Aubrey guessed it was a paean, a tribute to the power of Hard Work or such. Hordes of blocky figures were tilling soil, harvesting crops and digging mines. Quite a bit of mine-digging really, and plenty of hauling mountains of what must be coal, towards something that vaguely represented the Southern Electricity Generating Station, in the same way that the face on a coin resembled the reigning monarch.
Smiling beneficently down on this scene of activity was a giant figure in a white robe, surrounded by clouds and golden birds who – Aubrey assumed – were singing songs of praise.
'That's Rokeby-Taylor, isn't it?' George asked.
'Yes. Give or take several dollops of idealising, but who's that behind him?' Caroline asked. 'Right on the edge of the picture. Side profile, looking towards him.'
Aubrey moved closer. Lurking on the edge, almost disappearing into the corner, was a figure.
'Tremaine,' Aubrey said softly and a number of pieces began to lock together. While it may not have stood up in a court of law, it was the first substantial evidence they'd had linking Rokeby-Taylor and their nemesis. 'It's Dr Tremaine.'
Then Aubrey had a moment of self-doubt. Was he imagining Dr Tremaine again? Was it obsession? And if it was him, would the others see him this time? He hoped that having encountered him in the flesh had interrupted the confusion spell that Dr Tremaine had been using in his guise as Spinetti. 'At least, I think it is.'
'What do you mean?' Caroline said fiercely. 'Of course it's him.'
'I wonder who insisted on including him?' George said. 'Rokeby-Taylor?'
'That's something worth considering,' Aubrey said, relieved that they could see Tremaine too. 'Or is someone else in control? He loves a puppet, does Tremaine. Rokeby-Taylor would be perfect.'
'This place is Rokeby-Taylor's triumph,' George said, 'but I don't see him around here.'
'With the battleship bill at a crucial stage, I imagine he's doing what he can to persuade members to pass it.'
They joined a guided tour, where a bowler-hatted gent who must have been chosen for his loud voice conducted a group through heavy steel doors into the main part of the electricity generating station. The whining of the turbines was like the shrieking of a thousand chained-up demons.
The guide managed to make every third or fourth word intelligible, but he supplemented this with extravagant gestures at intake pipes, furnace hoppers and the squat, massive turbines themselves. It was an eloquent, if puzzling, dumbshow.
On one level, Aubrey could appreciate the work that had gone into the place. He was impressed by the technology, bringing light to homes that had, for years, had to battle with difficult, dangerous gaslights – or oil lamps, which caused more than their own share of fires.
He could sense, too, the magical refinements that had gone into the place. Bearings and turbine blades had been magically protected, while some of the thermal efficiency of the furnaces was monitored magically.
Overhead, the pillars of the smokestacks thrust up through a roof that was a stark curve. Skylights were set amid the reinforcing struts of the roof, allowing sunlight to illuminate the immense space. Aubrey shaded his eyes and squinted upward. His eyes opened wide. He clutched the railing with enough strength to turn his knuckles white.
In the heights, running between the beams, was a meshwork of metal wires, spread in all directions. Bright, shiny copper wires that looked just like those that had infested Maggie.
With a glance and a gesture, Aubrey made sure that Caroline and George lurked at the back of the crowd. When the guide conducted the group along a walkway toward the coal intake area, they passed a staircase that headed downward. Aubrey, Caroline and George dawdled, inspecting walls and dials with the avidity of Wall and Dial Inspectors, then they darted down the stairs after the tour group had left them behind.
The cellar was huge – a deafening, wet, pillared hell where the bulk of the furnaces had residence. Immediately, Aubrey saw that this was the place where the dirty work went on, while upstairs was the showcase. It was chokingly hot, with rattling conveyor belts feeding the never-ending hunger of the fires. Above, in the generation chambers, was the polite face of the coal-devouring monsters. Down here, it was the sweaty, grinding reality.
The place smelled of coal, dirty water and the ozone created by electrical activity. Large electric lights in the ceiling lit the space, but despite their size they seemed to struggle with the soupy atmosphere in the cellar.
They were immediately drenched in the foggy heat. Aubrey found distances hard to judge. Hasty stacks of timber, bricks and metal were flung willy-nilly around the place and he could imagine the panic as opening day had drawn nearer. The cellar was out of sight of the public. Anything that wasn't bright and shiny had been thrown down here, so that even though the facility was only months old, the cellar had the look of an abandoned industrial wilderness.
'Which way?' Caroline asked. She'd changed into her fighting suit and stowed her dress in a small bag she wore at her waist. This time Aubrey managed to pretend it was a matter-of-fact transformation.
'Down,' he said with certainty. 'Our answer lies underground.'
Aubrey's head ached from the noise and the humidity made him feel nauseated but he welcomed these as mere physical sensations, relatively simple to bear. More worrying was the blurring of his vision, something he couldn't blame on perspiration running into his eyes; he was sure it was a symptom of his body and soul disuniting.
It would need attention. When he had time. Right now, he had enough to worry about with the increasing certainty that they were reaching the domain of Dr Tremaine. Maggie's tortured warning about the depths was becoming more ominous as they edged through the dark and oppressive realm.
Aubrey's lips were dry with apprehension as he peered through the shadows. He could feel his heart racing, rapping his ribs from the inside. The notion of turning around and heading home suddenly had great appeal. A bath, a good meal, a rest and come back some time when better fortified.
No. He thought of poor Maggie. I want to find him now.
They trudged along, trying doors and hatches as they came to them. They climbed around piles of building debris, some of which looked as if it had been merely dropped from above. They worked by the feeble light of the dirty electric globes and a lurid red light that came from the slitted grilles and air intakes of the furnaces.
'Another door,' George grunted as they slogged through a pool of ankle-deep water. It was warm, and Aubrey could see the eyes of rats swimming in the near distance. He peered through the gloom. At least, I hope they're rats.
The door was heavy steel, bolted and barred. Aubrey hammered on it, but the door was so solid it didn't make a sound. Thinking hard, he rubbed his fist.
Caroline wiped her brow with the back of her hand. 'We've been right around the perimeter. We've found closets, storage rooms, switchboards, nothing useful.'
'This is the only door that's been secured,' George pointed out. He leaned right next to it. His face was red.