‘Do you think we don’t know about war?’ General Sterne called. ‘We are soldiers!’
‘I’ll warrant you haven’t seen a war like this. It’s a new century. War has changed.’ Aubrey grimaced as the pain in his head reasserted itself. ‘Besides, not all of you are soldiers. How are you liking this, sir?’
Aubrey directed this question to one of those not in uniform, a thin man with a drooping moustache. His grey striped trousers were rapidly losing their expensive look. He shook his head and turned away, flinching as a chatter of machine gun fire bit into the bank of the shell hole and sprayed them all with dirt.
Aubrey pressed on. ‘I’m not so presumptuous as to think I could give you a lesson in politics, but in this new world the generals take orders from the politicians. End this horror, all of you.’ He paused and glanced at the sky. ‘Look around. This isn’t a state for humanity. This is a hell you’ve created – but it’s a hell you can put an end to.’
He took Caroline’s hand. She squeezed it and refused to let go, so he pointed with the other. ‘Gentlemen, your army is just over there, dug into trenches. If you keep your heads down and follow the line of wire, you should reach it. Dozens of your men have managed to. When you’re safely in their midst, look at them. Talk to them. See if this is a fit and proper condition for them. See if you can be proud of this.’
‘Be careful,’ Caroline said to them. ‘They are accustomed to our soldiers raiding their trenches. You don’t want to be mistaken for Albionites, but convincing your men that you are who you say you are may be difficult.’ She gestured with her pistol. ‘Go now.’
Chancellor Neumann glared. ‘You are not serious.’
‘We’re very serious,’ Aubrey said. ‘We’re leaving. You can stay here, if you like, but an artillery bombardment is about to start at any minute.’ If Colonel Stanley made the right arrangements. ‘The only relatively safe place is in that direction. I’d wish you good luck, but I’m not sure how I feel about that so I’ll wish you a soldier’s luck instead.’
The Holmlanders conferred. In the end, General Ebert led the way. He scrambled to the lip of the crater and showed good sense by pausing and scanning the way ahead before crawling over and disappearing into the gloom. One by one they followed, cursing and muttering, until only Chancellor Neumann was left.
‘This will not be forgotten, Fitzwilliam.’
‘I hope not, sir. Lessons are best remembered, not forgotten.’
‘Dr Tremaine won’t be happy with your interference.’
‘You can apologise for me next time you see him.’
‘Hah! That may be sooner than you think, Fitzwilliam.’ Neumann spat on the floor of the crater, then turned and crawled away.
‘Are you ready?’ Caroline asked.
‘Ready for what? A spot of dancing?’ It was a valiant stab at insouciance, but the jest fell flat. This wasn’t a place that fostered humour. His mind drifted back to what Chancellor Neumann had said about Dr Tremaine and he wondered if the rogue sorcerer actually was in the vicinity.
‘To be dragged back to the trenches, if that’s what it takes.’
While being dragged by Caroline wasn’t the worst prospect in the world, Aubrey thought their chances could be better if he propelled himself. Gently, he flexed his arms, then his legs. They burned, as if he’d been exercising to exhaustion point, but they were functional. He’d hurt, but he’d manage. ‘Lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.’ He looked up at the dark grey that was the overcast sky. No stars looked down. ‘What time is it?’
‘Too close to bombardment time.’
Despite the maze of no-man’s-land, they managed to find Captain Robinson’s emplacement again, thanks to Caroline’s impeccable sense of direction. Passwords accepted, they were greeted by the astonished officer and his machine gun crew. Once they’d scrambled into the duckboarded and reveted trench and were surrounded by sandbags Aubrey felt safe for the first time in hours. He shaded his eyes at the faint lantern light, hoping the vision enhancement spell would wear off soon but adding it to his list of bodily woes in a congratulatory binge of self-pity. After all, if he ached, he was alive, and had survived the implementation of an audacious plan.
‘Sleep,’ he said to Caroline. He had his arm on her shoulders, supporting her. Or it may have been the other way around. He was sure that invisible gnomes were hitting each of his joints with hammers, but everything was still moderately wonderful. ‘Which way to our dugout?’
