Aubrey was puzzled. He’d only known that the Holmlander had been a double agent working for a different branch of Holmland intelligence from von Stralick, not someone involved in industrial espionage. ‘You want to continue business with my firm?’ he said, trying to keep up his guise. He hoped that his pause had made him appear imperious, aloof, even mysterious himself, but he had suspicions that he may have come across as dull.
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Your offer sounded good, but I’m not sure if we can continue on the same basis.’
‘Because I was thrown from a train?’
‘No. Because you appear to be staying at the Albion Embassy.’
‘Of course.’ No point denying it. Madame Zelinka had obviously had him followed for some time. Aubrey glanced at George, who shrugged, selected a pistachio-adorned morsel and took a bite. No help there.
‘Of course?’
‘The Albion government is one of our best clients,’ he said, spinning the story as it came to him. ‘At least, the army is.’
‘Not the navy?’
‘They couldn’t afford us. It causes some friction between them, but that is no business of ours.’
‘So you should be in a position to supply us with the magical apparatus we need.’
‘I need more information.’
Madame Zelinka’s mouth tightened. She studied him for some time and he was forced, professionally of course, to meet her exotically beautiful gaze. Finally, she gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘I told you that we need some of your Albion magic suppressors. I’ve spoken to my colleagues. It appears as if we may need several.’
Aubrey managed to nod in what he hoped was a knowledgeable way. The magic suppressors, the devices that Clive Rokeby-Taylor’s company had perfected, were currently on Albion’s ‘not to be exported’ list. While Rokeby-Taylor had wanted maximum commercial exploitation of the revolutionary magical technology, after his demise caused his nest of companies to collapse the government had clamped down on the devices, realising that they may have a useful role to play in the armament build-up. A few devices, it was rumoured, had made their way to the Continent – which was not surprising, with Rokeby-Taylor’s Holmland connections – but they apparently were not the fully functional version.
The magic suppressors had a thousand possible uses. Mostly defensive, neutralising spells and spell casting, they could be used to surprising offensive effect. If a foe was depending on spells to enhance artillery, say, and suddenly the spells failed, then a counter-attack could be devastating.
With countless skirmishes in the Goltans and beyond, Aubrey was sure the magical suppressors had a ready market.
‘This may be possible,’ he said, while thinking of how to deliver apparatus that looked like fully functional magic suppressors but would fail when used. ‘What do you want them for?’
‘Is it the usual procedure for your firm to make such an inquiry? I thought discretion was part of what you offered.’
‘Of course, of course. It is simply that magic suppressors are so new, so complex, that your people may need training.’
‘Ah.’ She pressed her hands together and scowled. ‘This may be so.’
Aubrey was relieved. Extemporising spells was one thing, but ad-libbing smuggling deals was another. ‘Do you need to consult your colleagues again?’
She shook her head decisively. ‘No. I am empowered to make such decisions. And I will.’
‘Excellent. But with these developments, I’m afraid I must know who we are dealing with. We must be sure that we cover ourselves.’
‘I understand.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I belong to a secret society.’
George snorted. Cake crumbs flew. ‘And who doesn’t, these days?’
She fixed him with an impenetrable look and then handed him a napkin. ‘That may be true. But this society is centuries old.’
‘You’re one of the Goltan groups?’ Aubrey hazarded.
‘No. We are the Ancient Order of Enlightened Ones.’
The name rang a very faint bell. ‘You’re enlightened?’
‘It’s an unfortunate name. It tends to raise expectations.’ She sighed. ‘Our secret order was founded by a fifteenth-century Venezian scholar. We are dedicated to repairing damage done by indiscriminate magic.’
‘Wait.’ Aubrey put a hand to his forehead. ‘Indiscriminate magic? What on earth do you mean?’
‘You have magic. You must have seen what happens when spells aren’t well constructed.’
Aubrey nodded. He’d seen many different results of badly constructed magic – spells exceeding their expected duration and spread, spells fizzling like damp squibs, spells that simply didn’t work at all.
But they all had something in common. ‘Residue.’
‘Even the best spells leave behind magical vestiges. Poor spells throw off residue like a snake sloughs off a skin.’
‘I know. Forensic magicians rely on this.’ Aubrey had done some work with forensic magicians belonging to Craddock’s staff. He liked their intensity, their focus.
‘And what happens to the residue?’ Madame Zelinka asked meaningfully.
Aubrey started. He’d never really thought about it. ‘It just disappears. Evaporates, I suppose, once it loses its efficacy...’ His voice trailed off. His speculation didn’t sound convincing, even to him. ‘That’s not right, is it?’
‘In most cases, it serves. Our scholars think that, in reality, the residue doesn’t disappear. It is absorbed, becomes part of the surroundings – and not always to the benefit of these surroundings. If our order had the time and the personnel, we would neutralise each and every instance of magic residue, but that is a pipe dream.’
‘So to what do you devote your time and personnel?’
‘Major events. Magical disruptions of the highest order. We had to spend some time in your country recently, underground, in the heart of your Trinovant.’
Aubrey took a sharp breath, but Madame Zelinka was too involved with her memory to notice it, or the look that passed between Aubrey and George.
