Thirty-one
When Aubrey last encountered Baron Von Grolman, he had been every inch the hospitable Holmlander, jolly and generous. A very different Baron von Grolman faced them over the desk in the office they’d been dragged to. Cold eyed, deliberate, incisive, this was a man, Aubrey decided, who could work with Dr Tremaine.
After the fracas, they’d been bound and, in Aubrey’s case, gagged, so it was Caroline who took it up to the industrialist.
‘My mother would die of shame,’ she said, ‘if she could see what you’re up to.’
The baron winced at this. ‘I like your mother. In the past, it did me good, to be seen with such a renowned artist. But now, I never have to step inside an art gallery again, which is a great relief.’
The baron’s office was in the north wing of the original buildings, and – to judge from the exposed beam that divided the room in half – had once been two rooms before it was converted into this long, narrow space. The office wasn’t grand. It was a workaday place with a large desk over which the baron studied them. Behind the desk, a large window looked out over the railway line and the northern boundary fence to the dark and inviting woods beyond. A clock hung on the wall, a telephone stood on the desk, while vertical racks of plans and blueprints took up the other wall.
From the time on the clock, Aubrey was able to see that half of George’s allocated two hours had gone.
‘What are you going to do to us?’ Caroline demanded.
‘You’re better off not knowing.’
‘As enemy combatants, we are entitled to be treated correctly.’
The baron actually chuckled. ‘I’m afraid not, my dear. You two are clearly spies, not enemy combatants.’ He glanced at Aubrey. ‘One of whom is a magician.’
Aubrey was heartened at the mention of ‘two’. It meant that George and Sophie were undetected.
‘Spies?’
‘You are wearing no uniform, you have no identification, you are from the enemy. That is the usual definition of spy. Different rules apply to spies. Spies are interrogated, and then they are dealt with.’
‘We aren’t spies,’ Caroline said.
‘Yes you are.’ The baron plucked a document from the pile in front of him and peered at it. ‘You and young Fitzwilliam are operatives of your Security Intelligence Directorate. You have been specially trained and sent on a mission to find out about my factory.’
The baron’s voice was flat, as if he were reading from a furniture catalogue.
‘What nonsense,’ Caroline said gamely. ‘We’ve simply come to find a friend’s brother.’
Aubrey’s spirits rose, and for a moment he was able to ignore the ropey taste of the gag in his mouth. This was good thinking – a part truth. As long as Caroline didn’t give away the presence of George and Sophie, it could work.
‘Our intelligence is good. You are spies.’ The baron tapped the document.
‘Your intelligence is flawed. Who would say such a thing?’
‘Someone who knew. Someone who has benefited from your Directorate training. Someone who will help guide our interrogators, since she knows the questions to ask.’
He rapped the desk and the door behind him opened. In walked Elspeth Mattingly.
Aubrey’s efforts to loosen his gag dried up; he was stunned into immobility. The irony of his situation asserted itself when he realised that he was in exactly the same plight as when Elspeth last saw him – bound to a chair.
She glanced at Caroline and, with a sunny smile, studied Aubrey for a moment before frowning. ‘But where is George?’
‘Doyle?’ the Baron said. ‘Is he here too?’
‘Teams of three was the standard arrangement.’
The baron sniffed. ‘It is no matter. He will be found.’ He beamed at her. ‘Soon you will start on them, my dear. Are you eager?’
‘Baron, I can’t wait.’ She put a finger to her cheek. ‘Who will be first? Ah, decisions, decisions!’
The baron glanced at Aubrey. ‘She is very good at what she does. Good at interrogation, but better at gaining trust. I’m sure you agree.’
Aubrey did his best to remain impassive.
Caroline jumped in. ‘You’ve trusted her too, Baron, which is a great mistake.’
Elspeth laughed. ‘Everyone trusts me. I make sure of it.’
Caroline gazed at her coolly. ‘I didn’t.’
For an instant, Elspeth’s sunniness slipped and an expression of utter calculation flitted across her face. Aubrey blinked, but it was gone. She waved an airy hand at Caroline. ‘Well, people like you wouldn’t.’
Baron von Grolman raised an eyebrow. He found a rough fingernail and picked at it. ‘I’m keen to hear why Miss Hepworth thinks it a mistake to trust you, Elspeth.’
Caroline was silent for a moment and Aubrey could see her weighing up what to say. ‘She was detected as one of your agents very early on. Every piece of information she has gained was deliberately fed to her, full of falsehoods.’
Aubrey tensed. Caroline was playing a dangerous game.
The baron held up his fingernail in front of his eyes, happy with his work. ‘What you are saying now could be full of the same falsehoods. Or different ones.’ He sighed. ‘This world is full of uncertainties, is it not?’
Elspeth nodded. ‘Never a truer word was spoken, Baron. Many a more interesting one, but we can’t have everything.’
The Baron smiled at her in an avuncular way. ‘So, to make certain where we are uncertain, the questioning will need to be most direct.’
‘Direct?’ Elspeth said. ‘I’d better sharpen my instruments then.’ She looked tenderly at Aubrey, came close and loosened his gag. ‘I want you to know that you’re in very good hands.’
Aubrey looked at her beautiful, smiling face and realised that she was loving every minute of this – and looking forward to what was to come. He swallowed a fearinduced lump in his throat and blurted out a question that had been nagging at him. ‘Last time, in the embassy, you had me helpless. Why didn’t you kill me?’
Elspeth darted a glance at the Baron, then she shrugged. ‘My orders didn’t say anything about killing you, silly boy, so I didn’t. But now? Baron?’
He snorted. ‘Do what you must.’
After rearranging his gag, she left in an obscene combination of haste and excitement and he was relieved to sit back and watch as Caroline took to the baron.
Sitting there under Baron von Grolman’s placid gaze, as Caroline upbraided him for his attitude and behaviour, Aubrey had a moment of utter dismay. He knew that at times he had been carried away in the thrill of the adventures in which he’d become involved. He couldn’t deny the excitement he’d had in successfully duping dangerous foes, or in inventing new magical methods under great duress, or rescuing his friends from peril. It was exhilarating. But now, the other side of the coin had been turned toward him. Failure didn’t only mean ignominy – although that would be bad enough. Failure meant death.
As someone who had spent considerable time actually staring death in the face, thanks to being left on that precipice by his remarkably hare-brained experiment with forbidden magic, Aubrey had a healthy respect for death. Yes, he knew it was a natural process and other platitudes, but it was a natural process that he really didn’t want hastened in any way. He preferred to imagine a long happy life ahead of him.
He had a prickle of sweat in his palms. He did his best to flex his hands but his captors had been efficient and left him with very little play.
He tried to read the time without looking directly at the clock on the wall. Was there forty minutes left?