Moment of Truth (10 page)

Aubrey started guiltily. Training had been so intense that he'd felt cut off, insulated from the world, and most particularly the war. Woodberry had been training in homeland liaison and was much more aware of what was going on. ‘Already. Much damage?'

‘Not so far. Plenty of panic, though. When those airships come over, it's a riot in the streets.'

‘Which is probably as useful as actual damage.' Aubrey drummed his fingers on the table and tried to divide his anxious thoughts between worrying about Caroline, George, his parents and everyone else he knew. Bombs falling on Albion? This was war made real. He hoped this would shock the doubters, those who thought that war was either nonsense or a jolly lark.

After breakfast, the recruits were directed – via concerted shouting – to the main hall for the first time since their initial meeting. Aubrey was uneasy, the more so when the hall began to fill with unfamiliar faces, people in uniforms other than the discreet black of the Department.

These strangers looked more like traditional army troopers in their khaki dress and, unlike the novice Department operatives, they all looked brimming with fitness and vigour. None of them was older than thirty, apart from their sergeants, who shared the same shouting prowess as the Magic Department instructors. Aubrey imagined them all catching up at a convention, sharing shouting techniques, and hoped that it was held well away from built-up areas.

Curious and straight-backed, the army recruits filed into the hall, taking up the seats on the right-hand side of the auditorium.

When George marched through the door, Aubrey nearly fell off his seat.
Special Services!
he thought.
They must be Special Services recruits!

It was only with a huge effort that he prevented himself from leaping to his feet and hallooing to his friend, but something told him that this may be frowned upon, bad for discipline or somesuch. Instead, he contented himself with trying to catch George's eye – a futile effort, given that George was chatting with a tall blonde girl in the seat next to him.

Aubrey was working through the implications of the appearance of Special Services recruits when something else happened and he did, indeed, fall off his seat.

Amid laughing and good-natured chaffing from those around – and some bored shouting from the nearest sergeant – Aubrey picked himself up and regained his seat, marvelling at how total surprise could make one temporarily boneless, unable to undertake such a simple action as sitting.

He hardly heard the chaffing and the shouting, for he was in a world where his focus had narrowed so all he could see, all he knew, was that toward the end of the file of newcomers was Caroline Hepworth.

Caroline! Suddenly, everything changed. Of course, he would have to explain why he hadn't informed her of their enlisting, but she was here! He would be abject, he would be apologetic and, in the end, he would try to make her laugh.

It was like one of those moments when clouds open and beams of light emerge, crepuscular rays, bright and glorious and changing the entire landscape. Aubrey was allowed this chance to make good.

He could reactivate his mission.

Caroline had been in much the same position as he had been, on irregular detachment, except she was with the Special Services under Commander Tallis. Since the two divisions were now part of the Security Intelligence Directorate, that would explain the khaki-clad newcomers. Magic Department operatives and Special Services operatives officially working together. This was just the sort of thing his father had been planning when he reorganised the security services.

Aubrey crossed his arms on his chest with satisfaction at his own surmising. He was bursting with eagerness. He wanted to get to Caroline and George. He wanted to explain and catch up and share and simply be with them. He craned his neck and he thought he spied her, sitting near the front of the hall, oblivious to his presence.

Almost bouncing on his seat, he realised he'd have to wait. Commander Tallis entered after the last of his people. Aubrey was pleased to see that the stocky man was still glowering and fuming, for it meant all was right with the world. The head of the Special Services went through life as if everything was conspiring to irritate him. If nothing was going right, he scowled. If everything was going right, he smouldered. If some things were going right and others were a complete cock-up, he raged in a state of furious contentment.

Despite this, Tallis was a dedicated and fierce leader. His Special Services operatives were mostly drawn from the regular forces and provided vital, non-magical agents whose bravery and adaptability was renowned.

George and Caroline. Aubrey couldn't help grinning, but when he realised he was drumming his feet on the floor like an excited child, he managed to rein in his pleasure before someone noticed and the shouting started again.

Craddock and Tallis stood together at the front of the hall while everyone settled. Tall and lean versus short and solid. Detached versus fuming. Thoughtful versus abrupt. Opposites in many ways, apart from their dedication to protecting Albion.

Aubrey was interested to see who would speak first, and was amused to see that their longstanding rivalry was expressing itself in painful politeness. Craddock motioned Tallis to the lectern, only to have the Special Services chief decline with a gesture and insist that Craddock begin. With a raised hand, Craddock signed that he was happy to have Tallis speak first, especially since he was the host of this gathering in the Magic Department headquarters. Tallis worked his jaw at this, and stepped forward.

The low buzz of curiosity cut off as if guillotined. Tallis glared for a moment, then began. ‘We are at war,' he said. A little unnecessarily, Aubrey thought, but Tallis was rather blunter than the circuitous Craddock. ‘While you've been training, Holmland has been moving, pressing into the Goltans and massing for a push into Gallia. Its ally, the Central European Empire, has been driving toward opening a front with Muscovia. Bombs have fallen on Albion. People have died.'

If Tallis had been trying to crush any high spirits, Aubrey decided, he was doing a good job.

Tallis continued once the shocked murmur had subsided. ‘The Security Intelligence Directorate has the crucial role of protecting the realm through gathering information about the enemy and preventing the enemy doing the same with us.' He put his hands behind his back and bounced a little on his toes. Aubrey wondered if he'd ever been a training instructor, of the shouting kind or otherwise. ‘Our methods are different from those of the army and the navy. Our role is unconventional, flexible, responsive. To that end, some of you here today are to continue with specialised training, some will be allocated to field teams supporting the regular military, while others will be formed into elite three-person units. Each of these units will have a high degree of autonomy.' His grin was not pleasant. ‘This is because you will be operating in areas where access to higher echelons may not be possible.'

