Moment of Truth

by Michael Pryor

  ‘Just a familiarisation tour, sir.’ The magical surveillance section was such a speciality that the sensitive magicians who were part of it were trained for months before being accepted into its ranks. Being able to detect magical perturbations at a distance was a rare, refined skill and Aubrey had great admiration for those who had it.

  ‘Our best surveillance operatives are concerned,’ Craddock said. ‘They are detecting some remarkably unusual emanations from north-west Holmland. Near the border with Gallia.’

  Aubrey tried to remember a map of the Continent, but George spoke up first. ‘From Stalsfrieden?’

  ‘In that area. What do you know about it?’

  ‘A centre for heavy industry,’ Caroline said promptly. ‘Not armaments, but farm machinery, some lorry building, a few metalworking plants.’

  ‘It’s a river port, too,’ Aubrey said, in an effort to hold up his end. ‘And an important railway hub.’

  Tallis grunted and pushed the folder across the desk. ‘There’s more here.’

  George scooped it up. ‘Hmm ... I didn’t know it was the centre of Holmland playing card manufacture.’

  ‘I take it that lorry building and playing cards wouldn’t cause the sort of perturbations the surveillance people are talking about,’ Aubrey said. ‘So you’re suggesting that something new is happening in Stalsfrieden?’

  ‘New and disturbing,’ Tallis said. ‘Disturbing enough to make us concerned.’

  ‘When do we leave?’ Caroline asked.

  Aubrey hesitated. He’d been thinking that their role was consultative here.

  ‘You are a novice team, in the extreme,’ Craddock said, pointing with his letter opener. ‘Normally, we wouldn’t be sending you out for months. In many ways, your training has only begun.’

  Aubrey’s excitement grew. That didn’t sound like a contradiction. They were going on assignment! He clamped down on his enthusiasm, lest he talk them out of it.

  ‘These are unusual times,’ Tallis said. ‘We’ve mobilised all our experienced people, they’re already scattering themselves throughout Albion and the Continent, monitoring sensitive sites, inserting themselves into suspect organisations.’ He sucked a breath in through his teeth. ‘If I had my way...’

  Craddock tapped the desk with the letter opener. ‘What our esteemed Commander Tallis is trying to say is that we have little choice but to use inexperienced teams like yourself. With trepidation, of course, but these are straitened times.’

  Tallis’s face was something like a gargoyle, something like a topographic map as it tried to express his reluctance. ‘At the bottom of it all, you are now members of the Albion armed forces, for better or for worse, so it’s your duty to respond when needed.’ He paused. ‘And remember: you are subject to military discipline, but you have the support of the entire Albion fighting forces.’

  Commander Craddock took this up. ‘Which is a roundabout way of pointing out that the military is a hierarchical beast. From Brigadier Ramsthorn down to the lowliest, rawest recruit, the chain of command is an inviolable thing.’

  An inkling nudged Aubrey at that moment, a sense of knowing what Craddock was about to say. It wasn’t totally a comfortable feeling and Aubrey was on the verge of actually squirming before he caught himself.

  ‘The upshot of this,’ Craddock continued, ‘is that before you’re let loose, your commission needs clarifying. For each of you. You may have to deal with Gallian officers, and your status must be confirmed.’

  ‘Brevetting you as lieutenants is standard procedure, but don’t get big-headed about it,’ Tallis said. ‘It’s the most junior commission we could come up with while still allowing you to hold your head up with the Gallians. Just don’t go swaggering about in front of any of our veterans, the ones who’ve earned their braid.’

  Craddock and Tallis shared a look. ‘Which leads us to the matter of a unit commander,’ Tallis said. ‘Despite being irregular and unorthodox, we’ve decided that a command structure is needed. Fitzwilliam, we’ve chosen to brevet you as a captain, in charge of these two. Congratulations,’ he added, and the word appeared to cost him some effort.

  Aubrey was astounded. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he managed. ‘Sirs.’

  He glanced at Caroline. Aubrey was sure she would have made an excellent unit commander. He wondered if Craddock and Tallis had considered her.

