At that moment, they passed the last of a row of oaks and the fortress came into view. He stared at it in disbelief.
In the middle of the fortress, in what must have been the parade ground, rose an iron construction, nearly as tall as the guard towers themselves. It was a madcap construction of girders, struts and bracings, obviously makeshift despite its size. Four great arms projected from the top, and it reminded Aubrey of nothing as much as a windmill made of the contents of a scrap metal yard, but he doubted that the arms could rotate, so massive were they.
‘It looks like a giant electrical fan,’ Sophie said. ‘So big. What is it for?’
‘I think we may have to find out,’ Aubrey said, ‘but not before we do what we can about this fire.’
Fifty yards away from the blaze, Aubrey signalled his friends to stop. He didn’t want to come close, not immediately, not now that he could see what was engulfing the warehouse.
While the fire was roaring away, doing its best to consume the building, anything made of metal had come alive. Beams writhed like tentacles in the flames. Roofing iron rippled, curling and uncurling like beckoning fingers, while fire roared through the gaps.
Aubrey gnawed at his lip. He tried to divine if this animation of non-living materials was the intended outcome or simply an accident, but the magic ebbed and flowed, powerful and erratic one instant, almost vanishing the next.
George tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Look.’
On the other side of the river, soldiers were gathering on the walls of the fortress to watch the fire. ‘You’d think they’d try to do something about it,’ Aubrey said and he started sifting through possible magical assistance he could bring to the situation. Weather magic, though he was loath to try it? The Law of Transference, with the river so close at hand?
‘I think they are waiting for help,’ Sophie said. ‘From the river.’
A whistle sounded as a vessel approached from upriver, steam coming from two smokestacks. The purpose of the craft’s second chimney was revealed when the vessel tied up to a jetty opposite the blazing warehouse and a jet of water arced from the rear of the boat onto the flames.
‘A steam pump.’ Aubrey was impressed by the technology, but dismayed when the plume of water stuttered and cut out. Crewman scurried about, shouting and arguing. The water jet resumed, but the fire fighters had trouble keeping it constant.
Aubrey concentrated. ‘Ah. The regulator valve is magically enhanced to maximise output.’ He bit his lip. ‘The spell is fluctuating.’
‘Poor spellcrafting?’ Sophie asked. ‘An effect of the magical fire?’
‘Perhaps.’ Aubrey glanced at the fortress and the strange tower. ‘Perhaps.’
Spray wafted to them on the breeze and the crowd retreated, away from the jet of water. Aubrey wiped his face. The fire fighters were making some headway – the flames were noticeably less vigorous, but girders were still writhing about on either side of the huge gap that had opened when part of the roof collapsed. Madame Zelinka was organising the Enlightened Ones into squads.
‘Let’s leave this to them for the moment,’ Aubrey said. He eyed the peculiar tower in the fortress. ‘We have other matters to investigate.’
They pedalled across the Market Bridge, half a mile downriver from the blaze, and looked to where the fortress stood.
The guards at the gatehouse were diligent, and prompt enough as they examined George’s credentials, but Aubrey was concerned at how fatigued they looked, as if they hadn’t slept for days. The younger of the two guards – and neither of them looked seventeen – yawned almost continuously while his comrade summoned Major Saltin on the telephone.
‘Doyle!’ the Gallian cried as soon as he came into view. He was wearing his navy blue air service uniform, but Aubrey noted that it had been patched at the shoulder, and one sleeve was singed.
Saltin saw Aubrey. He stopped, eyes wide, mouth moving silently. Aubrey was alarmed that he was about to cry out but George was alert. He took Saltin’s arm. ‘You don’t know my batman, do you, Saltin? Private Taylor?’
Saltin gaped at George. ‘Taylor? Batman?’
‘My servant,’ George said jovially. ‘A dab hand at shining boots, aren’t you, Taylor?’
Aubrey saluted with what he hoped was the right touch of servility. ‘Sir.’
‘Taylor,’ Saltin repeated dubiously. ‘What is going on?’
‘War is a confusing time, Saltin,’ George said, ‘but I have some information that might help clear things up. D’you have anywhere we can speak in private?’
