Eventually, Caroline appeared from one of the arched doors that opened off the entrance hall. ‘Aubrey, George. The baron wants to see you.’
She looked fresh and excited. Aubrey knew it was the prospect of a day’s adventuring that invigorated her and, wistfully, he longed for her to feel that way about him. On the other hand, he was willing to settle for hoping that his presence didn’t actually detract from her good spirits.
‘The baron? He’s in?’
‘I didn’t realise it, but he arrived late last night,’ Caroline said. ‘He’s invited you to breakfast, with mother and me. And his guests.’
‘Guests?’ Aubrey said. He straightened his jacket.
Caroline did her best to hide a smile. Aubrey found the effort fascinating. ‘You’ll see.’
It was a baronial dining hall. It was so much a baronial dining hall that Aubrey imagined all the other baronial dining halls in the world getting together and talking about how they’d like to be like the von Grolman baronial dining hall when they grew up. Lashings of stone and dark timber. Narrow arched windows high in the walls. Lofty ceiling somewhere high overhead, past the age-blackened beams. Coats of arms and intricate heraldic banners hanging from the walls, interspersed with crossed pikes, swords, halberds and other cunning implements of destruction. The aroma of a savoury breakfast was possibly the only thing not hundreds of years old.
At the head of the long table, a broad-shouldered man rose to his feet when they entered. He waited patiently with his hands behind his back while Caroline, Aubrey and George crossed the mile or two between the door and the table. As they drew closer, Aubrey guessed that he was in his late sixties or early seventies, but his bulk and ruddy complexion gave every indication that he was in good health. His head was bald apart from a slight fringe of grey on either side, a reminder of the past. His moustache made up for the lack of hair on his head, however, being long and defiantly pointed, jutting out an inch or two on either side of his cheeks. Aubrey imagined he could be a danger to bystanders if he turned around quickly.
‘Baron von Grolman,’ Caroline said. ‘This is Aubrey Fitzwilliam and George Doyle.’
The baron made a noise – half snort, half chuckle – that Aubrey took as a good sign. He held out his hand, then saw that he still had a white linen napkin tucked into the neck of his jacket. He barked a full, throaty laugh this time, removed it and shook Aubrey’s hand then George’s. ‘Come,’ he said in good Albionish, ‘come, join us. We eat, we talk, all goes well.’ He gestured. ‘You know my other guests.’
Mrs Hepworth smiled at Aubrey, but he wasn’t surprised when he saw the other two guests, small worlds being what they were.
Von Stralick leaned back from the table. ‘Sit, Fitzwilliam and the other fellow. Close your mouth or put some food in it. You look most foolish gaping like that.’
Next to von Stralick, Kiefer looked up, blinked, nodded at Aubrey and George then went back to his plate of bacon and eggs with all the appearance of someone with more important things on his mind.
‘You managed to find the baron this time?’ Aubrey asked von Stralick.
‘I did. Through the novel method of visiting his home. I should have tried it earlier, but it lacked the sort of deviousness that I aspire to.’
By the time Aubrey had found a seat – strangely enough, next to Caroline – George was already helping himself to the dishes on the table, right under the approving eye of the baron. Von Stralick was sitting opposite, next to Kiefer, at the end.
Aubrey busied his hands with arranging his napkin and keeping himself from tangling with the stony-faced servants as they piled his plate with food. He hardly noticed what he was taking, because he was trying to fit these developments into some sort of framework.
It was von Stralick who took pity on him. ‘Fitzwilliam, what is there to look so anxious about? Lovely ladies, a generous host, good friends and fine food. Could a day start any better?’
It could if I knew what was going on, Aubrey thought. ‘I’m sorry. Your presence here is unexpected. I thought you were staying at the embassy.’
‘Ach, no. We are doing some work for your Ambassador Hollows, but we are now staying with the most excellent Baron von Grolman. Much safer here. True, Otto?’
Kiefer lifted his gaze from his plate. Aubrey was startled at how pale he looked, with dark circles under his eyes. ‘Fisherberg is a dangerous place,’ Kiefer said, then turned his attention back to his breakfast.
‘Do not mind him,’ von Stralick said. ‘He has had no sleep. Researching all night, he tells me, in the baron’s library.’
‘You’re lucky to have such a patron,’ Aubrey said carefully.
‘Von Stralick is one of my best people,’ the baron said down the length of the table. ‘I do what I can to help him.’
Von Stralick nodded at this and caught Aubrey with a significant look. ‘The baron has withdrawn from politics–’
‘For the moment,’ the baron interjected.
‘For the moment. But that doesn’t mean that he is without influence.’
‘What can I say?’ The baron spread his hands. ‘People feel compelled to repay the many favours they owe me.’
I can imagine how they feel compelled, Aubrey thought. The baron was a jovial host, but Aubrey had the distinct impression that he was a man accustomed to getting his own way.
Again, von Stralick caught Aubrey’s eye and the look he gave him convinced Aubrey that von Stralick knew what he was thinking – and he agreed. ‘The baron has had news about a certain Dr Tremaine,’ von Stralick went on. ‘He is up to something.’
Aubrey bit his tongue. When wasn’t Dr Tremaine up to something?
‘He has a plan for this symposium of the Elektor’s,’ the baron said with some relish. He seemed to be enjoying his role as holder of information as much as he was enjoying his breakfast, where he had moved from an enormous plate of eggs and tomatoes to an equally large platter of assorted sausages. Even George was impressed by the baron’s trencherman talent. The baron speared a sausage with his fork then looked up. ‘It is your prince he’s after, you know. Tremaine knows that he has arrived in Fisherberg early.’
Aubrey had to put a hand on the table to stop himself from leaping to his feet.
Caroline was horrified. ‘No. He wouldn’t dare move against the Prince.’
George had frozen with a forkful of omelette halfway to his mouth. He glanced at Caroline. ‘That’s right. Not when the Elektor himself invited him.’
‘And the Chancellor promised safe passage,’ Aubrey added, but he couldn’t help reminding himself that Dr Tremaine was a law unto himself.
‘Ah, but that is Tremaine’s genius,’ the baron said. With some reluctance, he put down his knife and fork. He placed both hands on the table in front of him, in an effort to appear grave and trustworthy, Aubrey guessed, but the way his eyes kept flicking to the plate of sausages in front of him tended to ruin the pose. ‘He isn’t going to kill your prince. He’s going to control him. Your prince will be Tremaine’s puppet.’ He waved a hand. ‘Or so I have heard.’
‘He can do it,’ Aubrey said, and everyone at the table turned to him. He remembered how Dr Tremaine had turned him into a mindless assassin. ‘If he can get his hands on the Prince, Dr Tremaine has the spells to control him at a distance. Utterly.’
‘Tremaine will do it, that is all you need to know,’ said the baron. He picked up his fork and jabbed a piece of sausage that disappeared into his mouth. He chewed on it as if he wanted every last iota of flavour from it. ‘And he will do it before the symposium.’