Time of Trial Read Online Free PDF Page B

them as much would be a bad idea.
    In a short time, he could have equipped a small army. Fleetingly, he felt that some of the more volatile nations on the Goltan Peninsula had perhaps done just that. Finally, he was able to purchase his desired weapon: a Symons service revolver, the Mark V model, not the more common Mark IV. The shifty-eyed vendor – ocular unsteadiness another prerequisite of the trade, it seemed – assured him that it had only ever been used on the practice range. It was large: a .450 calibre, more than enough to punch a hole right through a wall, if needed. He had to chuckle when he considered something as silly as using the pistol to make holes in walls, but he stopped when he realised that the shifty-eyed man was looking at him strangely.
    Aubrey declined an offer of heavy machine guns and mortars to go with the revolver, handed over the cash without counting it and was rewarded by a startled – and increasingly shifty – look from his new friend. It made him feel good.
    After leaving the Mire, he bobbed along the pavement like a particularly content piece of driftwood. His feet knew his destination, and while he walked he spent some time looking at clouds as they moved across the sky, changing shapes as they were shepherded by the wind. He only became aware of his surroundings when the gates of the Palace loomed. It was a familiar sight and Aubrey’s already cheery heart swelled to see it, even though the great rectangular bulk of a building was no-one’s finest example of any sort of architecture. Because it was early, the Palace was quiet, with many windows still draped. The guards were in attendance at the gatehouse, of course, but otherwise the gardens, the paths, the parade ground were lonely, just as he had been led to believe.
    The guards made Aubrey wait, but he didn’t mind because the cobblestones were remarkably interesting. He absorbed himself in counting them and trying to estimate how many there were in the entire parade ground. He kept losing track and having to start again, but it didn’t bother him. It was fascinating.
    When Archie Sommers, Prince Albert’s aide, appeared, Aubrey was irritated – in an abstract, blurry sort of way – that his counting was interrupted, but he soon remembered that Sommers was the easiest way to see the Crown Prince, and that was why he had asked the guards to fetch him. He put on a smile.
    Archie Sommers was a young man, an ex-naval officer who had taken on the job after an accident at sea. Aubrey had always got on well with him as he had a devilish sense of humour and a keen interest in magic. One of his primary jobs was to screen Bertie from visitors, but Aubrey hardly thought that applied to him. After all, a cousin was a cousin.
    Sommers hailed Aubrey. ‘Fitzwilliam! What a surprise! Why didn’t you telephone?’ He shook Aubrey’s hand.
    Aubrey had no answer for that. In fact, it struck him as odd when he came to think about it, but the excuse came to him smoothly. ‘Couldn’t risk it, Sommers.’ He coughed significantly. ‘Sensitive matters.’
    â€˜I see.’ Sommers looked pained. ‘You know, I hate this carry-on. Secrets, spies, looking over your shoulder all the time.’ He grinned. ‘Not much we can do about it, eh? Come on, I’ll get you a cup of tea. His Highness is talking with His Majesty’s doctors, but won’t be long.’
    Aubrey paused and a passing thought made him frown. ‘What time is it?’
    â€˜Just after eight. You’ve made an early start.’
    He considered this for a moment. ‘I suppose I have.’
    He was left in one of the many drawing rooms in the Palace. He’d been in this one before, but he couldn’t exactly remember when. It looked over Barley Park, green and lovely in the morning light, where the curve of Miller’s Pond caught the sun and sparkled. It was a serene, beautiful sight and,