Claude promised that he’d see the crates safely stowed before he departed on the train. Some last-minute instructions from Sophie and he was off, leaping from the dock to the barge as it pulled away.
While they waited, George and Sophie wandered along the riverbank and bought some very savoury goat’s milk cheese, bread, a basket of pears and two bottles of fresh milk, thus pleasing the deckhands they bought from, who thereby had less to load, the barge captains, who grinned at the cash transaction, not to mention Aubrey and Caroline, who were the beneficiaries of this scavenged but delightful luncheon.
They sat under a pin oak that spread its branches wide, and they watched the commerce of the river and its banks while they passed Aubrey’s penknife and the cheese to each other. Aubrey insisted on cutting Caroline’s bread and cheese for her and remarkably – after a minor show of refusing – she accepted his help.
Aubrey was thinking of a dozen things at once, as was his wont, but he found time to notice how close Sophie and George were sitting to each other. Sophie had her legs folded up, with her striped skirt neatly draped around her. She wore a straw hat bravely perched on her head as she pointed out to George what he was missing in the bustle below.
Then he realised that Caroline and he were sitting just as close. He swallowed nervously and went to apologise but she hushed him with a twitch of one eyebrow.
‘Just sit back,’ she said. ‘Enjoy the moment.’
He did and he wished it would go on forever.
WHEN THEY FINISHED THEIR LUNCH, GEORGE MANOEUVRED the wagon down from the road to the dockside with Sophie on the driver’s seat beside him, wide-eyed but game.
The crates were large, as promised, each about nine feet long. Lothar and Volker, grunting, loaded them with the aid of some imaginative swearing, an amalgam of Gallian and Holmlandish, Aubrey guessed, and the way they brought the languages together gave Aubrey hope for the future.
When they returned to the base, Aubrey enlisted the assistance of Madame Zelinka’s people to bring a crate inside – the one with a prominent ‘#1’ stencilled on the end. He was confident no-one could simply walk past and carry the others off the back of the wagon, but he made sure the gate was locked.
While George unhitched the horses and tended to them with Sophie, Aubrey studied the crate. The Enlightened Ones had rested it against the wall, next to the front doors, under the window. Nine feet long and narrow, it looked uncomfortably like a coffin for someone who was very tall and spindly.
Caroline appeared from the kitchen. She’d put on her fighting suit again, now that they were back in their base, and her feet were bare. In one hand she had a damp cloth. In the other, she had a pry bar. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘I’m anticipating.’
‘Anticipating?’
‘You were about to start an argument about whether to open the crate or not.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say argument –’
‘Then you’d put forward the view that the orders didn’t say anything about not opening the crate.’
‘Didn’t they? Let me have a look at them again.’
‘Which you’d suggest was actually a way of telling us that the crates should be opened for good reasons.’
‘Like inspecting them for damage during transit.’
‘That’s the sort of thing.’
‘Or for sabotage.’
‘We can’t have sabotaged equipment going to the front.’ She handed him the pry bar. ‘In fact, you’d be derelict in your duty if you didn’t open the crate.’
‘I was just going to say that.’
She smiled. ‘I know.’
Under Caroline’s watchful eye, Aubrey took to the crate. He restrained an impulse to be indiscriminately destructive, something that pry bars seemed to inspire. He’d have to recrate the machine in order to transport it to the front so he eased off the lid instead of hacking at it. The nails groaned before giving way, only increasing the feeling that he was opening a coffin.
He straightened to find that on top of the packing material that was smothering the magic neutraliser was a large, buff envelope with his name on it.
‘It’s official, not personal,’ Caroline pointed out. ‘Last name only, no rank or initial. But it must be from someone who knows you well enough to assume you’d break into the crate.’
‘Craddock,’ Aubrey said after he tore open the envelope and scanned its contents. His eyebrows rose. ‘He’s aware of the wireless interference. The Department is doing its best to overcome it, but apparently every Directorate team near any of the fronts is having the same problem getting through. Tallis is furious.’
