When he’d gathered himself sufficiently, and disengaged his neck from the woollen scarf that had taken on boa constrictor-like qualities, Aubrey quickly estimated how fast they were falling and was relieved to see that the treetops below were relatively stationary. The rain squall had passed, too, and if it weren’t for the wind he decided he’d be quite enjoying their position.
He turned to Caroline. Her teeth were white in the darkness. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Aubrey! I can see for miles!’
Aubrey was enchanted all over again by a magic much more subtle than his craft. Caroline’s unashamed excitement made his heart thump even more than could be accounted for by their plummeting.
George bobbed over, pulling himself closer by the rope around their waists. He jerked a thumb at the ground and looked quizzical. Aubrey sighed. He needed to bring their fall under control.
‘Drag yourselves closer!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll get us down!’
The rope seemed like a good idea at the time, Aubrey thought as he tried to push his face away from the rough bark of the tree. The rope had tangled around the trunk, trapping him close. ‘Caroline! George! Are you all right?’
‘Up here, Aubrey.’
With some difficulty, Aubrey levered his head a little away from the trunk and peered up through the leaves. Caroline was perched on a solid branch, looking down with some concern. She’d managed to hook one end of the rope around a projecting limb. While he clung to the trunk, he was taking the weight of the other end, but if he slipped he could drag her off.
‘Where’s George?’
‘Over here, old man, upside down and swinging away.’
Aubrey tried to look to his left, but couldn’t move his head in that direction. ‘Is anyone hurt? I mean, apart from my bark rash?’
‘Uncomfortable,’ George said, ‘but unharmed.’
‘I’m quite comfortable,’ Caroline said. ‘Can you hold on, Aubrey?’
Aubrey had his arms wrapped around the trunk of the tree. He wasn’t quite sliding downward, but he couldn’t find anything to grip on to. ‘Not for long.’
‘Right. I’ll just need a minute.’
Aubrey made out a flash in the darkness. The pressure on his rope eased and for a panicked moment, he fell. Then, after barely a foot, he was brought up short and he clutched the trunk, his heart racing.
‘There,’ Caroline said briskly, as if she were discussing a garden arrangement. ‘The rope is secure now. You can climb up. George?’
‘Still dangling here.’
‘I’ve cut your rope away from me. I’m now going to drop off my branch while holding it.’
‘What? Are you sure?’
‘You’ll be hauled up to the branch. Do grab it.’
Aubrey had been inching up the trunk, but he nearly let go of his end of the rope. ‘Caroline! What about you?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me.’
He needn’t have. In the darkness, it was hard to make out, but a bulky, cursing shape shot upward, almost colliding with him on its upward passage, and somewhere overhead it thumped into a branch with enough force to make the tree shake. More cursing, then a shower of twigs and leaves fell about Aubrey’s head. ‘George?’
Silence for a moment, then a forbearing voice. ‘I’m safe. Scratched, bruised, and probably green from head to foot, but I’m safe.’
A slim silhouette swooped past, flipped, and landed lightly just above. Light laughter told Aubrey it was Caroline rather than some woodland sprite, although he was sure he could be forgiven if he confused them.
He clenched his teeth and edged up his rope until he joined his friends on the limb Caroline had chosen.
Caroline was sitting, bright-eyed, hands in her lap, aviator helmet just slightly askew. ‘Well, here we all are. What’s next?’
Fifteen
After burying the rope and finding the bundle of earlier dropped equipment, it was a matter of waiting for dawn and the train and munching chocolate bars for breakfast.
They found an elevated area in the woods, a knoll where a large boulder had pushed its way up through the grass, to monitor the city and the railway. As the night passed, cool and moist, the shapes of the town began to emerge from the blackness. Towers and spires of churches, remnants of the medieval city, the old bridges over the rivers and, as the light grew, buildings made from limestone, common in the area.
