George shook his head. 'It stops short of both of them.'
'The part of the tunnel that we know about stops short of both of them,' Aubrey said.
'But what would make you think that there is anything suspicious about it?' Jack asked.
'It's a Rokeby-Taylor construction,' Aubrey said. 'That makes me suspicious.'
Aubrey studied the map. It had the underground lines marked, as well as the above-ground lines of the City Rail Corporation. They extended to the edge of the map and criss-crossed each other, linking in an irregular way that made Aubrey think of a fishing net constructed by a worker who had his mind on other things at the time.
For a moment, despite the urgency, he lost himself in the intricacies of the map. Roads intersecting and connecting, looping about on themselves, splitting and reuniting. The map also indicated the major electricity supply lines for the city, so people would know which company was providing for their neighbourhood. Aubrey knew that no matter how recent the map was, this aspect must be out of date because of the rate at which these companies were spreading their wires though Trinovant.
He tried to picture the subterranean layers of the city, the world he'd lately been shown. Water pipes, gas pipes, sewerage pipes ran in all their which-ways, underpinning the world of the surface. Wires for telephones ran under streets, pneumatic tubes connected offices – and mysterious chains and cables ran along Dr Tremaine's tunnels, even though the tunnels were recently made. Why? With Dr Tremaine nothing was insignificant. Could they be some sort of new weapon?
'What's here?' he asked, pointing to a spot just to the south of Rokeby-Taylor's railway tunnel under the river.
It was situated halfway between the tunnel end and the hydraulic station, a gap of half a mile or so. And it was very near where Maggie had been found.
'The Southern Electricity Generating Station, 'Caroline said promptly. 'It's another of Rokeby-Taylor's.'
'It is?' Aubrey said. 'How on earth do you know that?'
'Mother was approached to paint a mural inside it. She refused.'
'Good thing,' Jack said. 'I've seen it. It's a monstrosity.'
'She was given a commission document that specified certain aspects of the mural. The dominant figure of The Rise of Commerce was to be modelled on Rokeby-Taylor himself. Mother couldn't stomach such strictures, nor such appalling big-headedness.'
'This is worth investigating,' Aubrey said, chewing his lip.
'Shadwell Phelps took the commission,' Caroline went on. 'He could never do people. Has trouble with hands.
And faces. Bodies cause him some difficulty, too. He's quite competent on ankles, though.'
Aubrey stared at the location of the electricity generating station. The Southern Line passed nearby, obviously, and it wasn't far from the river either.
'Jack, you know this area. Wasn't there a canal here?'
'The old Bedford Canal. It was roofed over, years ago. I doubt if it's there now.'
Aubrey was prepared to believe otherwise.
'I think I see what you're on about,' George said. He pointed. 'Unless I'm completely wrong, the main sewerage drain on the south side of the river goes right past this electricity station. The pumping station is on the river's edge, directly north of the place.'
Caroline drew a star on the location of the electricity station. 'It's right on top of a junction of these underground lines.'
'A nexus,' Aubrey said. 'A place that all roads lead to.'
'I understand that they're having guided tours,' Caroline said.
'You know this because your mother was invited?' Aubrey said.
'She declined. She has no interest in bad art, nor electricity generating stations, and the combination made her feel positively ill.'
'I have a strong stomach,' Aubrey said.
'I can take notes without looking suspicious,' George said. 'And who knows? It might turn into a genuine article.'
Jack Figg wanted to go with them, but Aubrey convinced him to stay with Maggie while she went to St Michael's. Jack agreed, reluctantly, and Aubrey was glad. He had an inkling that Jack might slow them down. Despite his enthusiasm, Jack wasn't the sort who'd be first choice for a commando unit.
THE SOUTHERN ELECTRICITY GENERATING STATION WAS A hulking brick building that took up an entire block – a block that had been cleared of slums. As they approached it along Tartar Street, Aubrey had the unsettling feeling that the building was crouching below the level of the ground, waiting for them.
It may have taken up an entire city block, but it was set back enough from the street to allow a circus in front of it.
A large red-faced man ground away at a barrel organ, entertaining a crowd of youngsters, most of whom were more interested in the candy floss that was being handed out free of charge. A sweating clown in a spangled jacket had his own audience as he put his troupe of trained dogs though their paces. Other entertainers did their best to make the visitors see an electricity generating station as a place to have fun.
They alighted, and Aubrey paid the cabby. 'Mr Rokeby-Taylor,' Aubrey said as they strolled through the crowds. 'Mr Bread and Circuses.'
'This sort of display must be expensive,' Caroline said.
A juggler wandered by, showering a mixture of balls and plates, and smiled at her. 'I wonder where he's getting his money from.'
'A fine, useful question to which I'd very much like the answer,' Aubrey murmured. 'For someone in financial difficulty, he's remarkably free-spending.'
George snorted. 'You know what they say. If you owe the bank a thousand pounds, you're in trouble. If you owe the bank a million pounds, the bank is in trouble.'
Aubrey didn't blame George for his sour outlook on banks, but he wasn't accustomed to seeing his friend so cynical. George's troubles were affecting his usually happy-go-lucky ways, Aubrey was sure, and it pained him to see his friend so. If only he could do something about it.
No, he thought, I gave him my word.
But the vow hurt.
Aubrey turned his attention to the task at hand. He patted his pockets and felt the chalk, the handful of brass tacks, and the string that he'd stowed – just in case. The assorted needles stuck in cardboard were a precaution against unknown circumstances. The small bag of glass marbles, on the other hand, was simply insurance, the sort of thing that could be useful in facing powerful forces. With the application of some clever magic.
Immediately Aubrey saw the mural in the gigantic entrance hall, he knew why Ophelia Hepworth had refused the commission. It was vast, taking up a whole wall the size of a tennis court. But it wasn't the size that would have made Mrs Hepworth unhappy, it was being dictated as to the contents and the style.
He couldn't imagine an artist inventing this appalling display. They stood, transfixed, while people moved around them, averting their eyes.
It was the style that Aubrey had become used to on the sides of fruit boxes and packets of soap powder. It was a sort of Commercial–Industrial–Propagandist approach, but with none of the subtlety or humour that that school of art was renowned for.