‘Commander Craddock said that Commander Tallis is furious? Let me see.’
‘I’m reading between the lines.’
‘What else does it say?’
‘The Holmland mobilisation in this region is continuing. Much rail traffic. Heavy armaments, troops, matériel, pointing to a concerted push. Albion and the colonies are sending reinforcements. Gallia too, but Holmland infiltrators have done a good job in blowing up railway bridges, apparently.’ Aubrey read on quickly, noting that more magicians were disappearing, both in Albion and across the Continent – and reports were also arriving indicating that the disappearances weren’t limited to magicians; magical artefacts were disappearing from museums and private collections.
His eyebrows rose. ‘Dentists.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Caroline said.
‘Commander Craddock wants us to question any dentists we come across.’
‘He’s concerned about the state of the army’s teeth?’
‘He wants to know if any supplies have gone missing.’
‘Dental supplies.’
Aubrey took a last look at the document and slipped it back into the envelope. He’d need to read it again, at least once more. ‘Craddock is worried about something, but I’d wish he’d be a little less cryptic.’
‘I think it goes with the job,’ Caroline said. ‘Any other changes to our orders?’
‘No. We’re to take the neutralisers to the front and then assist in any way.’
‘We have a contact?’
‘Lieutenant-Colonel Stanley, special magical advisor to General Apsley.’ He smiled. ‘They know about my non-traitor status!’
WITH MIXED FEELINGS, AND FORTIFIED BY ANOTHER superb breakfast whipped up by George and Sophie, the next morning the four friends readied themselves to leave for the front.
Aubrey had told himself, over and over, not to make the base into a home. It was always meant as a staging post, one that could be abandoned at any time. Leaving distinguishing marks behind could be a very bad idea if the Holmlanders overran Divodorum. Being human, however, they had all accumulated bits and pieces, items taken from pockets and put on window sills and shelves – just for a moment, mind you, but eventually staying there for long enough to gather dust. Small accretions – coins, snippets of wire, stubs of pencil – had changed the factory much as barnacles change the hulls of ships.
Before leaving, Aubrey wanted to rush about with a sack and clear everything away, but the horses were waiting in their traces and snorting in the cool of the morning. He shrugged and contented himself with giving the keys to von Stralick. ‘You’ll clean up the place if you have to leave before we get back?’
‘Of course, Fitzwilliam. I was moving from secret base to secret base before you were out of knee pants.’
‘Infant fashion insights aside, you’ll be moving on soon?’
‘It is hard to say,’ Madame Zelinka said. She had abandoned her sling, showing much the same sort of fortitude that Caroline had with her injuries. Aubrey decided that females must have a higher tolerance to pain than males. ‘The situation is bad, but I think we’re starting to bring it under our control.’ In a startling show of affection, Madame Zelinka patted Aubrey on the cheek. ‘Stay alive. All of you.’
Von Stralick looked fondly at her. ‘Zelinka says that we may have to send a team downriver, to check on the spilla
ge and whether it has got away from us, but most of us will be here for some time.’
‘You have plans?’ Sophie asked. ‘If the Holmlanders break through, what will you do?’
Madame Zelinka laughed. ‘We shall manage.’
Von Stralick pointed at Aubrey. ‘Take good care of that file I gave you. Use it wisely.’
Under George’s gentle guidance, the horses positively frisked along the quiet streets. Their hooves echoed from the cobbles, but the wagon was well enough sprung that the ride was smooth and comfortable. Sophie was sitting next to George in the driver’s seat, while Caroline and Aubrey had their backs to them in the rear of the wagon.
Aubrey had made sure that they wore full Directorate field uniforms. Going closer to the front as they were, he thought it necessary. If, heaven forbid, they fell into enemy hands, they could be tried as spies if they were dressed in civilian clothes. On the battlefront, of course, there was only one sentence for such a crime and Aubrey had long ago decided to do everything he could to prevent his friends being shot.
