Moment of Truth (25 page)

Their relationship had changed. In their earnest efforts to remain good friends, they'd become just that. Good, comfortable friends. Cocoa and ginger nut friends. How are you and very well thank you friends. It was an eminently practical and workable way of living, but Aubrey felt as if he'd lost a diamond and found a hundredweight of coal.

‘Sorry?' he said, realising that Caroline had continued speaking while he was wool-gathering.

‘I said that I asked the Directorate for an urgent response, but all I was told was to wait for further instructions. Again.'

‘I can't imagine they'll be able to send another remote sensing team straight away. If the rest of the Directorate is stretched thin, I'd say that the remote sensing department must be stretched almost transparent.'

It was close to dawn, after a frustrating night of waiting at her station, when Caroline received her response. This time, Aubrey was awake and alert, thanks to seven cups of very strong coffee, each one regularly spaced through the night-time hours. The message was terse, and Caroline had to ask for a repeat transmission, as the brevity made her think the message had been interrupted.

‘HOLD POSITION,' Aubrey read after decoding. ‘GATHER INTELLIGENCE.'

Caroline made a face. ‘A distinct lack of imagination there.'

‘No,' Aubrey said distantly. Without thinking, he rolled up the piece of paper and tapped it in his hand like a baton. ‘Tomorrow, we'll follow orders and test our intelligence-gathering kites.'

‘And then?'

‘Hold our position. Gather intelligence.'

A week – seven frustrating, maddening days – later, no further news had arrived from the Directorate. Aubrey wished the message had given some sort of time expectation. ‘GATHER INTELLIGENCE FOR THREE DAYS' or ‘HOLD POSITION FOR A FORTNIGHT' would have been preferable. The lack of certainty was frustrating but, he was starting to understand, it was the military way of doing things.

The makeshift kite intelligence-gathering devices worked well. More or less. Dazzling to look at, especially in the full sun, the kites flew high and true in the consistent breeze from the west. The spider silk was strong, if a little difficult to handle due to its extreme thinness. Leather gloves were definitely needed when handling the line, even after George had rigged a clever hand-cranked spooling mechanism on the roof.

The mirror dish that had been linked magically to the kite surface, however, was problematic. It was a large, shallow dish a few feet across, made from a concrete bird bath Aubrey had found standing forlorn in a corner of the yard. Aubrey could look into it for a maximum of an hour, and Sophie not at all. The image in the bowl was hugely unsteady, despite everything Aubrey tried to stabilise it. Looking into it provoked nausea and headaches within minutes. The first viewing, with all four crowded around it on the roof of the factory, showed the Gallian countryside, heavily wooded and ridged, as soon as Aubrey completed his binding spell. Then, almost immediately, the image swooped sickeningly, even though the kite itself appeared quite placid, high above Divodorum. Soon, Sophie had to flee, decidedly green in the face. George and Caroline held out for longer, but eventually Aubrey was left alone, clutching the sides of the bowl, forehead sweaty, insides a turmoil, trying to make sense of what he saw. With a sketchpad nearby, he endured the shuddering image for nearly an hour before he staggered away to gather himself.

All that day, Aubrey alternated between working on intensifying spells, levitation spells and balancing spells and steeling himself for another bout with the surveillance bowl. At the end of the day he thought he had an impression of the actual placement of forces on both sides, but he also felt as if he'd been adrift in a bathtub in the middle of a hurricane.

A week of it and he was sure that joining the undead would be an actual improvement on how he felt. He lost weight, as he couldn't stomach food at all. Caroline took it upon herself to act almost as an animal trainer; she forced him to take some of Sophie's clear chicken broth at regular intervals. Sleep was a welcome visitor, but when he finally pitched onto his pallet each night, it swayed and swooped beneath him, so ingrained was the nauseating motion.

He did find time, however, to marvel at how unintimidating this physical malaise was. He was reasonably certain he wasn't about to die from it – especially with Caroline's eagle eye on the case – and the distressing physical symptoms certainly weren't signs of his soul wrenching away from his body and leaving him spiritually torn apart. All in all, his projectile vomiting and dry retching were relatively minor discomforts to one whose body and soul had once been on the verge of separating.

He took arid pleasure in the notes he'd compiled, the maps he'd sketched. These would be priceless to the Directorate and the Army. Within a few days, Aubrey had divined the dispersal of Holmland forces in this area, the battlelines, the trenches, the supply routes. This was intelligence gold.

While he was engaged in this, the others were busy. Caroline spent time perfecting the antenna array and restructuring her telegraph cubicle area. George and Sophie kept meals coming as well as doing more work on the factory floor, making it appear even more like a recently active bookbindery. They also spent time in the basement, improving the facilities for what everyone was still expecting to be an influx of Directorate operatives.

George and Sophie were also the main excursionists. They were the ones who went into Divodorum to shop and to reconnoitre a town that they reported as being resolute, terrified – and half-deserted. Reinforcements hadn't appeared, according to talk, as the main Holmland push was to the north-west and all Gallian forces were being rushed in that direction.

After one of these excursions, Sophie gleefully showed Aubrey a small globe of light she'd conjured, the first spell she'd cast for years. She confided that it had taken numerous attempts, but Aubrey praised her efforts and pointed out some useful refinements for her to practise. When she left, excitedly seeking George, he promised himself he'd organise an instructional program for her – when he had time. It would be useful to have someone else on the team who could cast spells.

