Authors: Michael Pryor
Approaching noon, the streets were busy. Sir Darius
drummed his fingers impatiently on the rail until a
policeman, passing on a bicycle, stopped. 'Care for some
help, Prime Minister?'
'Constable, you are a veritable lifesaver. If you would.'
The policeman saluted, grinned, then proceeded to
lead the carriage through intersection after intersection,
with the connivance of his colleagues who were on point
duty. Each of them saluted Sir Darius, who shouted his
thanks as they trotted past.
'Two birds, Aubrey. One stone,' Sir Darius said abruptly
as they passed the Gallery of the Arts.
Aubrey twisted this cryptic utterance around until he
thought he had an answer. 'You're meeting someone at
the bank?'
'Indeed.' Sir Darius took out his pocket watch. 'Clive
Rokeby-Taylor. That's why I don't want to be late.'
'Meeting at the bank? Odd, isn't it?'
'Rokeby-Taylor and money were never far apart,'
Sir Darius said dryly. 'Especially other people's money.'
With the help of the friendly police constable, the
landau drew up right outside the Bank of Albion, with
the Special Services motorcar right behind. Aubrey had
never been inside the Grand Dame of Woolcroft Street,
but knew the imposing edifice by sight. Grimy from city
smoke, the bank still managed to look both stately and
intimidating. This was an institution that was serious
about money, its architecture announced, and it took
such a long, steady, safe view of investment that it
regarded glaciers as reckless daredevils of speed.
One of the bank's managers, grandees or high potentates
marched out as Sir Darius alighted. He was stout,
with a pointy beard, and a cutaway coat in a style that
was forty years out of date, even though it looked as if it
had been made that morning. 'Prime Minister. We have
a special room ready for you.'
'Sir Norman. I wasn't expecting the chief governor to
meet us.'
'It's the least we could do. I'm happy to see to your
needs.'
Sir Norman gestured and a pair of doormen appeared.
One stood by the carriage, the other opened the heavy,
brass portal of the Bank of Albion.
The main chamber of the bank was vast. Aubrey stood
and gaped at the towering main dome and the three
flanking domes. Marble, brass and dark wood, then
more marble, brass and dark wood and – to top it all off
– some extra marble, brass and dark wood had been used
to emphasise the solidity of the bank. This was a place to
do business, but it had the solemnity of a cathedral.
Pillars marked the entrance to the flanking domes –
chambers for further mysterious banking business,
Aubrey assumed. Loan disbursement. Fiscal calibrating.
Inter-bank credit unfurling.
Under the main dome, long counters kept back a
horde of clerks and tellers. The chamber was filled with
a multitude of murmurs – requests, explanations, agreements
– and they hovered over the hundreds of people
like insubstantial moths.
Sir Norman broke the spell. 'This way, if you please.'
Sir Darius took off his hat and gloves. A uniformed
doorman – of the interior variety, therefore older and
more senior – materialised to take them. Aubrey
hurriedly thrust his hat on him and the doorman disappeared
into one of the shadowed recesses that abounded
in the grand building.
'Mr Rokeby-Taylor?' Sir Darius asked.
'He's in the boardroom. I'll take you to him,' Sir
Norman said. 'The other governors were to use the
boardroom this morning, but they've opted to convene
elsewhere.'
Clive Rokeby-Taylor had totally recovered from his
brush with death. He was dressed in a dark green suit,
with a jaunty sky-blue cravat. 'Darius!' he said, full of
good cheer. 'Aubrey! Come in, come in. Have some tea
– it's first rate!'
Rokeby-Taylor busied himself pouring tea into the
bone-china cups without a trace of self-consciousness,
keeping up a stream of observations about the boardroom,
the tea service and the biscuits.
Eventually, he sat on the opposite side of the long
boardroom table, sipped his tea and studied Sir Darius
over the rim.
'What is it, Clive?' Sir Darius said. 'Why have you
asked me here?'
Rokeby-Taylor glanced at Aubrey. 'Not wanting to be
rude, but I think this is something between the two of us.'
'Private matters?'
'Financial matters.'
'Aubrey can stay. I trust his discretion.'
Rokeby-Taylor shrugged, then grinned. 'If you say so.'
