Blaze of Glory (36 page)

'Let him go.'

'After taking so much trouble to bring him here? That
wouldn't make much sense, would it?' Dr Tremaine
clapped his hands together. 'And now you're here. Which
is a capital thing, as I have a feeling that it may be useful
to keep a close eye on you, young Fitzwilliam.'

Aubrey sensed Caroline slipping to his right, putting a
table between the Sorcerer Royal and herself. George
stood to Aubrey's left, fists clenched, glowering.

'You killed my father, didn't you?' Caroline said.

Dr Tremaine turned and studied her for a moment.
'Ah, Miss Hepworth. I haven't seen you since you were
a baby.'

'You killed him,' Caroline repeated, her voice steady.

'I'm sorry,' Dr Tremaine replied, lowering his large,
dark eyes. 'I loved Lionel. A great friend. A great man.
A great mind. I'm glad I have his notebook to remember
him by.'

His face had gone from joviality to sorrow to compassion
in an instant. Aubrey blinked. It was as if Dr
Tremaine had run through a series of masks, trying each
one until he found one that fitted the occasion.

'But
why
did you kill him?' Aubrey asked, as he digested
the fact that the professor's notebook was in the possession
of Dr Tremaine.

Dr Tremaine shrugged. 'The magic that drove the
Black Beast needed a final test. It happened to be Lionel.
Rather bad luck on his part, really. It could have been
anyone.'

It was the offhand nature of this declaration that chilled
Aubrey. Someone whom Tremaine called a friend was
killed just because he happened to be in the wrong place?

'You really are trying for the Ritual of the Way, aren't
you?' he asked.

Dr Tremaine rolled his eyes. 'I'm sorry that it's so
obvious.'

'You're planning a war,' George said through clenched
teeth.

'Just helping it along a little. To tell the truth, I think
the idiots in charge are doing a good job by themselves,
but I'm not one to leave things to chance.' He stroked his
chin and chuckled. 'My role over the last few months has
been like an invisible stage manager, really. Rewarding, if
a little frustrating.'

'You were at the Society for Non-magical Fitness,'
Aubrey said flatly.

'I made sure my Army of New Albion tools were able
to escape from that mess. Von Stralick nearly managed to
ruin everything right then by luring them there.'

'And the burnt church? You saved them there as well?'

A flash of annoyance crossed Dr Tremaine's face.
'Von Stralick's childish coded message was an obvious
trap for the Army of New Albion poltroons. I knew I had
to get there and help them escape. Alas, the Magisterium
was there in force and so my plans have collapsed. For
now.' He broke off and looked at the wood-panelled
ceiling. 'Speaking of which, it seems as if Craddock's forces
have arrived.' He chuckled. 'Doesn't he ever give up?'

Aubrey heard a muffled explosion overhead. It seemed
as if Dr Tremaine was right.

The Sorcerer Royal sighed. 'It looks as if I must be off.
You'll forgive me for leaving so abruptly?'

'No,' Caroline said.

Aubrey turned to see that Caroline was holding Ames's
revolver in both hands and had adopted a perfect shooting
stance.
Where was she hiding that pistol?
he thought
wildly. He had time to marvel at the tears in her eyes,
then she fired all six shots without hesitating.

Dr Tremaine looked irritated and, backhanded, swatted
the bullets out of the air. They bounced off a bookshelf
and fell to the floor. 'Don't do that,' he said. 'I hate the
smell of cordite.' He barked a few guttural words and the
revolver disappeared. Caroline stared at her empty hands.
She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and
started towards him.

Dr Tremaine's expression hardened. Gone was his
cavalier attitude, his banter and his amusement. Instead,
he was a cold and malignant creature. Aubrey could see
that this was a man who was indifferent to the suffering
of others. He would snuff out lives without a thought.
'Enough,' Tremaine snarled, in a voice that was deeper,
rougher. 'This part of the game is at an end.'

He pointed at her and uttered two short words and
Caroline was flung backwards, tumbling like a feather in
a gale.

