Word of Honour

by Michael Pryor

  The channel opened out before them into a wide expanse of sheltered harbour, the home of the Great Fleet of Albion. Aubrey counted more than fifty ships – battleships, destroyers, cruisers – and scores of smaller tenders, lighters and supply ships. It was a confident, almost arrogant, display of power. Aubrey hoped it would be enough for the troubled times that lay ahead.

  The ornithopter tilted, banking to the left in a wide arc. The pilot eased the aircraft toward the northern island of Whiteside, where the shoreside component of the naval headquarters was situated.

  Considering the short warning given by the pilot's radio contact, the welcoming party waiting at the ornithopter port was impressively large. Each man had a hand clamped to his cap to stop it blowing off in the wind created by the enormous wings.

  Rokeby-Taylor craned his neck and peered out of the window. 'I've been dealing with faceless men at the Navy Board, Darius. Who's who out there?'

  'Admiral Elliot's on the right,' Sir Darius said after the pilot shut down the engines. 'Admiral of the Fleet. The rest are admirals, vice admirals, rear-admirals. A few captains, but most of them are probably out there, doing the hard work of keeping their ships ready.'

  'Wonderful. I'm glad they're here to see history being made.'

  'There's nothing like a budget reallocation to make an admiral sit up and take notice,' Sir Darius said. 'There is a lot of money at stake here.'

  'I know that, Darius, believe me. But it's still exciting, isn't it?'

  George slapped a cap onto his head. 'I hope we'll get a chance to visit one of the dreadnoughts.'

  'If we have time,' Sir Darius said. He smoothed his moustache with a finger, thoughtfully. 'We have other vessels to visit, first.'

  ADMIRAL ELLIOT WAS A LANKY, ANGULAR MAN WITH A close, white beard that matched his hair. His eyes were a watery blue. They looked vague and distant, but when he spoke it was with the clipped rhythm of a man accustomed to giving orders – and having them obeyed immediately.

  He greeted Sir Darius and Rokeby-Taylor and took them aside. As soon as he did, a youngish-looking officer stepped forward from the gaggle of top brass and introduced himself to Aubrey and George. 'Thomas Stephens. I've been given the job of escorting you around today. Not sure if it's to keep you out of trouble or me.'

  His hair was fair, cut short, but Aubrey could see that it was curly. He had a trim moustache; he was stout and of middling height.

  Aubrey quickly counted the stripes on the man's sleeve. 'Captain Stephens, is it?'

  Stephens spread his hands as if to suggest it was all a mystery to him. 'Apparently someone at the Admiralty got their files mixed up. Happens all the time.'

  'Weren't you captain of the Steadfast in the Kregheim disaster?'

  Stephens brushed this away. 'Fine ship, the Steadfast. Almost sailed herself.'

  That may have been true, but Aubrey was sure that it wasn't the ship that gave the orders to steam into rebelheld Jarosevnia and rescue the Albion citizens trapped there – while being peppered by the guns in the massive fort that overlooked the city.

  'And what's your current command?'

  Captain Stephens grinned. 'Can't tell you right now, I'm afraid. Exciting stuff, though.' He scanned the crowd milling around Sir Darius, Rokeby-Taylor and Admiral Elliot. The officers were doing their best to look attentive while the admiral pointed out features of the base. 'A grand sailor, Admiral Elliot, can navigate the Rosscommon Shoals on a moonless night without scraping his bottom.'

  'I should hope not,' Aubrey said after some deliberation.

  A dozen or so brand-new motorcars arrived. Admiral Elliot took Sir Darius and Rokeby-Taylor in the first. Captain Stephens made sure Aubrey and George were in the second, and he ordered the driver to head toward a long, nondescript building on the water's edge, just around a rocky point from the main dock area, while the other cars took the remaining officers back to the main base.

  The sun was still high in the sky, even though George pointed out it was nearly four o'clock. A light breeze came onshore, carrying the smell of salt mixed with the potent tang of oil and coal. A bell rang across the water, the sound coming from one of the predatory ships that rode in the bay. Aubrey shaded his eyes against the sunlight skipping across the multitude of tiny waves. The might of Albion, the power that kept the seas free, was invested in this place. Without such a fleet, the island nation would be vulnerable in the worst way.

