Moment of Truth

by Michael Pryor

  Captain Bailey raised an eyebrow. ‘Eh? What’s that?’

  Aubrey looked at Caroline. She shrugged, slightly. ‘We thought you were taking us to Divodorum.’

  ‘That’s what my orders say. But they don’t say anything about landing. The A 205 never lands unless it’s at a well-appointed airfield.’

  In his mind, Aubrey could see the mission plans shredding and blowing away. He knew that part of being a leader was coping with obstacles, but he’d been hoping that they wouldn’t come as soon as this one had. He glanced at the watch on his wrist – having left his family heirloom safely at Maidstone – and saw that they were officially an hour and a half into their mission.

  At least the motorcar trip had been uneventful.

  ‘Captain, have you taken out special units before?’ Caroline asked.

  ‘It’s about all we’re doing at the moment. Ferrying them to the Continent, then heading back for the next batch. Always at night.’

  ‘At night?’ Aubrey said. ‘How do the teams alight?’

  ‘No idea. Once we open the hatch, it’s up to them.’

  In the silence that followed this revelation, it was George who held up a hand like a hesitant schoolboy. ‘And how high up are you when you do this hatch opening?’

  ‘A few thousand feet.’

  ‘A few thousand feet,’ George repeated slowly. ‘Above the ground, you mean?’

  Captain Bailey wrinkled his brow. ‘You field operative people have magic, don’t you?’

  Aubrey sighed. ‘We haven’t been briefed on such procedures.’

  ‘These arrangements did appear rushed,’ Captain Bailey muttered. ‘I suppose this means we’ll have to turn back, if you don’t have the capability to perform a drop.’

  Aubrey saw the look of disappointment on Caroline’s face, despite her best efforts to hide it. He rallied. Not just for her sake, he told himself. It was for Albion, and duty, and responsibility and all that. ‘Not so, Captain. How long will it take to get to our target destination?’

  ‘Close to three hours, with this headwind.’

  ‘I recommend that we proceed. We’ll be ready when we get there.’

  Fourteen

  Despite the A 205 being a military airship, it was roomy and well appointed. Aubrey couldn’t help thinking that if he had the choice between being a crew member on a dirigible or on a submersible, anyone needing elbow room should definitely choose the dirigible.

  Aubrey, Caroline and George were assigned quarters, even though their transit time was short. After being dismissed by the captain, they were ushered through the polished wood and brass corridors by a young airman who keenly pointed out cargo and munitions bays, the wireless telegraphy room, engine rooms and the substantial galley, which nearly turned George aside as they passed, thanks to the savoury aromas issuing from it.

  After depositing their meagre bags, they gathered in Aubrey’s cabin. The cabin was distinctly nautical in arrangement, with bunks and furniture constructed of aluminium and electric lights in the shape of portholes. ‘Aubrey,’ Caroline said. ‘You’re not putting us in an awkward position, are you?’

  Such as being dropped from two thousand feet and not being quite sure about effecting a soft landing? He pulled the lightweight chair from the desk and offered it to Caroline. She sat, while George and he perched on the bunk. ‘On our recent train trip to Fisherberg...’ he began.

  ‘On which you carefully didn’t invite me.’

  Aubrey paused. At the time, he’d tried to communicate with Caroline, but had been unable. In the end, Caroline had found her own way to the Holmland capital anyway, in the company of her mother. But if he pointed out either of these facts he would simply lay himself open to a charge of not trying hard enough. Again.

  ‘I’m sorry for that,’ he said, and then added, in a burst of sudden inspiration, ‘I should have tried harder.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘In any case, I told you about the events of that journey. About being flung off the train and then running into the band of rebel Veltranians.’

  ‘I searched that train high and low,’ George said. ‘I had no idea where he’d gone.’

  ‘As if being pushed out of the train wasn’t bad enough, it happened just as it was going over a bridge. A very high bridge.’ Aubrey paused, remembering his terror. ‘It gave me considerable incentive to invent a spell that would ease my descent.’