A low buzz, which Commander Tallis allowed to go on for a moment, then he continued. ‘These detachments will be a blend of operatives from the Special Services and the Magic Department.' He paused. ‘The Magic Department and the Special Services. Commander Craddock?'

Craddock stepped up to the lectern with a list. ‘These people will remain behind. The others will go with their section commander for other assignments.'

Special units,
Aubrey thought and he rubbed his hands together.
This is what Craddock mentioned.
He saw Caroline, George and he united again, sent on important tasks together, making the most of their talents. Working behind enemy lines, living off their own wits and own resources, thrown together against all odds, sharing the risks, daring danger and everything it had to throw at them.

All in the service of the country, of course.

Aubrey nodded when his name was read out, and smiled when Caroline and George's were as well. Content, he crossed his arms on his chest and wondered if they were now sitting up, surprised, looking for him.

Woodberry's name wasn't read out, Aubrey noted, and he left with the others whose names hadn't been called, looking somewhat disconsolate. Craddock glanced at Tallis, then went on. ‘Orange slips for special unit detachment are now being distributed.' Aubrey saw some of the section commanders working through the rows, pieces of paper in hand. ‘You will meet the rest of your unit in the rooms noted, where you will receive briefing on your first assignments.'

Craddock became grave. ‘Though it may be difficult for you to see, each mission of each unit is important. You may be puzzled, even bewildered, by some tasks allocated to you, but I must emphasise that the country is relying on you. If you fulfil your mission, you will be contributing to the defence of Albion. Commander Tallis?'

Tallis squared himself. ‘I endorse Commander Craddock's remarks. Go with all speed, and with all safety. And come back alive.'

Aubrey was still coping with the chill that Tallis's words brought when a slip of paper was thrust at him. While still reading it, he stood and scanned the room, but both George and Caroline had gone.

Room 7a was on the ground floor, toward the rear of Darnleigh House, and it was where he was to report to a Captain Foster. With some difficulty, Aubrey negotiated the chaos that came from dozens of people trying to find their way in unfamiliar surroundings, for he was constantly asked directions by khaki-clad operatives, all looking formidably fit and vigorous. He was keen to hear from Caroline and George about their training, to see how much of this vim was due to the Special Services regime and how much came from the candidates themselves. Perhaps athletes and manual workers were high on the list of prospective recruits for the Special Services?

He amused himself with visions of Caroline teaching these muscular recruits a thing or two in unarmed combat until he fronted the door marked 7a.

He knocked, sharply, smiling in anticipation.

‘Enter.'

Aubrey stepped into the room with what he hoped was the right amount of jauntiness. Not too much, nothing brash, but the step of a confident, well-trained Magic Department operative.

‘Aubrey!' George cried, turning around in a chair that faced the single desk. ‘Old man!'

A bespectacled, sour-faced captain stood behind the desk and in front of a large map of the Continent. He didn't shout, for which Aubrey was grateful, but chided George nonetheless. ‘Steady on, Doyle. This isn't a party.'

Aubrey held out his slip of orange paper. ‘Captain Foster. Fitzwilliam, Aubrey, reporting, sir.' Then he smiled at Caroline, who was sitting next to George.

Except she turned and wasn't Caroline at all.

Gaping's a good way to draw attention to yourself, Fitzwilliam,' Captain Foster said, ‘so stop it and sit down.'

Aubrey was so stunned, the captain's voice seemed to come from far away. A veteran planner, Aubrey was experiencing the sensation that things on top of rugs feel when the rug decides to exit horizontally, with speed. His plans, his expectations, his neat order of events that he'd taken for granted had all been thrown into the air.

No Caroline? That was impossible, unwarranted, unnatural! They
belonged
together. Caroline, George and he had been through dangerous adventures and acquitted themselves with honour. Craddock and Tallis knew this. Even Prince Albert, the heir to the throne himself, knew it. Whatever was the Directorate thinking?

He seized on this. Perhaps it was just a mistake. This sort of thing happened – in the hurly-burly of war, communications went astray, documents were lost, identities confused. Surely that was it. All he had to do was point this out, speak to a few people and all would be well. His plans would be back on track, his mission set in motion again.

It was all he could do to stop himself groaning aloud. This sort of thinking was the Old Aubrey, the Aubrey who manipulated people to satisfy his own needs – without asking theirs. Caroline wouldn't want his interfering in her life, not like this.

Slowly, he began to realise that the others in the room were staring at him.

‘Are you quite done?' Captain Foster stood behind the desk, leaning forward and propping himself with both arms. His glasses were rimless. His hair was sparse but it was well arranged on his dome of a head.

‘Yes, sir,' Aubrey managed. His thoughts still whirling, he fumbled his way into a chair next to George, who was between him and the strange girl.

In the brief glimpse he'd had, it was no wonder George had sat next to her. She was striking – golden hair, and with extraordinary pale blue eyes, the colour of summer sky just above the horizon. Her whole face had been enlivened by the twitch of her lips she gave him. Not quite a smile, but an indication of humour, nonetheless.

She looked nothing like Caroline. It had simply been his expectation, assuming that he'd be reunited with her, that had made him see her in that chair.

‘You obviously know Doyle,' Captain Foster said. ‘This is Elspeth Mattingly.'

The smile that Elspeth offered him this time was unhesitating, bordering on a grin. ‘Fitzwilliam. I've heard a great deal about you, but most of it led me to believe that you were rather more self-possessed than this.'

Aubrey only prevented a grimace with great effort. ‘Don't believe what you read in the newspapers.'

‘Newspapers? I never read them.' She glanced at George when he gasped, but immediately redirected her disconcertingly even gaze back at Aubrey. ‘I have friends at St Alban's. They're impressed with your magical ability.'

‘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?'