Sir Darius refused. He could see the dangers of such vengeful actions. He offered to resign if his party didn’t support him. He pointed out that since the uprising, Holmland was a different country, and as such it needed assistance, not punishment. The Chancellor and his warmongering cronies were on trial for their crimes, with some damning evidence coming from the file that von Stralick had provided to Aubrey. Crushing Holmland would only create resentment – and a breeding ground for a dangerous future.
Not without some grumbling from backbenchers, Sir Darius won the day.
Aubrey glanced at George, which was a mistake. Days ago, his friend had decided to liven up the interminable occasion by constantly trying to make Aubrey laugh and this time, the face he pulled nearly succeeded. It was only by adding to the bite marks already on the inside of his cheeks that Aubrey maintained the demeanour expected in such a dignified setting.
A few more speeches interrupted proceedings and Aubrey found himself wondering if he were under a misapprehension and the speeches were, in fact, the proceedings and the signing an interruption.
When the observations from the Veltranian delegate concluded, Aubrey decided it was a sign of the times that a former rebel leader could become a respected figure in an international setting. He caught Rodolfo’s eye as the Veltranian shuffled his papers at the lectern, then he saluted. He was rewarded with a smile, which was a triumph, coming as it did from the notoriously doleful Rodolfo.
An end to the day was called, with no sign of a conclusion to the conference. Aubrey stifled a sigh, waited for Commander Craddock to leave, then he slipped outside. Fresh air and a lack of stuffiness – atmospheric and personal – beckoned.
Lady Rose was on the terrace, gazing out over the gardens. She wore a large hat to shade her face. Her dress was a pale yellow. ‘Are they anywhere near a conclusion yet?’
‘Hardly, Mother.’ Aubrey pecked her on the cheek. ‘It’s only been three days. I’d say they’re just warming up.’
‘I knew there was a good reason I never accompanied your father on these diplomatic jaunts.’
Aubrey had been surprised when his mother had volunteered to come along to the Belville signing, but he knew that she had a sense of history and a sense of occasion. This collection of the high and mighty was bound to be remembered for years and it was good to be a part of it.
‘I hope you know that your father is immensely proud of you,’ she said suddenly, turning away from her contemplation of the flower beds that stretched into the distance.
‘I do,’ Aubrey said. ‘He told me.’
It had been a shock when Sir Darius had taken Aubrey aside just before the first gathering in the Gallery of Glass and explained how impressed he was with Aubrey’s conduct and achievements. It was the term ‘heroic’ and the firmness of the handshake that left Aubrey lost for words.
‘I’m glad,’ Lady Rose said. ‘I insisted that he did, but I wasn’t sure he’d work up enough courage.’
‘Courage?’
‘Everybody has their areas of diffidence, Aubrey. He’s never been confident where you’re concerned.’
Aubrey took this as well as he’d take a blow to the head. He snatched at the first thing that came to mind. ‘I’m proud of him, too.’
‘And so you should be.’ She patted him absently on the shoulder. ‘And I’m proud of both of you.’
For a time, Aubrey stood in a daze next to his mother, thinking about how endlessly surprising people were, until Lady Rose tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Caroline Hepworth is a fine young woman.’
Aubrey straightened. ‘I’ve come to that conclusion.’
Lady Rose smiled at him and picked a speck of lint from his epaulette. ‘You’ve changed, Aubrey.’
‘For the better, I hope.’
‘Decidedly.’ She stood back and inspected him. ‘Splendid. Now, go and enjoy the rest of the day.’
Musing, Aubrey left the terrace, wandered around the corner of the sprawling mansion and reached the gardens, his glorious solitude made all the more certain when he reached the hedge maze.
The hedge maze wasn’t a serious challenge, as Aubrey had found out on the first day at Belville, but its ten-feet-high walls guaranteed that dozens of people could be within its confines without seeing each other, which made it a useful place to gain some respite from court intrigue. The builders of the maze had anticipated this, and had placed benches in niches to allow wanderers a place to sit and contemplate whatever needed contemplating.
The sun was well on its way toward setting when Aubrey chose one of these benches, leaned back, hands behind his head, and enjoyed the inaction. It felt good to be away from the drone of international diplomacy. Being even a minor public figure – fully rehabilitated in the eyes of the public since the Acting Head of the Holmland Intelligence Services, a Mr Hugo von Stralick, had confirmed that the damning photos of Aubrey had been taken under duress – meant that solitude was a rare thing. Since his welcoming back as a true son of Albion, rumours had circulated about his role in the events that had brought an end to the war. People sought him out. Most simply wanted to hear his story, but others were looking for a more commercial insight. None of them should have taken the trouble; Aubrey never spoke of his doings to anyone other than his parents and his close comrades.
He closed his eyes, breathed in the rich cypress smell of the maze walls, and did his best to empty his mind of everything.
Naturally, it was only a few minutes before he began to fidget. He opened his eyes and admired the way the light of setting sun caught the few clouds in the sky. Then he examined the bench and became fascinated by the patches of lichen growing on the stone. He wondered how old the bench was and whether he could find the records of the purchase of the garden furniture somewhere in the palace, but before he could make a note about this he was distracted by the clever topiary that had carved out the arched recess in the hedge opposite for a bust of a classical emperor – then he became intrigued by the technique of hedge cutting that allowed such a neat alcove to be made.
When George Doyle came into view – hands jammed in pockets, beaming at the sky – Aubrey had scrawled two pages of notes and ideas that had spiralled off into some thoughts about the Law of Harmony before sidestepping into a possible new application exploring the power of collective human consciousness in magic making, something that Commander Craddock, Lanka Ravi and Professor Bromhead had been working on ever since the magical theoreticians had been released from hospital.
‘Still working, old man?’ George took a small cake from his pocket, one of the shell-shaped, almond-flavoured delicacies he’d come to favour while at the conference. He took a bite, then blinked. ‘I was going to say something then, but now I’ve completely forgotten.’
‘It can’t be important, then. Where’s Sophie?’
George waved a hand. ‘She should be along any minute.’
George sat next to Aubrey and finished his cake. He dusted his hands of crumbs. ‘Well, what’s next, old man, after all this winds up? Back to Greythorn?’
Nearby, two birds joined in a brief song that dwindled to a series of chuckles. Aubrey waited for them to start again. When they didn’t, he decided they’d settled for the night. ‘Next term. I want to finish my degree, of course. And you?’
‘I’m not one to leave something incomplete. I’ll be there.’
‘Good.’ Aubrey hesitated for a moment and then went on. ‘And after that?’
‘That’s a very good question.’ George groped in his pocket and looked disappointed at not finding another cake. His actions made Aubrey’s hand go to his own pocket. ‘I could always go farming,’ George continued. ‘Father would like that.’
‘Would you?’
‘It has its attractions, the country life and all that.’ George glanced at Aubrey. ‘You know, old man, I understand now why my old dad doesn’t talk much about the war. Do you feel like blabbing on about it?’