Moment of Truth

by Michael Pryor

  ‘Go ahead,’ George said magnanimously. ‘We’ll wait here for you.’

  ‘No need,’ Major Morton said. ‘This was a double bunger.’

  ‘Double bunger?’

  ‘Two loads were dropped.’ He pointed with his pipe. ‘A regular high explosive bomb landed at that end of the courtyard, the magical bomb at this end. Head down to the high explosive number, there’s a good chap. They could use some help.’

  ‘Me?’ George said.

  ‘Commander Tallis said it would be useful if you got some practical experience of bomb disposal work.’ Major Morton chuckled. ‘Don’t worry. Spencer and Martin are working on it, our best team. You know what they say about the old and the bold, don’t you?’

  George tore his gaze away from the far end of the crater. ‘Old and bold?’

  ‘“There are old bomb disposal operatives, and there are bold bomb disposal operatives, but there are no old, bold bomb disposal operatives.”’ He chuckled again. ‘Not to worry. Spencer is old, Martin is bold, so you’ll get the best of both worlds.’

  ‘Just as long as I don’t get blown to bits in either of them,’ George said, and he plodded off.

  ‘Now, Mattingly,’ Major Morton said. ‘You’re to meet with the Gallian codes department, to see their methods. It should be useful.’

  Elspeth eyed Major Morton with what Aubrey could only describe as considerable affront. ‘Does that mean I don’t get to work on these bombs?’

  Major Morton laughed. ‘Good Lord, no.’

  ‘I see.’ She fumed a little. ‘As liaison officer, I really must object.’

  ‘Object? On what grounds?’

  ‘On the grounds that I’d really like to work on those bombs.’

  Major Morton glanced at Aubrey. ‘You’re new to the military, aren’t you?’

  ‘George and I have some experience.’

  ‘Then you understand about old-fashioned things like orders and discipline and such.’

  Aubrey could see that Major Morton was going out of his way to be patient. ‘Elspeth, I think we need to get on with things as ordered.’

  She glared at both of them. ‘All right. As long as this isn’t a conspiracy to keep females in their place. The world is changing, you know.’

  She stormed off, leaving Aubrey to consider that Elspeth and Caroline had at least one thing in common.

  With more than one backward glance, Elspeth crossed the courtyard.

  ‘Fine-looking young woman, that,’ Major Morton said. ‘Great asset to the forces.’

  ‘She just shot someone who tried to kill me,’ Aubrey said stiffly.

  ‘Did she now? Plucky as well as pretty. Good show.’

  Aubrey wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. He didn’t have any argument over Elspeth’s prettiness – that was undeniable – and she certainly showed her pluck in confronting the would-be assassin. And she was pleasant to be with.

  He snorted. He knew why she made him uncomfortable, despite all that. It was because of all that. Pretty, brave, intelligent, capable young women had a way of turning him to jelly, and he had never quite worked out what to do about it, apart from delight in their presence – and feel a pang at their absence.

  Caroline.

  ‘This way, Fitzwilliam. Not afraid to get some dirt on your hands, are you?’

  ‘Coming, sir.’

  A crumpled canister lay at the bottom of the crater, a few feet long, dark dull metal about as thick as his thigh. On the lip of the crater, Aubrey bent and put his hands on his knees while three operatives used small brushes to ease earth away from the metal. Not all of the canister was exposed, embedded as it was in the wall of the crater.

  Aubrey could feel the magic without trying. It pulsed like a heart, malignant and heavy, and it was redolent with a tangle of complex spells. Aubrey worked his mouth, trying to clear the knotty taste that had insinuated itself as the magic played games with his senses.

  ‘Anything familiar there?’ Major Morton toyed with his pipe, passing it from hand to hand.

  ‘It’s definitely held together tightly, but I can’t...’ Aubrey’s voice trailed off. He was looking for any sign of Dr Tremaine’s handiwork, but nothing stood out. Nothing specific, that was. The spells crammed into the canister reminded him of Dr Tremaine, without his touch, as if they were copies of his efforts.

