Word of Honour

'Something worth investigating, in my book,' Aubrey said. He led the way, cautiously.

The lantern light revealed that the side tunnel ended in solid rock. An arm of the rock projected, punching through the corner of the foundations, which were built right up to it, butting up against it with a combination of masonry skill, iron work and reinforced concrete.

'North,' he said. 'Which way is north?'

Caroline frowned, but pointed back in the direction they'd come. 'That way.'

'Yes. Of course.'

'This rock is part of the bank,' George said. 'It's been built around it.'

Aubrey tried to remember the layout of the Vault Room. What was where? Then he had it. 'It's the Old Man of Albion. The rest of him, anyway.'

George stared. Even Caroline looked impressed. 'This goes right through into the bank?'

'Oh yes. Part of the history and soul of the place.' Aubrey slapped it. Then he lifted his hand and stared at it. 'Of course, I could be wrong.'

'Now, Aubrey,' Caroline said,' being inscrutable doesn't help us at all here. What's going on? Plain, simple explanations, please.'

Aubrey rubbed his temples. Plain simple explanations for fiendishly complicated phenomena? 'I'll try.' He rubbed his hands together. 'It's a fake.'

George gaped, but Aubrey could see Caroline speeding through the implications. 'Dr Tremaine?'

'It's his back door,' he said. 'After the first robbery attempt, the foundations were reinforced from the inside – thick steel plate and whatnot. Except for the Old Man.'

George reached out and tapped the rock with his pry bar. 'Sounds real enough to me.'

'Magic, George. For all intents and purposes, this is as solid as mountains. But Dr Tremaine has removed the original Old Man of Albion and replaced it with a lookalike.'

'Lookalike?' George said. 'Sound-alike and feel-alike too.'

'He's no petty magician.'

'The possibility of your making a mistake here is a remote one?' Caroline said.

Aubrey debated this for a moment. Then he shook his head. 'I don't think so. But remind me if this goes spectacularly wrong, will you?'

'Naturally,' she said, but she smiled.

Aubrey had an instant to regret how he'd mishandled everything to do with Caroline, but an instant is as long as a lifetime when it comes to self-chastisement. Aubrey managed to kick himself a good number of times in between one tick of his watch and the next.

If only things had gone differently, he thought and then rephrased it. If only I'd done things differently. Sharper, less pleasant, but more accurate.

He sighed, caught it, and turned it into an exhalation that he hoped signified urgency, determination and fortitude.

'Asthma, Aubrey?' Caroline asked.

'Asthma? Me? No.' He thumped his chest and winced.

'Like a bell, I am.'

'Excellent. Now, what are you proposing?'

'If Dr Tremaine left this as a back door, he must have some way to get in.'

'A key?' George suggested.

'Metaphorically speaking, that's right. This key, however, will be some sort of spell.'

'Shouldn't be too hard,' George said. 'You were able to sneak into that Banford Park place, where Dr Tremaine had your father hidden. You tricked his security spells there.'

'Yes. And I don't think Dr Tremaine is a big enough fool not to have realised what went on there. He would have changed any spells he's using for such a thing.'

Caroline nodded. 'It'd be like leaving locks unchanged after burglars had broken in and made off with your keys, as well as the silverware. To extend George's metaphor.'

'Extend away,' George said. 'I'll set them up, you two can run with them.'

Aubrey examined the stone. It had every appearance of solidity. He could even see scrape marks where dirt had been cleared away. If it was an illusion, it was a perfect one.

He put his hands against it. No doubt about it, he could detect faint traces of magic – and it had the hallmarks of a Tremaine spell. Aubrey guessed that most magicians would be unable to feel the residue, and none but him would be able to determine the spell-caster's origin. It was turning out to be another aspect of the peculiar magical bond he'd established with the renegade.

Which was well and good, but it didn't give him a clue as to how to get into the vault.

He began humming as he inspected the rock where it joined the foundations. Not a crack showed. Aubrey doubted that he could fit a piece of paper between the dressed stone and the substance of the Old Man – or the fake Old Man.

Perhaps he could work on some sort of osmotic principle, changing his body so that it could ooze through the rock. He shook his head. No, a stupid idea. It would take too long, and what use would that be anyway? How could anyone get out again with loot? Still, he was pleased. His brain was working, throwing up possibilities.

'I'm going to have another look at that tunnelling machine,' George said.

'Do you think that's wise?' Caroline said.

'Aubrey's thinking. He could be some time.'

'Are you sure?'

'I've seen this before. Best thing to do is to leave him undisturbed. If we stand around, we're just a distraction. You more so, naturally.'

Caroline shook her head. 'Very well. Let's see what we can find out about that tunneller, shall we?'

Aubrey was left alone, but he hardly noticed. He conjured up a small glow light, barely the size of a pea, without really thinking about it – without noticing that this simplest of spells sapped his energy, added to the strain of holding onto his soul.

He stood in front of the mass of stone and plucked at his chin. A key. This special back door needed a key.

What sort of magic had Dr Tremaine used? Without knowing exactly what branch of magic, Aubrey assumed the spell would be unusual, outlandish even, and would pay very little heed to established conventions. It might be crude and powerful, or elegant and subtle.

Which is like saying it could be anything at all.

He flexed his fingers, then rubbed his hands together. He leaned close to the rock of which the Old Man of Albion was but an extension. When he put his ear on it he relished the coolness. Slowly, he spread his hands and placed his fingertips on the surface of the rock, either side of his head.

He closed his eyes. As much as it was against his nature, he allowed himself to become entirely passive. He waited, receptive, allowing the magic to come to him, ready to sense the faintest touch, the merest hint of its nature.

Time passed, but Aubrey was only aware of it in an abstract sense. He opened his eyes. His fingers tingled when he took them from the rock. Frowning, he rubbed them together.

The rock was a sham, it was clear. A cleverly constructed magical facsimile, it had all the appearance and solidity of the real thing, but with the right magical key a substantial part would vanish, leaving a comfortable access into the vaults of the Bank of Albion.