Aubrey had never thought it possible to be shouted to sleep, but when Sergeant Wallace’s nightly ‘Lights off in one, two, three, NOW!’ rang from the rafters, he was out like a light.
Right now, however, he had about two seconds to drag himself out of bed before Sergeant Wallace exercised his bed-tipping muscles.
Once the platoon was de-bedded and dressed, they stood in front of their bunks, quivering.
‘Right!’ Sergeant Wallace bellowed in a conversational manner. ‘Although you are far from ready for anything apart from patrolling lonely stretches of coastline, you are apparently going to be let loose on the enemy. God help them. And us.’ Hands clasped behind his back, he shook his head in pity. ‘You have endured four weeks unlike any you’ve ever had before, and I want you to remember one thing: don’t disgrace yourself. That’s all. Don’t disgrace yourself. Now, mess hall in ten minutes. Move it!’
In the clatter and bustle of the mess hall, Aubrey found a corner. While he stoked himself with porridge, he considered Sergeant Wallace’s announcement.
His training had been hard, no doubt about that. Underneath the aches and pains, his muscles were hardening and he was sure that if he kept up a modicum of exercise he’d enjoy the fitness and it would do him good in the long run.
The other seats at the table began to fill. Aubrey exchanged nods and greetings, but everyone appeared to share the same sombre, thoughtful mood. The end of training meant, as Sergeant Wallace put it, being let loose. And being let loose in a war situation was enough to give anyone pause over their porridge.
Craddock’s earlier mentioning of special units had been vague and imprecise. Working behind enemy lines? What exactly did that mean? After the training, Aubrey was starting to have some idea. With the emphasis on such dangerous skills as explosives and firearms, he was heading into dangerous territory.
Aubrey was prepared to admit that he favoured not dying over dying. But he also hoped that he was brave enough not to shy away from danger when he was needed to do the right thing. He couldn’t shirk. He would put himself in harm’s way, if it meant helping bring the war to a speedy end.
Being the sort of person he was, he reminded himself to minimise risks wherever he could. Be cautious, he told himself, think things through, look for the unexpected, be prepared, stay alert.
He wished George and Caroline were here. Together, they covered all of those things. Apart, he felt lessened – and more exposed.
He poked at his porridge and was wistful. He missed his friends. He was sure George would be all right, as he had the happy knack of falling on his feet in most circumstances. He was probably neatly ensconced in a propaganda unit, churning out story after story about the cheerful recruits bravely preparing to defend king and country.
And Caroline? Here Aubrey’s wistfulness was mixed with guilt. He would have to do something about his interrupted mission. Sooner, rather than later.
A tray plonked on the table, right opposite Aubrey. Woodberry, familiar to Aubrey from the irregulars tour, looked surprisingly cheerful and well rested. ‘Morning, Fitzwilliam. Exciting, isn’t it?’
Aubrey pushed his porridge bowl aside. ‘That’s one way of putting it. “Exhausting” is another, and probably more accurate. Then there’s “painful”, which is also remarkably apposite.’
Woodberry was a scrambled eggs man. He showered them with salt before plunging in. ‘Painful for some. The most painful thing for me was this nasty paper cut.’ He held up his forefinger, wrapped in a neat, white bandage.
‘Mind it doesn’t get infected,’ Aubrey said. ‘I knew a professor who lost an arm because of an infected paper cut.’
Woodberry’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’
‘Certainly.’ Aubrey enjoyed the harmless ragging, but Woodberry’s comments only emphasised to him that Craddock had different things in mind for different people. Woodberry was bound for a job in Darnleigh House, Aubrey was sure. Not a field operative, not someone for the special units. One session on the firing range was enough to convince Aubrey of that. Woodberry’s skills were firmly in areas other than pointing and shooting dangerous things like rifles. While he didn’t actually hit anyone, it was only due to the instructor’s quick reactions in dropping to the ground and to the fortuitous log that happened to be between the instructor and Woodberry’s wild round.