Caroline and Sophie looked very much at ease in the black trousers and jackets, and Aubrey wondered if the Directorate had spent more time tailoring the female uniforms than the male. Their calf-length boots, too, looked suspiciously well fitting, while the berets had a definite stylish shape instead of the unformed blobs that George and he had to balance on their head through sheer willpower.
After reading the letter from Commander Craddock, Aubrey had examined the magic neutraliser before resealing the crate. He’d been impressed by the strides made since the early models. This model was about the dimensions of a long case clock, as tall as Aubrey was. It was made of metal overlaid with fine canvas stretched tight and painted black. Four balancing pegs were attached to the sides, ready to be hammered into earth.
Otherwise, the magic neutraliser was featureless, a bland oblong to be planted upright and activated by the spells already embedded in its workings. Aubrey longed to peek inside to see those workings, to establish how the machine tapped into the magical firmament to sense spells at large and then issue equal and opposite magic. He assumed the range of effect was greater than the models he’d first seen on the stage in Trinovant at the command of the double agent Manfred the Great, but obviously not as large as the titanic version in the Divodorum fortress. These, though, had the virtue of being portable, and he was sure that Colonel Stanley would have the working parameters.
The fortress loomed ahead of them, on the left of the road that bent away to the earthworks that guarded the northern approaches of the city. The improbable construction of the massive magic neutraliser jutted up and Aubrey hoped it was doing its silent, important work with efficiency.
The wagon jerked, then jolted, then stopped. George clicked his tongue then said, gently, ‘Steady on there.’
One of the horses whinnied while the other snorted. George tried to soothe them.
‘What’s wrong?’ Aubrey asked George, trusting to his friend’s farming background. Once again – for approximately the billionth time – he was glad he had George along. Aubrey rode reasonably well and knew his way around a horse, but he had little experience with wagons.
‘Come now.’ George clicked his tongue again, and took his hand from steadying Sophie’s shoulder. ‘Move along there.’
The horses set off again. Aubrey craned his neck, looking for anything unusual. A motorcar was making its way toward them, but it was moving very slowly, hardly a threatening sight.
He was curious. The horses hadn’t seemed the skittish types. They had the placidity and even temper of most draught animals. ‘George?’
‘Just horses being horses, old man. They sniffed something that gave them a start, that’s all.’ He shook the reins, but the horses had already begun plodding along again. Aubrey peered at them for a moment, looking through the noticeably tiny gap between George and Sophie. If the horses had been people, he would have described them as sulking. They had their heads down and he could imagine them muttering to each other about the general unfairness of whatever situation had irked them.
He was about to interrupt Caroline’s studying of a map to engage her in a discussion of animal behaviour and how natural it was to ascribe human characteristics to beasts when a huge explosion shook the earth.
The horses screamed and shied. Aubrey was on his feet, searching for the source of the noise, doing his best to stay upright while the wagon jerked like a boat in a storm. Caroline, too, stood but coped easily with the movement of the wagon as she looked toward the fortress.
George tossed the reins to Sophie and leaped from the driver’s seat. She called out as George darted along the flanks of the frightened beasts until they could see him and he could grab their bridles. His movements were smooth and certain, and he kept up a stream of low, soothing words, doing his best to calm the horses as they stamped, eyes rolling.
‘Aubrey.’ Caroline took his arm and pointed toward the fortress.
The magic neutralising tower was gone.
IN THE CHAOS, IT TOOK SOME TIME AND SOME STERN talking to convince the guards at the gatehouse that Aubrey should be allowed to see Major Saltin. George stayed with the still-agitated horses just inside the gates, attended by an equally agitated guard who actually seemed glad at having a specific duty.
Inside the walls, the compound was thick with smoke and dust, and with Gallian servicemen running about, singly and in squads. Shouting echoed from the buildings and the guard towers. No-one knew where Major Saltin was, either, and resented being stopped and asked such a thing when there were more important matters at hand.
Aubrey did wonder how running about and shouting was more important, but he decided not to press the issue.
