Moment of Truth

by Michael Pryor

  ‘Really?’ Aubrey was pleasantly surprised and he felt himself warming to her. Most people knew of him through his father or through various references in the press. He’d learned to bear the burden, but it didn’t mean that he enjoyed it. To have it otherwise was refreshing.

  ‘Truly,’ she said solemnly. Then she grinned again. ‘But don’t let it go to your head. My friends are easily impressed.’

  ‘I hate to interrupt,’ Captain Foster said. He picked up a clipboard. ‘And I’m glad you’ve got off to such a cosy start, but we have work to do.’

  Testily, he went on to outline a new program of training, this time as a team. After they were all kitted out in their Directorate blacks would come more firearms, more map reading, and more communications training, but now it would be supplemented with team exercises.

  Nothing like a few nights in a swamp to bind a team together, Aubrey thought as he read through one of the exercises, a simulated incursion at Exmouth Marsh. His eyes widened when he read that some of the ammunition used would be live.

  It definitely wasn’t a game any more.

  As they were the only occupants of the motorbus that was taking them to the training facility, Aubrey learned more about Elspeth Mattingly.

  ‘When war was declared, my father insisted that I do what I could. Since it sounded more exciting than languishing in Miss Jarvis’s Finishing School I jumped at the chance.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘There’s no patriot like one who adopts a country, is there?’

  ‘Albion has been good to many newcomers,’ Aubrey said.

  ‘It certainly has been to him. He’s made his fortune here, and he has connections at the Ministry of Defence, which is why I found myself at Lattimer Hall with Commander Tallis.’ She laughed. ‘He wasn’t convinced, at first, but after I impressed him with a few things, he accepted that my father hadn’t been mistaken about my abilities.’

  ‘She’s a fencer, old man,’ George said. ‘You should see her with a sabre.’

  She smiled at him. ‘You’re a dear, George. I would have been bored to death during the training without you.’

  Aubrey was still grappling with the notion of someone so petite using the most bloodthirsty of fencing weapons. ‘The sabre?’

  ‘Miss Jarvis’s School had some unorthodox methods, which was probably a good idea since it dealt with unorthodox pupils.’

  ‘Ah.’

  To Aubrey’s amazement, she leaned over and prodded him in the chest. ‘You’re too polite, Aubrey Fitzwilliam, I hope you realise that. You want to ask, but daren’t, for propriety’s sake.’ She grinned and Aubrey couldn’t help but grin back while he rubbed the prod spot on his chest. ‘So I’ll tell you. Miss Jarvis’s School was Papa’s last hope. It’s for notoriously difficult young women and you need to have been thrown out of at least five schools before Miss Jarvis will look at you.’ She counted on her fingers. ‘I’ve been expelled from eleven, run away from four, and bought one and closed it down while I was there.’

  ‘She’s rich, old man,’ George said, chortling.

  ‘Less rich than I was.’ She glowered. ‘That last school cost a packet. Papa wasn’t happy when he saw how little was in my bank account. He was even less happy when he found out that I forged his signature.’

  ‘And thus Miss Jarvis,’ Aubrey said. At first he’d been taken aback at the new recruit’s unconventional ways, but he couldn’t deny that they made her an engaging colleague. Insouciant was the word that seemed to fit her best, as long as he looked past her striking physical characteristics. That golden hair, for instance, waves and curls of it...

  ‘And thus Miss Jarvis,’ she agreed. ‘I was looking to make it number seventeen when all this came up.’

  ‘All this? The war?’

  She waved a hand. ‘That’s right. The war. What a relief. I was on the verge of doing something perfectly dreadful at Miss Jarvis’s School just to relieve the boredom, and the next thing you know I’m thrown in with people like George and life is exciting again.’

  ‘Just doing my best for morale. Teamwork, cooperation, that sort of thing.’ George plucked a loose thread from his sleeve. ‘Important stuff in today’s army. Or today’s Special Services.’

  Aubrey wondered if Elspeth knew about Sophie Delroy. He’d ask George later, when they were alone. ‘How does your mother feel about your joining up, Miss Mattingly?’

