fit in, somewhat. Not arouse suspicions, if you know what I mean.'

'Ah, yes. My condition. Not drawing attention to it might be a good thing.'

'It's all well and good being the Prime Minister's son, but it might be useful to be a jolly keen member of the student population and all that entails.'

'I think I see what you're getting at. Clubs and societies?'

'Exactly. They've been touting for members. You haven't noticed?'

'I've had other things on my mind.'

'I'm surprised you haven't been press-ganged into something. They're deadly, those recruiters.'

'And what have you found yourself involved with, George?'

'I'm a Lunatic.'

'Don't be so hard on yourself.'

'Very droll. The student paper. Luna. I thought with my interest in journalism it could be an outlet.'