A deep, disturbing ‘whump’ shook the ground. It was immediately followed by another, then another. It was as if Aubrey’s knee-shattering gnomes had grown up and become giants, then taken it into their heads to pound away at the landscape with mountain-sized sledgehammers. He blinked, couldn’t see, and realised the enhancement spell had worn off. The sky was full of the smoke caused by a massive explosion, then the process was repeated, with the addition of a patter of earth and assorted military items falling on top of them.
Caroline pulled him down, forcing him close to the reinforced front wall of the trench. There, they huddled in a universe entirely composed of noise – deafening, all-encompassing noise: gargantuan footsteps, thunder brought down to the ground, the heartbeat of an earthquake. Aubrey ran out of metaphors as the pounding went on and he concentrated on seeing how close he could get to the rough timber at his cheek.
Amid the tumult, just when he thought no bodily sensation could make itself known in such pandemonium, a flicker made him wince, a nagging tug inside his chest. He rubbed it as he would an insect bite, but this brought no satisfaction. Then his jaw sagged. He lifted his hand, then he concentrated his magical awareness on the site of the irritating sensation.
He had confirmation that Dr Tremaine was nearby.
It was undeniable. Even though the magical connection they shared was erratic, when it evinced itself it was an unmistakeable sign that the rogue sorcerer was close at hand. Aubrey closed his eyes, did his best to ignore the concussions that continued to smash away at no-man’s-land, and tried to concentrate.
The magical connection, at times, acted as a conduit. In their past encounters, Aubrey had been able to sense aspects of Dr Tremaine, vague impressions of memories and thoughts, but this time all he could feel was an apprehension that he could only interpret as excitement tinged with anticipation.
Captain Robinson came striding along the trench, all enthusiasm and brio, oblivious to the shelling around them. He was speaking, but pointlessly for his words had no chance of being heard. His gestures, however, made his unheard words clear: everyone was to get ready for an advance.
Aubrey couldn’t believe it, but by the time this had registered Captain Robinson was yards away, continuing his job of rallying the troops.
It was easy to see how it had happened. The artillery barrage summoned by Colonel Stanley had clearly been interpreted as the prelude for an advance. Commendable initiative, in this time of erratic communications, but entirely misplaced in this instance.
‘Wait here,’ he said to Caroline, miming his request with both hands, but he was left foolishly gesturing because at that moment the artillery barrage stopped.
The result wasn’t silence because the earth was still settling, protesting at the indignities inflicted upon it, dirt still falling like hail.
A commander’s whistle sounded. Aubrey’s abused ears took a moment to work out that it came from off to his right, in the direction that Captain Robinson had gone. He sprinted in that direction, lurching from one side of the trench as his body did its best to propel him forward with the objective of stopping the poorly timed advance. If Robinson’s men pushed forward by themselves, it could be a disaster. Aubrey needed to warn them, to get the captain to fall back. He didn’t want his plan to be the cause of needless deaths.
Men were scrambling up the sides of the trench, rifles in hand, shouting encouragement to each other and, more chillingly, wordless battle cries. Aubrey swarmed after them and stood for a moment on the other side
of the parapet, trying to find Captain Robinson while simultaneously being stunned by how the landscape had been transformed.
It was as if the old no-man’s-land had been stripped away and a totally new one dropped in its place – one that took the essence of the original no-man’s-land and distilled it, creating a place that had all the horror of the old, but intensified a thousandfold. This new no-man’s-land had been made by a madman, one who was entranced by smoking craters and desolation. Aubrey was sickened to think that might be a glimpse of where war was heading.
Robinson’s men were charging. Their bayonets were fixed. In a ragged line, they advanced toward the Holmland trenches, thankfully meeting no resistance.
Aubrey tried to spy the officer, but at that moment a single shot came from the Holmland trenches. Aubrey pitched backward and felt himself falling slowly, dreamily. All his plans, thoughts and hopes ran away, no matter how he tried to clutch them, and then everything else did as well.
MAGIC, AUBREY THOUGHT, IT MUST BE MAGIC.
One instant he’d been standing on the edge of an Albion trench – rather foolishly, now he thought about it – and the next he was lying in a very comfortable bed in what looked like a Gallian chateau.