  She laughed. ‘So proper! I think “Elspeth” will do, don’t you? Since we’re part of the same unit?’

  Aubrey swallowed. Her gaze was very direct, and disconcertingly beautiful. ‘Of course. Elspeth. I’m Aubrey.’

  ‘I know, remember?’ She touched him on the back of the hand and looked directly into his eyes. ‘My mother died when I was small. I barely remember her.’

  Aubrey knew then that this was further proof that he had an unexpected magical talent: the ability to put his foot in it whenever he was talking with an attractive female. It was eerie how well it worked. It was probably ripe for further research and a paper or two in the leading journals. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sadness and loss are part of life’s richness, I always say.’

  ‘That’s remarkably philosophical of you.’

  She smiled with a hint of challenge. ‘I’m a remarkable philosopher.’

  ‘And I’m sure the Directorate has “Highly Developed Philosophising” as one of its most keenly sought-after skills.’

  ‘And I’d call that that a joke, if I were being generous.’

  ‘Nicely done, Elspeth,’ George put in. ‘Most people can’t tell if Aubrey’s joking or not. Terrible delivery, he has.’

  After this, they shared details of their lives in that slightly awkward, slightly thrilling way that Aubrey enjoyed. It was like opening a new book and plunging into an unfamiliar world.

  Elspeth’s father was solidly well-off, coming from a family of wine merchants. Being the fourth generation in the firm, he was more of a businessman than a shopkeeper, and his travels on the Continent had meant that Elspeth was quite the polyglot. She spoke ten different languages fluently, and could get by in a handful of others.

  In return for this disclosure, she probed him with delightfully naïve questions about spell casting. Those with no magical ability or background often wanted Aubrey to explain the most basic aspects of magic, but in this case he found Elspeth’s enquiries both charming and amusing, and was happy to spend time answering them.

  An hour flew past in such appealing company and after George recounted a rambling and hilarious story about his training in explosives, he began telling Elspeth about Sophie Delroy.

  Aubrey was willing to admit he was not entirely adroit when it came to matters of the opposite sex, but even he knew that telling one young woman how fascinating, intelligent and pretty he found another young woman was a poor way to open negotiations with any hope of a future.

  Which means that George is loyal to Sophie, Aubrey thought with relief, and that he simply enjoys the company of attractive young women.

  Elspeth proved to be an eager recruit. She could barely restrain herself when they arrived at the training facility, putting a hand on his arm and peering through the glass when the omnibus reached the gatehouse. When it pulled up at the commandant’s headquarters, she fairly herded Aubrey and George off in her keenness.

  ‘We’re going to be the best team in the Directorate,’ she announced as they alighted. In the warm sun and faced with such enthusiasm, Aubrey wasn’t about to disagree.

  The rest of the day was spent on a variety of exercises that were handed out by instructors who appeared to relish the fiendishness of them. Elspeth’s linguistic abilities were tested by having to interpret newspaper clippings, business invoices, operational manuals and personal letters, in half a dozen different languages. When translated, these would give George and Aubrey complicated instructions
on tasks that involved variously repairing machinery, casting spells or a combination of both.

  When the light was fading, and Aubrey and George were tightening the last bolts on a detached ornithopter engine, the captain who’d brought them together strode into the workshop. Aubrey’s salute was tired, George’s even more so. Elspeth greeted him with a brightness that belied her weariness. ‘Captain Foster. Anything else you’d like us to do? A tunnel between Albion and the Continent, perhaps?’

  ‘Hrrrumph.’ He pointed with a riding crop. ‘You missed that fuel line, Doyle.’

  ‘He’s just leaving it until last, sir,’ Elspeth said. ‘That’s what the documents said to do.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, finish it off and then read these.’

  Elspeth took the large envelope. ‘Details of our Exmouth Marsh mission, sir?’

  Captain Foster shook his head. ‘There’s been a change of plans. Exmouth Marsh is off. You have new orders.’

