Word of Honour

Aubrey had that most useless of premonitions – one that happens just a split-second before the event. He knew what Craddock was about to say.

'The Circle was a hoax. It was carefully constructed by a branch of the Holmland intelligence services to appear like a real, functioning dissident group. It meant that they were able to know exactly what Count Brandt and his crowd were up to, and move in on them as appropriate. They've been taken and the experimental submersible captured.'

Aubrey's heart sank. All those innovations, financed by Albion, built by the best Albion minds, now in the hands of Holmland. He now saw that the first attempt on Count Brandt's life – the thunderstorm spell – was just a way of nudging Count Brandt into action. Nothing like a deadly attack to make someone feel their foes meant business – and that they needed counter-attacking.

Craddock nodded. 'I have a suspicion that the whole business with Count Brandt and the Circle was really a ruse to get hold of the submersible. First, they tried to destroy it, but someone must have suggested this complex plan to steal it.'

'Complex plan. That's a synonym for "Dr Tremaine", isn't it?' Aubrey rubbed his temples. 'How were Count Brandt and his people captured?'

Tallis glowered with, it appeared, some pleasure. 'The Great Manfred was with them. He promised to introduce them to key members of the Circle, but instead he handed them over. He'd been in constant contact with a branch of their intelligence agencies.'

Aubrey's head spun. 'Wait. Manfred was one of ours. A counter-spy.'

'So we thought,' Tallis said. He glanced at Craddock. 'It seemed he was playing a double game.'

'A double-double game,' Aubrey corrected absently, as his mind raced through the implications. He felt suddenly chill when he remembered how Manfred was eager to get him to Fisherberg.

Perhaps there were four plans to get at the Prime Minister through those closest to him.

George snorted. 'I don't know what the world's coming to. If you can't trust a counter-spy, who can you trust?'

'Brandt was sending money to the Circle,' Aubrey said. 'With the best intentions.'

Tallis and Craddock both looked pained. 'A great deal of money,' Craddock said. 'It was a superb scheme.'

'All's not lost. The money we've been pouring into the Holmland treasury this way will be balanced neatly by the fairy gold the Imperator is taking over there,' Tallis said.

'The Imperator is on its way?' Aubrey said.

'A lovely birthday present for the Elektor,' Craddock said.

'What about Count Brandt?' George asked. 'What about his people?'

'They're in Harsgard Prison,' Tallis said bleakly.

Aubrey knew that Harsgard Prison was notorious for 'incidents'. Many who went into the place never left.

Craddock took out a notebook. 'On more magical matters – if you'll excuse us, Tallis – you haven't had any more thoughts on the nature of the magic Dr Tremaine was wielding?'

It had also been the Magisterium who'd freed Maggie's Crew. After painstaking, meticulous work, they were removed from the array through a combination of careful stabilising magic and delicate engineering, but their recovery needed long-term treatment. They were still in the care of the specialised team at St Michael's Hospital, but the latest outlook was positive.

Other squads of Magisterium operatives had spread through the under-city, mapping Tremaine's tunnels and beginning the work of disconnecting his underground web. Trinovant had experienced more than the usual number of disruptions to trains, water and electricity, but in a city where grumbling was as natural as breathing, it simply made everyone feel vaguely satisfied that they had a hard lot.

'On urbomancy?' Aubrey said. 'I want to do some more research. It might be important, it might be nothing. I'll need more time.' And the assistance of Professor Mansfield, when she gets back after her little job.

Professor Mansfield had been only too happy to return the Rashid Stone to her good friend the Sultan, especially after Aubrey showed her the mysterious fragment. She was just as fervent in her desire to return the stone to its rightful owners as Lady Rose was.

'I see,' Craddock said. 'And your status as irregular operative, you're happy with that?'

Aubrey thought for a moment. 'I wouldn't mind some more training and some access to the Magisterium's resources.'

'I'll see what I can do.'

At that moment, a hubbub broke out from the direction of the street. Aubrey was automatically alert, but he relaxed when he saw his parents mounting the stairs.

Sir Darius greeted Craddock and Tallis as if he had expected them to be there. On reflection, Aubrey thought that was probably the case.

'Hello, Mother,' he said. He kissed her cheek. 'Interested in seeing experiments with space and perspective?'

'Hello, Aubrey. Are you eating properly? I heard you were ill and had to miss some classes this week.'

'Three times a day, as prescribed. Feeling much better.'

'Is this true, George?'

George blushed, as was his wont when in the presence of Lady Rose. 'True? Rather. Three meals, one after the other. Made him ox-like in the health stakes.'

Lady Rose looked sceptically at both of them. 'Then you need more vegetables, Aubrey. See to it.' She leaned close. 'Your father has told me about your latest exploit.

I'm proud, and he is too.'

'He is?'

'He may tell you. He may not. Sometimes he thinks that too much praise is not helpful for a young person. I argue that unearned praise is the problem, but credit where credit is due is my policy.'

Sir Darius offered his arm to his wife. 'To the paintings?'

'Of course. That's what we're here for.' She smiled. 'Among other things.'

Tallis and Craddock followed Sir Darius and Lady Rose. Aubrey and George were left alone. 'Shall we go?' Aubrey said.

'You go, old man. I'm waiting for someone. Ah, here she is.'

A pretty, diminutive young woman hurried up the stairs. Her golden curls peeped out from under a small, excessively stylish bonnet. She smiled widely when she saw George.

'Sophie!' he cried and dashed across the entrance hall. He took both her hands. 'Aubrey, do you remember Sophie Delroy from Lutetia?'

'Of course I do. Hello, Sophie.'

'Hello, Aubrey. What progress has your father made with women's suffrage in your country?' She took a notebook and pencil out of her bag and waited for his answer.

'Not now, Sophie,' George said. 'You're here to report on Ophelia Hepworth's exhibition first. Politics after.'

'Politics always come first, George,' she said. Her accent made his name sound like Zhorzhe. Aubrey had an inkling that George enjoyed it.

George offered Sophie his arm. 'To the paintings?'

She frowned. 'Haven't you forgotten something?'

George reached into his jacket and took out a notebook of his own. 'Ready.'