  She nodded at him, coolly, and he was certain she was thinking the same thing. ‘Congratulations, Aubrey. I’m sure you’ll lead us well.’

  Only if I do it very, very carefully. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Well done, old man.’ George slapped him on the back. ‘I’ll continue to suppress my obvious leadership capabilities, of course. I don’t want to rock the boat.’

  ‘I appreciate it, George.’

  Leadership. Official leadership. Aubrey swallowed. Responsibility redoubled.

  Craddock studied his letter opener for a moment. ‘What is across the border from Stalsfrieden?’

  ‘Divodorum,’ George said. ‘The vinegar capital of Gallia.’

  ‘It’s the home of the University of Divodorum,’ Caroline added.

  Aubrey considered this. The University of Divodorum wasn’t one of Gallia’s foremost institutions, but it had been around since the sixteenth century and attracted many foreign students. As with most ancient universities, the town had grown up around it.

  ‘You’re to be an advance team,’ Craddock said. ‘Blend in with the university students, set up a base, and then we’ll send across a team of sensitives. Closer to the source of the emanations, they may be able to divine more about what’s going on.’

  Aubrey frowned. ‘Why are we being so clandestine? Why aren’t we working with Gallian authorities?’

  Tallis made another face. This time, he managed to get frustration, irritation and weariness into his grimace. ‘We are. You will have some contact, but we’re being very careful about respecting Gallian sovereignty, with the recent brouhaha and all.’

  Of course. Dr Tremaine’s carefully orchestrated revelation that the long-vacated throne of Gallia actually belonged to the royal family of Albion through a long and tortuous tangling of lineage hadn’t torn apart the alliance between the two countries, as Dr Tremaine had no doubt hoped. A number of Gallian patriotic groups were agitating for such, however, with demonstrations and riots, and relations were generally strained.

  Which is not a good thing when embarking on a war, Aubrey thought.

  ‘Albion military presence in Gallia might be seen as provocative,’ Caroline said. ‘Especially among the civilian populace.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Craddock said. ‘So a secret operation appears best. You will be required to take no action – simply setting up a base and helping the surveillance team once it arrives. Keep the lowest of low profiles.’

  Aubrey had a frisson of fear. This was real, going so close to the enemy border.

  Craddock leaned forward. ‘One more thing: we have reports that the Holmlanders have agents throughout Divodorum.’

  Tallis grunted. ‘It’s what we’d do. Have people cross the border, intelligence gathering, making preparations. You won’t know who to trust, so trust nobody.’

  ‘We’ll be on our own,’ Aubrey said. The creeping apprehension wasn’t fear, Aubrey told himself. And if it was fear, it was probably healthy. It would help keep him alert, wary. Alive.

  ‘Apart from one local liaison agent,’ Craddock said. Carefully, he placed the letter opener in front of him. Aubrey took note of how it was exactly parallel with the edge of the desk. ‘A Gallian who will make himself known to you. He may be useful.’

  Aubrey sat back in his chair and put his hands together, rubbing them slowly. He glanced at his friends. Caroline was solemn, but looked determined. She put a hand to the brooch at her collar and then frowned thoughtfully. He could imagine her arranging all the implications of what they’d just been told and then ticking them off once she was satisfied. Very little escaped Caroline. George had
his arms crossed and showed not a trace of levity. He looked like someone who’d been told about an impending, unavoidable operation, something to be endured rather than enjoyed.

  Aubrey knew exactly how they felt.

  Thirteen

  Three days later, a frisky wind whipped across the Finley Moor airfield and in through the window of the Directorate motorcar. George, as driver, handed their credentials to the guard at the gatehouse and then turned to peer into the back seat. ‘The place has expanded, hasn’t it, old man?’

  Aubrey was sitting with Caroline in the rear of the discreet and powerful vehicle, and had enjoyed the journey from the city immensely. Caroline’s closeness was always enjoyable, and the enthusiasm with which she pored over the maps and travel documents was infectious. She was wearing stylish travel clothes – maroon leather gloves, a long gaberdine coat, a neat suit, a felt beret – and she had trouble concealing her excitement now that the mission was underway. She did her best to hide it by adopting a pose of unruffled professionalism, but the grin that escaped when Aubrey questioned small matters in their orders showed how the excitement was bubbling in her.

