by M. J. Putney
“Binoculars are like…” He thought. “Two spyglasses bound together so you see for long distances. The boot is a compartment in the back of the motorcar to carry things.”
“Are we there?” Yawning, Cynthia sat up and looked around.
Dover was electric with excitement, anxiety, and purpose. Tory felt it powerfully and guessed her companions did, too. The eyes of the world were on Dunkirk and Dover this week.
The side street Nick parked on led right down to the harbor, which was jammed with vessels and people. As she climbed from the motorcar, Tory glanced up at Dover Castle, which loomed over the town from the cliff. It was ancient, she knew, close to a thousand years old. “Strange to think that Admiral Ramsay and his staff, including your mother’s cousin, are working away in the tunnels up there.”
“And probably getting even less sleep than the weather brigade,” Nick said.
“I hope the admiral’s tunnels are more comfortable than the ones at Lackland.” Cynthia shaded her eyes with one hand as she looked down at the harbor. Tory thought rather waspishly that it wasn’t fair that Cynthia managed to look elegant even in the oversized clothing of a middle-aged schoolteacher.
Turning her attention to the harbor, Tory exclaimed, “You weren’t joking about the craziness! Ships are parked three deep at the quay.”
“Unloading as fast as they can so they can cross back again. The newspaper says they can’t take the shortest route across the Straits of Dover because Nazi artillery along the French coast are shelling our ships.” Nick opened the back of the motorcar and drew out two devices. “Here are the binoculars.”
Tory peered cautiously through the device, and sucked in her breath when the turmoil of the port was abruptly right in front of her. “I feel like I’m on the quay!”
Cynthia looked through the other pair. “They’re taking wounded men off the ships,” she said in a hushed voice. “Some are being treated right there on the quay.”
“Others are being given food. Supplies must be very short for the troops in Dunkirk,” Tory added. “The ships look like they’ve been damaged. German flying machines, I suppose?” She passed her binoculars to Nick.
“There’s a destroyer, and a minesweeper, and a passenger ferry,” he said as he studied the docked vessels. “As you say, they’re banged up, but at least they’re still sailing.” Soberly, he returned the binoculars to Tory.
“So many men,” she whispered. One ship must just have arrived, because the decks were packed with soldiers as tightly as herring in a barrel. If the seas had been rough, they would never have been able to evacuate as many men.
Soldiers were pouring off the vessel that was docked right on the quay, most of them wearing filthy uniforms colored somewhere between tan and brown. Their metal helmets looked like inverted saucepans.
As she watched, a woman who’d been fighting her way through the crowd flung her arms around a battered, weary man. He buried his face in her hair and clutched her as if he’d never let go. Tory’s throat tightened as she wondered if the woman had some finder ability that against all the odds had miraculously brought her to the right place at the right time. A lump in her throat, she said, “Thank you for bringing us here, Nick. This certainly illustrates the importance of what we’re doing.”
Cynthia nodded as she handed her binoculars to Nick. “I just saw a boy not much older than we are get off the ship, then kneel and kiss the ground.”
“I’m going to need those fish and chips,” Tory said. “I can’t think of better fuel for more weather working.”
CHAPTER 32
By the end of Wednesday, all the Irregulars had visited Dover and Nick was muttering that it was a good thing petrol wasn’t rationed yet. Tory thought the expeditions were an inspired idea, though. Besides the pleasure of getting out, everyone returned from Dover with renewed commitment to their work.
Polly efficiently prepared breakfast the next morning. Tory envied her the competence she’d acquired because both her parents worked and the three children had all had to do chores. Today’s breakfast was a steaming pot of oatmeal porridge liberally laced with dried currants and the golden raisins called sultanas. With milk and a bit of honey, it was delicious.
Having finished her breakfast, Mrs. Rainford said, “I have a little time before I need to leave for school. Shall I see if I can scry the small ships heading over the channel to help in the evacuation?”
“Yes,” Nick said firmly. “You can tell us they’re sailing smoothly because the water isn’t as rough as usual and even sailors who’ve never been out of sight of land are racing to Dunkirk and no one is getting seasick.”