Saltin scowled, but then he brightened. ‘Do not tell me that this is Mme Delroy I see here? M’mselle, why aren’t you back in Lutetia? You are the only intelligent one writing for that newspaper of yours!’
Sophie extended her hand. ‘High praise from the Chevalier of the Skies.’
‘Chevalier of the Skies?’ George repeated. ‘Is that one yours, Sophie?’
‘Her reports have been good for my career.’ Saltin beamed. ‘But now, come away, I have much confusion that needs removing.’
‘SO YOU ARE NOT A TRAITOR, FITZWILLIAM,’ SALTIN said, ‘despite what the newspapers say.’
Major Saltin’s office was on the ground floor of the administration wing of the fortress. Aubrey, George and Sophie were sitting in front of Saltin’s desk in hard chairs. Behind Saltin a window looked over the parade grounds, and it was only with difficulty that Aubrey tore his gaze away from the unlikely structure that towered where the central flagpole had once stood. Before he could respond, George cut in. ‘Traitor? Aubrey? I should think not, Saltin. If it weren’t for Aubrey, Divodorum would be overrun with giant mechanical golems.’
‘Mechanical golems?’ Saltin fingered his moustache. ‘This sounds as if you have a tale to tell me.’
The tale took some telling, enough for Major Saltin to interrupt it in the middle and summon coffee, apologising for the poor quality before the story resumed. Aubrey had to admit that Saltin was a fine audience. He listened attentively and seethed at the perfidy of the Holmlanders, shook his head at the outrageousness of Dr Tremaine’s plans and groaned at Sophie’s description of Lutetia in the grip of political infighting.
Aubrey finished by detailing his suspicions about the Holmland build-up in the area. ‘What do you think, Saltin?’
Saltin sat back in his chair and laced his fingers on his chest. ‘We saw preparations before our last airship was shot down. Pushing through Divodorum could be tempting.’
Saltin glanced to the north-east. Aubrey could imagine him seeing right through the walls, over the earthworks, past the forests to where the Gallian troops were dug in. ‘We have been expecting reinforcements,’ Saltin said, ‘but we have been disappointed.’
‘Can you hold the line if you don’t get them?’ George asked.
‘Yes. For how long, though, I’m not sure.’
Aubrey frowned, thinking of Stalsfrieden and the Crystal Johannes. ‘What if Dr Tremaine brings up something magical to throw against you?’
Saltin sat up in his seat. ‘Magical? Such as?’
‘I don’t know,’ Aubrey admitted, and he drummed the arm of his chair with frustration.
‘We’ve been promised more magical neutralisers from your Directorate. They should help our defence.’ Saltin waved a hand at the window. ‘After all, our main protector is of Albionish design and it has been most helpful.’
‘The tower. It’s a magic neutraliser,’ Aubrey said with wonder. He could barely restrain himself from leaping out of his chair and racing out to examine it.
He had the rewarding feeling that came when a number of disparate data fell into place. The bizarre tower was a gigantic magic neutraliser. It explained the odd behaviour of the fireboat pumps, and probably explained the way the warehouse fire across the river ebbed and flowed. The warehouse must be on the edge of the neutraliser’s area of effect.
‘Grateful as we are,’ Saltin said, dragging Aubrey from his thoughts, ‘I wish your Albion
thinkers had put more effort into the design. It is hideous.’
‘Isn’t that because it’s built from scrap?’ George asked.
‘We used what we had. The plans that were sent to us were deliberately flexible when it came to materials. Except from the vital parts, which were shipped to us very carefully. First to Lutetia via airship, then by train, and finally by barge to our docks.’
‘But how have you coped with no magic here, in the fortress?’ Sophie asked. ‘You’d have it embedded in a hundred little places.’
‘We do. It’s been a nightmare of plugging and patching, finding what no longer works.’ He chuckled. ‘The hot water boiler in the officer’s quarters had a magically enhanced relief valve that burst when the neutraliser began to work.’
‘Cold baths, eh, Saltin?’ George said.