Aubrey could make out two significant parts of the city. To the north-east was the fortress, looking outward toward the Holmland border. On the west side of the city, closer to their current position, was the sprawl of the university, a conglomeration of buildings that showed every sign of having grown over the centuries, stretching along the bank of the Mosa River, and penetrating the surrounding streets toward the centre of the town. Even at this early hour, electric lights showed in the university buildings, signs of those either working very late or beginning before anyone else.
The plan was to wait for the morning’s first Lutetia– Divodorum passenger train, then to mingle with the people arriving. As Divodorum was an important centre in the north-east region of Gallia, the influx of newcomers to the town was unlikely to cause comment. The suitcases they’d recovered from the equipment drop gave the semblance of ordinariness that Aubrey wanted. They were foreign students, registered and expected, perfectly normal thank you very much.
Aubrey took it as a good sign that the train arrived on time, and their mingling went smoothly. As the passengers alighted and left the station, Aubrey, Caroline and George emerged from the woods nearby, chatting about their non-existent journey and blending in for all they were worth.
Divodorum was an oddity. Only twenty miles from the border with Holmland, it was relatively secure. The wooded and hilly region between the city and the border had long been deemed an unlikely route for the enemy to take. The build-up in fortifications had been routine, according to their briefing papers, and became almost perfunctory once the Holmland alliance had struck east at Muscovia and simultaneously pushed through the Low Countries. A third front? Through Divodorum? Ridiculous.
As such, life went on in the university town much as it always had – apart from a healthy dose of suspicion that Holmland agents were everywhere.
George was the appointed navigator for this phase and he confidently pointed the way. ‘Left at that big lumpy building.’
‘The theatre?’ Aubrey said.
‘That’s the one.’
Caroline was walking by his side. She’d abandoned her aviator’s helmet – to Aubrey’s disappointment as he thought it rather chic – and was wearing a bright red, close-fitting toque hat that matched her bright red suitcase and shoes. He wondered how much of her wide-eyed gazing about was real and how much was assuming the guise of a new student. She leaned close. ‘Can you spot the Holmland agents?’
He jerked his head about and, to his astonishment, his hand went to his revolver. ‘Holmlanders?’
‘A little louder, old man,’ George muttered. ‘I think a few people back in Albion didn’t hear. We turn right at the fountain.’
Aubrey hunched, feeling enemy agents all around, and vowed that he’d keep well away from grabbing at his firearm as a first response. He glanced at Caroline, but she was still pointing at the sights. ‘Did you see someone?’ he asked in what he hoped was a low voice.
‘No, but I’m alert.’
‘There it is,’ George said. ‘On the corner.’
The boarding house was tired-looking limestone, three storeys, many windowed. Wide stairs and an elaborate canopy over the door suggested that, perhaps, it had known better days.
The landlady was expecting them. After inspecting Aubrey’s letter of introduction she showed them to their rooms. Her suspicions were of a baser kind than suspecting them of being Holmland agents, Aubrey guessed, and it explained why Caroline was given a sunny room on the ground floor, while George and he were put far away – at the other end of the building on the third floor.
From his window, Aubr
ey could see the university. The clock tower chimed nine o’clock and he was on a mission. For a moment, he revelled in the feeling. He’d had adventures – hair-raising adventures – but they were always happenstance and doing one’s best in harumscarum circumstances. This time, however, he’d been charged with a specific responsibility to undertake. His worth had been measured and found satisfactory. For someone who had spent most of his life striving to prove himself, it was most pleasing.
A knock came at the door. Before he could respond, it opened and George slipped inside with his suitcase. ‘Found a place to stow your stuff, old man?’
Aubrey’s suitcase was still on his bed, unopened. ‘Top of the wardrobe too obvious?’
‘’Fraid so. Any other suggestions? Apart from under the bed.’
Encoding devices, some basic wireless telegraphy equipment, and a selection of useful tools and weapons weren’t the usual accompaniments for students, and their instructions had been to conceal them as soon as possible. Details on exactly how to do this had been left to them. Quite a few other details had been left up to them, covered up with much talk of having to show initiative. It either showed faith in their initiative or a lack of understanding about the actual situation in Divodorum.
Or perhaps it’s the way wars unfolded.
