Word of Honour

'Ah. I did forget that. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I'll have to let Jack Figg know we haven't found them.'

'Jack Figg?' Lady Rose said. 'I hope he's over his cold.'

Aubrey, Caroline and George stared at Lady Rose. 'You've seen Jack lately?' Aubrey asked.

'I asked him to the museum a few days ago, and we went to lunch. I wanted to discuss a new project with him.'

'Another clinic?'

'One attached to his home for unemployed miners. He's doing fine work.'

Aubrey shook his head. His mother – both his parents – were sources of ongoing wonder to him. 'You do understand that he's actively working to bring down the government, don't you?'

'Good luck to him.' Lady Rose leaned over and shifted a vase of feathers so they wouldn't obscure an outstandingly ugly statue. 'Healthy dissent is the sign of a robust democracy. Isn't it, dear?'

'I don't agree with everything Figg stands for,' Sir Darius said, 'but I'm glad to have him as an active voice. It stops us getting fat and lazy, taking things for granted. He shines a light on areas that need it.'

'So what are you three up to now?' Lady Rose said.

'Rest,' Aubrey said. 'I'm exhausted.'

'You do look pale,' Lady Rose said. 'Are you sure you're not coming down with something?'

Aubrey didn't know quite what to say. 'I'm well enough.'

'I should be getting home to see Mother,' Caroline said. 'She likes to be kept informed about our excursions.'

'Excursions?' George said. 'That's a nice way of putting it. Slogging through underground tunnels, battling a renegade magical genius . . . "Excursion" makes it sound comfy, like a nature ramble.'

'Exactly,' Caroline said. 'Perhaps we could meet and catch the train back to Greythorn tomorrow evening, Aubrey, George?'

'Delighted,' Aubrey said. Caroline made her farewells to Lady Rose and Sir Darius, and was shown out. Aubrey watched her go with the wistfulness he always felt when she left.

'If you're just going to lie about,' George said, 'I'll dash up and see how the parents are getting on. I can catch a train from Fasham Square, just before lunch.'

'Hmm,' Sir Darius said. 'You can ride a motorcycle, can't you, George?'

Aubrey thought George's grin was half-hearted. 'Motorcycle? What country lad can't?'

'I have a Kenyon Special in the stables. It's in good shape, but hasn't been ridden for ages. Needs the cobwebs blown out of it.'

'What? No, I couldn't, Sir Darius.'

'You'd be doing me a favour, George. '

'Well, if I can help . . .'

'Excellent.' Sir Darius rang the servant's bell. A quick conversation with Harris, the butler, and all was arranged.

'Fifteen minutes, George. Stubbs will have the machine waiting at the front door.'

When George had gone, Aubrey draped both arms over the back of the chair and groaned.

'You're not really going to sleep all day, are you?' his mother said.

'It sounds appealing, but I don't think so.'

'I'm at the museum this afternoon. Darius?'

'A hastily arranged Cabinet meeting for me, I'm afraid. I may not be home until very late.'

'Don't worry about me,' Aubrey said. 'But if you're not busy, I thought I might drop in and see you at the museum, Mother.'

'Me? Whatever for? Are you volunteering to document the backlog of specimens I have to sort out?'

'I wanted to see the Rashid Stone. Perhaps talk to someone about it.'

Sir Darius cocked his head. 'Now, I know you well enough, Aubrey, to realise you rarely do anything on pure whimsy. You must have some sort of motive here.'

'It doesn't matter what his motive is,' Lady Rose said.

'He can't do it.'

'Er . . . Am I confined to quarters?'

'Tempting notion, but that's not it,' Lady Rose said. 'The Rashid Stone has been packed away, ready for its trip back to Holmland on the Imperator.'

'I didn't know that negotiations had been finalised.'

'It's all about the Elektor's birthday,' Sir Darius said. 'A number of things have become urgent, apparently. Urgent enough for Count Brandt to speak to the King.'

'Who intervened on behalf of his cousin, the Elektor,' Lady Rose said, unhappily. 'The museum governors didn't think it wise to refuse a direct approach from the King.'

'Wait, Count Brandt spoke to the King about returning the Rashid Stone? That doesn't make sense. He hates the Holmland government.'

'It makes political sense,' Sir Darius said. 'By doing this, Count Brandt shows that he supports the Elektor, who is still phenomenally popular in Holmland, just as our King is here. Brandt also shows that he can do something the Chancellor couldn't, so his reputation goes up. It's a clever move, but it suggests that Brandt isn't planning to stay in Albion long.'

'He wants to return to Holmland and become Chancellor himself.'

'Which would seem to be better for us than the current Chancellor,' Lady Rose said.

Sir Darius nodded. 'In any event, the Imperator is sailing on Monday. It'll give the current Chancellor a chance to crow, I suppose, and tell the whole world that Albion wants to appease Holmland.'

'You can't do anything about it? Simply refuse?'

'I'd like to. The Holmlanders looted the stone from Aigyptos. They don't have any intention of returning it to its rightful owners.'

'They rule Aigyptos with an iron fist. It's the oil, you see, and it's a shame,' Lady Rose said. 'The Sultan is a thoughtful man. He had a keen interest in finches, the last time I spoke to him.'

'The Sultan of Memphis,' Aubrey said. 'Didn't he attend Greythorn?'

'Thirty years ago,' Sir Darius said. 'They still talk about his batting. He's a good man.'

'You've met him.'

'Back then, certainly.'

'More recently?'

Sir Darius grinned. 'Now, Aubrey, it wouldn't be seemly for the Prime Minister of Albion to meet a rebel leader.'

'That's not a "no", is it?'

'No.'

Lady Rose gazed at the ceiling. 'If you boys are just going to fence with each other, I'm leaving.' She gazed at the inspired disorder of the drawing room. 'I had one of those posters around here somewhere. The Rashid Stone posters. I wonder if Caroline would like it.'

Aubrey spied a rolled up tube of paper on a table nearby, wedged in between a collection of rock crystals. 'Is this it?'

He unrolled it and, for an instant, the whole world went away. The central aspect of the poster – a large photographic reproduction of the Rashid Stone itself – was all that he could see.

It was an excellent reproduction. So much so that he could make out the first three characters in the baffling script before it was overwritten with details of the exhibition. And, if his quick translation of the stone they found in the underground Roman shrine was correct, they read: Death. Soul. Protection.