He gasped when he finished, slapped by a wracking pain, but was astonished when he saw his spell create a jet black rod, two yards or more in length, a few inches in diameter. It appeared out of the air and toppled into the heart of the flame – his absorption metaphor made real.
For an instant, the flame buckled, then it roared back as fierce as ever.
Aubrey repeated the spell, gritting his teeth against the combination of pain and fatigue that assaulted him.
Another rod appeared and joined the first.
This time, Aubrey had no doubt. The flame flinched. It folded in on itself, wavered, but then jetted upward again in defiance.
Aubrey cast the spell again. And again. And again. His throat grew hoarse, his vision blurred.
He lost count of the rods that popped into existence and fell into the flame. The fire collapsed, grew again, collapsed, wavered, grew and collapsed until Aubrey was lost in a haze of light, sound and magic.
And pain.
It was the quiet that made Aubrey stop. He found it hard to breathe. He couldn't move his head and he struggled to lift his gaze.
The flame was gone.
Twenty-four
CRADDOCK'S OPERATIVES FOUND THE EXHAUSTED AND battered Aubrey, Caroline and George stumbling through the tunnels after freeing themselves. Through a haze of pain and fatigue, Aubrey listened to their explanations as they half-dragged him through the tunnels.
Dr Tremaine's urbomancy had set off multiple alarms in the Magisterium's magic monitoring department. The intensity of the magic was enough for Craddock to send a Flying Squad to find the source of such a gargantuan disturbance. Too late to have been of any assistance in quelling the magical fire, but well timed to render some useful first aid.
Dimly, Aubrey was glad Craddock insisted on physical fitness in his operatives. Shivering, he leaned heavily on the two agents who assisted him and he let his head loll. It was simply too much effort to hold it up. Besides, he'd seen more than enough tunnel to last him a lifetime.
A WEEK LATER, AUBREY WAS AT ST ALBAN'S, MUCH recovered and studying hard, when the door opened. A large cardboard box entered. Carrying the box, sweating and panting, was George.
Instantly, Aubrey was on his feet. He winced at a dull pain in his back, but was inordinately pleased, too. A week ago, after the efforts of quelling the magical flame, he was in a horrible condition – weak, aching, shivering uncontrollably, wincing at bright light. Leaping out of chairs would have been right out of the question. 'What's the news?'
George didn't answer. Gently, he placed the box on his desk. Whistling a tune, he cut the string with penknife and opened the package.
'George?'
George raised an eyebrow, but simply continued his whistling. He reached into the box and pulled out a small, muslin-wrapped bundle, which he tossed to Aubrey.
Aubrey unwrapped it. 'Ham?' He sniffed it and the savoury aroma made his mouth water, his appetite a sure sign that his condition had improved.
Another bundle sailed toward him. Hastily, he put the ham on his desk in time to catch a cold roast chicken wrapped in a linen tea towel. Looking up, he found a jar coming at him. He let out a yelp, but managed to catch it in the crook of one arm. He had time to see that the jar was full of pickled onions before he had to put down both it and the chicken. More foodstuffs were arcing toward him.
George kept whistling and kept up a barrage – sausage, gherkins, relish, mustard, loaves of freshly baked bread, two large bottles of ginger beer, apples, pears.
With frantic speed, Aubrey caught each of the flying foods and added them to the growing pile on his desk.
When George flung two enamel plates his way, Aubrey plucked them out of the air and waved them over his head. 'Enough! Enough!'
George grinned. 'I thought you'd never surrender.' He peeked into the box and took out a bread knife. 'Good timing, as I only had these left.' He held up two stoneware mugs, which he proceeded to fill with ginger beer. 'A toast, before we feast.'
Aubrey took his mug and tasted the ginger beer. He looked sharply at George. 'This is yours, isn't it?'
'From Mother's special stock.'
'And the ham. That's yours too.'
'When only the best will do.'
Aubrey surveyed the fare spread out on his desk. His textbooks were buried under edibles. 'The news is good, I take it.'
'We're not going to lose the farm.'
Aubrey held out his mug. 'Here's to the Doyle family,' he said. 'And the Doyle family farm.'
'Hear, hear.' George drank deeply, then filled his mug again. He pulled out his chair and sagged into it. 'I can't tell you how relieved I am.'
'Oh, I think I have a fair idea. Now, tell me, how did this all come about?'
'Rokeby-Taylor.'
To steady himself, Aubrey sat on the bed. 'Of all the things I thought you were going to say, that wasn't one of them.'
'Well, once we alerted the authorities to Rokeby- Taylor's involvement in Tremaine's schemes, it was shock all round, it seems. It turns out that the bank that had our loan was one of his, and the manager was one of his underlings. Through some shifty business he brought things to a head, after actually organising the landslip in the first place. A bit of water magic, apparently.'
'I could have discovered that,' Aubrey said. 'Some poking around, a few questions here and there.'
'And I'm glad you didn't, old man, having given your word and all that.'
Aubrey had nothing to say. He didn't deserve such gratitude for doing nothing. But on the other hand, he had done something: he'd kept his word, even though it ran against all his instincts. 'And now,' he said, 'we have an exhibition opening to go to.'
George glanced at his watch, an action that caused Aubrey a pang over the fate of his own. 'Half an hour. Plenty of time to freshen up.' He stood and dusted crumbs from his chest. 'What is Mrs Hepworth's show about this time? Any sort of theme or title or such?'
'"The Frontier of the New", which doesn't say much, I suppose. I'm going with an open mind.'
'As you should.'
THE EXHIBITION WAS AT THE GREYTHORN GALLERY IN THE town. This was a blocky new building, two-storeyed, with many windows. Looking at it, Aubrey imagined that the county would now be overrun with retired glaziers looking for something to spend their money on.
On their walk to the gallery, Aubrey was still puzzling over Rokeby-Taylor's part in the plot against George's father. George had no further light to shed on it. They walked up the stairs and into the entrance hall of the gallery, only to run into the unexpected pair of Tallis and Craddock. Sounds like a pair music hall of music hall performers, Aubrey thought. Put your hands together for Tallis and Craddock – a song, a joke and some questionable interrogation methods! He didn't give them a chance to speak.