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backtracked as fast as he could. ‘Support each other, I mean. Quite an announcement, that. Strength in numbers, someone to share the load, that sort of thing.’
    â€˜Hmm.’ Lady Rose narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced but willing to let the matter drop. She picked up the letter, which had been lying on the table next to her wine glass, as unobtrusive as buffalo at a wedding.
    â€˜Darius was most concerned for you both,’ his mother said after she scanned the letter again.
    â€˜Concerned?’ Aubrey echoed. He didn’t understand. If he wasn’t safe in Darnleigh House, where on earth did safety lie?
    â€˜Indeed. He’s worried about you doing something foolish, as he puts it.’
    â€˜Ah.’ Aubrey sat back. ‘I think I see.’
    â€˜You do?’ George said. ‘I’m afraid you’ve left me behind, old man.’
    Lady Rose smiled at George. It was a smile with a touch of sadness. ‘He doesn’t want you to enlist, George.’

Four

    After a dinner that had become understandably sombre, Lady Rose retired to her study. It was George who suggested cocoa in the library while they waited for Sir Darius to come home. Aubrey promised to join him, but with trepidation went via his room to check on his Roman fragment, the cousin to the Rashid Stone.
    After he opened the safe behind the portrait of his great-great-grandfather, he found the empty velvet bag. He didn’t trust his eyes, so he plucked the bag from under the pile of legal documents. He opened it, felt inside, turned it inside out, then sat on the striped sofa against the wall, his stomach hollow.
    Dr Tremaine was an astounding magician. He knew that – but he hadn’t imagined the man could cast a spell which would bring him objects he couldn’t possibly have knowledge of.
    It was a pointed reminder of the capabilities of the foe with whom he was dealing.
    Making his way to the library, Aubrey was at sixes and sevens, imagining the scenes in Parliament as the rumour of war swept through its halls. His father would be under siege by members of his own party and members of the opposition, all wanting extra information, or favours, or appointments. It didn’t matter what the nature of an emergency was; some saw an opportunity for advancement while others wanted to come to the aid of the country in dire times.
    Aubrey hoped that his father’s Cabinet colleagues – good people, most of them – were able to keep the petitioners away. He knew his father would want to work on his speech.
    His father was a fine speechmaker – and speechwriter, when it came down to it. Several of his colleagues used professional speechwriters to hammer out the words needed for the public, but this was an area where Sir Darius was old-fashioned. He insisted on writing his speeches for himself.
    At times, he’d used Aubrey as a sounding board, trying out early drafts and asking for criticism. Aubrey liked the way his father used direct language and avoided the circumlocutions that too many others in Parliament were entranced by. Sir Darius loved to salt his speeches with blunt, one-syllable words and phrases that were pithy, commonplace, but memorable.
    This speech, declaring that the nation was at war, would need all of his skill and care.
    Aubrey wondered, too, what effect the declaration would have on the Magic Department and the Security Intelligence Directorate as a whole. It had virtually been on a war footing for some time, but the training week had suggested to him an organisation that was ready to move up a gear, to bring all its resources to bear on the twin jobs of gathering information and protecting the nation from espionage.
    Of course, the university would need to take stock. Many of its people would be reserve officers, likely to be called up immediately – and Aubrey had heard rumours that many had already been seconded, abandoning courses mid-semester. Deans all over