‘It looks as if under the bed will have to do for now.’
‘Good Lord,’ George blurted from the window, where he’d wandered. ‘I think we have trouble.’
At that moment, Caroline arrived at the door and she joined Aubrey in hurrying to the window. Together, they watched the dirigible that was approaching Divodorum from the south. ‘What’s Captain Bailey up to?’ Caroline said. ‘I thought he would have been well clear of the area by now.’
‘That’s not the A 205.’ Aubrey peered over the rooftops. ‘That’s a Gallian military airship.’
‘Can you make out any identification?’ Caroline asked.
The great craft rumbled closer to the city, but the way it veered toward the eastern edge of Divodorum tended to confirm their speculation. ‘Definitely Gallian,’ Aubrey said. ‘But first things first: we need to find somewhere to set up our post.’
The primary objective for their mission was to find a building to act as a facility for the second phase team, a building that would be secure enough and private enough for remote sensers to work from.
‘So we need to reconnoitre?’ George said. ‘Splendid.’
Aubrey plucked a map of the city from his suitcase. It didn’t need to be hidden – it was the sort of thing that any newcomer to Divodorum would have. He unfolded it and frowned. ‘We could go separate ways,’ he began, but Caroline had other ideas.
‘We should purchase bicycles. A perfect mode of transport for a student. We can cover more ground.’
It was George’s turn to frown. ‘How long are we likely to be out?’
‘Don’t worry, George,’ Caroline said. ‘I’ve already asked our landlady if she could put together a hamper for us.’
‘Really?’ George brightened. ‘I wouldn’t have dared. She looked rather formidable.’
‘She’s an old dear. Worried, of course, about the war. Her husband died in a skirmish thirty years ago but she won’t move. Divodorum is her home, she says, but she wishes they’d finish the earthworks to the north. Oh, and she’s sure that the Mayor’s assistant is in the pay of the Holmlanders.’
Aubrey groped for an appropriate response. ‘You found all that out just now?’
‘It’s not difficult, Aubrey. It’s just a matter of asking a question or two, then nodding sympathetically and listening hard.’
George went out with some of the gold to find a bicycle shop. Caroline took the opportunity to help the landlady in the kitchen – while continuing to gather as much local knowledge as she could.
Which left Aubrey alone, so he took the time to review the mission plans and to make some notes on refinements to the rate of descent spell. Something that would avoid proximity to trees would be a useful addition or, if he couldn’t devise such a thing, a quick treatment for bark rash was his next option.
The bicycles George bought were fresh, new and of the best Gallian make. Aubrey felt quite stylish as he mounted the bright blue model he chose, and quite unobtrusive as the student population of Divodorum had apparently decided, as one, to wake up and take to the streets. Most of them were cyclists of one sort or another. Predominantly the daredevil sort, Aubrey decided as they swooped past, gowns and scarves flying.
Navigator George led the way again, with Aubrey and Caroline close behind. They spent a good two hours meandering through the blessedly flat streets, sizing up and discarding properties for a number of reasons – lack of access, lack of electricity, poor condition, too close to other buildings. Aubrey was determined to delay the inevitable next step of approaching property agents. He thought that young people interested in light industrial premises may be unusual enough to draw attention. Curious Gallians were one thing, but more professionally curious Holmlanders would be bound to follow.
Lunch was in a little park near the university, with many students having the same idea and enjoying the sun. Over good bread, cheese and local ham, they discussed the few possibilities and why they weren’t really good enough anyway. Nearby, others argued philosophy, art and sport.
War seemed a long way away. Aubrey enjoyed the ease of the lunch but was nagged by their lack of success. He wanted to nail down this part of the mission quickly, finding a base. After that would come the more complicated work of readying it for the team of remote sensers. Aubrey had some plans for this phase that might prove demanding, in time, resources and their personal capabilities, plans to go beyond their mission outline. He wanted to impress the Directorate, and doing more than expected was a useful way of going about it, to his mind.
George pointed with a cheese-laden length of crusty bread. ‘I say, isn’t that what’s-his-name?’