Aubrey tried to appear as trustworthy and discreet as
possible, to live up to his father's confidence. He sat up
straight, laced his fingers and placed his hands on the
table in front of him. As much as possible, he tried to
keep his curiosity from showing on his face. Aubrey's
grasp of high finance was not entirely complete, but he
knew that if he was serious about politics, it was something
he had to remedy.
No time like the present
, he thought.
Rokeby-Taylor adjusted his cravat. 'I understand that a
substantial shipbuilding contract is in the offing.'
'A bill is imminent, to be voted on in three weeks
time,' Sir Darius said. 'A special allocation for six new
battleships immediately, with six more to follow. This is
no secret.'
'And the bill is sure to pass the Lower House? And the
Lords?'
'I wouldn't have put it up if I hadn't thought it
would be successful. The opposition is backing the bill.
They see the situation on the Continent. I could say
that there are votes in defence, but that would be
cynical.'
'Quite, quite.' Rokeby-Taylor studied the ceiling for a
moment. 'I don't suppose it's any secret that Rokeby-Taylor Shipbuilding is keen to get this contract.'
'The contract will be awarded by the Navy Board,
after they examine all tenders. I'm sure your firm will be
seriously considered.'
'And I'm sure that the Navy Board would listen to the
Prime Minister.'
Aubrey had come to know his father's silences well.
This was one of those where he was controlling his
temper with some effort. Eventually, he touched his moustache. 'What are you suggesting, Clive?'
Rokeby-Taylor met Sir Darius's gaze and held it.
'It's been a long time, Darius. I wanted to see if you'd
changed.'
'And have I?'
'Not in this respect, it seems.' Rokeby-Taylor picked
up his cup and raised it to his lips.
'I'm glad,' Sir Darius said. 'If that's all, Clive, I think
I should offer you some advice.'
Rokeby-Taylor set his cup down in the saucer with a
clatter. 'No, actually, that's not all. I have a business proposition
for you.'
'I see. Like the one you put to me a few moments
ago?'
Rokeby-Taylor snorted. 'That was nothing. It never
happened. And if it did it was just a joke.'
'A joke,' Sir Darius said, and Aubrey wanted to warn
Rokeby-Taylor. When his father repeated someone's
words like that, the ice was getting extremely thin
underfoot.
But Aubrey was being discreet and trustworthy, and
doing his best to appear invisible.
'A joke,' Rokeby-Taylor echoed, oblivious to the
tension. 'Far more important is the chance for you to
make a substantial fortune.'
'I already have a substantial fortune.'
'And so do I. But who can stop at one, eh?'
'Your proposal?'
'You become a major shareholder of Rokeby-Taylor
Shipbuilding. We could use an injection of funds – a bit
of a cash-flow problem at the moment, especially after
that problem with the
Electra
– and you'd double your
investment in six months. In the current climate. Say that
you'll meet Ingles, my new financial manager. He's a
wizard with things like this.'
Sir Darius stood. 'No.'
'Think carefully, Darius. This is risk-free. And it's patriotic.
You'd be helping a project that will defend the nation.'
'Thank you for the tea, even though it wasn't yours.' Sir
Darius smiled a chilly smile. 'But that always was your
way, Clive, very free with things that didn't belong to you.'
'Wait. Before you go, I want to show you something.'
'Another opportunity?'
'Of course. No-one will ever say that Clive Rokeby-
Taylor missed an opportunity. Follow me.'
He bounded out of the room. Sir Darius frowned.
'Well, Aubrey?'
'Sorry, sir, but he seems like a scoundrel.'
'No doubt about that. But is he a good-hearted
scoundrel, or a black-hearted scoundrel?'
'I always thought that people generally fall somewhere
in between.'
'And that is something that a politician – and especially
a Prime Minister – should never forget. Shall we see
what he's up to now?'
Aubrey couldn't help it. He found Rokeby-Taylor
appealing, with his enthusiasms and his energy. He couldn't
see how the man managed in the world of business,
but his achievements were evidence that he succeeded,
despite his erratic behaviour.
They found him in the main banking chamber.
He stood right in the middle, under the cupola, while
those more intent on their financial matters hurried
past to the teller of their choice. 'Darius! Over here!'
he called, unmindful of heads turning his way.
