Time of Trial by Michael Pryor Page A

didn’t do something about it.
    He raced for the door, flinging a red velvet cushion over one shoulder as he went.
    â€˜Oof!’ George toppled from the chaise longue where he’d been lying, doing his best to absorb Albion’s best journalistic practices through the novel method of draping newspapers over his face while he snored.
    â€˜Caroline’s here,’ Aubrey said from the doorway. ‘And so is Father.’
    George blinked. ‘Excellent. I think.’
    â€˜We may be off at any minute.’
    â€˜Good. Enough time for a nap, I’d say.’ At Aubrey’s expression, George held up a hand. ‘Only joking, old man.’ He rolled to his feet and made for the suitcase by the door. ‘Here, let me unveil a little surprise I had sent down from Greythorn.’
    â€˜We don’t have much time,’ Aubrey said, eyeing the door.
    â€˜This won’t take long. There.’
    George straightened from fumbling through his luggage, beaming.
    The garment he was holding looked like a sleeveless cardigan, but instead of buttons down the front it had two loose ties. This was all well and good, Aubrey decided. It was the way the entire object was covered with pockets that made it look bizarre.
    â€˜Interesting sort of vest,’ he said carefully.
    â€˜It’s for you, old man. Try it on.’
    â€˜Really, George, it’s not the sort of thing I’d feel comfortable...’
    â€˜Nonsense. It’s good, strong silk. And it’s not a fashion item. It’s an appurtenances vest.’
    George thrust it at Aubrey. He ran his hand over it. ‘Appurtenances vest?’
    â€˜For adventuring. You see, old man, you talk about planning and preparation, but lately I’ve noticed that you’ve been caught short, more than once. Without your magical wherewithal to do spells and the like.’ He grinned. ‘Stock up your appurtenances vest and you’ll never be without a candle stub, or a bit of chalk or whatever. Just don’t load yourself down too much. Wouldn’t do to clank when we’re trying to sneak up on a miscreant or two.’
    Aubrey was touched. ‘And where did you get this fine piece of equipment?’
    â€˜I made it.’
    Aubrey stared.
    â€˜Took a while, but I think I’m a dab hand with a sewing machine, now.’
    Aubrey shook his head in wonder. ‘George, you’re a marvel.’
    â€˜Correct. And don’t forget to tell Sophie Delroy. She forgets sometimes.’
    Aubrey went to his desk. He slipped a feather, two fingernail-sized mirrors, a pinch of gold dust and a number of other lightweight and potentially useful materials into the pockets of the appurtenances vest. He slipped out of his shirt, wriggled into the vest – making sure the Beccaria Cage hung freely – and then back into his shirt.
    â€˜How do I look?’
    â€˜Ready for whatever may come. How does it feel?’
    Aubrey swung his arms. ‘Very comfortable. Much more so than stuffing my pockets full of bits and pieces.’
    â€˜And that must be a good thing.’ George yawned. ‘Go, old man. I’ll join you in a minute, once I’ve washed my face.’
    Aubrey found Caroline and his father at the foot of the main stairs. They were talking earnestly – serious expressions, intense gesturing. He waited, judged the moment, then inserted himself into the conversation in a gap that made a split-second seem like a geological age.
    â€˜Caroline. Father. I’m glad you’re here.’
    â€˜How long have you been standing there, Aubrey?’ his father asked. Sir Darius was wearing his suit with the striped trousers, a sign that he’d been in Parliament. He stroked his moustache. ‘We were talking about the suffragist movement.’
    â€˜And what the government is actually doing about the whole issue of votes for women,’ Caroline said.
    A voice came from further into the house.