  He straightened. ‘How many of these have fallen on Albion?’

  Major Morton cocked an eyebrow. ‘Now, we don’t bandy classified information like that around willy-nilly, you know.’

  ‘It’s important.’

  ‘I rather thought it might be.’ Major Morton put his pipe in his mouth, chewed on it and then took it out again. ‘What if I tell you that several dozen of these magical canisters fell across Albion two nights ago? And about the same number of high explosive bombs?’

  Several dozen? Each one would have taken hours to construct. Aubrey couldn’t see the rogue sorcerer standing at a conveyor belt casting spell after spell and making sure they were neatly compressed inside metal cylinder after metal cylinder. He wouldn’t have the patience for such repetitive stuff.

  Without realising it, Aubrey started to hum, deep in his throat. No, he couldn’t imagine Dr Tremaine doing that, but...

  Major Morton nudged his elbow. ‘Are you all right, Fitzwilliam?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You were making an awful droning noise.’

  ‘Just thinking, sir.’

  ‘Well, I hope your thinking’s of some use. I don’t want that earthquake getting loose. Not here, in the middle of Trinovant.’

  ‘Earthquake? I’d assumed it was weather magic.’

  ‘They’re a cunning lot, those Holmlanders. They’ve dropped plenty of compressed weather magic on us, but also a few of these neatly packaged earthquakes. One got loose in Carlstairs on the coast, near the shipyard. Toppled half the cliff into the sea.’

  Aubrey looked at the grand old buildings surrounding them. He swallowed. ‘So we need to render this one harmless.’

  ‘Ideally, yes. D’you remember the spell you used in Fisherberg?’

  Aubrey would never forget that desperate spell casting. It was a matter of defining a temporal inversion constant that would worm its way back through time and latch itself onto the compression spell, adding a few days to the time of its unleashing. Time enough, then, to dispose of this canister safely. A few hundred miles out to sea, Aubrey hoped, on the fastest ornithopter available.

  ‘I have it,’ he said.

  ‘Be my guest.’ Major Morton raised his voice. ‘Maloney, Johnson, Miller, time to move away.’

  The operatives in the bottom of the crater looked up, and immediately scrambled out. Aubrey thought they scrambled gratefully, if such a thing were possible.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Major Morton asked Aubrey.

  Aubrey shook his head and handed the major his cap. His palms were clammy. Suddenly the crater looked miles deep. The canister was an ominous glint at the faraway bottom. Aubrey shifted his weight from one leg to another, which was enough to set him into motion.

  He clambered down the ragged sides of the pit. Loose earth tumbled past him and made his footing uncertain for a moment until he turned and steadied himself with both hands, not caring about how he looked as he slid on his rear. He was prepared to sacrifice dignity for safety, and proceeded to demonstrate that when he reached the bottom by crawling on hands and knees, creeping up on the sinister canister.

  He was aware that Major Morton hadn’t withdrawn. His pipe was stuck in the corner of his mouth as he circled the crater, matching Aubrey’s approach. The man had no nerves, Aubrey decided, and he actually thought the major was grinning.

  Aubrey pulled back his sleeves absently. It gave him a sense of being workmanlike, and it had a faint but noticeable set
tling effect as he studied the canister. From a foot or so away, he could see the line of rivets along one side and the solder that sealed the top. Or the bottom, it was hard to tell with the other end buried in the earth. The surface was scuffed and dented, with a long, bright scrape running along its length.

  He took a deep breath. Then he extended his magical awareness.

  He grunted and rocked on his hands and knees as the canister came alive in the pseudo-sight that his magical awareness lent him. It was a flare, a roiling of spells held in check by a profoundly woven compression spell. Aubrey gritted his teeth and swayed from side to side in an effort to ascertain what was packed into the canister, what exactly was threatening to explode. He could make out the earthquake spell, shivering as it was in anticipation, but he could also detect intensifying spells, and some that he thought would have the effect of channelling or focusing...

  Enough, he thought. The nature of the contents of the canister was interesting, but he didn’t have time to explore. He needed to clamp down on the whole package.