Extraordinary.
The bed was one of the old-fashioned four-poster type, with heavy drapes and canopy of blue velvet. He’d never liked the style, finding them dusty, but he was willing to concede that it was considerably superior to the frontline trenches. The lack of gunfire was a particular improvement.
In a comfortable stupor, he allowed his gaze to roam around a room that was the sort of gilt and plaster confection that made him think of wedding cakes. Rather too many cherubs cavorted about the cornices for his liking, but it was clean and warm. The tall windows, with more blue velvet drapes, showed him glimpses of trees that hadn’t been shattered by shell fire.
So I’m definitely not in no-man’s-land.
A formidable woman was sitting on a gilt chair not far from the bed. Aubrey decided that unless she had a penchant for wearing uniforms with red crosses all over, she was probably a nurse. She was studying him carefully and looked as if she were just dying for an opportunity to lunge at him and thrust a thermometer into his mouth.
She confounded this by shaking her head, then getting up and leaving the room. This was, Aubrey decided, very un-nurselike behaviour. His view of nursely behaviour – formed by close reading of Nurse Lily’s Adventures, a romance book George had lent him – was that a real nurse would be tending him solicitously, gazing into his eyes while resting a comforting hand on his forehead. Either that or ramming a needle into his arm while lecturing him about the virtues of carbolic soap.
The door opened. Caroline entered, in uniform, and Aubrey felt as if he’d won a lottery. George and Sophie were close behind, and they were equally spruce.
Caroline stopped by the bedside. ‘Nurse Lucas told us you were awake.’
Aubrey sat up and considered this. ‘Nurse Lucas? I knew she was no Nurse Lily.’ He shared a significant look with George.
‘We don’t have time for nonsense, Aubrey.’ Caroline sat on the edge of the bed. She rested a comforting hand on his forehead and he was overjoyed. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Well enough, I suppose, for someone who’s just been shot.’
‘Shot?’ George said. ‘I’m afraid not, old man.’
Aubrey felt his head for a bandage and found only hair. ‘I assumed …’
‘You were standing on the parapet of the trench, doing your best to be a target,’ Caroline said. ‘A mine exploded. Part of the trench collapsed. You fell in and hit your head on a crate of tinned peaches.’
‘Ah. Nothing heroic, then?’
‘You stopped the Holmland advance, Aubrey,’ Sophie said. ‘That is very heroic, no?’
‘They’ve pulled back?’
George cut in. ‘The Holmland front line is still being held, but most of their forces at Fremont have been pulled back.’
‘Wait.’ Aubrey looked at the window. Gardens and blue sky remained serene. ‘How long has it been?’
‘Not quite two days,’ Caroline said. Her reserve slipped a little. ‘You were quite undone by your spell casting.’
‘Holmland reports have been intercepted,’ George said. ‘They’re trumpeting the fact that the Chancellor has been at the front. They’re trying to make it into a propaganda coup.’
Caroline tapped him on the shoulder. ‘The file in your satchel, Aubrey, the one Hugo gave you. We handed it to General Apsley and his staff. The photographs have helped confirm that the Chancellor and the members of the Central Staff were on the Holmland front lines.’
Aubrey was relieved. The file had been important in his spell making, but he was glad it was continuing to be useful.
‘The best news is that the whole mobilisation at Fremont has stopped,’ Sophie said.
‘Forces were being devoted to keeping the Chancellor safe, I suspect,’ Aubrey said, relieved more than triumphant. ‘Until he was able to leave without appearing cowardly.’
‘Reinforcements have started arriving from Lutetia and Albion,’ Sophie said. ‘It doesn’t matter if the Holmlanders regroup now, we are ready for them.’
‘You bought time, Aubrey.’ Caroline patted his pyjamaed shoulder and left her hand there. He covered it with one of his.
‘And now it’s time to get me out of here,’ he said. ‘Wherever here is.’
‘We’re on the outskirts of Divodorum,’ Caroline said, ‘well away from the front.’
‘I venture that this isn’t a military hospital. How did I get here?’
‘That would be my doing,’ came a voice from the doorway.
Aubrey stared. ‘Bertie!’
