Eleven

'I WAS INVESTIGATING MY FATHER'S DEATH,' CAROLINE explained, glaring. Aubrey rubbed his jaw and made a resolution never to make her hit him again.

Aubrey and George were leaning against the wall in the kitchen of the Big House. Aubrey had made sure they'd removed their cat's eyes before they went inside, to avoid comment.

Caroline had been put on a chair in front of the largest stove. Mrs Butterly, the cook, had draped a blanket around her shoulders. Mrs Butterly was glaring, too, and continually rearranged the woolly covering.

'Of course,' Aubrey said. 'I was sorry to hear of it.'

'Yes,' George said. 'Terribly sorry.'

'Mrs Butterly,' Aubrey said, 'you'll organise a place for the young lady to stay tonight?'

The cook nodded, not willing to interrupt her fussing.

'George and I will need rooms as well. If that's convenient.'

The cook crossed her arms across her enormous bosom. 'I'm sure we'd insist on it,' she said in an unexpectedly high-pitched voice. 'At least we'd have some hope of keeping an eye on you, Aubrey Fitzwilliam.'

She rang for a maid. Aubrey wanted to say something more to Caroline, but she was pointedly ignoring them. He shook his head. He supposed he couldn't expect gratitude after they had rendered her unconscious, then dragged her back to the house, while the Black Beast of Penhurst lurked nearby in the night.

When two maids arrived, Mrs Butterly made the arrangements. Aubrey and George left her trying to get Caroline to take some barley water to get over the shock. Aubrey hadn't seen much sign of shock. He'd seen indignation and a desire to rush back out into the night with her magically enhanced shotgun, but shock? He had a feeling that Caroline Hepworth was made of tougher stuff than that.

Aubrey waited while his bed was made up for him and towels fetched. When the maid left, Aubrey went next door to George's room and knocked.

'Well, George,' he said, collapsing onto the chair, 'did you ever have the feeling that you were caught in a very tangled spider's web?'

'Constantly. Ever since I've known you.'

Aubrey clasped his hands together and leaned forward. He grinned. 'Quite right. Exciting, isn't it?'

He rubbed his forehead then, and his enthusiasm subsided somewhat.

George noticed. 'How are you?'

'I'm keeping myself together well enough. I daren't let myself get knocked around too much, I think.'

'You were lucky Miss Hepworth didn't hurt you too much.'

'Quite. I thought she was an assassin dressed in that costume.'

'It wasn't very . . .' George searched for the right word. 'Demure.'

Aubrey smiled. 'No, definitely not demure. A person of surprises is Miss Hepworth.'

'Showing up here in the middle of the night? Rather.'

'It's more than that. She had some sort of magic with her. Remember the orange flash? I managed to look over her shotgun while we carried her back here. It had some interesting magical modifications.'

'Where would she get such a thing?'

'I don't think she'll tell us. Not tonight.' Aubrey hummed under his breath. 'I'm off to bed. Early start tomorrow, George.'

WHILE THEY WERE EATING A GARGANTUAN BREAKFAST UNDER the stern eye of Mrs Butterly, Aubrey looked out for Caroline, but she did not appear. Several times he went to ask the cook about her, but Mrs Butterly's gaze was stony and he left well enough alone.

Feeling as if he'd eaten enough for a fortnight, Aubrey went out into the morning and marched back to where he had encountered Caroline the night before. George accompanied him, totally at ease with the world now daylight had come.

A heavy dew had fallen and their boots were soon sodden. Aubrey scowled but quickly forgot about them. The morning was too delightful, with blue skies stretching overhead and only the gentlest of breezes. Without realising it, he began humming as they climbed the stile and skirted the hedgerows, retracing the path they had taken with the unconscious Caroline the previous night.

When they found the dell, Aubrey stood and surveyed it for a moment.

'Seemed larger last night,' George said.

Aubrey nodded. He found the pouch around his neck and took out a specially treated magnifying glass. He'd magically attuned it by using a combination of spells bound up with sensitivity and appearance. He was pleased with the result, which allowed him to see the most minute traces of magical residue.

