Time of Trial by Michael Pryor Page B

intolerance, all played a part as nations lurched toward conflict. Wars weren’t caused by one person, no matter how powerful, simply jumping up and saying, ‘Right. This time I really mean it.’
    But – and Aubrey’s mind often threw up buts – perhaps it was different this time. Everyone thought war was inevitable. From the man in the street to the decision-makers in Parliament, Albionites were adamant that they didn’t want war, yet were seized with a collective resignation that it was just around the corner – but was this the case? Holmland’s ambitions, the tensions in the Goltans, all could be solved, perhaps, if it weren’t for the machinations of one man.
    Dr Mordecai Tremaine. He could be the pivot, the balancing point that the future of nations moved on. With his power, his influence and his maniacal vision, he could nudge the world into war.
    Without him, could it be different? If he were removed, would that make the difference, slow things down so cool heads could prevail, so dialogue could ensue, so common sense could be given a chance?
    He stared at the pearl. I’m rationalising , he thought.
    He could use the pearl. He could use it to lure Dr Tremaine out of Holmland. Aubrey had been intrigued by the display of the Gallian crown jewels in Trinovant, and he imagined a similar display of unusual items, the centrepeice of which would be the Tremaine pearl. Plenty of publicity and Aubrey was confident that Dr Tremaine couldn’t help himself. He’d vowed to regain the pearl and an opportunity like this would be irresistible.
    For the beginnings of a plan, it was a good one. Some rough edges to be polished up, but it had the flavour of an idea with potential.
    Then why did he feel uneasy about it?
    He touched the pearl with his fingertip. The folds and wrinkles made it look like a miniature brain.
    He bit his lip. He knew why he was uneasy. He loved his family.
    Aubrey’s mother and father were great puzzles to him at times, and great sources of inspiration at others. He was proud of them, for all the exasperations they caused him. When his mother had herded him around the Albion Museum in the middle of the night, saving him from the gunmen he’d enraged, he’d been achingly proud of her. And his father? A man who had risked his life many times for others? The man who led the nation? Sir Darius Fitzwilliam was an impossible epitome, but the one man whose esteem and good opinion Aubrey was most desirous of.
    So how could he use Dr Tremaine’s familial love as the bait in a trap? Dr Tremaine loved his sister – Aubrey had heard it from the man’s own lips. Aubrey felt that there was something grubby, something cheap about using such a feeling as a trick.
    But then there was that chance to save the world from war...
    Aubrey weighed his choices, felt the options, understood ends and means and how rationalising worked. He slipped the pearl back into the velvet bag and drew the string tight.
    He’d go ahead with his plan, but that didn’t mean he felt good about it.

    It was hunger that brought Aubrey back to the world of Maidstone. Delicious aromas from downstairs had bypassed his brain and talked directly to his stomach. He stretched, taking his appetite as a good sign of his renewed constitution, and decided he deserved a bite to eat.
    He’d clattered down the main stairs only to find Harris waiting for him. The butler held out the good silver tray, which meant that the envelope resting on it was important.
    Aubrey read it, gazed at the ceiling for a moment as he worked through its implications, and then slipped it into his jacket pocket. ‘Is the place neat and tidy, Harris?’
    â€˜Sir?’
    Aubrey stifled a smile. Harris was capable of uttering that single word in a multitude of ways, as a master woodworker can turn a lump of wood into just about anything. This time, Harris pitched the word to tell Aubrey he was