  Aubrey was the same. The weightiness when given the mission had fallen away and was replaced by relief at launching into action instead of merely waiting, stewing in uncertainty.

  Caroline gazed through the motorcar window at the huge shapes serenely bobbing at their mooring mast. ‘It’s been an age since I’ve been on an airship. Father took us to the Americas on a lecture tour when I was small.’

  ‘These are all military craft,’ Aubrey said after scanning the scene through the window. Of course, he had to lean close to Caroline to do so, but he was just being helpful. The airships varied in shape and size, with the newest shining with bright aluminium skins. He wondered what other advances they had. ‘They won’t be as luxurious as your transcontinental dirigibles.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Caroline said without taking her eyes from the window. ‘Just to be flying again is enough.’

  Their preparations for the mission had been a scramble. Together and apart, they were provisioned and briefed. Visits to the Quartermaster, the Magic Chandler and the Armourer had outfitted them with diverse and clever equipment. Aubrey was still having trouble finding the best position for his handgun. He currently wore it on his left side, under his armpit, as advised by the Armourer, but the bulk of the Symons service revolver made it uncomfortable. George and Caroline didn’t seem to have a problem. Caroline no doubt because she was accustomed to concealing firearms about her person, and George because he’d opted for the somewhat experimental Symons Self-Loader, a new pistol with a seven-round magazine, more compact than the bulky, but reliable, Mark IV revolver Aubrey was carrying.

  Other equipment ranged from concealed compasses, hidden map containers, disguised code books and sundry items as requested by each of them. Aubrey had specifically asked for a magical suppression unit, having a conviction that such a thing could be handy, but the Magic Chandler – after consulting Commander Craddock – had declined the request. ‘Travel light and make do’ was the motto of the mission and the smallest suppression device was the size of a breadbox, despite some rapid advances in spellcraft and technology.

  Aubrey took Caroline’s left hand. He did it without thinking, which was fortunate, for he wouldn’t have if he’d pondered the action. ‘That’s a new ring.’

  ‘It’s only taken you three days to notice,’ she said, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

  Aubrey wanted to tell her that he sometimes became a little fuzzy about details of ornamentation or accessories when he looked at her because she captivated all his attention. It wasn’t a bad declaration, but he wondered if it sounded too much like flattery, or fulsomeness, and perhaps something more direct would be better, and as he did, the moment passed. He lapsed into floundering. ‘Well, it’s been busy, with one thing and another, and I’ve been trying to memorise our route and code details and–’

  ‘It’s from the Armourer.’

  ‘Not from Anderson and Sutch?’

  ‘The jeweller’s? No. Look closely.’

  The ring was an oval black stone in a silver setting. The band was slender, and it looked good on Caroline, as most things tended to. It could have been gold, for instance, and it still would have ... He brought himself up short and peered closely. ‘It’s lovely. Jet?’

  ‘It’s enamelled metal. If I prise it up I have a length of very fine wire.’

  ‘Just in case you need to repair a piano?’

  ‘You’d be surprised at what use a length of wire can be put to. Have you heard of garrotting?’

  Aubrey shuddered. ‘I hope it doesn’t come to that.’

  ‘So do I.’ She turned the stone ninety degrees. ‘And now it’s a handy small blade, for use in awkward situations.’

  ‘You’re not going to do someone much damage with that.’ The blade was the same width as the band, but only a fraction of an inch long.

  ‘It’s not for hand-to-hand combat, Aubrey.’

  ‘Then what’s it for?’

  ‘I’ll find a use for it.’

  ‘Clever gadget.’ Aubrey wondered if he’d been shortsighted in merely walking away with a compass inside a hollow heel of his shoe. He never thought he’d be accused of a lack of imagination, but he clearly had a few things to learn about this world of furtive armament. Caroline, on the other hand, had a natural bent for it.

