‘Clay,’ George said and Aubrey saw that his friend was standing in front of a large bin set against a brick wall. It was nearly a small room, four or five yards across, open at the front to allow access, and it was half-full.
Glancing around first to make sure they were alone, Aubrey joined his friend. He flexed his hands and a lively glittering slipped over his skin. He squatted and took some of the clay between his fingers. ‘It’s potentialised clay, the same as the sample Madame Zelinka’s friends found.’
‘Two and two coming together?’ George asked him as he straightened and wiped his hands on his trousers.
‘So it would seem.’ He approached the nearest machine. It looked substantially different from the one he’d seen under the palace in the heart of Fisherberg – and the one he’d managed to procure and ship to Albion.
This machine was about ten feet tall, and solid as a pile driver. Huge cables ran from the ceiling, connecting it to what must be a substantial electricity supply. The front of the machine could have looked crowded, but to Aubrey’s eyes it was an elegant display of dials, levers and wheels, featuring brass that had been polished to a high finish. Two large brass handles showed where the drawer and the hopper were, but Aubrey paused, scratching his chin. The more he studied the machine, the more different it looked. The conveyor belt entering one side, for instance, looked big enough to transport a motorcar. The previous model of golem maker had nothing like that.
Aubrey peered at a bank of switches. They were labelled in Holmlandish, but the labels didn’t make anything clear at all. ‘Process 1’, ‘Splice’, ‘Optimise’. And what did ‘Overgrossing’ mean?
George had taken up station at the nearest window, making sure he couldn’t be seen from outside. ‘All clear?’ Aubrey asked.
‘They’re assembling on the parade ground. Nice, neat ranks. No movement this way.’
They still had some time, but Aubrey started as the pocket of his jacket began flapping, all by itself.
‘Stay where you are,’ came a commanding voice. Aubrey stiffened, but the voice immediately added, with a slight note of disappointment, ‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘Hello, Caroline,’ George said. ‘Sophie! I’m glad we found you.’
Caroline and Sophie were both wearing the black pyjama suits that were Caroline’s fighting outfits, the design suggested by an Oriental friend of Caroline’s father. The sleeves and legs of Sophie’s were rolled up. Caroline had a pistol, but it vanished when she recognised Aubrey and George.
Aubrey put his hand into his jacket pocket and grasped the leaping ring. With a quick whisper, he cancelled the spell, and was about to hand the ring back to George when he saw that this was not a good time to interrupt.
Sophie took a hesitant step toward George. Her eyes were shining. George looked pained, then abashed, then he held out his hands to her.
The doubts that Aubrey had been harbouring disappeared. He hadn’t liked thinking that Sophie had simply been using George to gain access to the facility and her brother – but the doubts George raised had been niggling at him.
I’m spending too much time in this world, he thought. I see duplicity everywhere I look.
Sophie took George’s hands and she dropped her gaze, before lifting it again and adding her other hand to the arrangement, squeezing his tightly.
Aubrey was happy for his friend, and for Sophie. They stood for a moment, wordless, and Aubrey had the feeling that words were superfluous.
He knew that their hearts were thumping, painfully, and that it was hard to breathe, as if their chests were being squeezed. He understood that where they touched, the clasping of hands, was something extraordinary – but something to be experienced again and again.
At least, that’s how it was for him with Caroline. When he allowed himself. When it caught him by surprise. When it swept him away despite all his best intentions to honour the pact of reserve they’d agreed on.
He took off his cap and ran his hand through his unfamiliar short hair, feeling it thick and sleek like fur, and stole a glance, only to see that Caroline was looking at him carefully. Although she had no magical ability, he was convinced that – at times – she was able to read his mind, so he coughed, rubbed his face with his hands and made a great show of seeing the controls of the machine for the first time. Not his best spot of acting, but he hoped it was a reasonable piece of improvisation.
He crouched and tapped a knob that looked as if it had something to do with pressure, and was about to go looking for a steam inlet, when he understood – in a way that approached magic, but wasn’t – that Caroline was standing behind him. Closely behind him.
‘Aubrey.’
He straightened and spent some time dusting off his trousers and the sleeves of his jacket. It didn’t matter that it was obvious what he was doing, or that Caroline knew exactly what was going on.
‘Leave the pattern on,’ she said lightly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It’s what my father always used to say if we were scrubbing something too hard. Leave the pattern on. It’s a joke.’
‘Ah. Forgive me if I don’t laugh.’
She took his arm. ‘I will if you come with me.’
Anywhere! his traitor mouth nearly blurted, but he managed to nod. ‘You’ve found something?’
‘You’re looking for a steam pipe, aren’t you? I think it’s on the other side of this apparatus.’ She glanced at where George and Sophie were speaking in low tones, hands clasped between them at chin height. Chin height on Sophie. Somewhere near mid-chest on George.
Sometimes it took a cricket bat to the back of the head, but on this occasion Aubrey saw what was going on straight away. ‘Right. Steam pipe. Indeed.’
His head started to angle toward the murmuring couple again but Caroline put a finger on his cheek and turned it away. ‘Now, Aubrey.’
He followed Caroline willingly, still feeling the spot where Caroline had touched him as a bloom of warmth that he was quite happy to become accustomed to.
Behind the machine the electric lights were poorly positioned and shadows reigned, hiding details and making everything look ominous. Even so, he could make out a large bore pipe that entered the rear, well lagged to keep the heat in.
‘Where were you?’ he said as he squatted at the junction of the brass shut-off valve.
‘We found our way in here early, when there weren’t many people around. It must have been a change of shift, for it started to get crowded. Too crowded. We stood out.’
‘No females,’ Aubrey said. All the soldiers and white coats he’d seen were male.
‘Quite, and Sophie’s magic was fading so we found a place to hide. An old boiler, destined for scrap, I’d imagine. We crept inside and waited our chance.’
‘Which I provided.’ Aubrey had visions of the boiler being carted away with Caroline and Sophie inside. He shuddered.
‘We would have thought of something if you hadn’t appeared.’
‘I’m sure you would. I didn’t mean to imply that you were helpless. Or anything like helpless.’ Aubrey bit his tongue. It was the simplest solution to his babbling. It was getting so well scarred that it barely hurt, but it served its purpose nonetheless. He took a breath. ‘And George and Sophie are now reunited.’
‘She was distraught, leaving him like that. She thought he’d assume that she had simply been using him to get to her brother.’
‘Ah. Yes. Well.’
‘He did?’
‘He had his moments.’
Caroline sighed. ‘Foolish.’
‘I’m glad to hear that she wasn’t just using him,’ Aubrey said. ‘That’s what I told George.’