Word of Honour

THE ALBION MUSEUM HAD OCCUPIED A NUMBER OF different buildings throughout its history. The current edifice faced Fanthorpe Square and had been built in the reign of King Stephen, the current king's grandfather. It had miles of galleries, four substantial wings, and was a devil to heat in the winter.

Aubrey had always had an affection for its ugly hotch-potch of architectural styles. King Stephen's favourite architect had been Lionel Willoughby, who proudly proclaimed he'd never had an original idea in his life. His genius, he confided to everyone within earshot – and for those who missed it, he wrote a five-volume autobiography – lay in bringing together great styles from around the world. When he was successful it was a harmonious – if startling – whole. On an off day it resulted in buildings that made people cry out in horror if they came upon them unexpectedly.

The Albion Museum was one of Willoughby's triumphs. Vaguely classical, with more pediments and pillars than were strictly necessary, it looked serious, impressive and weighty, perfect for the pre-eminent museum in the country.

With an effort that left him doubled over and panting, Aubrey managed to scramble over the tall iron fence and lose himself in a clump of may bushes near the museum's eastern wing. The windows on this side were dark, but he knew that nightwatchmen patrolled the corridors. The museum held many invaluable treasures from antiquity, so the guarding wasn't perfunctory.

He'd come equipped. Not with George's trusty pry bar, though the prospect had tempted him, but with magical props.

He patted his pockets to make sure he hadn't lost anything while scaling the fence. Chalk, always useful. Beeswax. A bunch of assorted keys he'd collected over the years. Matches. A small bottle of bicycle oil with a sunflower seed in it. A silk scarf.

Now, to find a window. He had a cunning spell ready, one that could use a prepared key on a lock at a distance . . .

He heard footsteps and froze, not even daring to breathe. The footsteps were careful, deliberate, authoritative.

They stopped right in front of his hiding place.

'You'd best come out of there.'

Aubrey stood and stared. 'Mother?'

Lady Rose wore a white gaberdine coat over her dress.

She had no hat – her hair was pulled back in a bun. 'I thought you'd appear sooner or later, Aubrey.'

'I . . . but . . . it . . .'

'Don't stand there gawping like a goldfish. This way. I'll let you in.'

He pushed through the bushes, not even noticing when a branch thwacked him across the face.

Lady Rose took him around a corner. A door stood open. 'Here. I'll answer your questions once we're inside. There's no telling who's lurking about these days.'

Numbly, Aubrey shook his head and followed her inside. Lady Rose locked and tested the door, then studied him. 'Generally you're a mystery to me, Aubrey, as I imagine all children are to their parents. But sometimes you're as clear as a pane of glass.'

'I try to be honest with you.'

'I know that, and I know that there are ways to remain completely honest while keeping people in the dark. Don't protest, you'll only tie yourself in knots over that one.'

Aubrey gave up and simply nodded.

'Very good. This morning, your interest in the Rashid Stone was obvious. When you didn't pursue your father on stopping its shipment, I knew that you had plans.'

'Plans are a good thing.'

'Really, Aubrey, the sooner you go into politics the better. That was a perfect politician's statement: it appeared to have something to do with what I said, but it actually said nothing at all.'

Aubrey decided a full frontal assault was the only course left. 'I was thinking I'd steal the Rashid Stone.'

'Excellent. I was hoping you were going to say that.'

Aubrey couldn't have been more astonished if his mother had suddenly turned into Dr Tremaine. 'I beg your pardon?'

'A temporary appropriation, rather than stealing, I'd call it,' Lady Rose said. 'Much better than letting the Holmlanders take it away.' She frowned at him. 'I'm assuming you want to return it to its rightful owners?'

'Er . . . I was just going to have a look at it before it was shipped out.' He saw his mother's expression. 'Of course, I'm happy to revise my plans. You think we should stop the Holmlanders from having it?'

Lady Rose made a face. 'I feel sorry for Holmlanders. Some fine people there, excellent scientists, but their government seems to have more than the usual number of blockheads in it. I know that politics attracts a certain sort of person, but really – ' She broke off and looked seriously at Aubrey. 'That's really why I want you to go into politics, you know. Your father is a good man, but he's outnumbered by scoundrels and buffoons. It might even up the odds if you and Caroline get in.'

Aubrey jumped. 'What? What did you say?'

But Lady Rose had already disappeared through a doorway.

When Aubrey found her, she was in a darkened corridor. The only light came from a window that looked out on the gaslit street. She put a finger to her lips. 'There are bound to be people in offices and workshops.'

She led him along the corridor. On the left the wall was half glass, venetian blinds obscuring what lay behind. Lady Rose opened the sixth door on the right.

Aubrey hadn't been in his mother's workshop for months. It was unrecognisable. When he was there last, it was tropical birds. Dozens of brightly coloured specimens in glass cases, waiting to be classified. Now the whole place was full of boxes, stacked up to ceiling height in some places. It smelled of fish. 'Sea birds of the north,' Lady Rose said when she saw Aubrey's wrinkled nose. She lifted the top from the nearest box.

'Albatross?' Aubrey hazarded.

'Of course it's an albatross. Look at that beak.'

Aubrey peered closer. 'I'll take your word for it.'

'It is,' she said gently. 'But is it a waved albatross or a young short-tailed albatross? The captain of our ship had it mounted on a perch, quite proud of it he was, but insisted I take it when he saw our other specimens.' Lady Rose replaced the lid. 'Now, let's find this Rashid Stone.'

Aubrey felt like an unprepared challenger in the ring with a heavyweight champion. He was still reeling from the shock of his mother's appearance and support for his spot of burglary, when he walked into this most recent uppercut. 'You want to come?'

'I'm here. I know the layout of this place. I'm not incapable of clandestine activity.'

'No,' Aubrey said weakly. 'I mean, I imagine not. If you put your mind to it.'

'Hmm. Ask your father to tell you about the time I freed him and his squad from the Articari partisans, while still keeping my collection of jungle beetles safe.'

'I will.' At some moment when it might be useful to surprise him, Aubrey thought. Information was ammunition.

Lady Rose took a bullseye lantern from a shelf. Aubrey had a match ready.

'Shall we go?' The light caught his mother's eyes and Aubrey realised that she was serious about accompanying him. And she was excited.