Word of Honour

A distraught Prime Minister of Albion? Aubrey thought. One whose decision-making may be compromised? What an excellent opportunity to declare war.

He grew angrier and angrier as he considered the implications. Firstly, he could see what Tallis was outraged about. This sort of action was different from the past. Clandestine action against non-participants? Where would it end?

He also realised that this may well have very personal implications.

'Yes, Aubrey,' his mother said, and he realised she'd been watching his face closely. 'It seems as if we live in very different times now.'

Nine

JUST BEFORE THEY LEFT, AUBREY'S FATHER HAD ARRIVED home and, after sharing a significant look with Stubbs, their driver, insisted that they take the Oakleigh-Nash to the theatre. Stubbs had been part of Sir Darius's army company, a drill sergeant whose particular skills in both armed and unarmed combat had proved useful in civilian life.

As they edged through the traffic, Aubrey sat his hat on his lap and turned to Caroline. 'Why didn't you tell me about my mother?'

She smiled. A little challengingly, he thought. 'Why, Aubrey, what a direct question! For a change, you simply asked instead of going round and round in circles.'

'Well, it's important.'

'She asked me not to, that's why.'

'And you happened to mention it back at Maidstone because she was ready to tell me, and she knew that if you dropped it into conversation I'd burst in on her and demand to know what went on?'

'Yes, something like that.'

He crossed his arms on his chest. 'I hate being predictable.'

'Never mind. I'm sure you'll make up for it by doing something frightfully capricious any minute now.'

'I should hope so.' Aubrey turned his hat over in his hands. 'I would like to have seen the expression on the face of that would-be assassin when you took to him.'

She shrugged. 'I felt sorry for him, eventually. Not very bright at all. Brutish, easily led, cruel. What sort of life is that?'

'I'm going to write a review of the show,' George announced.

Aubrey and Caroline both stared at him.

'Apropos of nothing at all?' Aubrey said.

'Actually, I've been waiting to get a word in edgewise. It's dashed difficult when you two get up and running.'

'For Luna?' Caroline asked.

'That's the idea. While I'm happy to help out with the printing press, I think actually writing something could be a useful step towards real journalism.'

'Did you write one for the Great Manfred's show?'

'I scratched out something, but Cedric Westerfold fancies himself as a critic, ran up a review and shot it in.'

'Westerfold?' Aubrey asked.

'You know. Short, loud, nose like an anteater.'

'Ah. Tries to sport a monocle but it keeps falling out?'

'That's the one. I have him in mind as my journalistic nemesis. It's handy to have one of those, I understand, trading barbs in the press, striving to outdo each other in the witticism department.'

Aubrey had trouble imagining it. 'I look forward to reading all about it.'

Caroline opened a window. 'Traffic's not moving at all. The street's choked.'

'Time to walk, then,' Aubrey said.

Stubbs turned around, frowning. 'I'm not sure that's a good idea, sir.'

'It's not that far, Stubbs. We can manage.'

'It's not that, sir –'

Aubrey had already leaped out of the car. He squeezed around a delivery truck and raced around to Caroline's door.

'We'll catch a cab home,' Aubrey said to the unhappy-looking Stubbs, then he joined Caroline and George on the pavement.

Pedestrians swirled and surged. Hawkers, pedlars and barrow boys added to the confusion by touting their wares, blocking the flow and diverting people onto the street, which was, fortunately, still choked with traffic that was barely inching along. The entire city seemed to be converging on the Orient Theatre.

'They're all wanting to see Spinetti,' George said over the chatter around them. 'He's popular, if nothing else.'

They joined a long queue that was snaking its way along the pavement towards the box office. It moved along well, and soon they reached the laneway that ran alongside the theatre. Aubrey glanced in that direction, trying to maintain an awareness of his surroundings. The lane was dark, a single electric light at the far end the only illumination. Someone stood in the shadows, near a jumble of crates that had been left against the wall of the theatre. He was tall, and wearing a shapeless cap. Aubrey couldn't make out his features, but tensed when the man lifted a hand.

'Mr Fitzwilliam?' he called. 'You're intending to see Mr Spinetti, the singer?'

'Without wanting to be rude, what business is it of yours?'

'If you'll just come this way.' He hesitated. 'It's important.'

Aubrey's feet seemed to be assured by the calm confidence of the stranger; he took a step into the lane before he realised what he was doing. He stopped and shook his head. 'I don't think so.'

George appeared at his side. 'What is it?'

Then Aubrey heard Caroline's voice. 'Aubrey? George?'

'In here.'

On the opposite side of the lane from the theatre, a metal door banged open. Two more dark-clad figures emerged. Both of them had the shapeless caps.

The first stranger held up a hand and his two colleagues froze.

It was a suspended moment where nothing was happening. Aubrey knew that the pause wouldn't last, that events would move forward at any instant – for better or for worse.

Caroline came around the corner, saw the tableau – Aubrey, George, confronted by three strangers in a darkened alley – and took matters into her own hands.

Events moved forward again, toward the 'worse' end of the scale.

Before Aubrey could stop her, she slipped past him and kicked at the knee of the first stranger. He jumped backward, but by then Caroline had closed on him. Her open hand whipped upward, catching the stranger flush under the chin.

Aubrey heard his teeth snap together. His head bounced off the brick wall and he crumpled to the cobblestones.

A scream went up from behind them as someone in the theatre crowd decided that reality was much more confronting than make-believe.

George roared and waded in, meeting the advance of the other two strangers. He knocked one over and grappled with the other. Caroline grasped her skirts and leaped over to help.

Aubrey was about to hurl himself into the fray when the sour taste of magic came into his mouth. Spinning around, he saw the first stranger was on hands and knees in the muck, but he'd lifted his head and he'd begun to chant a spell.