“I’ll get my scrying bowl.” Mrs. Rainford took a small crystal bowl from a cupboard. “Tory, you haven’t done any scrying with us, have you? This bowl was my grandmother’s, a wedding gift that she passed to me when I married. I believe she had the same kind of foretelling magic I do, though I’m not sure she was aware of it.”
She handed the bowl to Tory, who was surprised at how alive it felt in her hands. “There’s magic in the crystal,” she said as she set it on the table. “Perhaps it’s been used so much that it’s absorbed power from the users.”
“That would explain why it works best of all my bowls.” Mrs. Rainford filled the bowl with water halfway and placed it on the table, then added several drops of ink with an eyedropper. The ink swirled into the water, turning it blue-black.
“I didn’t know ink was used,” Tory said. “I’ve not done any scrying. I was about to study it in the Labyrinth when we were raided.”
Sliding into teacher mode, Mrs. Rainford said, “The ink isn’t necessary, but it’s how I was taught, and it works for me. Scrying is just a matter of looking into something to see images, you know. It can be water, a crystal ball, fire, a candle flame, mirrors—anything that works for you. I don’t always see the images very clearly, but sometimes I hear voices.”
She cupped the bowl with her hands. “When you have your bowl or candle ready, it’s just a matter of relaxing and concentrating on the water.” She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Gradually her expression relaxed. “I’ll start with looking at the evacuation headquarters under Dover Castle.”
Opening her eyes, she gazed into the inky water, not focusing. After a minute or two, she said, “The evacuation is going well, but there are losses. A naval destroyer was sunk, I think. Maybe more than one. Others are damaged. But the work goes on.”
“You’re better than the wireless, Mrs. R.,” Jack said. “Your news is more up-to-date. Can you see what’s going on at Dunkirk?”
She closed her eyes, as if blinking away the vision of naval headquarters, then looked into the dark water again. “There’s still smoke pouring from the town and the bombed harbor. There’s a passenger ferry pulling up to the mole. That’s a thin breakwater that wasn’t designed to have huge ships berthing against it. Bad piloting could smash the mole to bits, but it’s the closest thing to a pier that’s still intact. The men are boarding the ferry so quickly!” She bit her lip. “Wounded men are being carried on.”
Nick asked, “What about the small ships?”
Mrs. Rainford closed her eyes again, then gazed into the bowl. “Heavens! They’re pouring across the channel, boats of all sizes.”
Elspeth said, “If Tory added her special power, might you see even more?”
“It’s worth a try.” Tory moved to stand behind the older woman’s chair. As she placed her hands lightly on Mrs. Rainford’s shoulders, she asked, “Does this make any difference?”
“It does! The images just became much clearer. Can you see anything over my shoulders, Tory?”
Tory looked down, letting her gaze drift as she mentally asked for a sight of the Dunkirk beaches. To her surprise, she began to see vague images. Her heart constricted at the sight of mile after mile of stoic troops waiting and praying. She wasn’t sure if the images were in the water or in her mind. No matter. They felt true.
She turned
her attention to the evacuation fleet. “I see ships, lots of them, though that doesn’t tell us anything we didn’t know. Do you see anything new, Mrs. R.?”
Mrs. Rainford gasped, her hands spasming so hard that water sloshed from the bowl and the smooth surface vanished into ripples. “Tom! I saw Tom!”
“Dad!” In an instant, Nick and Polly were beside her, staring into the bowl.
“Is he all right?” Polly demanded. “Where is he?”
“Give me a moment.” Their mother’s hands were shaking so badly she had to release the bowl so the water would smooth out.
When Mrs. Rainford regained her control, she clasped the bowl again, peering in anxiously. “He … he looks all right, except for a crude bandage around his left forearm. But so tired and filthy!”
“Is he waiting on the beach or by the mole?” Nick asked.
His mother frowned. “I don’t think he’s in Dunkirk yet. He seems to be marching with his unit. He’s helping another man. I … I recognize the soldier he’s helping. His name is George and he’s a boy from Lackland that your father taught.”
