Moment of Truth (13 page)

Aubrey wondered how often someone would forget in such a dangerous occupation as bomb disposal. He counted Major Morton's fingers and, to his relief, found that none were missing.

‘Now,' the major said, pointing his pipe at Aubrey. ‘Compression spells?'

‘I have had some field experience, sir. A little.'

‘Really? Tell me about it.'

‘Sir?'

‘I want to hear about your experiences, Fitzwilliam. It may be useful.' He jerked his pipe at the crater. ‘I'd welcome anything that could help us with what we have on our hands here. It could go off at any minute.'

Aubrey glanced at the pit. Five yards away. Not far enough. He could see George doing his best not to back off, but Elspeth actually leaned forward to get a better look. ‘It fell the night before last, is that right, sir?'

Major Morton smiled. ‘Early in the morning, really. About four. We've been working on it ever since, when it became apparent that the Gallians didn't just have an unexploded bomb on their hands, but something magical as well.'

‘Something magical that could go off at any minute,' George said.

Major Morton shrugged. ‘Or it could go off tomorrow. Or it could turn into a pig and start asking the way to St Swithins Station. Or it could do nothing except make us very, very nervous, like the others these skyfleets have been showering on us these past few weeks.'

Aubrey had been monitoring the spectacular skyfleets, battleships formed of cloud stuff, since Dr Tremaine had sent one after him last year. They had been appearing at irregular intervals all over Albion, but obviously coming from the Continent. They hadn't done anything except sow panic, so this was a new and unwelcome development. The skyfleets had been excellent at spreading confusion and fear, a sense of imminent dread that stopped the normal commerce of everyday living any time a shadow appeared in the sky.

‘I dealt with a compression device, sir. In Fisherberg. One that was constructed by the enemy.'

‘You did? By Jove, you could be just what we need. Tell me about it.'

Aubrey described the events of finding the compressed lightning spell outside Fisherberg Academy Hall, and how he barely managed to stop it exploding and wrecking the venerable building – a building with Prince Albert inside.

‘And what did you do? Remove it?'

‘No time for that, sir. I used a few variations on Harland James's technique.'

Major Morton blinked. ‘But you're alive.'

‘That was one of the main variations, sir, keeping the spell caster alive. The other variation was that it worked. I managed to graft something onto the existing spell with a temporal inversion constant and thus neutralise it. Long enough, anyway, to remove the package safely.'

‘You did that?' Major Morton eyed him with something verging on respect. ‘But why haven't I heard of this?'

‘I'm writing a paper on it, sir,' Aubrey said, and he thought of the thirteen half-written papers on his desk at Maidstone. He
really
needed to finish some of them. ‘I just need some more time.'

‘Time. We could use some of that, I suspect. Come this way, have a look at what we've found.'

‘Go ahead,' George said magnanimously. ‘We'll wait here for you.'

‘No need,' Major Morton said. ‘This was a double bunger.'

‘Double bunger?'

‘Two loads were dropped.' He pointed with his pipe. ‘A regular high explosive bomb landed at that end of the courtyard, the magical bomb at this end. Head down to the high explosive number, there's a good chap. They could use some help.'

‘Me?' George said.

‘Commander Tallis said it would be useful if you got some practical experience of bomb disposal work.' Major Morton chuckled. ‘Don't worry. Spencer and Martin are working on it, our best team. You know what they say about the old and the bold, don't you?'

George tore his gaze away from the far end of the crater. ‘Old and bold?'

‘“There are old bomb disposal operatives, and there are bold bomb disposal operatives, but there are no old, bold bomb disposal operatives.”' He chuckled again. ‘Not to worry. Spencer is old, Martin is bold, so you'll get the best of both worlds.'

‘Just as long as I don't get blown to bits in either of them,' George said, and he plodded off.

‘Now, Mattingly,' Major Morton said. ‘You're to meet with the Gallian codes department, to see their methods. It should be useful.'

Elspeth eyed Major Morton with what Aubrey could only describe as considerable affront. ‘Does that mean I don't get to work on these bombs?'

Major Morton laughed. ‘Good Lord, no.'

‘I see.' She fumed a little. ‘As liaison officer, I really must object.'

‘Object? On what grounds?'

‘On the grounds that I'd really like to work on those bombs.'

Major Morton glanced at Aubrey. ‘You're new to the military, aren't you?'

‘George and I have some experience.'

‘Then you understand about old-fashioned things like orders and discipline and such.'

Aubrey could see that Major Morton was going out of his way to be patient. ‘Elspeth, I think we need to get on with things as ordered.'

She glared at both of them. ‘All right. As long as this isn't a conspiracy to keep females in their place. The world is changing, you know.'

She stormed off, leaving Aubrey to consider that Elspeth and Caroline had at least one thing in common.

With more than one backward glance, Elspeth crossed the courtyard.

‘Fine-looking young woman, that,' Major Morton said. ‘Great asset to the forces.'

‘She just shot someone who tried to kill me,' Aubrey said stiffly.

‘Did she now? Plucky as well as pretty. Good show.'

Aubrey wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. He didn't have any argument over Elspeth's prettiness – that was undeniable – and she certainly showed her pluck in confronting the would-be assassin. And she was pleasant to be with.

He snorted. He knew why she made him uncomfortable, despite all that. It was
because
of all that. Pretty, brave, intelligent, capable young women had a way of turning him to jelly, and he had never quite worked out what to do about it, apart from delight in their presence – and feel a pang at their absence.

Caroline.

‘This way, Fitzwilliam. Not afraid to get some dirt on your hands, are you?'

‘Coming, sir.'