  Following the method he’d established – by necessity – in the Fisherberg drama, he constructed a neat, terminal phrase to splice onto the end of the compression spell. With no time for experimentation or refinement, he reused the Sumerian version he’d invented in that crisis. He steadied himself, then pronounced the series of crisp, slightly harsh, elements, and it was over in seconds. As soon as he finished, the Sumerian addition inverted itself and disappeared, tracking back through time to when the compression spell was originally set in place.

  Satisfied, he let out a deep breath. Subtly, the magical nature of the canister had changed. The enveloping compression spell appeared less ... imminent.

  He straightened until he was kneeling. He wiped his hands together.

  ‘All done?’ the major said cheerily.

  ‘I’ve added two days to the trigger time,’ Aubrey said and he was quite pleased that his voice neither quavered nor croaked. ‘I’d like to examine it more closely, if I could.’

  ‘Ah. We’ll have to see about that. My orders are to get it out of here quick smart. The Gallians are understandably nervous about having a couple of bombs in their vicinity.’

  Aubrey understood that, if his probing of the canister was accurate, it wouldn’t only have been the Gallian Embassy that would have suffered if the earthquake had been released. It would require more study, but he had an awful suspicion that a way had been found to aim an earthquake’s effects in desired directions – and the Houses of Parliament weren’t that far away.

  ‘Splendid. I’ll get the others to cart the thing off with the high explosive bomb.’

  ‘That’s safe, too?’

  ‘Oh, yes, no worries there. Good work, Fitzwilliam. Glad to have had your help. Don’t forget that we’ll need a full report on your methods, to help disarm the other canisters.’

  Aubrey dragged himself out of the crater to see Major Morton had wandered over to the other bomb site, where he was chatting with some more of his people.

  He was pleased with himself, but his overwhelming reaction was one of relief. Not simply that he hadn’t been killed, but relief that he hadn’t let anyone down. Commander Craddock and Major Morton had been relying on him in his new status as a Magic Department operative, but he was acutely conscious of the lives of the people in the embassy and the surrounding streets – and the countless others whose lives may have been affected had an unhappy outcome here caused retribution and a more bloody war. Where does responsibility end? he wondered.

  He sighed and saw George, walking rather stiffleggedly toward him. ‘Well,’ George announced. ‘That was an experience.’

  Aubrey thought it wise not to draw attention to George’s pallor. Normally ruddy-faced, he was definitely pale. ‘Did you learn much?’

  ‘They let me cut the red wire.’

  ‘The red wire?’

  ‘The one that might have set the whole thing off, if it was the wrong one.’

  ‘And where were they?’

  ‘They said they were moving to a safe distance. One of them suggested the next county. They wished me luck before they went, though.’

  ‘And they left you alone? To cut the red wire?’

  ‘I’m reasonably sure I was alone. Not that I looked around. Or stretched. Or twitched – they emphasised that twitching was a very bad thing to do.’

  ‘Before they left.’

  ‘Before they left. I did sweat a little, though.’

  ‘I imagine you would.’

  ‘They didn’t say anything about not sweating.’

  ‘And what happened when you cut the red wire?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing? Well, that’s good.’

  ‘No, I mean nothing happened because they’d disarmed it before I joined them.’

  ‘Ah.’ Aubrey sought for comforting words. ‘I suppose they were showing you what it was like, without putting you in any real danger.’

  George nodded. Very slowly. ‘That must be it. And their laughing, when they came back. That was useful too, I imagine.’

  ‘Most likely. Instructional laughter, probably.’

  ‘I tell you what, old man. I’m going to look for a spot of tea. And some scones. A slice or two of cake wouldn’t go astray, either.’ He took off his cap, turned it around in his hands and then replaced it on his head. ‘We’re not messing about here any more, are we?’

  ‘No, we’re certainly not messing about. We’ve jumped in the deep end.’ Aubrey took a deep breath. ‘Go and get some morning tea, George. I’ll find Elspeth and we’ll join you.’