With George looking on bemused, Aubrey crept on all fours around the dell, peering through his magical magnifying glass. Eventually, his friend wandered off and Aubrey was left alone with the sounds of the working farm – a lonely dog, cows, an engine of some sort in the distance – filtering through the woods surrounding the dell.

Half an hour later, George ambled back to find Aubrey just completing his inspection. 'It's strange, George,' he said. He stood, wiping his hands on his trousers, which were equally muddy as his hands. He hardly noticed.

'What's strange?'

'If I knew what it was, I wouldn't call it strange.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Never mind.' Aubrey frowned. 'This Black Beast appears to have left some residue here, but I'm damned if I can determine what it is. I've never seen its like before.'

'Are you sure you're not just seeing stuff left behind by the magical shotgun?'

'No. It was strange stuff, too, but I accounted for all of it. This is something else.'

'Hmm. What do we do next?'

'I want to see where we discovered the golem. Then we go home.'

'If we can stow our bicycles in the guards' van, we could take the train,' George suggested.

'Good idea, George, even if it makes your laziness more obvious. Now, to the shooting grounds.'

THE SITE UNDER THE OAK TREE LOOKED AS IF AN ARMY HAD been through. Aubrey stood back and imagined dozens of Special Services agents trampling the grass and undergrowth as they searched for clues. Even so, the outline of the golem was still clear, because the grass had blackened and died where the creature had melted. Aubrey wondered how long the earth would stay barren.

He scraped some earth samples into small bottles, frowning as he did so. The magnifying glass revealed more of the puzzling residue. Did this mean that the golem and the Black Beast were made by the same hand?

They made their way back to the campsite and packed up their belongings. The tent was a devil to fold and stow, still being wet from the dew. Aubrey attacked it with vigour rather than science, glad to be grappling with something as solid as canvas.

The tent, however, refused to be intimidated. After George managed to stop laughing, he instructed Aubrey on how to hold corners, fold carefully, press seams and roll out air. Aubrey took this as an important lesson in humility, and a timely one at that.

They pushed the bicycles back towards the Big House, stopping at Hoskins's cottage on the way. Aubrey assured him that they were well and that they wouldn't impose on him like that again. Hoskins looked both relieved and dubious.

The stationmaster greeted them as they trundled the bicycles up to the station. He informed them that they'd have a half-hour wait. 'Perhaps you'd like to sit with the young lady,' he suggested.

Aubrey swung around to see Caroline at the station gate. 'I've been waiting for you,' she said. 'What's kept you so long? The Black Beast?'

The stationmaster stared at her, then at Aubrey.

'It's all right,' Aubrey said smoothly to him. 'Miss Hepworth, it's good to see you again.'

The stationmaster went inside, muttering into his beard.

There was no sign of the black outfit Caroline had been wearing the previous evening, and Aubrey was disappointed. On this bright morning she'd donned a smart tweed skirt and jacket. In the breeze, her hat was tied under her chin with a green and white ribbon.

'I need to talk to both of you,' she said. 'And I hope I can do it without your attacking me again.'

'Of course,' Aubrey said hastily. 'About your father, no doubt, and his work?'

'Yes,' Caroline said, her eyes distant. 'His work.' She snapped her gaze onto Aubrey. 'I need to talk to you about that, too.'

'Oh?'

'The waiting room would be more private,' George pointed out. 'We could talk there.'

'Quite right, George. Miss Hepworth?' Aubrey bowed and gestured for her to lead the way.

The waiting room had a settee, a small table, two armchairs with loose, flowery chintz covers, and a fireplace.

This left very little free floor space in the small room. They shuffled around, with Caroline taking the settee. Aubrey and George took a chair each.

'Quite a waiting room,' George said.

'Fit for a Prince,' Aubrey pointed out.

Caroline studied them both dispassionately, which Aubrey thought a great pity. She reminded him of a heroine in a romantic painting, a warrior maid with steel in her spirit and fire in her eye, but he had a feeling that she would scoff at such a notion.

She appeared to come to a decision. 'I don't know if I should be telling you this.'