Woodberry frowned, glanced at his finger, then pointed his fork at Aubrey. ‘Have you heard? They’re bombing Trinovant.’
Aubrey started guiltily. Training had been so intense that he’d felt cut off, insulated from the world, and most particularly the war. Woodberry had been training in homeland liaison and was much more aware of what was going on. ‘Already. Much damage?’
‘Not so far. Plenty of panic, though. When those airships come over, it’s a riot in the streets.’
‘Which is probably as useful as actual damage.’ Aubrey drummed his fingers on the table and tried to divide his anxious thoughts between worrying about Caroline, George, his parents and everyone else he knew. Bombs falling on Albion? This was war made real. He hoped this would shock the doubters, those who thought that war was either nonsense or a jolly lark.
After breakfast, the recruits were directed – via concerted shouting – to the main hall for the first time since their initial meeting. Aubrey was uneasy, the more so when the hall began to fill with unfamiliar faces, people in uniforms other than the discreet black of the Department.
These strangers looked more like traditional army troopers in their khaki dress and, unlike the novice Department operatives, they all looked brimming with fitness and vigour. None of them was older than thirty, apart from their sergeants, who shared the same shouting prowess as the Magic Department instructors. Aubrey imagined them all catching up at a convention, sharing shouting techniques, and hoped that it was held well away from built-up areas.
Curious and straight-backed, the army recruits filed into the hall, taking up the seats on the right-hand side of the auditorium.
When George marched through the door, Aubrey nearly fell off his seat. Special Services! he thought. They must be Special Services recruits!
It was only with a huge effort that he prevented himself from leaping to his feet and hallooing to his friend, but something told him that this may be frowned upon, bad for discipline or somesuch. Instead, he contented himself with trying to catch George’s eye – a futile effort, given that George was chatting with a tall blonde girl in the seat next to him.
Aubrey was working through the implications of the appearance of Special Services recruits when something else happened and he did, indeed, fall off his seat.
Amid laughing and good-natured chaffing from those around – and some bored shouting from the nearest sergeant – Aubrey picked himself up and regained his seat, marvelling at how total surprise could make one temporarily boneless, unable to undertake such a simple action as sitting.
He hardly heard the chaffing and the shouting, for he was in a world where his focus had narrowed so all he could see, all he knew, was that toward the end of the file of newcomers was Caroline Hepworth.
Caroline! Suddenly, everything changed. Of course, he would have to explain why he hadn’t informed her of their enlisting, but she was here! He would be abject, he would be apologetic and, in the end, he would try to make her laugh.
It was like one of those moments when clouds open and beams of light emerge, crepuscular rays, bright and glorious and changing the entire landscape. Aubrey was allowed this chance to make good.
He could reactivate his mission.
Caroline had been in much the same position as he had been, on irregular detachment, except she was with the Special Services under Commander Tallis. Since the two divisions were now part of the Security Intelligence Directorate, that would explain the khaki-clad newcomers. Magic Department operatives and Special Services operatives officially working toge
ther. This was just the sort of thing his father had been planning when he reorganised the security services.
Aubrey crossed his arms on his chest with satisfaction at his own surmising. He was bursting with eagerness. He wanted to get to Caroline and George. He wanted to explain and catch up and share and simply be with them. He craned his neck and he thought he spied her, sitting near the front of the hall, oblivious to his presence.
Almost bouncing on his seat, he realised he’d have to wait. Commander Tallis entered after the last of his people. Aubrey was pleased to see that the stocky man was still glowering and fuming, for it meant all was right with the world. The head of the Special Services went through life as if everything was conspiring to irritate him. If nothing was going right, he scowled. If everything was going right, he smouldered. If some things were going right and others were a complete cock-up, he raged in a state of furious contentment.
Despite this, Tallis was a dedicated and fierce leader. His Special Services operatives were mostly drawn from the regular forces and provided vital, non-magical agents whose bravery and adaptability was renowned.
