Word of Honour

George looked up from his cup of tea. 'Fine biscuits, Aubrey. We really should come here more often.'

Caroline stood. 'Good. We can leave now. How's your head?'

Aubrey touched the lump and winced. 'Feeling better and better.'

'He has been of some use to us,' Craddock said. 'Thank you for waiting.'

'We didn't have much choice, did we?' Caroline said.

'I hope you weren't inconvenienced too much.'

'We wasted our tickets,' George said. 'And an evening.'

'Of course. May I offer you some tickets to another show, one that's sure to be rather safer?'

'What is this?' George said. 'Is the Magisterium turning into an booking agency now?'

'We have our eye on another performer. One of ours this time. He's generously given us some tickets.' Craddock produced tickets from the inner pocket of his long coat. 'Perhaps you've heard of him? The Great Manfred?'

'The Great Manfred?' Aubrey would have reeled with surprise, but he was too tired. 'One of yours?'

'We've seen him already,' George complained. 'Haven't you got something with dancing in it?'

'He's very talented,' Craddock said. 'But his major role is counter-espionage. We're making sure he's seen with influential Albionites – newspapermen, politicians, decision-makers of all kinds.'

Aubrey thought he was accustomed to the shifting sands that were the world of intrigue, but he felt positively dizzy at the way things were moving. Craddock had certainly expanded his brief, edging into counter-espionage. He was sure that Commander Tallis, the head of the Special Services, wouldn't be altogether happy about that.

'You're using him as bait,' Caroline said. 'You want the Holmlanders to recruit him.'

'His grandmother was Albionish,' Craddock said. 'He's happy to help.'

Aubrey suddenly saw Craddock's work as a complicated dance – a dance in a smoke-filled room, where the dancers could only glimpse each other, and each of them could hear different music.

While across the Continent, in Holmland, Craddock's equivalents were planning their plans, scheming their schemes and staying awake at night wondering what Craddock was doing.

They left Darnleigh House in a cab. Caroline waited until the Magisterium headquarters had been left far behind before she spoke. 'Did you see who was just ahead of us in the queue for Spinetti's show?'

'Lots of people there,' George said. 'Didn't see anyone important.'

'Important, perhaps not. But interesting? Indeed.'

'Who?' Aubrey asked.

'Count Brandt and his friends. Our refugee Holmlanders.'

Ten

THE NEXT DAY, BACK AT MAIDSTONE, AUBREY WOKE feeling rested and whole. Political machinations, spying, counter-spying and plots were all manageable when life was non-magical, he decided. He lay in his bed a while, hands behind his head, listening to the early morning sound of the gardeners clipping the cypress hedge.

It was good not to wake feeling as if he were on the edge of falling apart. The struggle to keep body and soul together often meant sleepless nights, which meant exhaustion, which meant matters only grew worse.

Lying there in the dim light, he realised that over the last few months he'd been losing the battle. He'd tried to convince himself otherwise, full of desperate confidence. He'd been sure that finding an answer to his condition was just a matter of working harder at it.

Stopping magic was the simplest solution. After a week of not casting any spells at all, he understood that he should have tried it earlier. He felt well, hearty, complete.

An image came to him unbidden – a fish, refusing to swim, sinking slowly into the depths of the ocean – but he shook it off.

He sprang out of bed, ready to meet the day.

AUBREY FOUND GEORGE IN THE DINING ROOM WITH THE remains of his breakfast on the table in front of him. He was stirring a cup of tea, but his blank gaze was on the window.

'What's wrong, George?' Aubrey asked.

George blinked and then looked at his cup. 'I'll have to get another. This one's cold.'

'Which means you've been stirring a cup of tea so long that it's gone cold. Something must be seriously wrong.'

George frowned. He put down the teaspoon, picked it up again, then thought better of it and placed it on the saucer once more. 'It's Father.'

Aubrey's good humour vanished. 'He's all right, isn't he?'

'Not exactly. A letter arrived here this morning.'

'Sunday?'

'That's part of the problem. It went to college, but I've been gallivanting around with you and Caroline. Luckily, I'd mentioned a thing or two to the head porter about how things were going at home. He recognised the return address and organised a messenger to bring it here. Dashed decent of him.'

'Is it your father's health? He hasn't taken a turn for the worse, has he?'

'No, nothing like that. The ulcer's under control. It's something else.'

'What?'

George pushed the cup of tea aside with an expression of distaste. 'I can't tell you. Not just now. And don't pester me either.'

The horde of questions that had leaped to Aubrey's lips had to be dragged back with some force. 'All right. But you must tell me later.'

'Of course I will. If I can.'

Aubrey didn't like the sound of that. 'Go home. Stubbs will drive you, then wait. If all is well, he'll bring you back to college by this evening.'

'And if it isn't?'

'Stay there. Telephone the Rector. Let me know.'

George swept the tablecloth with his hand, without looking up. 'D'you think it's a good idea?'

Sometimes, Aubrey knew, people wanted someone else to say what they were thinking. 'Of course. Get your things. The motorcar will be at the front door.'

George rose, but stopped halfway, in a semi-crouch. 'And what are you up to today, old man?'

'Oh, this and that.' A visit to our Holmland friends, for one. 'I might ask Caroline if she's free.'

George looked doubtful. 'Perhaps I should stay.'

'Don't be ridiculous. You have more important things to attend to.'

George stepped away from the table. 'Thank you, Aubrey. I appreciate this.'

'Family is important, George. We do what we can.'

George noddedly sombrely. 'One other thing. Something I've been meaning to ask you.'

'What is it?'

'Is your condition affecting your magic? Couldn't help but notice, last night, when that Magisterium operative started a spell. I thought that you were about to do something, but nothing happened.'

Aubrey should have known. 'You don't miss much, do you?'