'Ah,' Aubrey said. 'That's always a good start.'

She frowned, a crease dividing her eyebrows. 'Are you always flippant?'

'No,' George put in. 'Sometimes he's overbearing, sometimes he's rash, sometimes he's maddening, or arrogant. But he's rarely dull.'

'Thank you, George.' Aubrey clasped his hands together and glanced at Caroline. 'He knows me too well,' he said wildly.

She looked at him. He could see her weighing up whether they were worth talking to at all. Something about them must have reassured her, because she went on. 'My father was not happy,' she said. 'For some time before his death, he was trying to escape from his duty.'

'I'm sorry,' Aubrey said. 'His duty? What do you mean?'

'I'll have to go back some time,' Caroline said. She touched the ribbon at her neck, fingering the knot under her chin.

'By all means. We're in no hurry, are we, George?'

'Not at all.'

She put her hands in her lap and composed herself. 'Father was happiest at the university at Greythorn, away from the city. It was where he could talk with like-minded researchers in laboratories just down the hall from his, or over a pint in one of his favourite taverns in the town. The library facilities, the laboratory equipment, all were first class, but it was the people that Father loved. He said it was like being a coal in a furnace, where individual coals make the whole hotter and hotter, each feeding the other.'

'But he left,' Aubrey said.

'He didn't leave,' Caroline said, eyes flashing. 'His commission was activated.'

'He was in the army?' George said.

'He was an officer, a major.'

Aubrey was intrigued. He couldn't imagine Professor Hepworth in battle, leading men and issuing orders.

'It was before I was born,' she went on, 'and it was only for a short time, but apparently he never resigned. He was simply on reserve.'

'Ah,' said Aubrey. 'The military has ways of keeping a hold on valuable people.'

'What do you mean?' She frowned again. Aubrey found himself hoping that he would, one day, see her smiling more frequently than frowning.

He sat back in the armchair. He tilted his head, looked at the ceiling and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. Professor Hepworth in the army. Perhaps not the regular army . . .

'Imagine if certain people within the military had the task of taking a long view of things, charged with the safety of the country, but particularly with preparing for threats that may take years to appear.'

'Doesn't the military ordinarily do that?' George asked.

Caroline rolled her eyes. 'Mostly, the military chiefs are doing well if they can plan what they're going to have for lunch.'

Aubrey continued. 'These long-term planners, shall we call them, may decide to ensure that the brightest brains in the country are in the forces – have taken the King's commission.'

'Oh,' Caroline said.

'Imagine,' Aubrey went on, 'a talented young magical researcher, perhaps just married, certainly struggling for money, being approached by a senior military man. Most likely a war hero, but that may be just a nicety.'

'You're making this up,' Caroline accused.

'Yes,' George said. 'This is what he does. He thinks about things and then spins stories to fit.'

'To go on,' Aubrey said, 'this military man would tell our young researcher that he could undertake a special short stint in the army – or navy, but I can't really see Professor Hepworth at sea.'

Caroline shook her head. 'No. Chronic seasickness. He suffers terribly. Suffered terribly.' Her chin quivered, but she caught herself.

Aubrey resumed. 'The military man would persuade our young researcher by leaning on his patriotism, his duty to the country, and suggesting that a military record would not go astray in applying for academic positions. It would be an irresistible case. A short time in the service, some useful pay, and then our young researcher forgets all about his time in uniform because he finds an academic post and his studies take over.'

'Just in time,' George said. 'Here's the train.'

With the stationmaster's help, they were able to negotiate with the guard and the bicycles were safely stowed in the van.

After they had settled in their compartment, Aubrey weighed up matters then took the chance to resume the conversation. 'And what exactly were you doing out there last night, Miss Hepworth?'

She looked out of the window before answering, through the steam and smoke as the train eased out of the station. 'I was waiting for the Black Beast. It killed my father. I wanted to destroy it.'

George raised an eyebrow. 'With a shotgun?'

'A remarkable shotgun,' Aubrey said. 'Isn't that right, Miss Hepworth?'