  Which is why everyone views Holmland's naval build-up with more than a little disquiet, he thought and he counted the ships again to reassure himself.

  As the party came closer to the corrugated-iron building that was their destination, Aubrey saw that one end actually projected some distance into the sea. Apart from that, it looked remarkably like a dirigible hangar – tall, with a single gable, a ridge running along its entire length. No windows. Two huge doors on the landward side, opening onto the road. A smaller door facing them.

  'Is this a research facility?' he asked Admiral Elliot when they'd alighted from their vehicles.

  The admiral glanced at him. Aubrey could see him weighing up whether he could afford to ignore the son of the Prime Minister or not. Eventually, he answered with some reluctance. 'It's part of it. Enclosed dock.'

  'Ah. To keep away sightseers.'

  Admiral Elliot worked his jaw for a moment. 'Something like that.'

  Aubrey scanned the skies. They were a long way away from anywhere. Exactly who were they afraid of? Sunny skies, refreshing breeze, but suddenly the day seemed to be far more ominous than Aubrey had previously thought. He chewed at his lip. He stopped, gathered himself and reached out, using his special awareness, looking for any sign of magic, trying to get a sense of what may be going on behind the walls ahead.

  He was rewarded with a palpable hit.

  Heavy-duty magic was lurking behind those walls. Impressive, revolutionary stuff, if Aubrey was any judge. A derivative of spells stemming from the Law of Regression, he suspected, but exactly how that could help the navy, he had no idea.

  Captain Stephens broke from the small group and hurried ahead. He unlocked the small door in the side of the facility and saluted. 'This way, Prime Minister, if you please.'

  Inside, the shed was lit by electric lights suspended from the lofty ceiling. Aubrey was again reminded of the dirigible hangars in Lutetia, for the gantries, chains and heavy lifting equipment were all the same. It was apparent that serious engineering took place here. The place was quiet, but it wasn't hard to imagine it as a scene of industrial activity – hammering, welding, cutting, wrenching metal into shape.

  Aubrey's sense of déjà vu had another tweak when his eyes grew accustomed to the change of light and he became more and more excited at what he saw. A long cigar shape took up most of the far end, where the shed projected into the water. Either side of the cigar shape were walkways, wooden jetties on solid piles driven into the seabed.

  'Our experimental vessel, the Electra,' Rokeby-Taylor said. He beamed at it, as if he'd built every inch himself. 'Rokeby-Taylor Shipbuilding's finest work.'

  'Ah, so this is the famous submersible,' Sir Darius said. 'At last.'

  'You've heard of it?' Admiral Elliot bristled. 'This is meant to be top secret!'

  'Well, I am the Prime Minister,' Sir Darius reminded him. 'Now, Clive, you say this is going to revolutionise naval warfare?'

  'It's going to make battleships obsolete,' Rokeby-Taylor said airily. 'It's the way of the future.'

  Aubrey had been admiring the size of the submersible – it was far longer than anything he'd heard of – but he winced at Rokeby-Taylor's insensitive remark.

  'Obsolete?' Admiral Elliot thundered. 'Battleships? Never! Besides, these submersibles are unsporting. Hiding under water where they can't be seen? How is that fair?'

  Captain Stephens coughed. 'Perhaps I should show the Prime Minister through the Electra?'

  'That's what you're here for, Stephens,' Admiral Elliot growled. 'Take over.'

  Ad
miral Elliot marched out of the facility without looking back. Captain Stephens apologised. 'He's a strong supporter of the submersible development program. Just don't disparage his battleships.'

  'Did I do that?' Rokeby-Taylor looked crestfallen, but then he grinned. 'I won't do it again. Can't afford to have him offside. I say, Stephens, you don't know what sort of whisky old Elliot favours? I should send him a case or two, by way of apology.'

  Sir Darius looked along the length of the Electra. 'So, Stephens, you're commanding this ship?'

  'Boat,' Captain Stephens said. 'Submersibles are boats, not ships.'

  'Why's that?' Aubrey asked. 'It looks big enough to be a ship.'

  Stephens smiled. 'That it is, plenty big enough. One hundred and eighty feet, thirty men. But the first submersibles weren't this big, twenty, thirty years ago. Tiny things, limited range. They were called boats and it's stuck.'