  Aubrey didn’t need any reminder that everything had changed, but the usually sunny George’s understanding underlined the way that the world was different.

  Adventuring was well and good, but it had had a touch of the carefree, no matter how dangerous the situation. Now, it was different.

  After entering via a small conservatory, redolent with palms and philodendrons, Aubrey went searching for stairs leading downward, reasoning that a cryptography department simply had to be in the basement. He’d turned several corners, perfecting his Gallian ‘excuse me’ and ‘terribly sorry’ as he eased through the crowded corridors, when he realised he’d lost his sense of direction. Was he facing the front of the embassy, or the rear? He was in a nest of activity, an open typing pool surrounded by offices with neat windows for those inside to monitor those at work on the typewriting machines. A dozen young women were hard at work on their machines but, even so, several of them looked up as he passed. He did his best to appear as if he weren’t glancing at the papers they were copying, which made him walk with a rather stiff, chin-up gait.

  Which meant that he wasn’t totally aware of his surroundings as he marched through a door into a smaller area with a young woman working alone at a desk, her back toward him. Still trying to appear as if he knew where he was going, he kept on toward the open door just past her and was glad when she didn’t look up. For a moment, he thought of asking her for directions, but he dismissed the thought. He was bound to find the basement sooner or later.

  When he opened the door, all he saw on the other side was a windowless office. A lonely desk, an empty hat rack, a filing cabinet and nowhere to go. He rehearsed what he hoped was a rueful and inoffensive smile and prepared to turn on his heel to admit he was lost – only to feel a hefty shove from behind.

  He stumbled through the open door, which closed behind him. He whirled – and stared at his latest assailant.

  Twelve

  Caroline! Why are you dressed as a typing girl?’

  Caroline Hepworth stood with her back to the door, arms crossed on her chest. She wore a plain white blouse, a severe dark skirt and an expression that could only be described as disapproving.

  ‘Because I’ve been a typing girl, Aubrey. My team has been practising covert inf
iltration. I’m in typing, Walter is in the kitchen, Gregory is inspecting plumbing.’

  Aubrey made a mental note to introduce himself to Walter and Gregory. To foster esprit de corps, camaraderie, that sort of thing. ‘In an allied embassy?’

  Caroline made an impatient noise. ‘The Gallians know we’re here. It’s practice, that’s all. Except...’ She frowned. ‘How well do you know Mattingly?’

  ‘Elspeth?’

  ‘When I saw you three blunder in to the embassy, I decided to observe her. For practice.’

  ‘And it wouldn’t be useful to follow George or me,’ Aubrey said carefully.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Aubrey.’ Caroline pushed back a stray strand of hair that Aubrey found quite invisible. ‘She was the only option. So with an armful of files I shadowed her as she left you and George blocking up the bottom of the stairs.’

  ‘She was looking for Captain Bourdin.’

  ‘That’s what she told you?’

  Aubrey wouldn’t have said that Caroline’s slight smile had a hint of triumph, but he wondered if someone else may have.

  ‘Well, we’d lost him...’

  ‘She met a man in one of the second-floor offices.’

  ‘She mentioned that she had a friend at the embassy.’ Aubrey frowned. Hadn’t Elspeth said that her friend was female? And that she worked in the library?

  ‘She did, did she? And did she mention that this friend would like to shoot you?’

  ‘Not in as many words, no.’

  ‘Not in as many words?’

  ‘Not in any words, actually.’ Aubrey frowned. ‘She met that bald chap?’

  ‘The cultural attaché. They spoke behind closed doors for a few minutes and then she rejoined you.’

  ‘Then took us to meet him.’ Aubrey stood still, taking this new datum apart and trying to see how it worked. Why would Elspeth talk to someone who was an assassin? ‘But she shot him, after he tried to shoot me.’

  ‘It made her look brave, didn’t it? Made her more trustworthy?’ Caroline’s eyes were hard. ‘I’d call that a measure of her ruthlessness.’

  ‘Elspeth? Ruthless? But she’s so...’

  ‘Sweet? Kind? Cuddly?’