She nodded. 'I'm not as credulous as to believe the thing that killed my father was really the Black Beast of legend, but I knew it had to be something extremely powerful, magically. In my father's workshop . . .' Her voice caught a little in her throat. 'I found some magically prepared shotgun shells and a gun. I thought it might work against the creature.'

At the mention of Professor Hepworth's workshop, Aubrey leaned forward. The workshop could hold some useful information about what the professor was working on, and his business with Banford Park. If Caroline had access to the workshop, it could bear investigating.

'You know what the creature is?' George asked. The train whistle screeched as they rounded the bend and steamed up the hill away from Penhurst.

'No. Not really. Not entirely.'

'Tell me, Miss Hepworth,' Aubrey said, 'where did your father work?'

She looked a little puzzled at the abrupt change of direction in the conversation. 'At the research facility. Banford Park.'

'Yes, but where exactly is the research facility?'

'Bordering Penhurst Estate, I think.' She pursed her lips. 'I'm sure of it. Father was vague about directions, but that was unsurprising. He was terrible at reading maps and things like that, but he did say that he could walk from the research facility to the Big House in an hour or so, and had done so many times. After the Prince visited their facility, he insisted that the researchers come to Penhurst often. I think he was appalled at the living quarters.'

'The Prince visited the research facility?' Aubrey asked sharply.

'So Father said. I suppose he shouldn't really have talked about all these things, but I'm sure the security people were at their wits' end with the researchers. Researchers simply couldn't understand what secrecy was for. They were used to sharing their work, not hiding it.'

'And did your father happen to mention what sort of work they were doing?'

'No. Even he must have realised that he shouldn't discuss some things. All I can say is that, whenever I managed to see him, he was either exhilarated or decidedly unhappy. The exhilaration meant that his work was stimulating, full of challenges and unexpected findings. The unhappiness was the sort of unhappiness I'd only seen once before, when the university forced him to work on a project he didn't agree with, something to do with magical experimentation on animals.'

'Jolly good of him,' George said.

Aubrey glanced at him. George had never approved of such things as cruelty to animals, even in the name of magical enquiry, a legacy of his heritage on the land. Over the years Aubrey had seen the way his friend had made pets of orphan lambs whenever he was on the farm.

'How did that project at the university go?' Aubrey asked. 'The one he was forced to work on?'

Caroline smiled faintly. 'Terribly. With Father's heart not in it, it dragged on and on. I don't think he consciously sabotaged it, but the project went around in circles, mistakes were made, results lost . . . It was eventually abandoned, and I remember Father sheepishly telling us about the dean's displeasure, but he couldn't stop smiling at the thought of moving on to something he really wanted to do.'

Aubrey sat back in his seat and looked out of the window for a time. He jiggled a leg, and began humming.

Caroline stared curiously at this display. 'It's all right,' George said to her. 'He's often like this.'

'George,' Aubrey said, 'do you have your notebook?'

George plucked it from his jacket and produced a pencil.

'Very good. Let us note what we have here.'

Aubrey cleared his throat and held up a finger. 'Firstly, with respect, we have the death of two famous magical researchers, Dr Tremaine and Professor Hepworth, one by sorcerous means.'

Caroline's mouth firmed, but she nodded.

'Secondly, we have an attempt on the life of the Crown Prince. Again, by sorcerous means. Thirdly, we have a highly secret magical research facility near the site of all three of these incidents.'

Aubrey looked at the three fingers he was holding up. 'Have I forgotten anything?'

'A reasonable explanation,' George said, staring at his notes.

'George, simply because we can't see something doesn't mean it's not there. I thought you'd know that by now. Don't you agree, Miss Hepworth?'

She frowned. 'So you're saying, if I follow you correctly, that the research facility may be involved in both sorcerous attacks? The one on my father and the one on Prince Albert?'

'Exactly.' Aubrey sat back and crossed his arms on his chest, feeling reasonably smug.

'But why?'

Aubrey blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He held up a finger and started again. 'I will answer a question with some further questions.' That should give me some time to come up with something, he thought. 'Why would someone want both Professor Hepworth and the Crown Prince dead? What do they have in common? Who could benefit from their deaths?'