  After a formal visit to the base commander, George navigated between the enormous hangars, then crossed the vast open space where the dirigibles were moored. Ground crews were at work. Lorries raced between them and the support buildings, with repair materials, fuel or supplies.

  They found their designated craft: the A 205. Aubrey was pleased. This was the latest in the Albion airship fleet, the most modern, the most advanced, and the most recently built. Great ropes had brought it close to the ground, but its bulk still blocked out the sun when they drew close. A uniformed, moustachioed figure stood, arms behind his back, at the open door to the control car suspended beneath the belly of the great ship. As they approached, the engines coughed. ‘Quickly now!’ he shouted, waving. ‘We’re casting off as soon as you’re aboard!’

  As soon as they stepped inside he greeted them enthusiastically. ‘Lieutenant Davey! You made good time!’ Then, with much shouting and clattering, the gangplank was stowed, the hatch closed, and Lieutenant Davey barked into a speaking tube. Immediately, Aubrey felt a swooping lurch. Caroline clutched his shoulder, eyes bright, and she pointed through the glass observation ports as the airfield dropped away.

  The great propellers stuttered, then wound up until they hummed, a blur to the eye. The airship rose speedily toward the clouds, its vertical ascent easily outpacing its lateral movement. As they climbed, the countryside rolled away in all directions. The flatness around Finley Moor became the river valley of the Harwell, then unfolded to become the greenness that lay between the river and the sprawling outskirts of Trinovant. It had taken an hour for George to drive the motorcar from the capital to the airfield, but it looked as if the airship could cross the same distance in minutes.

  Except we’re going in the other direction, Aubrey thought and, as he did, the great craft did indeed lumber around, swinging its nose to the west. The engines’ howl rose in pitch and Aubrey guessed that they were working into a headwind.

  ‘I never get sick of it,’ Lieutenant Davey said, straightening from an observation port and dusting his hands together. He was grinning. ‘It’s like the world is being made afresh each time we fly.’ He grinned. ‘Come up to the bridge. Captain Bailey wants to discuss your mission.’

  Aubrey and his friends followed as he hurried along corridors and stairways that would have been at home on an ocean liner. It was certainly a more comfortable way of flying than the noisy, cramped ornithopters, and undoubtedly safer than the new fixed-wing aircraft.

  Aubrey liked Lieutenant Davey’s enthusiasm. As well as being infectio
us and allaying any misgivings they may have had, it was reassuring to see such keenness in the service of the country. Albion would be well served if all its people showed as much gusto as Lieutenant Davey.

  Captain Bailey was standing right at the front of the bridge with a pair of field glasses pressed to his face. He was an older man, with a neatly trimmed grey beard. Three other airmen were on the bridge, one doing the helming and the others performing arcane tasks known only to fellow airmen. Keeping a lookout for flocks of birds? Aubrey guessed wildly. Monitoring gas expansion?

  When Davey cleared his throat, Captain Bailey lowered his field glasses. ‘Ah, the Directorate people. Good to have you aboard. Miss Hepworth.’ He took her hand and bowed over it, very slightly. ‘Fitzwilliam, Doyle.’ He shook hands. He was a short man, stocky, with alarmingly broad shoulders. Wrestler’s shoulders, Aubrey always thought of them as. ‘Come into my ready room. Keep it on a seventy degrees north heading, Cheney.’

  The helmsman nodded. ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  The ready room opened off the bridge and was surprisingly spacious. It had a desk, at the rear near a round porthole that let in the late afternoon sun. The front half was more like a comfortable lounge with a suite of low leather armchairs in a circle, surrounding a low table.

  ‘Five o’clock on the dot,’ Captain Bailey said, taking one of the armchairs. ‘Perfect. What about a spot of tea?’

  George beamed and Aubrey knew that the captain of the airship had a friend for life. ‘We’d appreciate that,’ he said.

  The captain leaned to the wall and pulled a cord. ‘Tea, and we can decide how we can help you when we reach our target.’

  Aubrey hesitated. Was this a trick question? ‘By landing and letting us off, I suppose.’