Time of Trial (6 page)

Lady Rose put the basket of herbs on a hall table. ‘I'm off. I shan't be back for the rest of the day.'

With more than a little disquiet, Aubrey watched his mother's brisk preparations to leave, noting the concern in her eyes that she attempted to hide. Like his father, she was extraordinarily capable, but she did pride herself on her self-reliance – to the extent that, at times, she found it difficult to confide her fears in others.

Caroline interrupted his thoughts. ‘Aubrey, I'm assuming you have a plan?'

He never wanted to disappoint Caroline, even though he had no idea what she was referring to. ‘Of course.'

‘For finding von Stralick.'

‘Oh.' An item rose from his back-of-the-mind ponderings. ‘Refugee communities.'

‘I'd been thinking along the same lines. So where do we start?'

Aubrey was inordinately pleased that they thought along the same lines. He filed it in his ‘Reasons to be Optimistic' folder.

‘South of the river,' he said, remembering their recent encounter with Count Brandt and his displaced Holmlanders.

‘Which is half the city,' Caroline said gently.

Aubrey had an idea. ‘Cook. I'll ask her where she gets her sausages. We had them last week and she was telling us how Holmland sausages are the best.'

‘Woodley Lane in Little Pickling,' came a voice from the top of the stairs. ‘Four of the best sausage-makers in one tiny stretch of street.' George stood at the top of the stairs, beaming. ‘It's the centre of the Holmlander community in Trinovant.'

‘I should have asked you first, George,' Aubrey said. ‘Food is your business.'

‘We all have our specialities, old man. Let's go. I might be able to pick up some of those delightful dumplings while we're there.'

The Istros Coffee House was named after Holmland's most famous river. It was right in the middle of a small cluster of shops that seemed to be dedicated to recreating Fisherberg in the heart of Trinovant. The sausage makers fought for business, and the trade was brisk. Sweet pastries were piled high in the windows of Holmlander bakeries. Waltz music seeped through doors and open windows.

‘This seems like a good place to start,' Aubrey announced after they'd studied the comings and goings for some time.

‘It can't hurt to make some enquiries,' George said.

Caroline looked doubtful. ‘I can imagine half a dozen ways this could go wrong.' She sighed. ‘But I don't have any other ideas.'

Aubrey led the way. He pushed open the door and led the way into the warm, dark, splendidly aromatic interior. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust, and he was relieved to see that their entrance hadn't excited any more than cursory glances from the patrons, who were far more interested in their refreshments. Aubrey's Holmlandish was good enough for him to hear half a dozen different regional accents in the room. It seemed as if the Istros Coffee House drew its customers from all over Holmland.

‘Do you recognise anyone?' Caroline asked.

He shook his head. He'd been hoping that someone they'd met in their time with Count Brandt would have remained behind in Albion instead of joining their comrades in their ill-fated mission back to Holmland.

George nodded toward the back of the café. ‘Sounds as if there's another room down there. I can hear accordion music.'

‘Oh dear,' Caroline said. They both looked at her. ‘I'm sorry. I have trouble with the accordion.'

‘So does whoever's trying to play it.' George winced. ‘Still, it's hard to tell the difference between an accordion played badly and an accordion played well.'

Bemused, Aubrey led them to a door just to the left of the entrance to the kitchen. A hearty Holmlandish dance tune came from it as the accordionist worked up a good head of steam. Caroline grimaced. ‘I had a cat, once, who made that sort of noise when I accidentally stepped on his tail.'

‘Steady, Caroline,' George said. ‘Be brave.'

Aubrey edged through the doorway but his entrance wasn't discreet enough. A score of faces turned slowly to stare at the interlopers over their steaming coffee cups. The accordion player stopped mid-squeeze, much to Caroline's relief.

At the far end of the room, under the large portrait of the Elektor of Holmland, a lean, dapper man rose to his feet. He was dressed in a light grey suit, very stylish in a room full of heavy coats and scarves. He wore his hair long and over his ears. ‘Fitzwilliam. You've brought Miss Hepworth and the other one to see us.'

Sitting on von Stralick's right was a young bespectacled man with a look of absolute horror on his face. He groaned, clutched both sides of his wild-haired head and let it fall forward until it hit the table with a thud.

Von Stralick looked down at him and sighed. ‘You've met my cousin, Mr Kiefer, I take it?'