  ‘I see.’ Caroline leaned against the desk. ‘And did you use any of the spellcraft you’d being playing around with when we were in Lutetia? When you levitated that whole tower?’

  ‘Some of the elements,’ he said. ‘Decreasing the effects of gravity, for instance. It’s interesting, really, but by decreasing the attractive pull of the earth for a moment I think the earth actually gets heavier. Infinitesimally, but nonetheless–’

  Caroline held up a hand. ‘Enough, Aubrey. Save it for one of your journals.’

  ‘Ah. Of course.’

  ‘Anything you need, old man?’ George asked. ‘Magical paraphernalia or the like?’

  ‘Not having much paraphernalia about when I was falling through the air, I made do,’ Aubrey said, grinning. ‘But I do need one item: a feather.’

  George stood. ‘So our mission to thwart Holmland begins with a feather hunt on an airship. Wait until my readers hear about this.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about, George?’ Aubrey said.

  ‘You can’t write about our work,’ Caroline said. ‘It’s top secret!’

  George looked surprisingly smug. ‘We all have our talents. My work on the university magazine was recognised by the Special Services people. They said I’d be perfect for a little scheme they’ve cooked up to help morale. A series of magazine articles about dashing Albionite soldiers and special operatives. Names and details changed, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Aubrey echoed faintly.

  Caroline, however, wasn’t so nervous. Her eyes sparkled. ‘So, in your story, a feather hunt may become a search for some botanical object or other?’

  ‘Exactly. Or a piece of magic glass or whatever makes for a good narrative. Nothing dull, whatever the case. Can’t have dullness. Not if we’re to inspire the nation.’

  Given some of the near-fatal scrapes they had found themselves in over the last year or so, Aubrey would have paid good money for a modicum of dullness, but he saw George’s point. ‘Let’s comb this airship for a feather. Can we meet back here in half an hour?’

  Aubrey was back after twenty minutes, both disappointed and dismayed. After wandering through crew quarters, officers’ areas and in and out of the weapons rooms, he’d even crawled in among the giant gasbags that provided the lift for the dirigible, all without success.

  He turned to his notebook.

  After he’d returned home from the Fisherberg escapade, he’d made note of all the extemporary magic he’d invented during the efforts to keep Prince Albert safe, as was his wont. He’d learned that unless he actually wrote down these spells, he was bound to forget their intricacies. He’d also found that the simple act of writing actually helped embed the complex elements in his head.

  Caroline shook her head at his glum expression when she returned. ‘No luck, I’m afraid. You’d better start thinking of alternatives.’

  He held up his notebook. ‘That’s what I’m doing. It’s a shame, though. The feather spell worked beautifully.’

  ‘What about the gas in the gasbags?’

  Aubrey sat up, nearly clocking his head on the upper bunk. He blinked. ‘Caroline, you have permission to crow.’

  She raised an eyebrow. Most elegantly, Aubrey decided. ‘I do?’

  ‘You do. I thought I was being so clever, reproducing a successful spell, but I was being short-sighted. It’s the principle that’s important here, not the detail. Juggling a few elements, substituting a few variables, that’s not difficult once the overall structure of the spell has been hammered out.’

  ‘I won’t crow, Aubrey. N
ot now. I’ll save it up for later.’

  ‘When I need some humility?’

  ‘That’s correct. I’m sure you would have abandoned the feather business in time, and it’s not a huge leap of imagination to start wondering about how this craft stays up in the air.’

  Aubrey put his hands together and rubbed them, slowly. ‘I find you most useful, Caroline. I hope you understand that.’

  Caroline inclined her head, eyes downcast. ‘I do understand, Aubrey.’ She paused, appearing to consider her words. Aubrey gave her time. ‘Ever since we met, Aubrey, my life has changed.’

  ‘Yes?’ It was all Aubrey could trust himself to say as he was worried his heart was about to burst.

