Moment of Truth (23 page)

‘I beg your pardon?' Aubrey said.

‘Jungle animals. Made of concrete.'

It must be,
Aubrey thought. ‘Anything else?'

‘No. But he wasn't the only one who thought the animals funny. He said that the owner, Baron von Grolman, laughed whenever he walked past them.'

The train whistle sounded, closer.

Aubrey looked at George, who shrugged. Caroline looked thoughtful.

‘So your brother is stationed at Baron von Grolman's factory in Stalsfrieden?' Aubrey sighed. ‘All right. Let's see what we can do.'

The train whistle sounded again, shrill and echoing from the hills, as the locomotive chuffed and laboured along the tracks. Aubrey swung up the field glasses to see the train coming off the curve to the south and working hard on the approaches to the railway bridge. The ironwork crossed the Mosa, a latticework against the grey and lowering sky, holding the bridge high above the broad expanse of the river. Artillery boomed in a thumping counterpoint to the steam engine. A coal barge slipped underneath the bridge on its way downstream.

Aubrey's gaze lingered on the bridge. It was an example of fine engineering, three long arches. It looked both solid and graceful, with two magnificently curved iron trusses supporting the spans. Three massive piers in local stone stood in the river, impervious to flood.

Aubrey focused more closely on the central pier. On closer inspection, it was actually an amalgamation of a number of octagonal iron columns and stone blocks. He was impressed by its sturdiness, and the way the materials were interlocked, but he frowned when he spied a number of ominous shapes near water level. They were strikingly out of place, looking makeshift against the elegant construction of the pier, made of wood and metal in various proportions. With growing apprehension, Aubrey counted half a dozen of them surrounding the pier, linked by wire, and he was sure more would be found on the other side.

He ran through a dozen possibilities in his mind, and none of them were good. Before he knew it he was sprinting toward the river and the bridge beyond, unsure of what he was going to do, but knowing that he didn't want to see the train crossing the bridge until the nature of the menacing boxes was determined.

He ran, waving his arms and calling out as he burst through the vegetation on the river bank. The train was on the approaches and steaming mightily since its destination was in sight. Aubrey hallooed, jumped up and down, forgetting all concern for appearances. If it were a mistake, he was sure he could explain his way out of trouble. If it weren't...

The train was nearly across when, impossibly, the bridge abruptly rose in the middle.

The noise reached him first, then the blast spun him around and slapped him with a giant hand – a stunning, ear-punishing roar. He was thrown backward into the dense arms of a yellow-flowering broom. He rolled to his feet in time to meet his friends coming down the bank. The trees were still shaking, leaves shredding about them in a storm. Aubrey could feel the earth trembling.

‘The bridge!' Aubrey shouted over the ringing in his ears, trying to make his friends understand what had happened. ‘They've blown up the train!'

Sirens, church bells, cries of distress and the barking of dogs added to the cacophony. Within minutes, most of the remaining population of Divodorum was rushing toward what had once been the bridge over the Mosa River. Many of them poured out of the station, where hundreds had been waiting.

Appalled and sickened, Aubrey, George, Caroline and Sophie abandoned their picnic gear. They slid and scrambled their way through the woods to the outskirts of the station, where they had a clearer view of the disaster.

The railway tracks stretched from the station a few hundred yards to what had once been a sturdy and muchused bridge. Now, it was a twisted wreck. None of the piers were standing. The approaches were intact but they led to an awful, gaping nothingness.

The acrid smell of high explosives was heavy in the air, which was a haze of smoke, dust and a fine mist of water. He couldn't help wondering how much had been used. Clearly, it had been attached to the central pier and equally clearly – because of the timing – the aim had been not just to bring down the bridge, but to take the train and its passengers down too.

A few small craft were coming down the river toward where the bridge had been – dinghies, rowing boats, a half-laden barge – but standing next to the bridge abutment Aubrey could see no sign of the train. Stunned into dizziness, he held onto the dressed stone with both hands to stop himself pitching into the river, which was churning with the violence imposed on it, so much steel, concrete, stone and iron plunging into the water.

So many lives.

They stayed on the riverbank for hours, doing their best to help with the desperate need that witnesses of tragedy so often have – but there was little they could contribute. None of the flotilla of craft that swarmed over the river brought back any survivors.

The army set up an emergency centre just outside the station, complete with field hospital, as people milled about, grey-faced and dazed, sleepwalking while fully awake. Otherwise, the general organisation was haphazard. The few remaining students from the university hovered about the site with goodwill and volunteerism, but were reduced to hand-wringing frustration amid the horror. As much as possible, Aubrey shadowed the Gallian colonel who was in charge, but who spent most of his time looking shattered. Eventually military barges joined the civilian craft. After cruising up and down for some time, they tried using heavy winches and grappling equipment, but after several neardisasters they gave up, the weight of the train wreckage obviously defeating them.

When evening fell, bodies began to be brought ashore and it was time to leave.