“Some of the BEF troops who were farthest from Dunkirk might still be marching there,” Elspeth said. “But surely he’s close now.”
“That settles it.” Nick straightened, his expression grim and very adult. “I’m going to go get him in Annie’s Dream.”
His mother spun around so quickly that Tory had to jump clear. “You’ll do no such thing, Nicholas Rainford!” she said vehemently. “The Dream is too small for the channel and too large for one person to handle. You’re not taking her anywhere.”
“I’ll go with him,” Polly said flatly. “I might not be able to do weather work, but I’m a better engineer than Nick. The two of us can manage the trip.”
“Neither of you is going anywhere! You can’t be spared for what would probably be a wild goose chase, Nick.” Mrs. Rainford stared down at the bowl. “Even if … if Tom makes it to Dunkirk, how could you ever find him in such a crush of troops? There are hundreds of thousands of men there! Let the Royal Navy bring him home.”
“I’ve a talent for finding,” Nick said stubbornly. “If I’m there by the beaches, I know I can find him.”
“We need you here,” Jack said. “With one less mage, any kind of emergency would break us.”
“I’m going!” Nick said. “I’m sorry the rest of you will have to work harder, but this is my father. I’ll only be gone a day or so.”
Tory said slowly, “Elspeth and I experimented and found that I can reach people over distances. It worked between here and Dover. I might be able to keep Nick connected to the circle well enough to stand his usual shifts.”
“I absolutely forbid it!” Mrs. Rainford’s voice broke with anguish. “Your father and Joe are already gone, Nick, perhaps never to return. Am I to lose my whole family to this damnable war?”
The room fell silent until Allarde said quietly, “If Nick and Polly go, they will return, Mrs. Rainford. I’m sure of it.”
Tears were bright in her eyes. “Do you have foretelling talent, Lord Allarde?”
“Some. It isn’t consistent, but I have flashes of certainty, and I just had one. I believe Polly and Nick will make it to Dunkirk and back safely.” He hesitated. “I also think they’re the best hope for your husband and the other men in his unit. I’m not as clear about that, though. They may not be rescued.”
Mrs. Rainford closed her eyes, her face twisted. “This isn’t only my decision. Jack and Cynthia are already stretched to the limit. What if Tory can’t channel energy from Nick, who won’t be able to focus if he’s being attacked by the Luftwaffe? Nick and Polly are both good sailors, but can they handle the Dream in a war zone?”
Jack bit his lip. “If there’s a chance that Tory can connect with Nick when we need him, I’m willing to let him go. I’d do the same if it could have saved my father.”
Cynthia sighed. “If working harder gives your husband a chance, I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll sail with Nick and Polly,” Allarde said. “I’ve been sailing many times. I wouldn’t want to captain the boat, but I can follow orders.”
Tory gasped in horror. Allarde had seen a bloody death for himself and now he was volunteering to go into a war zone? “No!” she cried. “Not you, too!”
His gaze met hers, sad but implacable. “I must do this, Tory. If I’m along, the trip will be safer for everyone. I’m sure of it.”
“Do you see yourself coming back with Nick and Polly?” she asked, her voice edged. “Or doesn’t your certainty go that far?”
He hesitated. “You know foretelling is almost impossible for oneself.”
Tory realized she and Allarde were holding another conversation under the one everyone else heard. She wanted to cry out that he’d foreseen his own end so he must not go, but she could not betray the most private self he’d revealed to her.
But damn him! Because he wanted to die like a man and thought doom was inevitable, he was creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. Expecting death, he was hurling himself directly into harm’s way.
Jack was frowning. “I think Cynthia and I could get by without Nick, but not without Nick and Allarde both. If Tory can’t connect to you, this won’t work.”
Nick looked at Tory, his gaze pleading. “Do you think you could channel Allarde and me over a distance, Tory? You’re the key to making this work. Maybe whoever is piloting won’t be able to send power to the weather mage on duty, but with Polly and me both available to pilot, you could channel Allarde and me at different times.”