  'Wait until you see inside,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'It's a masterpiece.'

  Captain Stephens turned on his heel. 'This way, gentlemen.'

  He took them to a gangway. Above them, a conning tower projected from the body of the submersible, twice the height of a man.

  'The Electra, Prime Minister,' Stephens announced. 'The most advanced vessel in the Albion fleet. This boat represents the ultimate blend of science, engineering and magic. Just you wait until you see her in action.'

  Aubrey grinned at Stephens's infectious enthusiam. It was good to see someone so keen on using the latest developments. Many in the military were wary of magic; Stephens seemed eager to embrace it.

  'We've had some of the best people working on it, Darius,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'We even brought in some clever chaps from the Continent, to work on the batteries. The guidance system on the torpedoes was a collaboration job, Phelps and Ainsworth.'

  'From Greythorn?' Aubrey asked. 'They were part of the research team on elemental magic.'

  'This is much more important than all that theoretical stuff,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'This is vital for the defence of the realm.'

  Aubrey had a different point of view on that but he bit his tongue.

  Captain Stephens strolled over the gangway. 'Double hulled, the Electra is,' he went on. 'The internal hull for holding pressure and the external skin shaped to let us slip through the water like a shark.'

  He climbed up the ladder on the side of the conning tower. Sir Darius mounted easily; the others followed.

  Aubrey was fascinated by the Electra. This sort of thing excited him – using magic in a careful, rational way to improve processes and materials, to break new ground, to shape new futures. The sooner all the mystical hand-waving could be left behind as an embarrassing relic of the past, the better. Magic was knowable, just as the inner workings of atoms was proving to be knowable. It was a bold world that was dawning and Aubrey was eager to be part of it.

  Captain Stephens proudly showed them around. Aubrey couldn't help noticing how everything was built on a reduced scale – passageways, doors, even bunks – and he assumed the sailors selected to serve on the Electra would be chosen for their stature as much as anything else, the same way jockeys were.

  He had a momentary vision of the narrow stairs full of colourful racing silks and he stifled a laugh.

  Captain Stephens glanced sharply at him. 'Yes, you're bound to find the air a bit close down here. That's what happens when you run engines in a confined space, then pack thirty men in as well.'

  'Show them the batteries, Stephens,' Rokeby-Taylor said. He turned to the others. 'It's where we have some of our most advanced magical developments.'

  Captain Stephens glanced at his watch. 'It'll have to wait for a moment, sir. The officers should have come aboard and the crew is due. If you'll follow me to the wardroom.'

  A long whistle sounded from above. Then the whole submersible began to echo with the noise of running feet and shouted orders. Captain Stephens glanced upward. 'We're about to get rather crowded. Let's hurry.'

  The officers' wardroom was a neat, tiny area. It had a table large enough to seat four – if they didn't mind sitting shoulder to shoulder – with chairs to match. The table had a starched white cloth, but was otherwise bare. Shelves on the walls were stacked with books. A hatch opened onto the galley and Aubrey could see sailors already at work.

  An officer was present. He blinked for a moment, goggled at the newcomers, and then seemed to remember what was expected of him. He rose, knocked over his chair and made what could be called a salute only by those with extremely poor eyesight.

  Captain Stephens covered a smile. 'Prime Minister, Mr Rokeby-Taylor, this is Lieutenant Henry Atwood. Special Assignment.'

  'Atwood,' Sir Darius said. 'We're pleased to be aboard.'

  Atwood considered this. 'Sir?' His wrinkled jacket looked as if it had been only recently yanked out of a bottom drawer in lieu of anything better to wear. His cap struggled to cover a mop of black curly hair. His eyes bulged slightly and his nose was red.

  'Special Assignment,' Sir Darius continued. 'You've been dragged from magical studies somewhere or other?'

  'Angel College, sir. One minute I was working on transformational magic, the next I'm here.'

  'Atwood is one of our specialists,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'We needed the best, so we went out and got him.'

  'I didn't have much choice,' Atwood said plaintively. 'The dean said they were closing my laboratory.'

  'Quite, quite,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'Still, the facilities at Clear Haven are first class, I'm sure. If they're not, you just let me know and I'll have something done about it right away.'