Heavy-hearted, speaking in monosyllables, they trudged past the station. George made a few gestures that they all understood and he veered away up through the woods to retrieve their hamper and blanket.

A figure Aubrey recognised came through the crowd by the station. ‘Saltin!' he called, waving.

The Gallian major saw who was calling. He pushed toward them and Aubrey saw he was red-eyed, shoulders slumped. ‘Fitzwilliam. M'mselles.'

‘This is M'mselle Delroy, Saltin.'

‘Ah.' Saltin made an effort to regain his usual charm. ‘You are the famous daughter of the esteemed Dr Auguste Delroy?'

‘I am.'

‘It is an honour.'

Aubrey thought there was much to follow up there, but he had more pressing inquiries. ‘Saltin, did you find out that information?'

‘Information?' Saltin patted his breast pocket. ‘But of course. I was given a reply, but I have not read it. The bridge...' He took out a piece of paper and his already grim face grew grimmer as he read. ‘I'm sorry. Your three agents were on the train. There is no hope for them.'

Divodorum, already infested with rumours, began swarming with them. Major Saltin accompanied Aubrey and his friends on the night trek back to their base and, along the way, through streets that were either abandoned or crowded with a second wave of citizens fleeing the city, they overheard snatches of anxious conversations outside cafés and bars where the fearful remaining citizens gathered. Holmland agents were everywhere. Holmland battalions were marching into town in the morning. Holmland airships were about to drop incendiary devices on the city. The two road bridges across the Mosa and the Salia had been found to have explosives wired to them. And, most worryingly, Holmland forces had encircled the town to the south and west. Aubrey didn't know what to believe and what to discard. Rumour was proving to be an efficient worker in the Holmland cause.

Saltin excused himself when they reached the factory. ‘I must return to the airfield.' In the pool of light thrown by a single electric lamp outside the front doors, he shook his head. ‘Those poor young men.'

‘And their families.' Aubrey couldn't bear thinking of the outcry when the news arrived.

‘All Gallia will be shocked,' Sophie said. ‘But we will be roused by it as well. Holmland may think us weak, but we will surprise them.'

Saltin straightened and nodded decisively. ‘You are right, M'mselle.' He yawned and only covered it with an effort, then waved farewell.

Aubrey felt for the airman. He was a good man, doing his best in awful circumstances, but he had a feeling that more people like that would be needed before it was all over.

Aubrey brushed the lock with his magical awareness, enough to sense that it had remained undisturbed. Once inside, he snapped on the electric lights. He rubbed his hands together at the coolness that haunted the factory.

‘I'm hungry,' George announced. Aubrey hadn't realised it until his friend said it, but they'd missed their evening meal. Without waiting, George took Sophie to the kitchen.

‘Keeping busy can be a good thing,' Caroline said. She sat at the oval table and crossed her arms, hugging herself.

‘When in distress? Agreed. And having someone understanding close by is useful, too.'

‘I wish we didn't have to keep up appearances.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘There's nothing I'd like better right now than to stretch out on a chaise longue. Or a pile of silk cushions.'

The image both disturbed and enchanted Aubrey. ‘I'm sorry...' He patted his pockets. ‘But I don't have anything like that with me. Not at the moment.'

Caroline sighed. ‘I'd even pay good money for a hot bath. If there was bath oil included.'

Aubrey wondered why it had suddenly grown so warm. ‘I thought the shower bath arrangement we set up worked quite well. Hygienic.'

‘Sometimes, Aubrey, one wants more than hygiene.'

Savoury smells began to waft from the kitchen – herbs, garlic, onions – and the clatter of pans gave Aubrey an excuse to turn away, to try to work out what Caroline was hinting at, but he accepted that the pyramids would be worn to nubs in the desert before he could ever hope to reach that state of wisdom.

George and Sophie brought laden trays to the table and served piping hot mushroom omelettes, a green salad and the last of the fresh bread. Sophie was pale with tiredness, but did her best to smile bravely. ‘The omelettes, I made. The salad and bread is George.'

Caroline stood and guided Sophie to a chair. ‘You poor thing. Sit.'

Aubrey eyes widened as he tucked into the remarkable omelette. It was succulent with mushrooms that were fragrant and earthy, while a hint of – thyme, was it? – added a piquant edge. ‘Good work, Sophie.'

She smiled, wanly, and pushed her own omelette around the plate with a fork. Aubrey watched this closely, knowing from experience how a lack of appetite could be a manifestation of inner torment.

‘Now, Aubrey,' Caroline said. Aubrey looked at her to see that she, too, was studying Sophie with concern. ‘What is it you say about the best remedy for worry?'

Aubrey froze with his fork in mid-air, lettuce glistening with good olive oil. ‘The best remedy?' he repeated, trying to buy time. ‘Or the only remedy?'

A steely look from Caroline let him know that she knew what he was up to. ‘The sovereign remedy, Aubrey.'