“He’s right,” Jack said. “We can’t let Nick and Allarde both go unless Tory can feed their power to us while they’re away. Without them, Cynthia and I would be as burned-out as Polly before another day passed. So it all hinges on whether Tory can keep the mages on the boat in touch with the weather workers on land.”
Tory stared at her pigheaded, heroic friends, wanting to wring multiple necks, yet she could understand everyone’s position. Nick and Polly were willing to risk their lives in the hope of finding their father, Mrs. Rainford wanted her husband back but not at the cost of her children’s lives, Allarde was convinced he was going to die and wanted to go heroically, and Jack was reminding the others that weather working was still their most critical task since it could mean life or death for thousands of men.
Anger faded, replaced by bleak despair. They were at war and there was no safe place. Even if she could persuade Allarde to stay here, the Luftwaffe could start bombing the English coast at any time. Giant cannon could bombard the ports from German ships. Even staying in Lackland was no guarantee of Allarde’s survival.
Despair was replaced by clear, cool certainty. “I’m quite sure I can connect us between ship and shore,” she said. “But I’ll be able to do it better from Annie’s Dream. I’m going, too.”
There was an explosion of protest from Jack, Nick, and Allarde, with Allarde’s voice cutting over the others. Aloud he exclaimed, “You can’t risk yourself there, Tory! You can’t!” while silently his eyes said, “I might die, but I need to know you’re all right.”
“I am much less fragile than I look.” Her lips twisted. “Someone once said I was as strong as tempered steel, and I am. I’ve also had some sailing experience, so I can help on the crew.”
“Three people will be enough crew without you,” Nick retorted. “You should stay here with the weather brigade.”
Tory’s gaze met Allarde’s, and she hoped he could hear her thinking that there would be ice-skating in hell before she would let him join Operation Dynamo without her. “Allarde, do you have a foretelling about whether or not I’ll come back safely, like Nick and Polly?”
She could see that he wanted to lie and tell her she’d be risking her life if she joined the crew, but he was too honest. Aloud he said, “No. I have no idea either way.” His eyes said, “I care too much to be able to foretell for you.”
She didn’t have any foretelling sense, either, nor any se
nse of destiny. Her feelings were primitive and undeniable: She needed to be with Allarde because she cared for him. Stronger than reason was the mad, superstitious belief that he couldn’t be killed right in front of her, he couldn’t!
“You can’t go, Tory!” Jack exclaimed. “There would only be three of us left here, and I suspect you won’t be able to channel as much power from the boat as we’ll need.”
“Mrs. R. can call in sick and help with the weather watches. She has the ability.” Tory narrowed her eyes at Jack. “Don’t waste time arguing with me. I can be just as stubborn as anyone else here—”
“—and that’s pretty darned stubborn!” Nick muttered.
Ignoring him, she continued. “And if I’m going to link people together for the weather work, it will be from Annie’s Dream.”
“No,” Allarde said softly, his heart in his eyes. “Please … no.”
It hurt to hurt him, but she held her ground. “Yes.”
Cynthia’s bleak eyes revealed that she’d seen the silent dialogue between Tory and Allarde and realized that he would never be hers. Hiding her regrets with a bored shrug, she said, “If Tory wants to be a dead heroine rather than a live mageling, let her go. Maybe she’ll be useful.”
“Tory holds the winning hand,” Elspeth said, her calm voice cutting through the tumult of emotions. “Nick needs Polly and Allarde on the boat, Jack and Cynthia need power from Nick and Allarde, and Tory is the only one who can supply it. So either she goes to Dunkirk, or no one does and Captain Rainford and his unit must take their chances with the rest of the troops.”
The arguments continued awhile longer, but no matter. Tory had won, and they all knew it.
CHAPTER 33
Once everyone accepted that Tory was going to sail on Annie’s Dream, preparations for departure moved quickly. Mrs. Rainford called her school and talked through a scarf to say she’d come down with her children’s cold, she had laryngitis, and she’d be unable to teach today and tomorrow. Yes, surely by Monday she’d be recovered enough to return to her classes.