Caroline, George and Sophie snapped to attention. Prince Albert made a face and closed the door behind him. ‘Oh, please don’t. Sit, all of you. I’ve had enough of that sort of thing this last week to last me a lifetime.’
Prince Albert was in the uniform of Colonel in Chief of the Crown Prince’s Light Infantry Regiment, his own. Aubrey thought the green went well with Bertie’s dark features, and his slimness set off the jacket very neatly.
The prince took off his cap and drew up a chair. He smiled at Sophie, after she and George had sat and Caroline had resumed her station on the bed. ‘Miss Delroy, is it not?’ he said in Gallian. ‘I have been following your exploits with great interest. Your piece in the latest Sentinel was excellent. It’s rallied Gallian spirits most splendidly.’
Sophie coloured delightfully and responded in the same language. ‘I do not know what to say, your highness.’ She paused and looked at George, switching to Albionish. ‘Your highness. Is that correct, George?’
The prince laughed. ‘“Bertie” is perfectly acceptable, Miss Delroy, at least in this room. I believe all four of you have earned the right to some familiarity, considering what you’ve achieved in the last few months.’ He frowned at Aubrey. ‘Now, Aubrey, malingering again?’
‘Just practising, Bertie, in case I ever need to infiltrate a Holmland military hospital. I’ll be up in a minute.’
‘That’s what I wanted to hear. I don’t want to pin a medal to your pyjamas. Most undignified.’
‘Medal?’
‘Apparently I have one for each of you, but they’ll probably have to wait, your mission’s being top secret and all that. For now, I want to hear everything.’
Aubrey and his friends looked at each other. ‘Where do we start?’ he said.
‘Start after the Stalsfrieden factory fire. I have reports of events after that, but they’re so spotty I could use them as a leopard suit. Fill in the details, if you would.’
Telling the heir to the thrones of Albion and Gallia about their adventures became so much like old times that Aubrey almost forgot where they were. Caroline, Sophie and George all butted in, correcting his account, taking over, handing it from one to the other and laughing at the prince’s astonishment. Sophie was hesitant to begin with but,
heartened by the others, she even managed to groan at one of Prince Albert’s execrable puns about firearms and finding people of the right calibre.
The tone of the recounting became more sombre as they came to describing the events at the front, and Aubrey hoped that Bertie was taking this in. The front was no joking matter. The prince grew more and more angry when they described the hardships of the trenches, and Aubrey thought it was anger most well directed.
After Caroline narrated the last episode – sensibly, as Aubrey had no idea about how she’d dug him out of the collapsed trench, de-peached him and then organised a squad to carry him to medical aid – Bertie sat back, thinking.
‘You’ve done a fine thing, all of you. A touch reckless, Aubrey, but effective.’ He put his hands together. ‘I like to think our generals are a little more aware of what they’re sending our soldiers into than the Holmlanders, but am I deluding myself? Perhaps I should recommend that all members of our High Command must visit the front, and do so regularly. In fact, I’ve a mind to do so myself since I’m so close.’
‘Begging your pardon, Bertie,’ George said, ‘I don’t think you’d be let within ten miles of the front. You’re too valuable.’
The prince grimaced. ‘They do say that, don’t they? I had enough trouble getting this far.’
‘Which makes me ask,’ Aubrey said, ‘what exactly are you doing here, Bertie?’
‘I’m doing my bit.’ The prince hesitated and he turned his cap over in his hands a few times. ‘I wanted to do something, you see. Even figureheads can, was my thinking.’
‘You’re far from a figurehead.’ Aubrey knew how much work Bertie had done in the last few years. Ever since his father had grown incapable of fulfilling the role of king, Bertie had taken on many of his ceremonial roles as well as the tedious bureaucratic roles. Even though the public knew the King was ill, Aubrey was sure they had no idea how ill – thanks to Bertie’s work.
‘I appreciate that, Aubrey, but I decided a gesture or two could be important. So I decided to leave Trinovant and to rally the troops. And the alliance.’ He nodded to Sophie. ‘You’re aware that the alliance with Gallia has been coming under some pressure?’
Laws of Magic 6 Page 22