‘We lost Ambrose, and Gustave,’ she said softly.
‘Your work is dangerous?’ Aubrey asked.
‘Our magic workers have particular skills, but it leaves them exposed. I have only minor magic so I support them as they do their work, counteracting the effect of the worst magic left lying about.’
George picked up his empty coffee cup and put it down again. ‘This all sounds like jolly good work. So why is your group so secretive?’
Madame Zelinka put her hands together. ‘We have found that many countries, many people, wish to control us, to have our learning and expertise for them alone. Their greed and self-interest has meant that we keep to ourselves and deal with whoever we can to do our work successfully.’
‘Cleaning up other people’s messes,’ Aubrey said.
‘That’s one way to put it.’ Again, she chose her words carefully. ‘At this time, it seems we’re cleaning up one person’s messes more than any other. More than any other single person in our order’s history.’
Aubrey knew the answer but asked anyway, for form. ‘And who would that be?’
‘Your countryman. Dr Mordecai Tremaine.’
‘The man who used to be Albion’s Sorcerer Royal?’ He continued playing his role. ‘I thought he was dead.’
‘He is very much alive, spreading mischief, here in Holmland.’
‘Fancy that. Sounds like a man to keep away from.’
‘He is not a man to have as your enemy.’
‘So you don’t confront him. You just clean up for him.’
‘He is powerful – vastly powerful – but reckless. If we didn’t do our work, it would be a calamity for everyone.’
‘Can’t have magic residue lying around all over the place, can we?’ George said.
‘Not unless you want to suffer the consequences, as Holmland currently is.’
Aubrey was alert. ‘Holmland is suffering? It doesn’t seem so. It appears prosperous enough.’
‘One mess that Tremaine left behind has been causing harm.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It has spawned a magical field that is disrupting souls.’
Aubrey rocked back. He felt as if he were in a boxing ring with multiple opponents – blows were coming from all directions.
‘Ghosts,’ he said. ‘And ghost hunters.’
‘You’ve seen them?’ Madame Zelinka grimaced. ‘Holmlanders are having their souls splintered, and the ghost hunters have sensed this. They are drawn to the disruption like moths to a flame.’
‘We bumped into a few,’ George said. ‘Scruffy types.’
Madame Zelinka nodded. ‘Dr Tremaine cast a spell earlier this year, a powerful spell – something to do with Urbomancy – and the residue has festered, breeding on itself and on the remains of other spells Dr Tremaine has cast. It has become a source of disruption, shattering troubled souls and casting off what – to some appearances – are ghosts.’
‘And where is all this magical mess lying about?’ George asked, giving Aubrey some time to think. ‘Surely Tremaine would notice it, especially if it was festering away as you say.’
‘It was in a house, north of the city, where he stayed when he first arrived in Holmland. A few days after he cast his spell, the place went up in flames. He has enemies.’
‘And a good sense of when not to be home, I’ll warrant,’ George said. ‘He wasn’t harmed?’
‘No. But the place was ruined and he hasn’t returned. He lives in the city now. Near the Assembly Building.’
‘Of course.’ Aubrey scratched his chin, thought it didn’t look dignified enough, and dropped his hand. ‘So you need the magical suppressors to assist you in quelling this magical outbreak? This disruption?’
‘We’ve had several of our people track down the source of the disturbance. They’re frightened by what they’ve found.’
‘Frightened?’ George said. ‘That doesn’t sound good. Frightened of what?’
‘We’re not sure. The last of my colleagues to report from the place died before he could give us any details. We’ve interdicted the area.’
‘The ghost spawning grounds,’ George muttered, glancing at Aubrey.
‘Spawning grounds? A good description.’ She stood. ‘Now. I must leave, so you must go. I fear I have remained in one place for too long, but as you can see, we need your machines.’
‘You’re in danger?’
Her smile was wry, and not without humour. Aubrey found himself liking the brisk, detached woman. ‘Who isn’t in danger in Fisherberg? And ever since we’ve become involved with your Dr Tremaine, danger seems to come our way more often...’
When they left, Madame Zelinka was packing. Aubrey was silent all the way down in the lift as he tried to put this new information into perspective and he tapped the Beccaria Cage meditatively, which was beginning to become a habit. While a mysterious order of itinerant, altruistic magicians was useful to know about, more important was the havoc Dr Tremaine was wreaking. Was he aware of this? And where would it lead?
Evening was falling. The embassy was full of lights by the time they were admitted by the guards and Aubrey was grateful for the warm cheeriness of the place, but was surprised when Hollows, the ambassador, caught them just inside the entrance hall.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Out, sir,’ Aubrey said, automatically keeping his cards close to his chest.
‘Yes, yes, that’s what von Stralick said.’ The ambassador looked up the stairs. Aubrey thought the man looked flustered. ‘We have visitors. Unexpected visitors.’
‘Ah. I had hoped Miss Hepworth would present herself. Has she brought her mother?’
‘No. I mean yes, they’re here, but that’s not who I meant.’ He glanced toward the stairs again. ‘Prince Albert has arrived early.’