The inner sanctum of the Istros Coffee House was the meeting place of the Holmland intelligentsia in exile, von Stralick explained once the patrons settled and the accordionist resumed, to Caroline's irritation. Over the buzz of serious Holmlandish conversation and the gentle steaming of giant urns, Aubrey surveyed the room. Men and women, mostly middle-aged or older. The men had accepted that bald heads, beards and spectacles were essential if they were to be part of this gathering. Some, perhaps lacking confidence, took on all three. The women were less uniform in their dress and appearance, but were consistently intense in their participation in arguments ranging from, if Aubrey's Holmlandish was up to scratch, the role of free will, the purpose of life and the puzzle of collective unconscious to whether dogs have souls.

Von Stralick was relaxed, jovial and vastly amused at Aubrey's ordeal. Kiefer didn't look up. He had his head in his hands. ‘Come, Fitzwilliam,' von Stralick said after Aubrey, George and Caroline had joined them at the table, ‘tell me again about your buying a pistol. Most risible.'

Aubrey decided that von Stralick didn't look like a clandestine enemy agent keeping a low profile.

‘It wasn't funny,' George said.

‘No, of course not,' von Stralick said. ‘Not from your point of view, anyway.' He nudged his silent tablemate. ‘What do you say, Otto? Laughable, no?'

Kiefer groaned again, but still didn't lift his head.

‘My cousin is distressed,' von Stralick said. ‘Ashamed of what happened to you.'

‘Wait,' Aubrey said. ‘I've just run into a number of baffling things at once.' He counted on his fingers. ‘Firstly, Kiefer is your cousin?'

Von Stralick beamed. ‘Of course. My mother's sister's little boy. Ambitious, brilliant, but a little erratic.'

‘So you didn't kidnap him from Greythorn?'

‘Kidnap? Of course not. He telephoned me to say he needed to leave the university.'

Caroline leaned forward. ‘But witnesses said you bundled him into a motorcar.'

Von Stralick glanced at his cousin. ‘You've seen him, no? Sometimes his body and his brain seem to have only a passing acquaintance. He tripped himself while getting into the motorcar, I caught him, he became tangled. He was lucky not to dislocate a knee.'

‘Compelling,' George said. ‘But why was he fleeing?'

‘I had to.' The muffled voice came from Kiefer, whose head was still buried in his arms. ‘Because of what happened to Fitzwilliam.' He lifted a woebegone face. ‘I turned him into a killer.'

‘And I take it from your reaction,' Aubrey said, ‘that this was not your intention?'

Kiefer straightened. His eyes were wide and he held up his hands, palm first, in abject surrender. ‘Me? No! How could I? How could you believe I could? I would never do such a thing!'

Either he's the world's best actor
, Aubrey thought,
or the poor fellow is genuinely mortified
. ‘I see. So you're as much a victim here as I am?'

Kiefer beat at his chest with a fist. ‘I suffered when I heard. As if my heart was torn from me and used to assault me about the head.'

Caroline tapped the table with a finger. ‘And how exactly did you hear of Aubrey's plight?'

Aubrey turned and stared at her. Of course. This was crucial.

Kiefer still looked miserable, unaware of the intense scrutiny turned his way. ‘Professor Glauber telephoned and told me what I'd done. It was he who suggested it was a good idea for me to leave.' He craned his neck and looked around the room. ‘I wanted to thank him for his warning but they say he hasn't been here for some time.'

Von Stralick caught Aubrey's eye. ‘Professor Glauber was lecturer in metallurgy at the Holmland Technological Institute. He has been in Trinovant for five years.'

‘A regular customer here, is he?' Aubrey asked.

Von Stralick pointed at a vacant space at the table furthest from the door, right next to a hideously ornate vase. ‘That's his place. No-one else would dare sit there.'

‘You've met Professor Glauber before?' Aubrey asked Kiefer.

‘He met me when I arrived in Albion and helped me find my feet.'

‘A not inconsiderable task,' George pointed out.

‘Exactly,' Kiefer said, then looked puzzled. ‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Never mind,' said Aubrey. ‘The fact is that you know his voice.'

‘Of course.'

‘Even on the telephone.'

‘It was him,' Kiefer said firmly.

‘Or a good facsimile,' Caroline said. ‘Aubrey, is there anyone you know who is expert at assuming other identities?'

Von Stralick hissed, a long, drawn-out breath. ‘So you think
he's
responsible for this?'

‘Dr Tremaine?' Aubrey said. ‘It has every sign of his work.'

Aubrey could have sworn that no-one in the room had been listening to them. Conversations had been swirling in and out of the accordion music, waiters had been serving pastries and coffee, the fug of pipe smoke made a misty false ceiling. But immediately he mentioned the ex-Sorcerer Royal it was like dropping a crate full of china at a funeral.