Aubrey moved to help but stopped when he saw that
she'd somehow managed to land on her feet. She
growled, deep in her throat, and looked as if she were
ready to advance on Dr Tremaine again.

Aubrey was taken off guard by Caroline's fierceness,
a contrast to her usual cool demeanour, but he could
see that the pain at the loss of her father was boiling out
of her unchecked – and it was leading her into mortal
danger.

'Wait,' Aubrey said, and – as he'd hoped – he drew the
Sorcerer Royal's ferocious attention.

'No,' Tremaine said, 'do not try to stop me.'

Even though Aubrey felt weakened by his recent spell-casting,
he could not allow Tremaine to harm Caroline
– or escape so easily. If he could slow down the Sorcerer
Royal, distract him, perhaps he could give Craddock's
operatives time to appear.

He reached into his pocket. 'I have your sister's pearl,'
he said, holding it up.

For the first time, Aubrey saw uncertainty in the face
of the Sorcerer Royal.

Tremaine let out a long breath. 'I thought I'd lost it.
A shade attacked from behind. For a moment I thought
it was one of mine, like the one I used to monitor Professor
Hepworth's workshop. It wasn't. It slashed my cane
from me. I didn't have time to retrieve it.'

'It's important to you.'

Dr Tremaine bared his teeth and his eyes blazed like
furnaces. Aubrey felt the immense power of the man.
'Give it to me.'

'I think not.' Aubrey had no strength for anything
substantial, but gambled that he would be able to repeat
the spell he'd used when he took on Tremaine's appearance,
but with a special addition.
Like to like
, he thought,
and quickly muttered a short spell. Instantly, Aubrey was
again Tremaine's twin – except this time he was shackled
to the original by a magical chain, left wrist to left wrist,
bound fast. The chain was massive and it radiated intense
magic. He gritted his teeth. Tremaine was not leaving.

Tremaine staggered and Aubrey felt a wild, fierce joy
at landing a blow against such a foe. Then something unexpected
happened. Aubrey gasped, catching the breath
in his throat, and he realised the bond between them
was doing more than simply preventing Tremaine from
leaving. He was connected to the Sorcerer Royal's being.

For a splinter of time, Aubrey was overwhelmed. A
cascade of impressions rampaged through him. He was
assaulted by the towering arrogance of the man, the
utter and complete surrender to ambition and pride.
Tremaine, at heart, was brutal, selfish, full of swagger and
self-righteousness, with the passion and limitlessness of
a force of nature.

The riot of sensations was suddenly cut off. Aubrey
stared at Tremaine, who glared back at him before sneering,
then laughing. 'You fool, Fitzwilliam! I've made my
soul impervious to such dangers, but obviously you don't
know how. The first lesson when you deal with life or
death: take care of your own soul first!'

And Aubrey knew that while he'd been glimpsing
Tremaine's being, the Sorcerer Royal had done the
same to him. The magical chain was a conduit that
ran both ways. Tremaine had been given an insight
into Aubrey's parlous condition – and it wasn't unfamiliar
to him.

Dr Tremaine jeered at Aubrey's anguish. He reached
into a pocket of his fur coat and plucked out a familiar
notebook. He brandished it at Aubrey. 'Even Lionel
Hepworth managed to work out a handful of ways to
prevent an accidental true death. You are out of your
depth, boy, and you are paying for it.'

Dimly, Aubrey heard Caroline's cry of dismay at the
appearance of her father's missing notebook.

'I can't let you go,' Aubrey gasped.
For more reasons than
one, now. Either you or that book might just have some answers
for me.

Contemptuously, Tremaine barked a torrent of harsh,
spiky phrases. With a jolt that made Aubrey gasp, the
magical chain disappeared and Aubrey was himself again,
his Tremaine link vanishing like smoke in the wind.

'I must,' the Sorcerer Royal said, his eyes blazing. He
lifted a hand, but paused. 'Keep my pearl safe for me,
Fitzwilliam.'

Tremaine spoke one word, a word of many syllables.
Aubrey had never heard anything like it before. The
sound hung in the air shimmering and skating on the
edge of perception, but it left a bitter taste in Aubrey's
mouth, a harsh, metallic tang that made him feel unclean.