  ‘The world has grown larger and infinitely more complex. Richer, in a word.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Many things I’d only heard about or read about, I’ve now actually encountered. It’s been frightening.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Let me finish. It’s been frightening, but it’s also been exhilarating, thrilling and infuriating.’ She looked at him solemnly. ‘That last is mostly you, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Aubrey, right now, I feel it’s time to tell you something. Something important.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I–’

  The door to the cabin banged open. George stood, outlined in the doorway, brandishing a bright green feather. ‘I’ve found it!’

  In terms of unfortunate timing, Aubrey judged that George’s entrance was on a par with Mrs and Mrs Unicorn going on a holiday just before the invitation came to join Noah on his ark.

  Aubrey swallowed, and with an effort that was the equivalent of swimming through quickly setting concrete, he put a smile on his face. Then he trusted himself to look at Caroline. She had a hand to her throat, the fingers barely brushing her collar. Her eyes glinted. Aubrey was unwilling to believe he saw tears. It must have been the light.

  Personal mission status: Aubrey thought with a vast hollowness inside, failure.

  George wasn’t a dullard. He looked from Aubrey to Caroline and back again. ‘Ah. You know, I have a sudden urge to go and see cook at work in the galley. Fascinating stuff, that.’

  Caroline stood and smiled, most sweetly. ‘Thank you, George, but I think your feather is more important.’

  ‘The moment’s passed, eh?’ George ran a hand through his sandy hair. ‘Put my foot in it, haven’t I?’

  Aubrey couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s quick change of demeanour from triumphant to crestfallen. ‘George, speaking as an expert in putting feet in wrong places, I can say that you’re a mere beginner in the field. You have years of work ahead of you to achieve my level of malfootedness.’

  George studied their faces for a moment, then he shrugged. ‘Thank you for your words of wisdom, O Baron of Blunders, O Guru of Gaffes, O Mighty Maestro of Mistakes.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Aubrey pursed his lips. ‘Mighty Maestro of Mistakes?’

  George dusted off a lapel. ‘I’m quite proud of that one.’

  ‘Alliteration is the crutch of the insecure writer, George, you should know that.’

  ‘It is? Who said so?’

  ‘I did. I just made it up.’

  ‘And the feather, George,’ Caroline said, turning the conversation aside. ‘Where did you find it? I looked everywhere.’

  George handed the bright green feather to Aubrey. ‘The engineer’s mate has a parrot. He didn’t know what a foul mouth the bird had, either, until we plucked him.’

  With the feather in hand, Aubrey sat at the desk with his notebook and was quickly able to reconstruct his spell. After his discussion with Caroline, he was even able to enhance it, blending it with the levitation spell he’d worked out in Lutetia. This combination, he was sure, would allow him to manage their rate of ascent with some degree of control, which was a blessing. His memory of the moonlight plunge from the Transcontinental Express was one of absolute panic then frantic spell casting followed by an almighty thump at the end. He’d hit the ground hard enough to leave a welter of bruises, but he’d walked away, which was a rather better outcome than appeared likely when he began his descent.

  Now, of course, a successful spell was even more important. The mission was contributing to the war effort – which was reason enough – but more paramount was the safety of his friends. Their lives would be in his hands.

  Aubrey squinted into the rain whipping at his face as he stood at the doorway into the night sky. Even though Captain Bailey had ordered the A 205 to turn into the wind and the crew was doing its best to maintain position, the fitful weather was making things difficult.

  At least the foul weather means there’s no moon, Aubrey thought. It also meant that most of the citizens of Divodorum would be inside, out of the rain, tucked up nice and warm, and not wondering about mysterious airships wandering about their city.

  Aubrey gripped the rails on either side of the exit. Captain Bailey had thought that using the passenger exit was best. Situated as it was right at the bow of the craft, it meant Aubrey could clearly see the terrain below.

  He had a tug at his waist. ‘Ready, old man? We’re freezing back here.’

  Aubrey adjusted the rope around his waist. It had been his idea. He didn’t want the three of them separating during what he hoped was going to be a controlled descent.

  Lieutenant Davey clapped his hands together. ‘Best to go now.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘We’re in perfect position.’