‘It is a small price to pay,’ Saltin said, ‘to know that the fortress is safe from magical attack.’
‘As long at the neutraliser can cope,’ Aubrey said.
‘Do you have any reason to think it cannot?’
‘No. But I didn’t think that magic neutralisers could be built on that scale, either.’ A thought came to Aubrey. ‘That dirigible, this morning. It was trying to bomb the neutraliser?’
‘They have been trying for some time, but the tower interferes with their craft the same way as it interferes with our hot water. So far, they have missed.’
‘And managed to hit a warehouse or two,’ George pointed out.
‘Divodorum is suffering,’ Saltin agreed, ‘but we remain strong.’
WHILE AUBREY INSPECTED THE NEUTRALISING TOWER under the supervision of Major Saltin, Sophie dragged George into the town on an expedition to find food. Aubrey found the construction fascinating. Four massive legs, made up of multiple steel girders bolted together, slanted up to a platform. Bracing these legs was an erratic web of timbers of all sizes, completely enclosing the interior of the area bounded by the legs. The array interlocked so completely that Aubrey suspected the whole thing had been organised by a corps of lacemakers who had grown tired of doilies and who had leaped at the chance to create something on a monumental scale.
High overhead, projecting from the lofty platform, was a metal cylinder. When Aubrey shaded his eyes, he could make out that it must be at least a foot in diameter and was solid, not a pipe, although Aubrey was prepared to wager that this was because both ends were capped and that the workings of the neutraliser were inside. He could feel the tell-tale emanations of magic that trickled from it – a passive but immensely powerful spell at work.
Both ends of the cylinder jutted out past the edges of the platform by a good three feet. Attached to each end of the cylinder was the most puzzling aspect of the entire construction: four slim metal rods, ten or fifteen feet in length, in the formation of a cross. By walking around and around the unlikely construction, Aubrey could see that the crosses were offset, not mimicking the angle of the other.
Aubrey spent some time trying to establish the extent of the magical protection afforded by the giant neutraliser. Under Major Saltin’s amused eye, he backed away from the structure, trying a simple fire spell every few yards. Eventually, he had to exit through the gatehouse. Whoever had been in charge of enspelling the central core of the machine had done a fine job – or had been extremely lucky. The neutralising field was as nearly circular as Aubrey could make out, and it cloaked the fortress completely, ending some distance outside the walls.
Aubrey looked across the river to where the fire was still alive in the warehouse. Standing where he was, he felt the way the neutralising field fluctuated, pulsing almost like a living thing. He could imagine it rippling enough to touch the fireboat, or the warehouse – but if it extended as much that way, would it also shrink enough to put the fortress in jeopardy?
AUBREY ARRIVED BACK AT THEIR BASE JUST AS GEORGE and Sophie rode up, laughing, but Aubrey was immediately alert when he opened the front door to find the place was empty.
‘Caroline!’ He ran to the stairs. ‘Caroline!’
‘Aubrey,’ Sophie said. George was propping their bicycles against the wall while she waited at the bench just inside the door. She lifted one of the many glue pots and extracted a sheet of paper. ‘I think this note is for you.’
I am asleep, Aubrey read with the growing knowledge that he’d leaped before he’d looked. Do not wake me. Aubrey: the orders are in the secure place.
He swallowed. ‘Was I too noisy?’
George shrugged. ‘Unless she was cocooned in about a mile of sound-deadening material, I’d say so.’
The secure place had been organised before they’d left the base for their Stalsfrieden expedition. George had managed to construct a false ventilator cowling from sheet metal, and Sophie – with Aubrey’s guidance – had used the Law of Similarity and the Law of Seeming to reinforce this camouflage. Inside were niches, shelves and boxes that were attuned via the Law of Affinity only to reveal themselves when Aubrey, George, Caroline or Sophie reached for them.
Aubrey quickly found the orders. Caroline had decoded all six pages. He hoped it hadn’t taken too long, but he knew her pride wouldn’t have let her rest until she’d completed the task.
He took the stairs to the roof and sat, cross-legged, in the late morning sun, his back to the brick-walled utilities shed, absorbed in the details of the orders, which were couched in roundabout military language but all the more startling for it.