Then the Sorcerer Royal disappeared.

Aubrey realised his knees were trembling. He steadied
himself against a bookshelf. George started towards him,
but he waved him away. He needed a moment to
compose himself.

'Aubrey?' Sir Darius turned his head and worked his
jaw. 'Where are we? Why are you dressed like that? And
George, a beggar?'

Aubrey had forgotten he was still dressed like Tommy
Sparks and that his clothes were sodden.

'I'll tell you later, Father. Are you all right?'

Aubrey went to him, only to hear feet pounding down
the stairs. He turned to see Magisterium operatives
crashing into the room. 'Don't!' he cried to Caroline, as
the operatives surrounded her. The warning was too late
for George, who swung a punch and was wrestled to the
ground by three businesslike women in black uniforms,
the Magisterium having no qualms about including
females in its ranks. When George realised who had
tackled him and thrown him to the carpet, his expression
was a combination of embarrassment and delight.

Aubrey managed to get to his father's side by the time
all the operatives had entered – a score or more packing
into the room.

Craddock entered. 'Sir Darius,' he said. 'Glad to see
you're all right.'

Sir Darius, still groggy, merely nodded.

Unsmiling, Craddock surveyed the room. 'Where's
Tremaine?'

Aubrey waved a tired hand. 'You're too late. He's gone.
How did you know he wasn't dead?'

'I had my suspicions. Some of my operatives were
investigating, and their findings led us to the burnt
church. When we arrived, we were confronted with a
major magical assault.' He smiled his wintry smile. 'Soon
after this, we had a visit from Tallis, of the Special
Services. Apparently von Stralick, the Holmland spy, is on
good terms with him. Von Stralick telephoned him to let
him know what was going on – the plot against the King,
your father's kidnapping – and Tallis informed us. Von
Stralick also told him that you'd be heading here to look
for Tremaine.'

'Craddock,' Aubrey said, 'Dr Tremaine wants to undertake
the Ritual of the Way.'

Craddock's eyes widened fractionally. 'I see. That would
explain much.'

'He has Professor Hepworth's notebook, too.'

'It's worse than I'd thought, then. The professor's work
will help Tremaine if he's mad enough to try for the
Ritual of the Way.' He studied Aubrey. 'It seems as if we
have much to talk about.'

A
UBREY CLOSELY WATCHED THE ORGANISATION OF THE
Magisterium and made mental notes. As dawn broke,
hordes of black-uniformed operatives swarmed all over
Banford Park, sifting, noting, photographing, analysing
and collecting. Craddock commanded with a minimum
of direction; all the operatives seemed to know what they
were doing. Two of them flew the ornithopter away,
returning it to the Ashfields ornithopter port.

Sir Darius, Caroline, George and Aubrey were whisked
away to Darnleigh House in one of the Magisterium's
anonymous black motorcars. It was a quiet, strained trip,
with little conversation. Sir Darius seemed to be still
affected by the spell Dr Tremaine had used, sleeping all
the way. The two operatives who sat with them were
polite, but not forthcoming. Their repeated answer to
any question was, 'I'm sorry, but you'll have to ask
Commander Craddock.'

Darnleigh House and Lattimer Hall, the headquarters
of the Magisterium and the Special Services, faced each
other across Grainger Square in Eastride. It wasn't a huge
distance from the Mire, which amused Aubrey. He
imagined a steady stream of informers flowing from the
Mire to Darnleigh House, across to Lattimer Hall and
then home again in a vast, continuous loop.

Darnleigh House was actually a pair of three-storey
townhouses. A hundred years ago they had been bought,
walls knocked out, offices installed, basements converted
and one entrance bricked up. From the outside, it
remained the sort of anonymous architecture that told
passers-by to move along as nothing extraordinary was
inside. If Aubrey hadn't known better, he would have
thought the place belonged to a surgeon, or a reasonably
well-to-do stockbroker, perhaps one who had come into
his money early and had rather let things drift a little.
Modest, discreet, slightly shabby.