  Aubrey looked down. Lights twinkled from the houses and businesses of the spread-out city and outskirts. He could make out where the Salia River joined the Mosa River, the confluence being the reason a town grew here in the first place, the Romans knowing a good spot for a trading post when they saw one. For a moment, Aubrey had a vision of an ancient property agent pointing out the delightful river frontage to a centurion, and how the place would be close to schools and shops – when they were eventually built – and deciding not to overquote once the centurion starting fingering his well-used blade.

  More sombrely, however, Aubrey took note of more recent developments. North and east of the city he could see earthworks and fortifications. The approach to the city in that direction followed the valley of the Salia River, between beetling ridges of higher land that – some thirty or forty miles away – became the Grentellier Mountains. The open land either side of the road and the river was entrenched and mounded, and sprouted barbed wire much as an ancient ruin would throw up ivy. A fortress loomed on the city side of this build-up. As well as being the centre of the military precinct, it was the gateway to the airfield beyond, where mooring masts stood lonely on the banks of the river.

  He wiped his eyes. He was humbled by the confidence George and Caroline had in him. They were perfectly happy throwing themselves out of the dirigible and relying on him. The small bundle of equipment he’d managed to drop successfully, on a previous pass over their position, had been enough for them. Aubrey was their man.

  As an alternative, Aubrey had asked Lieutenant Davey about the new parachute devices he’d heard of. The airman had laughed and told him that the airship corps refused to have anything to do with parachutes because if the crew could simply abandon ship, they’d do nothing to save the craft when in difficulty.

  Aubrey’s opinion of the military mind was confirmed by this. Why have common sense when you can have rules instead?

  Aubrey wiped rain from his eyes and tugged on his close-fitting black cap. I’m confident, he told himself. More than that, I’m confident I’m confident.

  Captain Bailey was confident too. His bluff assurances that he’d had dozens of operatives who’d managed such a procedure was meant to be comforting, but was undercut when he’d declared that most of them survived.

  Caroline’s voice sounded close behind him. ‘Time, Aubrey, I should think.’

  Aubrey hadn’t had any ulterior motive when he arranged h
is friends on the rope. Naturally, he had to go first. And naturally George was the ideal rearguard man. That meant Caroline had to take the place right behind him. Of course, they’d have to bunch up before they stepped off the ledge...

  ‘Put your hands on my shoulders,’ he said.

  ‘Like this?’

  Exactly like that. And can you move a little closer? ‘That’s fine. George?’

  ‘Right here, old man.’

  They’d dressed warmly, in heavy overcoats, boots and gloves, all black so as not to stand out against the night sky. It didn’t stop Aubrey from shivering a little as he contemplated the drop, and he was acutely conscious of the weight of the gold sovereigns strapped around his waist, part of the funds to be used for their mission. He knew, intellectually, that being heavier wouldn’t make him fall any faster, but a primitive part of his brain had other ideas and it was the one that was squeezing his panic gland. ‘On the count of three, everyone. Right. One, two, THREE!’

  An instant of tangling, a roaring whoosh in the ears, the buffeting of wind and hard rain, and Aubrey found he was looking up at the bulk of the airship and wondering why it was moving away from them so quickly. Then his perceptions righted themselves and he realised it wasn’t rising – they were falling.

  ‘Aubrey!’ Caroline tugged on his arm and her face swam into view. She was wearing an aviator’s leather helmet to keep her hair in, and her eyes were huge in the night time. ‘The spell!’

  He knew he’d forgotten something.

  With George flailing away nearby, doing his best impression of a crested grebe, and Caroline undulating gracefully, Aubrey found it difficult to concentrate, but the undeniable – and looming – presence of the earth beneath them gave him the necessary incentive.

  He rolled out the Akkadian syllables and inserted a considered value for their rate of descent – then their plummet slowed so dramatically that he nearly lost his supper. George squawked in what Aubrey hoped was a continued approximation of the crested grebe, just in case any of the inhabitants of Divodorum were insomniac skywatchers with good hearing.