George and Caroline. Aubrey couldn’t help grinning, but when he realised he was drumming his feet on the floor like an excited child, he managed to rein in his pleasure before someone noticed and the shouting started again.
Craddock and Tallis stood together at the front of the hall while everyone settled. Tall and lean versus short and solid. Detached versus fuming. Thoughtful versus abrupt. Opposites in many ways, apart from their dedication to protecting Albion.
Aubrey was interested to see who would speak first, and was amused to see that their longstanding rivalry was expressing itself in painful politeness. Craddock motioned Tallis to the lectern, only to have the Special Services chief decline with a gesture and insist that Craddock begin. With a raised hand, Craddock signed that he was happy to have Tallis speak first, especially since he was the host of this gathering in the Magic Department headquarters. Tallis worked his jaw at this, and stepped forward.
The low buzz of curiosity cut off as if guillotined. Tallis glared for a moment, then began. ‘We are at war,’ he said. A little unnecessarily, Aubrey thought, but Tallis was rather blunter than the circuitous Craddock. ‘While you’ve been training, Holmland has been moving, pressing into the Goltans and massing for a push into Gallia. Its ally, the Central European Empire, has been driving toward opening a front with Muscovia. Bombs have fallen on Albion. People have died.’
If Tallis had been trying to crush any high spirits, Aubrey decided, he was doing a good job.
Tallis continued once the shocked murmur had subsided. ‘The Security Intelligence Directorate has the crucial role of protecting the realm through gathering information about the enemy and preventing the enemy doing the same with us.’ He put his hands behind his back and bounced a little on his toes. Aubrey wondered if he’d ever been a training instructor, of the shouting kind or otherwise. ‘Our methods are different from those of the army and the navy. Our role is unconventional, flexible, responsive. To that end, some of you here today are to continue with specialised training, some will be allocated to field teams supporting the regular military, while others will be formed into elite three-person units. Each of these units will have a high degree of autonomy.’ His grin was not pleasant. ‘This is because you will be operating in areas where access to higher echelons may not be possible.’
A low buzz, which Commander Tallis allowed to go on for a moment, then he continued. ‘These detachments will be a blend of operatives from the Special Services and the Magic Department.’ He paused. ‘The Magic Department and the Special Services. Commander Craddock?’
Craddock stepped up to the lectern with a list. ‘These people will remain behind. The others will go with their section commander for other assignments.’
Special units, Aubrey thought and he rubbed his hands together. This is what Craddock mentioned. He saw Caroline, George and he united again, sent on important tasks together, making the most of their talents. Working behind enemy lines, living off their own wits and own resources, thrown together against all odds, sharing the risks, daring danger and everything it had to throw at them.
All in the service of the country, of course.
Aubrey nodded when his name was read out, and smiled when Caroline and George’s were as well. Content, he crossed his arms on his chest and wondered if they were now sitting up, surprised, looking for him.
Woodberry’s name wasn’t read out, Aubrey noted, and he left with the others whose names hadn’t been called, looking somewhat disconsolate. Craddock glanced at Tallis, then went on. ‘Orange slips for special unit detachment are now being distributed.’ Aubrey saw some of the section commanders working through the rows, pieces of paper in hand. ‘You will meet the rest of your unit in the rooms noted, where you will receive briefing on your first assignments.’
Craddock became grave. ‘Though it may be difficult for you to see, each mission of each unit is important. You may be puzzled, even bewildered, by some tasks allocated to you, but I must emphasise that the country is relying on you. If you fulfil your mission, you will be contributing to the defence of Albion. Commander Tallis?’
Tallis squared himself. ‘I endorse Commander Craddock’s remarks. Go with all speed, and with all safety. And come back alive.’
Aubrey was still coping with the chill that Tallis’s words brought when a slip of paper was thrust at him. While still reading it, he stood and scanned the room, but both George and Caroline had gone.
