Word of Honour by Michael Pryor

the
poster was a twin of Dr Tremaine. 'Of course.' His
headache was sneaking back and he rubbed his temples
wearily.
    Aubrey tried to tell himself that he'd made a mistake,
that was all, half-glimpsing a poster and linking it with
the man who lurked in his thoughts.
    He subsided, but doubt niggled at him. Dr Tremaine
was brilliant, charismatic and utterly ruthless, but he was
– above all – unpredictable. Not in the sense of being
capricious or careless, but in the way that his motives
were impossible for others to decipher. The fate of
nations worried him little – his own purposes were paramount.
In this world of international turmoil, he was a
wild card.
    Aubrey knew that Dr Tremaine was an enemy to
Albion. But Aubrey was also honest enough to admit –
to himself – that he had some admiration for the man.
His passionate, sweeping nature, his many personal
accomplishments, the gusto and swagger, as if Tremaine
were a bolder, grander, more intense version of humanity.
    Aubrey could see how Dr Tremaine gathered followers
wherever he went. Not that he cared for them,
but they were devoted to him. He was a leader, but
a completely different sort of leader from Darius
Fitzwilliam.
    George thumped on the roof of the cab. 'That's the
Russell just ahead, cabby.'
    'Right you are, sir,' the cabby said with resignation.
Aubrey reflected that it was part of a cabby's lot to be told
things they already knew, but when they needed accurate
directions to be confronted with total ignorance.
    'What is this show we're seeing, George?'
    'The Great Manfred. Sleight-of-hand artist.'
    'A Holmlander?' Aubrey said with some astonishment.
    'We're not at war yet. The Great Manfred's been on
tour for over a year, the toast of the Continent.'
    'I hate sleight of hand,' Aubrey grumbled. 'All their
tricks are just done with magic, you know.'
    The cab rolled to a halt. George bounded out. 'Ah,
that's where you're wrong,' he said when Aubrey joined
him on the crowded pavement. He paid the cabby, who
favoured him with a grin before driving off. 'The Great
Manfred gives a guarantee that every trick he performs is
the result of sheer physical dexterity.'
    'Impossible.'
    'That's the fun of it. He does the impossible, right
before your eyes, without any magic at all.'
    'If this Manfred –'
    'The Great Manfred.'
    'If this Great Manfred does all that, I'll be impressed.'
    The doors to the theatre were open and a crowd was
trying to press through them all at once. 'Wait here,'
George said. 'I'll pick up the tickets.'
    Aubrey scowled. He stood on the pavement, hands in
the pockets of his jacket, and studied the poster, trying
not to think about Dr Tremaine.
    The Great Manfred was a model Holmlander – tall,
well groomed, neat pointed beard, impeccable posture.
He wore a dinner jacket that had a decided shortcoming
in that cards, doves and coloured scarves seemed to be
exploding from its sleeves. Aubrey thought that this
would be uncomfortable at best, and markedly inconvenient
at worst, but it was what the illustration promised.
    'Aubrey. You'll stretch your jacket out of shape like
that.'
    Aubrey straightened, guiltily, and whipped his hands
out of his pockets. 'Hello, Caroline,' he said and all his
rehearsed lines vanished from his mind. 'Hello, Caroline,'
he repeated.
    She stood there, cool and elegant, in the middle of the
pavement. Pedestrians swirled around her as if she were
an island in a raging torrent.
    'I didn't think you'd be interested in sleight of hand,
even when the artist is of the calibre of Manfred.'
    'The Great Manfred,' Aubrey said.
    Caroline studied him for a moment. Her face was
thoughtful, but distant. His hopes of an immediate
rapprochement shrivelled the longer the pause went on.
'You always did like correcting people,' she said eventually.
'Still, when you're right all of the time, it must
be tempting.'
    Bad start , Aubrey thought. I've made a very bad start . He
considered his options and quickly abandoned thoughts
of running