Conversations ebbed to a halt. The accordionist stopped – again. A few heads turned their way but most gave every indication of straining not to do so. The affected nonchalance was so studied that Aubrey thought it could have passed the civil service examination with first class honours.

‘Ach. It is as I feared,' Von Stralick said, ignoring the way everyone was ignoring them. ‘Dr Tremaine has increased his power in Fisherberg, you know, so his plots are going to become more dangerous.'

‘You are a bearer of good news,' George said. He turned in his chair. He searched the room for a moment, then plucked a tray of pastries from a passing waiter. ‘Here. I think we're going to need these.'

Conversation gradually resumed until, once again, they were wrapped in the comfortable commerce of humanity, a plausible screen for their discussion.

Aubrey took one of the pastries. It was sugared and coiled like a snail. He was about to take a bite when he had a thought. ‘Von Stralick, does Dr Tremaine know you're in Trinovant?'

‘I hope not, but who knows what the villain knows?'

‘And why exactly
are
you here?' George asked.

‘Good question, George,' Aubrey said. ‘Well, von Stralick? Last we heard, you were in Fisherberg, taking care of your career.'

Von Stralick suddenly found his empty coffee cup vastly interesting. ‘I was. Then my career took care of itself.'

George harrumphed. ‘Not a spy any more, is that what you're saying?'

‘Intelligence work wasn't providing the opportunities it once had. Not with your Dr Tremaine so highly thought of.'

‘Your superior in the Holmland Intelligence Department was not a Dr Tremaine supporter, I take it,' Caroline said.

‘No. As a result, his influence declined markedly. Even more so after his unfortunate demise.' He looked up at the ceiling. ‘Suicide, they said. He was a remarkable man, but I think that shooting oneself seven times in the back was beyond even him.' Von Stralick hardened. ‘His name has been disgraced, his family ruined, thanks to Tremaine.'

Aubrey felt his stomach turn to ice. This was no game. ‘So you were cast adrift? No-one to report to?'

‘I have my superior's superior. He didn't answer my messages so I thought he may be in some difficulty. I decided to take matters into my own hands.'

‘No wonder Albion seems like a more comfortable place,' George said. ‘So if you're not spying, what's your game?'

Von Stralick rubbed his gloved hands together. ‘Importing and exporting. A bit of this, a bit of that, I think the saying goes.'

‘Nice and nebulous,' Aubrey said. ‘Good-looking suit. Barber and Sons?'

‘It is. I'm glad you like it.'

‘A Barber and Sons suit means that you're not short for money.'

‘Importing and exporting is doing well, in these troublesome times.'

Caroline sighed. ‘Can you two finish posturing soon? Then we can move on to more important matters.'

‘Such as the most dangerous man alive,' Aubrey muttered. The others looked at him. ‘Sorry if it sounds melodramatic, but it's probably true. Someone who is dedicated to plunging the world into war, just to fuel his magical efforts at personal immortality? Sounds dangerous to me.'

‘I agree,' Kiefer said. ‘He must be stopped.'

‘How?' George said. ‘Easier said than done, it seems to me.'

‘Flush him out,' Caroline said. ‘Lure him to Albion and take him.'

Von Stralick lifted an eyebrow. ‘Extraordinary.'

Caroline bristled. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Remember who we're talking about, Miss Hepworth. The most dangerous man alive and you want to confront him? Most people spend their waking hours hoping to avoid him.'

‘We choose the place, the time, not him,' Aubrey said, picking up Caroline's suggestion. Slowly an idea was beginning to take form. ‘Every other meeting we've had has been because of his planning. He's been prepared, with multiple escape routes, with backup resources. Let's turn the tables so that we're the ones who have traps within traps.'

Von Stralick sat back in his chair. ‘You know, I think you could do this. At least, that's what the reports said.'

‘Reports?' Aubrey said.

‘Tremaine circulated a number of reports about the affair in Lutetia, then the failed plot to destroy your economy. He drew attention to you, particularly. He noted you as a potential threat, strategically and magically.'

For a moment, Aubrey felt absurdly pleased. Then he realised it may help to explain the attention he was receiving from Dr Tremaine.

The room suddenly felt much more exposed than it was.

A figure stood at the doorway. Once again, all heads turned in the direction of the newcomer – even Kiefer's, and he brightened noticeably. He stood and waved. ‘Professor Glauber! Over here!'