The image both disturbed and enchanted Aubrey. ‘I’m sorry...’ He patted his pockets. ‘But I don’t have anything like that with me. Not at the moment.’
Caroline sighed. ‘I’d even pay good money for a hot bath. If there was bath oil included.’
Aubrey wondered why it had suddenly grown so warm. ‘I thought the shower bath arrangement we set up worked quite well. Hygienic.’
‘Sometimes, Aubrey, one wants more than hygiene.’
Savoury smells began to waft from the kitchen – herbs, garlic, onions – and the clatter of pans gave Aubrey an excuse to turn away, to try to work out what Caroline was hinting at, but he accepted that the pyramids would be worn to nubs in the desert before he could ever hope to reach that state of wisdom.
George and Sophie brought laden trays to the table and served piping hot mushroom omelettes, a green salad and the last of the fresh bread. Sophie was pale with tiredness, but did her best to smile bravely. ‘The omelettes, I made. The salad and bread is George.’
Caroline stood and guided Sophie to a chair. ‘You poor thing. Sit.’
Aubrey eyes widened as he tucked into the remarkable omelette. It was succulent with mushrooms that were fragrant and earthy, while a hint of – thyme, was it? – added a piquant edge. ‘Good work, Sophie.’
She smiled, wanly, and pushed her own omelette around the plate with a fork. Aubrey watched this closely, knowing from experience how a lack of appetite could be a manifestation of inner torment.
‘Now, Aubrey,’ Caroline said. Aubrey looked at her to see that she, too, was studying Sophie with concern. ‘What is it you say about the best remedy for worry?’
Aubrey froze with his fork in mid-air, lettuce glistening with good olive oil. ‘The best remedy?’ he repeated, trying to buy time. ‘Or the only remedy?’
A steely look from Caroline let him know that she knew what he was up to. ‘The sovereign remedy, Aubrey.’
‘Ah.’ He had it. ‘The remedy for worry is to do something about it.’
‘Something?’
‘Just about anything, really. Sitting around and stewing only makes worry worse.’
‘So you advise that we should do something instead of sitting here and stewing?’
The banter had a brittleness about it, but Aubrey thought it was a game effort in the circumstances.
‘That sounds right,’ George said. ‘Waiting around like this is wretched.’
Aubrey put down his knife and fork. He steepled his hands in front of him and then dropped them to the table, embarrassed, when he realised it was one of his father’s favourite gestures. ‘First things first, then. We need to communicate with the Directorate about the loss of the remote sensers, and we need to gather intelligence. To continue gathering intelligence. Caroline?’
Aubrey was already forming some plans in this area. He knew that remote sensing was a speciality to which he was unsuited, but he’d had some experience with finding out what was going on at a distance, skills that had come in useful growing up in the Fitzwilliam household when he wanted to know what his parents were saying about him.
‘I have it under control. I’ll send a report at midnight.’ She checked her wrist watch. ‘An hour away.’
‘I’ll work up something and crunch it through the encoder,’ Aubrey said, ‘as soon as I finish this altogether superb meal.’
‘I can do that,’ Caroline said.
‘No...’ Aubrey caught himself. He was about to contradict Caroline outright and he’d learned this was rarely a good ploy. ‘No need. The encoding device is tricky.’
‘I watched you over your shoulder. I can handle it.’
I’m sure you can. ‘All right. If you can do that, I can start something where I need two helpers.’ He glanced at George. ‘Two helpers who will be ready, bright and early, tomorrow morning.’
George responded gratefully. ‘And isn’t it lucky that you have two people here who are keen and willing?’
Late though it was, Aubrey took George and Sophie down to the workshop area in the basement. It was set up with four benches and magical paraphernalia ready for the remote sensers, but it had remained unused. He ran his fingers through his hair as he studied the equipment they’d managed to procure.
They’d been able to get carboys of chemical reagents, standard stuff like acids and salt mixtures. Lots of glassware – beakers, retorts, distillation tubing. A small high temperature furnace, with a collection of crucibles. Bundles of wires, insulated and bare, of various ratings. Modelling clay. Chalk in powder and stick form. Mirrors. Rubber tubing. A selection of hand tools that had originally been meant for working wood and leather. Odds and ends, bits and pieces. Shopping for materials that may prove useful in magic was difficult – especially when one didn’t know what sort of magic was going to be undertaken. All he could do was make sure that standard ingredients for familiar spells had been procured and safely stored.
It was all fairly ordinary and didn’t necessarily look like the workings of a magical cabal. The remote sensers were meant to be bringing the more esoteric stuff.
It meant, as usual, Aubrey was going to have to work with what he had at hand.
‘Sophie, tell me about the weather in these parts,’ he said as he strolled between the benches. He held his hands behind his back and, almost without being aware of it, began to hum, deep in his throat.
‘The weather?’
She glanced at George. He smiled. ‘Go on. It will make sense sooner or later.’
She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I am not from this part of Gallia, you understand, but I am told that summer here is variable.’ She turned to George. ‘Is that right, variable?’ He nodded. She continued. ‘We will have sunny days, of course, but the nights can be cool.’
‘What about the wind?’
‘It can be windy.’
‘But from what direction?’ Aubrey mused. ‘That’s what I’m keen to know.’
‘From the west, mostly, at this time of year.’
‘Splendid. Just what we need.’ Aubrey rubbed his hands together. ‘Right, George, how long is it since you’ve made a kite?’
‘Box or diamond?’
‘You’ve made a box kite?’
‘As a little fellow, on the farm, I went through a kitemaking mania, you might say. Became rather an expert.’
‘George, you’re a wonder.’
‘I do my best.’
Sophie yawned, then apologised. ‘It has been a long day.’
‘I understand,’ Aubrey said. ‘I’m going to check on Caroline first, but you two should get some sleep.’
The door to Caroline’s telegraph station was shut. He could see light through the cracks and he could hear the steady tap-tap-tapping of the key. He crept away, leaving her to it.
When he couldn’t find George and Sophie he assumed they’d taken his advice. Their sleeping quarters were dark and quiet.
Which left Aubrey alone. He drew a chair up to the oval table and was immediately seized by an overwhelming yawn that left very little room for anything else. He wiped his eyes, stood up, turned around, then sat down again.
The yawn that took him this time was even more encompassing than the first.
I will not go to sleep, he told himself, not until I’ve seen Caroline.
Sunlight coming in through the front window of the factory made Aubrey lift his head from the table.
He groaned. Then he sat up and groaned again as an ache bloomed in his back. And one in his neck. And his knees then complained because he wasn’t paying them and their hurts enough attention.