Word of Honour

Aubrey could feel it taking shape. A simple binding spell, it was a derivative using Greek as its base. He knew he could counter it by snapping out an annulment with a limiter on the duration, effectively ending the spell as soon as it began – but he hesitated, remembering his vow not to do magic.

The hesitation was enough. Someone hit him from behind and his dilemma was suddenly irrelevant.

WHEN AUBREY REGAINED HIS SENSES, HE WAS IN A BRIGHTLY lit room that smelled of disinfectant. A bland-faced man was looking down at him.

'Good. I'm MacNamara,' the bland-faced man said. 'Are you fit to get up?'

Aubrey worked his jaw for a moment and glanced sourly at him. 'It depends.'

'On what?'

'On whether you're going to hit me again.'

'I didn't hit you.'

'No?'

'Carstairs did.'

MacNamara gestured to Aubrey's left. Aubrey shifted his attention, discovered exactly what 'woozy' meant along the way, and saw another bland-faced man leaning against the tiled wall. 'Hello,' Carstairs said. 'Sorry about the conk on the old noggin. Couldn't be avoided.'

Aubrey sat up and saw that he was in a hospital bed. He rubbed the back of his head. 'Hate to contradict you, but you could have avoided it by not hitting me on the back of the head.'

'Ah yes, but you were about to do some magic. Had to stop you.'

'No I wasn't. And no you didn't. And what is going on here? Where are my friends?'

'Craddock will tell you,' MacNamara said.

Aubrey rubbed his forehead. The Magisterium. Well, at least he should be safe with them.

CRADDOCK STUDIED THE NOTEBOOK ON THE DESK IN FRONT of him, then regarded Aubrey across the wooden expanse. 'Well, at least you're safe with us.'

Craddock was a difficult man. Aubrey couldn't imagine having a friendly chat with him. Musings on the weather, one's health or the state of the national cricket team wouldn't come easily to him. 'If you call being assaulted then abducted "safe", then I suppose we are.'

Craddock moved one of his pen stands a fraction of an inch. He picked up a silver fountain pen and balanced it, crossways, on his forefinger. 'Apologies for all that. Bit of a mix-up, really. You were recognised by my operatives and they showed commendable judgement in wanting to get you away. Not so commendable was the way they overreacted. Especially since you're a fellow member of the Magisterium.'

Aubrey rubbed the lump on the back of his head, the tangible evidence of their overreaction. 'What's wrong with the Orient Theatre? And what were your operatives doing in the first place, flitting about in the dark like that?'

'Two things. Firstly, we've had this Spinetti under surveillance for some time. Did I say something funny, Fitzwilliam?'

'No, not funny. Not funny at all.'

'Very well. Secondly, our monitoring section detected another substantial magical flare-up in that vicinity, early this evening. It was very brief, but strong enough for three separate monitors to hit the alarm.'

Aubrey nodded at that particularly interesting piece of news. 'And when I appeared, it sent your people into a spin. Prime Minister's son and all.'

Craddock's expression didn't change. 'It was potentially a tense situation.'

'What aroused your suspicions about this Spinetti? Before tonight's magical surge, I mean?'

'Small things. Enough to make us interested.'

'It would have to be magical, otherwise it wouldn't be a Magisterium matter.'

Craddock flipped the pen and caught it in the same hand. He placed it back in its holder. 'This is novel. I'm usually the one asking the questions.'

Aubrey wondered how much to tell Craddock. Despite some misgivings, he'd come to respect the man, understanding that his integrity was absolute. Beholden to the country, not to any particular political master, his actions were often viewed with suspicion by politicians, but the independence of the Magisterium was guaranteed by the constitution.

And isn't this what I agreed to do? he thought. Working for the Magisterium had seemed exciting. Now, he wasn't entirely sure.

'I have an interest in Spinetti,' he said guardedly.

'I see. I take it that this interest goes beyond his singing? Which, by all accounts, is uncommonly good.'

'I think he's Dr Tremaine.'

Craddock didn't move for some time. He studied Aubrey with his dark, unblinking eyes. 'Well,' he said eventually. 'That is fascinating.'

Aubrey let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. It was hard to surprise Craddock, but he thought that he'd at least managed to take him aback a little. 'I'd begun to doubt myself. No-one else can see it.'

Craddock held up a finger. 'I'm not saying I accept this. I'm simply saying that it might explain some of the anomalies we've noted around him and the area of that theatre.'

'Magical anomalies?'

'To all intents and purposes, he is what he seems. His papers are all in order. He fulfils his obligations. He is adored by the public. But we have operatives on the boat train, especially when foreigners are coming in. When Spinetti arrived, one operative had the distinct impression – for a moment – that his appearance changed.'

Aubrey felt relieved. He mightn't be the only one. 'But the operative wasn't certain?'

'No. Whatever, it was enough to put him on our "To Be Watched" list. Several times since, we've detected magical ripples in his vicinity. Always behind closed doors, nothing overt. And then this substantial flare-up.'

'When I look at him, I see Dr Tremaine.'

Craddock grasped his chin and frowned. 'None of my operatives has reported anything so definite. Suspicions, only.'

'One thing is for certain,' Aubrey said. 'If it is him, he's not here just for his singing.'

'Of course.' Craddock made a quick note. 'Anything interesting to report from the university?'

'No. Especially since I'm not sure what you're after.'

'Have you encountered the foreigner, Lanka Ravi?'

'Lanka Ravi? No-one has. He's been locked away with the bigwigs. Surely you don't suspect him of spying.'

'No, I'm interested in the quality of his magic. If you can, I'd like your assessment of it.'

'I'd like to, but there's no telling when he's going to give a public lecture.'

'Now, how are you getting on with the refugee Holmlanders? Count Brandt and his friends?'

Aubrey wasn't surprised by Craddock's knowledge. 'Harmless? Nefarious? Talkers? Plotters? Who knows?'

'We need to know. Get close to them. Find out their links in Holmland. Report back.'

WHEN CRADDOCK USHERED AUBREY TO A ROOM OVER-looking Grainger Square, he realised they were in Darnleigh House, the headquarters of the Magisterium. Waiting for him, with different levels of patience, were Caroline and George.