Word of Honour

Aubrey straightened and rubbed his eyes, grateful that this Monday was a public holiday and he hadn't had to rush back to the university. He glanced at the sheets of paper on his desk, filled with his transcriptions from the Rashid Stone and from the mysterious Roman fragment. The fragment was proving to be what he hoped: a key to unlock the mystery script.

'Ten minutes, Tilly. I'll be there.'

He was exhausted by the effort of restoring enough size to the Stone to allow him to transcribe the inscriptions and then shrinking it again for concealment, but the pleasure of discovery had kept him working, for now – and helped him ignore the tell-tale tenderness of his gums, another symptom of bodily dissolution.

Already his studies with Professor Mansfield were proving valuable. The Rashid Stone was definitely a treatise on magic; he'd managed to puzzle out some references to light magic, healing magic – and death magic.

Aubrey needed more time, but he thought he had some hints toward a solution for his condition. Hints, clues, suggestions – but he needed more time to be sure what he was finding.

He jotted down a few last notes from the central section of the Rashid Stone. It dealt with urbomancy, which apparently was concerned with collections of humanity and accumulated consciousness. Some of the references were disturbing, hinting at animating entire settlements, but most of it remained unclear. He'd searched through a number of reference texts before he found even the slightest mention of it, but it was singularly unhelpful, simply noting it was a 'minor, and forgotten, art'.

The trouble with having a well-developed sense of curiosity was that it made researching difficult. Sidetracks and byways opened up all over the place, beckoning alluringly.

Aubrey's curiosity couldn't let such a tantalising description pass. It was so curt, so dismissive that he wondered what was going on. Even with the little information he had, the field sounded intriguing and, unless he was mistaken, could shed some insights into the nature of magic itself. Numbers of people coming together was the beginning of true magic. Surely urbomancy was a part of this? He sat back and linked his hands on his chest, thinking.

His research into his condition had brought him to many arcane and recondite texts. He'd become attuned to scholarly arguments over fine points of magic, or interpretations of fine points of magic.

He'd also stumbled on areas that were best left alone – according to learned opinion. Death magic's perils, for instance, were well known and highlighted in many, many texts.

Another way, however, to steer the foolhardy away from dangerous areas of magic was to pretend it didn't exist – or was only of minor, boring importance. This was never the result of anything formal – Aubrey snorted at the idea of a Council of Wizards controlling magical research – but a consensus was nevertheless reached among like-minded scholars.

Was urbomancy one of these areas? If so, why?

Frowning, he tapped his pencil on his teeth. The Rashid Stone was proving to be a treasure, but a frustrating one.

AUBREY ADMIRED HIS FATHER'S CONSTITUTION. WITH NO sleep, after a night of political push and shove, Sir Darius looked as if he was ready to swim the channel.

When the maid had closed the door behind her, Sir Darius leaned back in his chair and eyed Aubrey. 'Rokeby-Taylor. Count Brandt. Dr Tremaine.'

It was a hot chance, but Aubrey took it with both hands. 'You're asking if there's a connection.'

'I could be suggesting that there is a connection but I don't know what it is.'

'This is what Cabinet was discussing?'

'We were discussing the Holmland situation in more general terms, but those names kept coming up. Then I had some time with Craddock and with Tallis where they came up again.'

'And I imagine that those conversations were separate.'

'I did my best to make sure that each didn't know about my chat with the other. No guarantees there.'

'Of course not.'

'I need your insight here, Aubrey. You're bound up in all of these goings-on and you might be able to shed some light. The others are all protecting their little areas. Too much posturing for my liking.'

'I'm happy to help, sir.'

'I don't doubt that.' For a moment, Sir Darius smoothed his moustache thoughtfully. 'But before we go any further, I need to know if you have any knowledge of a ruction at the museum early this morning.'

Aubrey should have known his father would have heard. 'I may have.'

'I see. You were out last night, I take it?'

'Yes.'

'Without Caroline and George?'

'I had Mother with me.'

Sir Darius's gaze instantly became intense. 'Tell me about it.'

Aubrey was in agony as he sorted through the implications of this simple request. 'I don't think I can.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'If you know about it, you might have to do something. Or tell someone if they ask you about it. But if you don't know, you can't. And they won't know if you don't know.'

'That, surprisingly, makes sense, but I'm not sure I agree.' Sir Darius scowled.

Aubrey remained silent.

'I see.' The pause that followed this statement weighed more than a hundred Rashid Stones. 'You were with your mother, you say.'

'Yes.'

'And she and you are safe and – perhaps just as importantly – unidentified?'

'Yes and yes.'

Another massive pause pressed down on Aubrey as his father scrutinised him. 'At an appropriate time, you will tell me, both of you, what happened.'

Aubrey sighed with relief. 'Naturally. In full detail.'

'And I'm sure I don't have to tell you that it would be most awkward if any missing treasure that belonged to another nation was ever found in the Prime Minister's own residence, do I?'

Aubrey thought of the fish tank in his room where he'd buried the dimensionless, weightless Rashid Stone: right next to the Roman fragment, outside the octopus's lair. 'It would be improper.'

'Let us move on, then,' Sir Darius said. 'Now that we understand each other. At least, you understand me – I hope. I'm not sure if I'll ever claim to understand you.'

'Sir,' Aubrey said. It was a meaningless response, but it filled in the gap in the conversation nicely.

'I know you keep an eye on the bills moving through Parliament. Has anything pricked your interest lately?'

'The battleship bill. You're voting on it later this week.'

'And why are you interested?'

'Rokeby-Taylor. Five new battleships and his shipyards are in a good position to win the contract, once Defence has been allocated the budget. He's been taking on new magical experts, Holmlanders this time . . .'Aubrey's voice trailed off.

'Go on.'

Aubrey threw up his hands. 'Rokeby-Taylor is everywhere I turn these days! His companies are cutting corners, a menace to the public. He's well connected, well thought of, has his fingers in dozens of pies. Dozens of fingers.'