'Not Banford Park. Father was the leading researcher. He was vital for their work.'

Aubrey thought aloud. 'War work. Banford Park was involved in work for the military.'

'How do you know that?' Caroline asked.

George snorted. 'He guessed when we met Dr Tremaine. It fits, you know. Professor Hepworth's being redrafted. Things are happening with Holmland. It makes sense that we'd have top brains working on magical means for defence.'

Caroline looked at both of them. 'The war.' She looked grim, then distressed. 'That would be it.'

'The research facility could be there to find new sorcerous means to defend the country,' Aubrey said. 'Or it may be for magical offensive weapons, more work of this long-range planning group of the military, no doubt.'

'The Black Beast?' George offered. 'Has someone been using the guise of an old legend to hide these new sorcerous weapons?'

'Perhaps. Imagine such a creature on the battlefield. Panic, terror, troops throwing down weapons and running away. It could be devastating.'

Aubrey stared out of the window at the green and pleasant countryside. He hated to think of such a place as the scene of battle.

He knew that Albion was in an exceedingly delicate situation. It might be an island kingdom, but the continent was only a few miles away. Following the manoeuvrings between the countries and empires there was like trying to keep track of clouds in a storm-driven sky. The Goltan states were a powder keg of shifting alliances, with powerful nations surrounding them and watching closely. It was made even more complicated by the King insisting that his many relations, on the many thrones on the continent, were all to be trusted and supported.

Aubrey paid attention to his father's business inside and outside Parliament and had come to the conclusion that Holmland was the centre of much of the disquiet. It was becoming increasingly warlike; recently, it had been annexing small principalities under the flimsiest pretexts. Now it was looking hungrily at the Goltan states. And though the King had recently repeated his view that Holmland was a harmless friend, a jolly empire which made fine accordions, good beer and better sausages, there were many who thought differently.

Aubrey's father was one. He was a strong proponent of firm resistance, of facing up to bluffs and shows of force from the increasingly strong Holmland. He was not one for appeasement.

'Your father, Miss Hepworth,' Aubrey asked, 'what was his view about the war?'

She was gazing through the window, her chin resting on a long and elegant hand. She looked at Aubrey and his heart turned an odd corner. 'He didn't have one. He dismissed the continental situation as a lot of silly posturing.'

'There's quite a bit of that, but it does go deeper.'

'I'm sure,' she murmured and returned her attention to the passing countryside.

Aubrey gazed at her for some time. 'What are your plans, Miss Hepworth?' he eventually asked.

George raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

'Please call me Caroline. Both of you. "Miss Hepworth" sounds unbearably old-fashioned.' She looked at Aubrey evenly. 'I still aim to find out who killed my father. Even if it is tangled up with warmongering.'

'Sounds rather dangerous,' George said.

'It's bound to be,' Aubrey said. 'You're going back to Penhurst?' he asked Caroline.

She shook her head. 'I have to help my mother with the funeral.' She paused and Aubrey was impressed again by her calm. 'I thought I might go to look in Father's workshop.' She sighed. 'There may be something, some indication –'

'Your father's workshop?' Aubrey interrupted. 'At the research facility? How will you get entry?'

She waved this away. 'His private workshop, nothing to do with the research facility. At Greythorn. The university paid the rent on it, hoping his secondment wouldn't last long. He may have left something in his notebook about what he was working on before he went.'

'Excellent!' Aubrey said. 'All we'd need would be a clue, a hint . . .'

'We?' both Caroline and George echoed.

'You are making an assumption here,' Caroline said to Aubrey.

He shrugged. 'I tend to. Forgive me. I feel this may be important.' He grinned. 'I can be ready in a day. When would suit you? The sooner the better, of course.'

Caroline stiffened.

'Aubrey,' George said, 'the funeral . . .'

'Ah.' Aubrey felt like kicking himself. He'd allowed his enthusiasm to run away, again. 'Yes. I'm sorry.'

Caroline didn't look at him, or answer. She simply turned to the window again.

The train whistle wailed and they hurtled towards the city.