Another scream cut through the hubbub, then shouts and cries of dismay as the audience took in what was happening. The walls, the stage, then the floor all began to grow fainter and fainter until the buildings and roads on either side of the Academy showed through.
A man shot to his feet. He clamped his cap on his head, then spun on his heel and ran up the aisle toward the rear doors. It was as if a signal shot had been fired. Pandemonium erupted. Everyone in the hall stood, shouting and pressing toward where they thought the exits were. A mass of humanity battered at the fading outline of the doors, thrusting them open.
'What's going on?' Caroline demanded over the uproar.
Aubrey didn't answer. He was being bombarded with waves of magic. They rolled over him, twisting at his magical awareness and leaving him gasping. His heart thudded in his chest as he tried to make sense of the mighty enchantment that was transforming the Academy of Sciences.
At the same time, he was not happy about being trapped in a mob. He knew that a panicked crowd was a dangerous beast, likely to behave unpredictably. There was no point trying to appeal to logic or better nature when fear was on the rampage.
The crowd had almost come to a standstill, caught in the bottleneck of the doors. He saw elbows being used, and punches started flying as those desperate to be out of the fading building tried to assert their claim for early exit. Women were flung aside, old men knocked over, umbrellas and walking sticks became weapons.
'We have to get out!' George shouted. His eyes darted from side to side, looking for imminent danger as the mob surged one way and then the other, seeking the exits. A number of the more panicked audience members were pushing at the unseen wall and struggled as if they were caught in thick glue.
Aubrey passed a hand over his face. He didn't need a physical challenge, not in his state. And he couldn't contemplate a magical solution either, especially given the magnitude of the enchantment that was on the loose.
He straightened. Dully, he noted that von Stralick had disappeared. Typical.
Over the tumult of the crowd, Aubrey heard the splintering of wood, then exclamations of surprise. Then came angry shouting and police whistles. The riot they anticipated may well have started, but through fear, not anger, he thought.
'Time to find a rear exit,' George shouted, pointing toward the stage that had faded unevenly, leaving enough to distinguish a possible way out.
George took the lead, acting as a battering ram. Aubrey followed gratefully in his path, and they managed to worm along a wall that was patchy in its solidity – partly ghostly, but stretches seeming almost unaffected. They stumbled onto the vacant stage, which was one of the more concrete-looking parts of the hall. A few others had the same idea and a ragged line of people staggered up the stairs, and into the wings, away from the tide of humanity that was still trying to crush through the remains of the main doors.
Aubrey followed George's broad back through the backstage darkness. A door loomed, with blessed fresh air gusting to them. George disappeared through it and Aubrey hurried after.
As soon as he was through, Aubrey was grabbed by rough hands. Before he could protest, he was pushed onto the flat bed of a wagon to join an angry-looking George. He scrambled, and saw Caroline tumbling to join them. She rolled neatly and came to a crouch, alert and ready to move. Aubrey felt like applauding, but he was shoved to one side, so that his back was to the sideboards. Caroline moved to a similar position nearby.
Out of the frying pan? Aubrey thought. But they didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, and he decided that demands for information may not be the best course of action in such a tense situation. He caught Caroline's eye, then nodded at George, who was sitting on Caroline's right. Wait, he mouthed.
He studied the others in the cart. They were the same motley assortment as had been in the lecture hall, except for one that made Aubrey very interested indeed: Gabriel, the red-haired firebrand from the Sons of Victor.
A voice shouted, a whip cracked and the wagon lurched off down the narrow alley. Behind them, the Academy building had become an apparition, a ghostly replica of itself that faded as he watched. It hung against the night sky, misty and grey, as if it were made of smoke.
When the wagon swung out onto the Boulevard of Industry, the gas street light showed that Gabriel was staring at them ferociously.
'You are not Marchmainers.' He pulled out a knife.
Time slowed. Aubrey could see the knife had a leather handle. He could see that it had a nick on the back of the blade. He could see that Gabriel's knuckles were torn and bloody.
Time for a plausible story, he thought. Very plausible, very fast.
'No, sir,' he said in his best Gallian. He felt it was best to be polite to a man who was brandishing a big knife. 'We're from Albion.' There, that should buy me some time to come up with something.
'So? I thought as much,' said Gabriel in Albionish. Aubrey tried to place his accent. It was Marchmainer, but with an odd inflection, slightly emphasising each t. 'It doesn't mean I shouldn't kill you.'
'Ah.'
Aubrey felt both Caroline and George tensing, ready to tackle Gabriel. He shook his head and they subsided.
Gabriel had three compatriots. They were big, thicknecked, and Aubrey decided that all of them had been destined to work as bodyguards from the time they could walk.
'We're Marchmaine supporters,' Aubrey said quickly. 'Many Albionites admire the struggle for Marchmaine independence and want to help. And we see Martin Victor as one of the great political figures of the nineteenth century.'
'Of course you'd say that. I have a knife.'
'What can I do to prove it, then?'
Gabriel spat over the side. 'You can't. But you can tell me why I shouldn't kill you now.'
Before Aubrey could say anything, Caroline spoke. 'Ransom.'
Gabriel's knife didn't move, but he flicked a glance at her. 'Go on.'
'My mother is a wealthy woman. She has many influential friends. I'm sure she'd be happy to make a large donation to the Marchmaine cause – as long as we're unharmed.'
Gabriel's knife disappeared. He smiled, but Aubrey found it as disconcerting as his menacing expression. 'I'm glad we were able to rescue three Marchmaine supporters from the Lutetian authorities. They are probably assaulting the others as we speak.'
Gabriel banged on the driver's seat and growled a few words. The driver whistled and urged his horse ahead.
'All right,' Gabriel said. 'I think it best if we leave the vicinity for a while. The police may be after us.'
'Why?' Aubrey asked. 'Surely it can't be illegal to hold a political rally in the capital of Gallia?'
Gabriel snorted. 'That shows how little you know of Gallian politics. The police will find some excuse to arrest many of our people, my friend.'