‘Ah.' He had it. ‘The remedy for worry is to do something about it.'

‘Something?'

‘Just about anything, really. Sitting around and stewing only makes worry worse.'

‘So you advise that we should do something instead of sitting here and stewing?'

The banter had a brittleness about it, but Aubrey thought it was a game effort in the circumstances.

‘That sounds right,' George said. ‘Waiting around like this is wretched.'

Aubrey put down his knife and fork. He steepled his hands in front of him and then dropped them to the table, embarrassed, when he realised it was one of his father's favourite gestures. ‘First things first, then. We need to communicate with the Directorate about the loss of the remote sensers, and we need to gather intelligence. To
continue
gathering intelligence. Caroline?'

Aubrey was already forming some plans in this area. He knew that remote sensing was a speciality to which he was unsuited, but he'd had some experience with finding out what was going on at a distance, skills that had come in useful growing up in the Fitzwilliam household when he wanted to know what his parents were saying about him.

‘I have it under control. I'll send a report at midnight.' She checked her wrist watch. ‘An hour away.'

‘I'll work up something and crunch it through the encoder,' Aubrey said, ‘as soon as I finish this altogether superb meal.'

‘I can do that,' Caroline said.

‘No...' Aubrey caught himself. He was about to contradict Caroline outright and he'd learned this was rarely a good ploy. ‘No need. The encoding device is tricky.'

‘I watched you over your shoulder. I can handle it.'

I'm sure you can.
‘All right. If you can do that, I can start something where I need two helpers.' He glanced at George. ‘Two helpers who will be ready, bright and early, tomorrow morning.'

George responded gratefully. ‘And isn't it lucky that you have two people here who are keen and willing?'

Late though it was, Aubrey took George and Sophie down to the workshop area in the basement. It was set up with four benches and magical paraphernalia ready for the remote sensers, but it had remained unused. He ran his fingers through his hair as he studied the equipment they'd managed to procure.

They'd been able to get carboys of chemical reagents, standard stuff like acids and salt mixtures. Lots of glassware – beakers, retorts, distillation tubing. A small high temperature furnace, with a collection of crucibles. Bundles of wires, insulated and bare, of various ratings. Modelling clay. Chalk in powder and stick form. Mirrors. Rubber tubing. A selection of hand tools that had originally been meant for working wood and leather. Odds and ends, bits and pieces. Shopping for materials that may prove useful in magic was difficult – especially when one didn't know what sort of magic was going to be undertaken. All he could do was make sure that standard ingredients for familiar spells had been procured and safely stored.

It was all fairly ordinary and didn't necessarily look like the workings of a magical cabal. The remote sensers were meant to be bringing the more esoteric stuff.

It meant, as usual, Aubrey was going to have to work with what he had at hand.

‘Sophie, tell me about the weather in these parts,' he said as he strolled between the benches. He held his hands behind his back and, almost without being aware of it, began to hum, deep in his throat.

‘The weather?'

She glanced at George. He smiled. ‘Go on. It will make sense sooner or later.'

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I am not from this part of Gallia, you understand, but I am told that summer here is variable.' She turned to George. ‘Is that right, variable?' He nodded. She continued. ‘We will have sunny days, of course, but the nights can be cool.'

‘What about the wind?'

‘It can be windy.'

‘But from what direction?' Aubrey mused. ‘That's what I'm keen to know.'

‘From the west, mostly, at this time of year.'

‘Splendid. Just what we need.' Aubrey rubbed his hands together. ‘Right, George, how long is it since you've made a kite?'

‘Box or diamond?'

‘You've made a box kite?'

‘As a little fellow, on the farm, I went through a kitemaking mania, you might say. Became rather an expert.'

‘George, you're a wonder.'

‘I do my best.'

Sophie yawned, then apologised. ‘It has been a long day.'

‘I understand,' Aubrey said. ‘I'm going to check on Caroline first, but you two should get some sleep.'

The door to Caroline's telegraph station was shut. He could see light through the cracks and he could hear the steady tap-tap-tapping of the key. He crept away, leaving her to it.

When he couldn't find George and Sophie he assumed they'd taken his advice. Their sleeping quarters were dark and quiet.

Which left Aubrey alone. He drew a chair up to the oval table and was immediately seized by an overwhelming yawn that left very little room for anything else. He wiped his eyes, stood up, turned around, then sat down again.

The yawn that took him this time was even more encompassing than the first.

I will not go to sleep,
he told himself,
not until I've seen Caroline.

Sunlight coming in through the front window of the factory made Aubrey lift his head from the table.

He groaned. Then he sat up and groaned again as an ache bloomed in his back. And one in his neck. And his knees then complained because he wasn't paying them and their hurts enough attention.

A slip of ivory-coloured paper on the table – the same sort Caroline used to jot notes when sending or receiving – caught his eye. With as few movements as possible, he picked it up.