  ‘Off?’ George echoed. He looked unreasonably disappointed, Aubrey thought, at the prospect of missing out on a muddy frolic, complete with mosquitoes and leeches.

  ‘We’re accelerating things. You’re to be sent on assignment.’

  ‘But we’ve just started training,’ Aubrey said. ‘They can’t send us into the field yet.’

  ‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ Captain Foster said. ‘You’ve been ordered to the Gallian Embassy to observe and assist an experienced team. Tomorrow. It’s straightforward, but useful experience.’

  Aubrey wiped his hands on a greasy cloth. This was more like it.

  Captain Foster frowned. ‘Mattingly, you’re general liaison and we also want you to talk to their coding department. Fitzwilliam, there’s some sort of magical mess that you’re supposed to help out with. You’ll be reporting to Major Morton, who’s already on site working on the unexploded bombs.’

  Aubrey looked at George and Elspeth, then back at Captain Foster. ‘Bombs?’

  ‘Dropped by one of those skyfleets last night. Magical and non-magical, apparently.’

  Aubrey remembered Woodberry’s news. ‘These attacks have been continuing?’

  ‘We’ve had a dozen strikes in the last week, but we’ve kept them quiet. Mostly on the coast, but we’ve had a number in the capital. Not to worry. Major Morton is our best man for this sort of thing.’

  ‘What about me, sir?’ George asked. ‘I’m happy to escort these two around, but I can’t imagine they’re in any physical danger in the heart of Trinovant.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Foster said darkly. ‘Holmland spies are everywhere these days, but that’s not your role.’ He smiled in a calculating way. ‘You did the extra explosives training, didn’t you, Doyle?’

  ‘Yes, sir. And the extra sessions on motor mechanics and electrical machinery.’

  ‘Good, good. You can help Major Morton, too.’

  George rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully.

  Aubrey was uneasy at the mysterious nature of the tasks, but told himself that he was on the lowest rungs of the service, and questioning orders wasn’t what low rungs did.

  No, he thought, low rungs get stepped on. Then he banished the thought.

  George developed a calculating look. ‘This may take some time, sir?’

  ‘If you finish before midnight tomorrow, it will be a miracle.’

  ‘So we’re to dine at the embassy?’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Good, good.’ George beamed. ‘We’ll manage.’

  On the motorbus on the way back to Darnleigh House, they compared notes.

  Elspeth pursed her lips. ‘Since I’m general liaison, I have to insist that you two behave yourselves. I don’t want you to give the Gallians any cause for offence.’

  ‘Well,’ Aubrey said, ‘I hadn’t intended to do anything to–’

  ‘And those uniforms are appallingly dowdy. I don’t suppose we could drop in at a tailor on the way?’

  ‘Tailor?’ George looked down at his blacks. ‘I thought we looked quite spiffing. Much better than khaki.’

  Elspeth brushed at Aubrey’s shoulder. ‘The lines, the fabric ... It’s hopeless. The Gallians are bound to laugh.’

  George bridled. ‘I say, Elspeth, that’s a bit rich.’ Then he stopped and punched Aubrey on the arm. ‘She’s pulling our legs, old man.’

  She sat back, trying to stifle a grin. ‘I’m remarkably adroit, pulling two legs at once, but there you have it.’

  Aubrey was unsettled by this, but he found it a pleasant sort of unsettling. Elspeth Mattingly was certainly a forward young woman. She’d managed to avoid ‘prim’ by a considerable distance, which Aubrey was quite happy about. Prim unsettled him too, but in an entirely different way.

  ‘We promise that we’ll be on our best behaviour. And we’ll wear our Albionish garments with pride.’ He glanced at George. ‘And what was all that about dining at the embassy?’

  George rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ve been missing Gallian food after our Lutetian expedition. It strikes me that the Gallian Embassy is bound to have a good dining room. Quite looking forward to it.’

  ‘Do you enjoy Gallian food?’ Elspeth asked.

  ‘No need for the qualifying adjective where George is concerned,’ Aubrey said. ‘George enjoys food.’

  ‘Excellent. I don’t trust picky eaters. Food is one of life’s great pleasures.’