The friends rounded the fortress chapel and then stood, stunned, looking at what had been the parade ground before it had become the site for the magic neutralising tower. Now, it was the site of a ruin. The tower lay smashed across the gravel, crushing a flagpole that had been on one corner of the parade ground. Several vehicles were on fire at the edge, near the barracks, and the rear section of a lorry was in very small pieces near the stub of one leg of the tower. A large section of one of the arms had fallen awry and had caved in the roof of a service building. Flames flickered from it; soldiers were cursing and uncoiling hoses that had lain unused for years. The greasy smoke added to the hellish atmosphere.
Aubrey was pressing toward the infirmary as a possible location for Major Saltin when the man himself emerged from the officers’ mess.
Aubrey waved. ‘Saltin!’
The Gallian put up a hand and peered through the smoke. Before making his way in their direction, he grabbed a hurrying corporal by the collar and spoke sharply to him.
‘It was sabotage,’ Major Saltin announced when he’d marched close enough. His face was blackened with smoke or soot. He waved an arm at the wreckage. ‘A baker’s lorry parked near the base of the tower exploded. The driver has been identified as leaving the fortress on foot just before the explosion.’
‘Casualties?’ Aubrey asked.
‘No-one killed, which is entirely fortuitous. Recruits were training at the far end of the field only half an hour ago.’
‘Infiltrators,’ Caroline suggested. ‘Holmland has had time to send teams into Divodorum for something like this.’
‘I know.’ Saltin grimaced, then wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, which only smeared the soot, leaving a long black streak. ‘We have had new people coming in every day, changing over, heading to the front … It has been difficult.’
‘Heading to the front,’ Aubrey said, ‘that’s what we’re about to do. We have a delivery to make to the Albion forces.’
Sophie was suddenly the cadet journalist again, notepad in hand. ‘Major Saltin, this leaves you open to magical attack. What are you going to do about it?’
Major Saltin straightened. ‘Our best, m’mselle. Reinforcements are starting to get through now, and we have some magical personnel
among them. You can tell your readers that Divodorum will never fall.’
He saluted, then marched toward the burning building.
Sophie smiled, a little bitterly. ‘By the time my readers hear from me, they will know whether Divodorum has fallen or not. I ask because I hope to write about events after this war has finished.’
‘You do? George said something about doing the same thing,’ Aubrey said.
Caroline rolled her eyes. ‘Aubrey, Sophie and George have a plan to work on this together, after the war.’
‘So we gather what we can,’ Sophie said, ‘while we go about our duties.’
‘Aubrey and I shall help,’ Caroline said.
‘As long as we’re clear about what we don’t mention.’ Aubrey faltered at the stern looks from both young women. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Secrets, Aubrey?’ Sophie said. ‘What reason can there be for keeping secrets after the war?’
‘Why, I’m sure there must be … Military knowledge … Intelligence …’
‘Be careful,’ Caroline said. ‘Just because we’re working for them, we don’t want to end up like them.’
‘Who?’
‘The hoarders of secrets. Those who know best. The ones who feel that they’re entitled to know things that the rest of us can’t be trusted with.’
‘You’ve just described most of the intelligence community. And most politicians.’
‘Exactly.’
THE ROAD FROM DIVODORUM TO THE FRONT WAS choked. The lack of recent rain may have had benefits – Aubrey would have hated battling through churned-up mud – but it meant they ate, breathed and bathed in dust every inch of the twenty miles.
Complaining, however, would have been churlish. A stream of marching soldiers on the other side of the road, wounded and exhausted from fighting at the front, was a reminder of the dangers ahead.
Their way forward was determined by the stop-start progress of the column they had joined. Reinforcements to replace those fortunate enough to trudge back to the fortress, mostly, but also supply wagons and lorries, and a few private transports driven by those brave enough – or greedy enough – to risk being caught up in fighting in order to make a profit.
The Laws of Magic 6: Hour of Need Page 15