Snap. This sort of direction would bring any company to the Magisterium's attention. Rokeby-Taylor sounded as if he was a man to keep an eye on.
'A modern businessman, is he?' Aubrey asked. 'Working with magic like this?'
'He's always been interested in magic. He showed some talent early on. After college, he studied overseas for a few years. I heard he took some advanced magic courses, but never finished. The good life was too attractive to him.'
Aubrey found this an interesting insight into Rokeby-Taylor's character. The ability to use magic was much like the ability to do mathematics. The best magicians had natural aptitude, but it took study and discipline to achieve true competence. Aubrey had seen young people with only moderate magical ability become good magicians through dedication and hard work – and he'd seen talented boys at Stonelea squander their gifts through lack of application.
In Aubrey's view, a magician needed a number of attributes: facility with languages, strong will, adaptability, fearlessness, and an ability to deal with the unexpected. Most only had a few of these and their shortcomings usually found them out.
Still, if Rokeby-Taylor could bring magic and engineering together, good luck to him.
'He's always been in a hurry,' Sir Darius continued. 'Juggling a hundred things at once. But when he rang, he sounded positively urgent.'
Busy times, Aubrey thought. In the next month, a number of important events were imminent: a major defence-spending bill in Parliament, the birthday of the Elektor of Holmland, the Counting of the Coins – and Ophelia Hepworth's exhibition opening.
Immediately, his thoughts went to Caroline. He hoped that she was safe on his mother's Arctic expedition. For a moment, disappointment and guilt circled him like hungry ravens, but he pushed them away by imagining the multitude of things that could go wrong in the polar regions – and how he could possibly effect a miraculous rescue.
Stubbs interrupted Aubrey's musings. 'Here we are, sirs. Ormsby Square. Number seventeen, was it?'
THEY WAITED FOR THEIR HOST IN THE GRAND ENTRANCE OF Rokeby-Taylor's residence. It was a magnificent round hall, full of gilt and marble, designed to impress.
'Ah, Darius! I'm glad you're here!' Clive Rokeby-Taylor appeared at the top of the wide staircase. At first, Aubrey thought his hair was a startling white, but that was because he stood in the sunlight coming from the cupola directly above the staircase. When Rokeby-Taylor drew nearer, Aubrey saw that his hair was golden. As the industrialist came down the stairs he spread his arms wide, looking like a grain god descending to bestow the blessings of the harvest. 'It's been too long.'
'Clive.' Sir Darius shook the proffered hand. 'This is my son, Aubrey, and his good friend George Doyle. I hope you don't mind my bringing them along.'
'Not at all, not at all.' When Aubrey shook Rokeby-Taylor's hand, the grip was firm and decisive, the sort of handshake that immediately inspired confidence. Aubrey couldn't help smiling in response to Rokeby-Taylor's breezy charm. 'Aubrey. George. You're Stonelea boys, aren't you? Tell me, has the old place changed much?'
Rokeby-Taylor was only of medium height, but seemed taller because of his energy. Aubrey could easily imagine him bouncing on his toes, impatient to move if kept in one place for too long. His eager, open face made him seem younger than Sir Darius.
'I say, Clive, you're wearing green these days,' Sir Darius said, pointing to Rokeby-Taylor's tie.
Rokeby-Taylor glanced down and his brow wrinkled in what could have been irritation. It vanished in an instant, though, and he grinned sunnily. 'Many things have changed, Darius. I now wear both red and green with confidence.' He saw Aubrey and George's puzzlement. 'No secret. I'm colourblind, have been all my life. Never been able to tell the difference between red and green so I avoided both of them.' He shook his head. 'But not now. I have a man who dresses me. A whole new world, it is.'
Sir Darius cleared his throat as Rokeby-Taylor launched into a story about Stonelea and how he hid a goat under the stage of Clough Hall. 'We should go. I don't have much time.'
'Of course, Darius. But I want to hear more about the old school, you understand?' He winked at Aubrey and George. 'I've chartered an ornithopter. Shall we?'
Two
CLEAR HAVEN WAS A VAST DEEPWATER ANCHORAGE IN the middle of the Tangasset Islands in the north of Albion. As the ornithopter swept over Bamleigh Strait, Aubrey's excitement rose. Ahead, the rocky, forbidding islands of Rothman and Hurley were separated by a wide channel – the southern access to Clear Haven.
The channel opened out before them into a wide expanse of sheltered harbour, the home of the Great Fleet of Albion. Aubrey counted more than fifty ships – battleships, destroyers, cruisers – and scores of smaller tenders, lighters and supply ships. It was a confident, almost arrogant, display of power. Aubrey hoped it would be enough for the troubled times that lay ahead.
The ornithopter tilted, banking to the left in a wide arc. The pilot eased the aircraft toward the northern island of Whiteside, where the shoreside component of the naval headquarters was situated.
Considering the short warning given by the pilot's radio contact, the welcoming party waiting at the ornithopter port was impressively large. Each man had a hand clamped to his cap to stop it blowing off in the wind created by the enormous wings.
Rokeby-Taylor craned his neck and peered out of the window. 'I've been dealing with faceless men at the Navy Board, Darius. Who's who out there?'
'Admiral Elliot's on the right,' Sir Darius said after the pilot shut down the engines. 'Admiral of the Fleet. The rest are admirals, vice admirals, rear-admirals. A few captains, but most of them are probably out there, doing the hard work of keeping their ships ready.'
'Wonderful. I'm glad they're here to see history being made.'
'There's nothing like a budget reallocation to make an admiral sit up and take notice,' Sir Darius said. 'There is a lot of money at stake here.'
'I know that, Darius, believe me. But it's still exciting, isn't it?'
George slapped a cap onto his head. 'I hope we'll get a chance to visit one of the dreadnoughts.'
'If we have time,' Sir Darius said. He smoothed his moustache with a finger, thoughtfully. 'We have other vessels to visit, first.'
ADMIRAL ELLIOT WAS A LANKY, ANGULAR MAN WITH A close, white beard that matched his hair. His eyes were a watery blue. They looked vague and distant, but when he spoke it was with the clipped rhythm of a man accustomed to giving orders – and having them obeyed immediately.
He greeted Sir Darius and Rokeby-Taylor and took them aside. As soon as he did, a youngish-looking officer stepped forward from the gaggle of top brass and introduced himself to Aubrey and George. 'Thomas Stephens. I've been given the job of escorting you around today. Not sure if it's to keep you out of trouble or me.'
His hair was fair, cut short, but Aubrey could see that it was curly. He had a trim moustache; he was stout and of middling height.