'Look up there,' he said when Sir Darius and Aubrey
had joined him. 'This must appeal to you.'
He pointed. Evenly spaced around the base of the
dome were a number of black boxes. They were slightly
tilted, so they looked down on the great space below.
Featureless, they looked to be about the size and dimensions
of a small trunk.
'If I'm supposed to be impressed,' Sir Darius said,' then
I'm afraid you've failed.'
Rokeby-Taylor shook his head in mock disappointment.
'I'm sorry about that. I thought you would have
been more interested in the greatest advance in magical
security in the last hundred years.'
'A grand claim. What are they?'
'Magic suppressors.'
Sir Darius looked up sharply, but Aubrey couldn't help
himself. 'Magic suppressors? That small?'
'Ah, I seem to have genuine interest,' Rokeby-Taylor
said. 'From both of you.'
'I've heard something about them,' Sir Darius said.
'Experimental, aren't they?'
'I encourage all Rokeby-Taylor industries to be at the
forefront of development. You saw that with the
Electra
.'
He rubbed his hands together.
'I saw a demonstration of a magic suppressor at a
Royal Society lecture last year,' Aubrey said. 'It was huge,
as big as an omnibus. It didn't work properly, either.'
'I told you I have some remarkable people working for
me,' Rokeby-Taylor said. He had trouble keeping a grin
from his face. 'The Rokeby-Taylor Magic Suppressors
are innovative in every way – size, reliability, and other
details that I'm far too busy or far too stupid to understand.
If they're carefully situated, they can generate an
intense damping field.'
'They stop magic,' Sir Darius said.
'No magic whatsoever can be performed, undertaken
or sustained within the field generated by my marvellous
little boxes.'
The implications made Aubrey's head spin. 'This could
be worth a fortune.'
'My thoughts precisely and I'm glad to hear it coming
from someone else. A very sizeable fortune, I hope.' He
gestured. 'These are the first fully operational models. All
I need is some investment funds and some publicity. I put
these in the bank, gratis, in order to achieve the latter.'
'And you're looking to me for the former?' Sir Darius
said. 'You don't give up, do you, Clive?'
'Come this way,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'You can see
better from over here.'
He took them to the wall near the entrance, pointing out
the positioning of the boxes and how they covered the
entire banking chamber. A pair of uniformed guards
nearby showed unfeigned interest, peering into the heights.
Aubrey automatically wanted to test the magical
suppressors, and found a simple light spell springing to
his lips. He bit it back.
No
, he thought,
no more magic. Not
even simple stuff
.
It felt unnatural, like refusing to scratch an itch, but he
was determined. It was the only way.
A scream interrupted Aubrey's thoughts and the
banking murmur. Aubrey swung around to see four
men emerging from one of the many doorways. One of
them was struggling, held by two of the others. He called
for help and the chamber underwent a transformation.
Many customers rushed directly toward the main
entrance, while others fled to the walls, as far from the
intruders as possible. It was a sea of humanity, surging
one way then the other before clearing the centre of the
chamber, leaving it stark and empty. Clerks and tellers
stayed at their posts, frozen mid-count.
The intruders stumbled to the middle of the chamber,
dragging their captive with them. One – the tallest –
had wild, unkempt hair. He was dressed in an expensive-looking
dark suit, but Aubrey could see that his boots
were old and worn. He stood calmly, with a hesitant
smile on his face, for all the world as if he were
performing for an audience. The others were less sure of
themselves and looked as if things weren't quite working
out as they'd planned.
The struggling figure struck at the tall man and cried
out again. Then Aubrey realised it was Sir Norman, the
governor. The banker's face was an alarming shade of red.
'Stay where you are!' shouted the tallest of the three
villains. He pointed at the struggling Sir Norman. 'Or
I will scramble this man's brains with magic of untold
power.'
Sir Norman immediately stopped his thrashing.
Uniformed guards were moving toward the intruders,
a dozen or more of them closing in with steely resolve.
The chief villain licked his lips nervously. 'I'm warning
you,' he called. 'Step back, or I will unleash such torrents
of torment that you'll be sorry you were born.'