A Gallian officer was striding toward them, ignoring the students lounging on the lawn. He bore down on them with intent, and alarm stirred inside Aubrey. He didn’t want a run-in with authorities, not so early in their mission.
‘Fitzwilliam!’ The officer beamed, and continued in good Albionish. ‘You are here!’
Aubrey stood and grasped the Gallian airman’s outstretched hand. ‘Hello, Saltin. What brings you to Divodorum?’
‘You, of course! Ah, M’mselle Hepworth, Doyle – and is that a Divodorum ham?’
‘It certainly is,’ George said, ‘and a jolly fine one it is. Congratulations on the promotion, Saltin. Major Saltin.’
‘Join us, Major,’ Caroline said, catching Aubrey’s eye. ‘Please do.’
‘Plenty for all,’ Aubrey said, divining Caroline’s intent. It was far better for Saltin to sit on the ground for a picnic than to stand in the middle of the park, the centre of attention. With the elaborate uniform of the Gallian airship corps, his thick dark hair and his prominent, well-oiled moustache, he was almost the complete anti-student, the opposite of their carefully studied casualness, artfully arranged assemblies of coats and scarves, and hair that was dishevelled just so.
Major Saltin was a prominent member of the Gallian airship corps. Aubrey and George had saved him from certain death when his dirigible exploded while on a goodwill tour of Albion. Full of Gallian energy and charm, he had become an important connection between the Gallian military and Albion intelligence services.
Major Saltin’s appetite was as good as George’s. He was quick to put together a stylish arrangement of ham, cheese and bread. ‘It was your Commander Tallis,’ he said between bites, ‘who wanted me to meet you, to be your person of liaison. His people communicated with my superiors, who sent the message down the line to me. I flew in this morning.’
Thus explaining the Gallian airship. With some satisfaction, Aubrey ticked that item off his list of things to investigate. ‘Did your superior mention the nature of our mission?’
‘Mission?’ Saltin looked p
erplexed. ‘I thought I was sent to watch over you while you studied at the university. Sir Darius’s son deserves such assistance.’
‘Not exactly,’ Aubrey said carefully. It appeared as if inter-governmental communications weren’t all they should be – and it didn’t bode well for coordination in future. ‘Our task here is war related.’
Saltin made a face. ‘The war. A farce. It should all be over in a few weeks.’
‘Really?’ George leaned forward, neatly balancing half a hard-boiled egg on a slice of bread.
‘Holmland troops will march back and forward through the Low Countries, enough to show how brave and shiny they are, then they will go home and the negotiations will start.’ Saltin waved a hand. ‘That is what people are saying. All will be calm by Christmas.’
He doesn’t know about Dr Tremaine, Aubrey thought. He took an olive from a jar that Caroline produced from the hamper. ‘Regardless, we have to find a property. A useful property to prepare as a base for some other operatives who will be here soon.’
Saltin thoughtfully munched on his ham and cheese concoction. ‘I’ve visited Divodorum many times. I know people who may be able to help.’
Conversation turned to more mundane matters while the picnic supplies diminished – the weather, the latest fashions, Major Saltin’s plans for his moustache. The day was soft and warm, and for a moment Aubrey was able to forget the pressing of the war, with the laughter of nearby students adding to the drowsy comfort of the park. Without raising himself from his prone position, Aubrey could see rowing boats on the river, where couples drifted, absorbed in each other.
It was a way of life he could grow accustomed to. He brushed an ant off the rug. Caroline was telling Major Saltin about dances in Trinovant, while George gazed about the park and made desultory scrawls in a notebook.
After the picnic was packed up, Saltin walked with them toward the fortress, explaining that the area around it was the sort of light industrial district that might have something suitable. As they neared, a column of military lorries and wagons thundered over one of the medieval bridges, sending up dust that hung in the still, warm air. ‘We’ve been told to avoid the Holmland border when flying,’ Saltin said while they waited for the dust to settle. ‘For the time being. It is a shame, for the Holmlanders are good men, fine pilots.’
Moment of Truth Page 15