The Directorate had been at an impasse in its plans for the Divodorum front, but now that Aubrey and his team were once again in place a vital delivery was on its way. A shipment of magic neutralisers would arrive in two days’ time, and Aubrey’s orders were to take them to the front before the Holmland assault began.
When he reached the end of the orders, he took to his feet and read them again while carefully pacing the length of the roof between the lines of antenna wire.
Some of his fears were confirmed. Magic neutralisers had no point unless magic was needing to be neutralised. The Directorate obviously was of the same mind as he was: when the Holmland assault came, it would be accompanied by magic.
Aubrey stopped, looked to the north-east from where the sound of artillery was a distant, constant punctuation, then scanned the orders again.
The Directorate’s intelligence and analysis agreed with the information Aubrey had sent. The Holmland assault would begin within a week.
HE FOUND CAROLINE IN THE KITCHEN WITH GEORGE AND Sophie, who were preparing the midday meal in an easy partnership.
‘Catch,’ Caroline said and he managed not to disgrace himself.
‘A potato?’
‘One of many waiting to be peeled,’ she said. ‘Find a knife and lend a hand.’
‘I shall, but I think you should all know that the Directorate is anticipating a Holmland attack within a week.’
‘We know,’ George said. ‘Caroline told us.’
‘Good, good. I suppose these potatoes need peeling, then?’
Soon, he was standing at a bench with Caroline, a large bowl of water between them. It was simple, homely work and, as such, Aubrey found it comforting to work with her on such a thing. Reaching for potatoes, dipping them in the water and fumbling about provided ample opportunities for them to touch hands, to apologise, to laugh and generally to put aside the war for a while. Even when great events were in motion, Aubrey decided, the ordinary things like food and friends needed attention.
Sophie banged a lid on the pot at the back of the stove. Her face was pink from the heat of the cooking and she wiped it with an apron she’d found. ‘Aubrey, I have an idea.’
He didn’t stop peeling. ‘All ideas are welcome, Sophie. You know that.’
‘Put it on the table, my gem,’ George said, pausing in his carrot slicing. ‘Share it with everybody.’
Sophie made a quick gesture, bringing her thumb and fingers together. ‘Ah, I see. Table.’ Aubrey knew that she had taken the phrase and remembered it. He wouldn’t be surprised
to hear it popping up in her conversation in the near future. ‘I want to tell everyone what is happening here.’
‘Everyone?’ George said. ‘That’s ambitious.’
She threw him a smile. ‘The people, I mean. News from the front, this front, has been sparse. When we hurried through Lutetia the newspapers were full of news of the war, but the news of the Divodorum front was laughable. Rumours, gossip, nothing more.’
‘It must be hard to obtain reports from here,’ Aubrey pointed out. ‘Almost everyone has gone.’
‘I want to send the real story of what is happening here.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ Aubrey said. ‘Military secrets, battle plans, things like that.’
Sophie threw her hands up in the air. ‘Secrets! That is the way military people think. Do not the people deserve to know what is happening?’
‘Well …’
‘Do you think that Gallians are cowards, ready to collapse if they hear that things are bad? If the Gallian people know, it will only make them more determined to fight!’
George popped a disc of carrot into his mouth and chewed for a moment. ‘If it’s done properly, if a story is well written, it could rally the nation.’
‘After all,’ Caroline put in, ‘the alternative hasn’t worked. Keeping the people in the dark has made them more fearful rather than less.’
Sophie brandished a knife. Aubrey had never seen her so passionate. ‘The government, the generals, they treat the people like children. In Gallia, where we had a revolution for the people!’
‘We’d have to leave out anything that would be useful information for Holmland spies to relay back to Fisherberg,’ Aubrey said and he realised that they now weren’t talking about whether Sophie’s idea was a good one or not – they were discussing the best way to implement it.
‘That will be easy,’ Sophie said.
‘What about the censor?’ George said. ‘In Albion, all the newspapers have to submit war stories to the official censor for approval.’
Laws of Magic 6 Page 12