  ‘Life is meant to be enjoyed,’ Aubrey murmured, ‘not endured.’

  She grasped his arm. ‘Oh, I like that! Did you just make it up?’

  Aubrey felt himself blushing. ‘More or less.’

  ‘Would you mind if I take as my personal motto?’

  ‘Er...’

  ‘“Life is meant to be enjoyed, not endured.” I’ll make that my next tattoo.’

  Aubrey’s jaw sagged. He stared. ‘Tattoo?’

  She burst out laughing and had trouble stopping. ‘Oh,’ she said, sagging against him, gasping for breath, ‘oh, I must stop doing that. But it’s so hard to resist trying to shock you.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘You look so eminently shockable, you see.’

  ‘I do? Do I, George?’

  George was grinning, cat-wise. ‘It’s hard for me to tell, old man. The gullibility gets in the way.’

  ‘Elspeth. You don’t have a tattoo?’

  ‘A tattoo? Of course not! I’m not a sailor!’ She collapsed into laughter again. ‘You should have seen your face.’

  Aubrey crossed his arms on his chest and snorted. He couldn’t take offence, not with someone so ... so disarming.

  The Gallian Embassy was a prominent greystone building in what had become the foreign section of Trinovant. As one of the finer property agents might put it, the cluster of embassies and consulates around Todman Square was within easy walking distance of the Prime Minister’s offices at No. 4 Credence Lane.

  Elspeth approached the guard at the door and impressed him with not just her looks, but with her impeccable Gallian. Aubrey straightened his jacket, made sure the brim of his cap was level, then presented his brand new credentials to the guard, feeling a moment of pride when the guard, after inspecting them, simply waved him in.

  He was a member of the Department, credentialed and accepted. The simple recognition of his status by someone else underlined that he had taken a step into a world beyond that he’d previously known. He was no longer a dilettante, pretending to be a part of great events, standing on the sideline and joining in when he thought best. He had left that behind, as the world had left behind its days of peace.

  The realisation jolted him. Adulthood was something that belonged to other people, not Aubrey Fitzwilliam and his friends. And yet, here it was, unbidden, with all its accoutrements. When he thought about it, waiting for George’s credentials to be examined, he wondered where the supposed freedoms of adulthood were.
Where he was standing, all he could see was the heavy weight of responsibility that maturity was bringing.

  A beaming Gallian military man bounded down the stairs, his hand extended. He was tall and dark-eyed, with extremely large hands. ‘Welcome! I am Captain Bourdin, in charge of embassy security. I am glad you are here. This way. Major Morton is in the courtyard.’

  Inside the grand building, it was all light and gilt in the high Gallian fashion of the previous century, but instead of being a palace draped with bored and languishing nobles this was a hive of activity. A horde of harried-looking embassy staff was rushing about. They popped out of doorways, flitted up staircases, bolted out of lifts barely before they’d stopped. They carried boxes, envelopes, folders, maps and books. They argued while walking, arms full of meeting minutes and order forms, and conducted conclaves in alcoves as Aubrey, George and Elspeth passed, following Captain Bourdin as he ploughed through the chaos.

  George grinned at the immaculately dressed office girls, and they smiled shyly in return. Elspeth drew close to Aubrey, something that he found he didn’t mind at all. ‘Have either of you been here before?’

  ‘I haven’t,’ Aubrey admitted. ‘George?’

  ‘No. And dashed sorry about that, too. Would have made a point of it if I’d known.’

  Elspeth looked amused. ‘Known what, George?’

  George opened his mouth, then closed it again before backing up and having another try. ‘If I’d known how much Sophie would enjoy this place. So Gallian and all.’

  ‘Splendid save,’ Aubrey murmured to George, but had to back against the newel post to let an oily-looking fellow rush past with a box of files. ‘Sorry, Mr Fitzwilliam,’ he said over his shoulder.

  Elspeth turned a querying eye on him. ‘You haven’t been here before, yet they seem to know you. Your fame precedes you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Sorry. This sort of thing happens.’