  'Yes, sir.' Atwood brightened. 'Yes, sir.'

  Captain Stephens saluted. 'If all is in order, sir, I'll go to the control room and take her out.'

  Aubrey must have made some sound, for everyone looked at him. 'We're actually going on a cruise, in a submersible?'

  Rokeby-Taylor beamed. 'It's the best way to show off this wonder. Your father has had some doubts about the project, I've heard, so I thought he needed to see it. He can't help but be impressed after the Electra goes through her paces.' He scratched behind his ear. 'Stephens, exactly where are we going?'

  'The aim of our voyage is to head up the north-west channel, between Whiteside Island and the Glough to the west.'

  'Submerged?' Aubrey asked.

  'Not through the channel. Once we clear it – about half an hour or so – we're in the open sea. We'll dive, run on batteries, and we'll see what she can do. If the weather's kind, we'll surface near a speck of rock called the Widow's Sorrow, surprise the seabirds and point at the seals, if any are home.'

  'Excellent,' Sir Darius said. 'I'm looking forward to it.'

  'As are we all. Atwood, to your post.'

  Isolated as they were in the wardroom, Aubrey nevertheless had the impression of being in the middle of furious activity. Shouts bounced along the walls, adding to the mounting vibrations; mysterious thuds and clanks made the deck shudder. Running through all of this was the muffled cursing that seemed to be the standard operating noise of seamen. Rokeby-Taylor disappeared, saying he wanted to check the battery set-up. He returned a few minutes later, red-faced and muttering about over-officious petty officers.

  Soon, Sir Darius began drumming his fingers. 'Aubrey?'

  'Sir?'

  'You're sensing magic here?'

  'Certainly. All around.'

  'What sort?'

  This was difficult. Describing varieties of magic to a non-magician was like describing musical scales to the tone deaf. 'Complex. Very different from anything I've experienced.'

  'New?'

  Aubrey spread his hands. 'It could be. I need to get closer to the source.'

  'Hmm.' Sir Darius resumed his finger-drumming. 'Well, keep at it, please.' He glared at the walls of the wardroom, as if he wished he could see right through them.

  Rokeby-Taylor waved a hand. 'You're interested in magic?'

  'I'm going to study it at university, sir,' Aubrey said.

 
'Good man. You must have more talent than I had. Or more application. Fascinating stuff, magic.' He pursed his lips. 'Let me see. I might be able to remember a fire spell I was quite a dab hand at.'

  'Fire on a submersible?' George said. 'Not a good idea, Mr Rokeby-Taylor.'

  'Eh? I say, you're right.' He slapped himself on the forehead and laughed. 'Can't have the builder of the boat blowing it up now, can we?'

  Aubrey couldn't help but join in the laughter. It was hard not to, when someone was laughing at themselves so unselfconsciously.

  Rokeby-Taylor cocked an ear. 'D'you hear those engines, Darius? Most modern diesels, they are, but wait until we switch to batteries. That's where our real advances are.'

  George gripped the table. 'We're moving.'

  Aubrey could feel it. The sound of the diesel engines increased until it was a deep, throaty pounding, enough to set off a thousand different rattles in the wardroom alone.

  After half an hour the diesel engines changed their note.

  They rose in pitch, turned almost to a thunder, before rumbling and then ceasing entirely. In its place was a deep hum, almost a whine, that set Aubrey's teeth on edge.

  A bell rang and immediately the deck tilted beneath them.

  George yelped, but caught himself before he fell off his chair. Rokeby-Taylor swayed for a second, but managed to stay upright. He looked proud of himself.

  Aubrey held onto the table, his excitement rising. 'Here we go, then.'

  'Interesting experience, isn't it?' Sir Darius said, raising his voice over the noise. 'Putting yourself totally in the hands of someone else.'

  'Well, if we can't trust the navy,' George said, having recovered his balance, 'who can we trust?'

  'I'm glad we have your confidence.' Captain Stephens appeared at the door, hands behind his back. 'The navy is here to serve, you know.'

  'Shouldn't you be steering this thing?' George asked, staring.

  'Lieutenant Stone, my First Mate, is at the helm. We're in good hands.'