Time of Trial by Michael Pryor Page B

‘Your Dr Tremaine took all my father’s notes, you know. After the laboratory explosion.’
    Aubrey stared, then realised that Kiefer was simply continuing the earlier conversation. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
    â€˜I wanted them,’ Kiefer continued, desolate. ‘Not just because of the findings.’
    â€˜Catalytic magic. Much work is going on in this area.’
    Kiefer shrugged. ‘This is so. The notes will help my career, that is true. But I wanted them because they belonged to him. My father.’
    â€˜Of course.’
    Kiefer pushed his spectacles back on his nose. ‘I will have my revenge, you know. With your help or without it.’
    Kiefer’s quiet determination was impressive, but it also had a brittle edge, as if he’d fired his revenge for too long and while it had become hard, it had also become breakable.
    â€˜Dr Tremaine is no ordinary enemy,’ Aubrey advised. ‘Don’t do anything rash.’
    â€˜Rash? Rash is not my way. I am here after much planning, much pondering.’ His face fell. ‘My plans did not go as I had hoped, it seems. Tremaine must have intercepted the letters from Uncle Maurice, found the Beccaria Cage and prepared it for you.’
    â€˜Perhaps.’ Aubrey had come to a different conclusion. While Dr Tremaine wasn’t above making the most of an opportunity, he was the great instigator of schemes. Aubrey could see him tinkering with a Beccaria Cage, secreting his mind-controlling spell, and then sending a bogus letter to Maurice alerting him to the presence of the artefact. The arch-manipulator, setting the wheels in motion, then moving on to his next scheme.
    Aubrey couldn’t help but feel for the despairing Holmlander. ‘Don’t worry, Kiefer. I understand what you want. But we must be cautious.’
    â€˜You have reasons to bring him down?’
    â€˜I do.’
    â€˜Then let us work together.’ Kiefer held up a hand. ‘But please do not mistake me. I am no traitor. I love my country and I will do nothing to harm it.’
    â€˜I see.’
    â€˜I am glad.’ He scowled. ‘Your Dr Tremaine is not good for Holmland. The sooner he is out, the better.’ Kiefer set off again, but after a few steps he stopped and turned around. ‘That way,’ he said, leading back the way they’d come.
    A few minutes later, he clapped his hands together and rubbed them, his bony elbows posing a hazard to passing traffic. ‘We are here.’
    They’d left Little Pickling and come to a neat, orderly street in nearby Crozier. The street was lined with townhouses, four or five storeys tall, all made of clean red brick. At the end of the street was the imposing bulk of the Showellstyle Station.
    â€˜Von Stralick has rooms here?’
    â€˜He owns the whole building.’ Kiefer pointed at the townhouse in front of them.
    â€˜Really? The importing and exporting business must be doing well.’
    Kiefer looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. He mounted the stairs and clattered the brass doorknocker.
    Aubrey was still gazing upward, trying to count windows and rooms, when the door opened and von Stralick stood there. ‘Ah, Otto. You’ve found him. Very good.’
    Aubrey climbed the stairs. ‘Von Stralick. You want something?’
    Von Stralick looked pained, then ushered Aubrey and Kiefer inside. He closed the door before answering. ‘I want to help you stop Dr Tremaine.’
    Aubrey was immediately suspicious. Hugo von Stralick was both opportunistic and self-interested. An offer of help like this, unasked for, was something to be approached very, very carefully. ‘For purely altruistic reasons?’
    â€˜I could say that getting rid of Dr Tremaine would be good for Holmland, but that all depends on how you see the future direction of our country.’ He coughed into his hand. ‘I know you may find this hard to believe, but I