Room 7a was on the ground floor, toward the rear of Darnleigh House, and it was where he was to report to a Captain Foster. With some difficulty, Aubrey negotiated the chaos that came from dozens of people trying to find their way in unfamiliar surroundings, for he was constantly asked directions by khaki-clad operatives, all looking formidably fit and vigorous. He was keen to hear from Caroline and George about their training, to see how much of this vim was due to the Special Services regime and how much came from the candidates themselves. Perhaps athletes and manual workers were high on the list of prospective recruits for the Special Services?
He amused himself with visions of Caroline teaching these muscular recruits a thing or two in unarmed combat until he fronted the door marked 7a.
He knocked, sharply, smiling in anticipation.
‘Enter.’
Aubrey stepped into the room with what he hoped was the right amount of jauntiness. Not too much, nothing brash, but the step of a confident, well-trained Magic Department operative.
‘Aubrey!’ George cried, turning around in a chair that faced the single desk. ‘Old man!’
A bespectacled, sour-faced captain stood behind the desk and in front of a large map of the Continent. He didn’t shout, for which Aubrey was grateful, but chided George nonetheless. ‘Steady on, Doyle. This isn’t a party.’
Aubrey held out his slip of orange paper. ‘Captain Foster. Fitzwilliam, Aubrey, reporting, sir.’ Then he smiled at Caroline, who was sitting next to George.
Except she turned and wasn’t Caroline at all.
Ten
Gaping’s a good way to draw attention to yourself, Fitzwilliam,’ Captain Foster said, ‘so stop it and sit down.’
Aubrey was so stunned, the captain’s voice seemed to come from far away. A veteran planner, Aubrey was experiencing the sensation that things on top of rugs feel when the rug decides to exit horizontally, with speed. His plans, his expectations, his neat order of events that he’d taken for granted had all been thrown into the air.
No Caroline? That was impossible, unwarranted, unnatural! They belonged together. Caroline, George and he had been through dangerous adventures and acquitted themselves with honour. Craddock and Tallis knew this. Even Prince Albert, the heir to the throne himself, knew it. Whatever was the Directorate thinking?
He seized on this. Perhaps it was ju
st a mistake. This sort of thing happened – in the hurly-burly of war, communications went astray, documents were lost, identities confused. Surely that was it. All he had to do was point this out, speak to a few people and all would be well. His plans would be back on track, his mission set in motion again.
It was all he could do to stop himself groaning aloud. This sort of thinking was the Old Aubrey, the Aubrey who manipulated people to satisfy his own needs – without asking theirs. Caroline wouldn’t want his interfering in her life, not like this.
Slowly, he began to realise that the others in the room were staring at him.
‘Are you quite done?’ Captain Foster stood behind the desk, leaning forward and propping himself with both arms. His glasses were rimless. His hair was sparse but it was well arranged on his dome of a head.
‘Yes, sir,’ Aubrey managed. His thoughts still whirling, he fumbled his way into a chair next to George, who was between him and the strange girl.
In the brief glimpse he’d had, it was no wonder George had sat next to her. She was striking – golden hair, and with extraordinary pale blue eyes, the colour of summer sky just above the horizon. Her whole face had been enlivened by the twitch of her lips she gave him. Not quite a smile, but an indication of humour, nonetheless.
She looked nothing like Caroline. It had simply been his expectation, assuming that he’d be reunited with her, that had made him see her in that chair.
‘You obviously know Doyle,’ Captain Foster said. ‘This is Elspeth Mattingly.’
The smile that Elspeth offered him this time was unhesitating, bordering on a grin. ‘Fitzwilliam. I’ve heard a great deal about you, but most of it led me to believe that you were rather more self-possessed than this.’
Aubrey only prevented a grimace with great effort. ‘Don’t believe what you read in the newspapers.’
‘Newspapers? I never read them.’ She glanced at George when he gasped, but immediately redirected her disconcertingly even gaze back at Aubrey. ‘I have friends at St Alban’s. They’re impressed with your magical ability.’
Moment of Truth Page 8