They had tried to communicate with Major Saltin, only to find that an airship had arrived from Lutetia with orders for him to assume command. George reported, gloomily, that on a reconnaissance mission over the battlelines it had been shot down. While it apparently hadn't exploded, it had come to ground some miles into Holmland, with no news of survivors.

Aubrey was saddened by this news. Major Saltin had been a stalwart, a comforting presence in the area. He would be much missed.

The only optimistic piece of news that George and Sophie managed to garner was the rumour that Albion troops were on their way to relieve Divodorum.

George and Sophie heard this repeated in more than one place. Albion forces were on the way, with thousands of soldiers, hundreds of artillery pieces and tons of equipment. They would save the day.

Which was useful, for a neighbourhood on the eastern edge of Divodorum had actually sustained shelling from long-range guns. After that one instance, it wasn't repeated – but the event was ominous and morale sapping.

Each night, alone in the dark, Caroline listened, intent on the ghostly whispers that flew across the ether. Each night, the same message came: ‘HOLD POSITION. GATHER INTELLIGENCE.'

Aubrey studied the map he'd spread on the table. He'd painstakingly pencilled in the battle lines, the troop and artillery emplacements and the trenches that both sides had dug – at least, to the best of his ability. He was sure that the kite surveillance would be a useful method of gaining intelligence in the future, but right now it was frustrating. He needed a few months of uninterrupted time, a bank of experts to consult, weeks of experimentation before he could effectively refine his procedures.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Caroline examining him as he studied the map. She was dressed in the no-nonsense silk fighting suit under the short leather jacket she'd come to favour. Her hair was pulled back and tied with what looked like a piece of insulated wire. The whole effect was devastating but, then again, he couldn't remember any outfit of hers that hadn't devastated him.

She crossed her arms. ‘We're not going to stay here, are we?'

He straightened, rubbing the small of his back. He had no idea how generals managed, bent over maps all day. ‘We've learned about as much as we can from the kites.'

‘So you're going to get all twitchy at any minute.'

‘I'm patience personified, but I understand if you're getting a little housebound. Factorybound. Hideoutbound.'

‘Need I point out that we haven't learned anything about this factory that we were sent to find out about?' She stabbed a finger at the map. ‘Stalsfrieden.'

‘Two points about that. Firstly, we
weren't
sent to find out about it. That was a job for the remote sensers.'

‘Pooh.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

She narrowed her eyes dangerously. ‘You heard me.'

‘I heard; I simply didn't believe it.'

‘Harrumph,' she said, adding to Aubrey's incredulity. ‘I was about to say that while it may have
technically
been the job of the remote sensers to find out about this Stalsfrieden factory, it was actually the job of this base. The base you're in charge of. Also technically. Your second point?'

Aubrey rocked in place, buffeted by the force of Caroline's argument. ‘Second?'

‘To follow “firstly”.'

‘Of course.' He did his best to retrack his derailed train of thought. ‘Secondly, Stalsfrieden is twenty miles on the other side of the Holmland border. Which is on the other side of the Holmland army.' He eyed her nervously. ‘You're going to pooh again, aren't you?'

‘Perhaps. Your point deserved it.' Instead, she tapped her foot and glared at the map. ‘Well, you're not going to let a small thing like a Holmland army stop us, are you?'

And so, that night they found themselves with George and Sophie creeping through the woods to the north of Divodorum and peering down on the battlefield they were skirting on their way to Stalsfrieden.

Originally, Aubrey had tried to convince George and Sophie to stay behind, but Sophie had united support from George and Caroline. Unspoken was the thought that they would be close to where her brother was, and Aubrey could see a spontaneous side mission waiting to spring upon him. He also knew the inevitable when he saw it. The romance of reuniting a family would appeal to Caroline, while George had only grown closer to Sophie.

Aubrey was sweating under his black balaclava, part of the all-black outfit each of them agreed to wear. Caroline and Sophie wore the sensible trousers and pullovers far more stylishly than any quartermaster could have imagined, Aubrey guessed, and he was sure that Caroline would have her silk fighting suit handy as well. Sophie thought wearing the balaclava was silly, until George pointed out how her blonde hair was a beacon in the darkness, easily seen at a distance. Caroline wore her leather aviator's helmet to good effect.

He lay on his stomach, feeling his revolver poking into his side, and peered across the panorama that was spread in front of them. With Caroline, George and Sophie likewise prone, he brought up the field glasses, metal casing carefully blackened to avoid tell-tale glinting.

A mile down the heavily wooded slope was the bulk of the Gallian force. Aubrey could pick out camp fires and tents, but most of the soldiers had dug in – a long double line of trenches stretched for hundreds of yards to either side. Barbed wire was the feature of the Gallian emplacements, stretched and bundled, ragged and well placed, a warning and a saviour. The rear line of trenches was reinforced, and in places had a rough parapet made of sandbags. The front line, however, looked crude and hasty, more like a series of ragged fox holes than a resolute emplacement.

Nearly half a mile behind the trenches was the artillery – or what was left of the artillery. Aubrey swept the field glasses along what had been the pride of the Gallian gunners, but could only find one field gun that wasn't shattered or overturned. Sandbags were scattered and earthwork emplacements destroyed.

The other side of the Gallian trenches was a bare, chewed-up area, three or four miles in extent, leading to the Holmland emplacement, which was almost a mirror image of the Gallian – trenches, barbed wire, but the artillery was ominously unharmed.

Aubrey had a moment, a tiny frozen moment when the future spread out in front of him. He saw the scene he was looking at repeated, and repeated again and again, across the Continent, across the world, as Dr Tremaine drove towards his goal.