A crumpled canister lay at the bottom of the crater, a few feet long, dark dull metal about as thick as his thigh. On the lip of the crater, Aubrey bent and put his hands on his knees while three operatives used small brushes to ease earth away from the metal. Not all of the canister was exposed, embedded as it was in the wall of the crater.

Aubrey could feel the magic without trying. It pulsed like a heart, malignant and heavy, and it was redolent with a tangle of complex spells. Aubrey worked his mouth, trying to clear the knotty taste that had insinuated itself as the magic played games with his senses.

‘Anything familiar there?' Major Morton toyed with his pipe, passing it from hand to hand.

‘It's definitely held together tightly, but I can't...' Aubrey's voice trailed off. He was looking for any sign of Dr Tremaine's handiwork, but nothing stood out. Nothing specific, that was. The spells crammed into the canister
reminded
him of Dr Tremaine, without his touch, as if they were copies of his efforts.

He straightened. ‘How many of these have fallen on Albion?'

Major Morton cocked an eyebrow. ‘Now, we don't bandy classified information like that around willy-nilly, you know.'

‘It's important.'

‘I rather thought it might be.' Major Morton put his pipe in his mouth, chewed on it and then took it out again. ‘What if I tell you that several dozen of these magical canisters fell across Albion two nights ago? And about the same number of high explosive bombs?'

Several dozen? Each one would have taken hours to construct. Aubrey couldn't see the rogue sorcerer standing at a conveyor belt casting spell after spell and making sure they were neatly compressed inside metal cylinder after metal cylinder. He wouldn't have the patience for such repetitive stuff.

Without realising it, Aubrey started to hum, deep in his throat. No, he couldn't imagine Dr Tremaine doing that, but...

Major Morton nudged his elbow. ‘Are you all right, Fitzwilliam?'

‘Sir?'

‘You were making an awful droning noise.'

‘Just thinking, sir.'

‘Well, I hope your thinking's of some use. I don't want that earthquake getting loose. Not here, in the middle of Trinovant.'

‘Earthquake? I'd assumed it was weather magic.'

‘They're a cunning lot, those Holmlanders. They've dropped plenty of compressed weather magic on us, but also a few of these neatly packaged earthquakes. One got loose in Carlstairs on the coast, near the shipyard. Toppled half the cliff into the sea.'

Aubrey looked at the grand old buildings surrounding them. He swallowed. ‘So we need to render this one harmless.'

‘Ideally, yes. D'you remember the spell you used in Fisherberg?'

Aubrey would never forget that desperate spell casting. It was a matter of defining a temporal inversion constant that would worm its way back through time and latch itself onto the compression spell, adding a few days to the time of its unleashing. Time enough, then, to dispose of this canister safely. A few hundred miles out to sea, Aubrey hoped, on the fastest ornithopter available.

‘I have it,' he said.

‘Be my guest.' Major Morton raised his voice. ‘Maloney, Johnson, Miller, time to move away.'

The operatives in the bottom of the crater looked up, and immediately scrambled out. Aubrey thought they scrambled gratefully, if such a thing were possible.

‘Do you want me to come with you?' Major Morton asked Aubrey.

Aubrey shook his head and handed the major his cap. His palms were clammy. Suddenly the crater looked miles deep. The canister was an ominous glint at the faraway bottom. Aubrey shifted his weight from one leg to another, which was enough to set him into motion.

He clambered down the ragged sides of the pit. Loose earth tumbled past him and made his footing uncertain for a moment until he turned and steadied himself with both hands, not caring about how he looked as he slid on his rear. He was prepared to sacrifice dignity for safety, and proceeded to demonstrate that when he reached the bottom by crawling on hands and knees, creeping up on the sinister canister.

He was aware that Major Morton hadn't withdrawn. His pipe was stuck in the corner of his mouth as he circled the crater, matching Aubrey's approach. The man had no nerves, Aubrey decided, and he actually thought the major was grinning.

Aubrey pulled back his sleeves absently. It gave him a sense of being workmanlike, and it had a faint but noticeable settling effect as he studied the canister. From a foot or so away, he could see the line of rivets along one side and the solder that sealed the top. Or the bottom, it was hard to tell with the other end buried in the earth. The surface was scuffed and dented, with a long, bright scrape running along its length.

He took a deep breath. Then he extended his magical awareness.

He grunted and rocked on his hands and knees as the canister came alive in the pseudo-sight that his magical awareness lent him. It was a flare, a roiling of spells held in check by a profoundly woven compression spell. Aubrey gritted his teeth and swayed from side to side in an effort to ascertain what was packed into the canister, what exactly was threatening to explode. He could make out the earthquake spell, shivering as it was in anticipation, but he could also detect intensifying spells, and some that he thought would have the effect of channelling or focusing...

Enough,
he thought. The nature of the contents of the canister was interesting, but he didn't have time to explore. He needed to clamp down on the whole package.

Following the method he'd established – by necessity – in the Fisherberg drama, he constructed a neat, terminal phrase to splice onto the end of the compression spell. With no time for experimentation or refinement, he reused the Sumerian version he'd invented in that crisis. He steadied himself, then pronounced the series of crisp, slightly harsh, elements, and it was over in seconds. As soon as he finished, the Sumerian addition inverted itself and disappeared, tracking back through time to when the compression spell was originally set in place.

Satisfied, he let out a deep breath. Subtly, the magical nature of the canister had changed. The enveloping compression spell appeared less ...
imminent.

He straightened until he was kneeling. He wiped his hands together.

‘All done?' the major said cheerily.

‘I've added two days to the trigger time,' Aubrey said and he was quite pleased that his voice neither quavered nor croaked. ‘I'd like to examine it more closely, if I could.'

‘Ah. We'll have to see about that. My orders are to get it out of here quick smart. The Gallians are understandably nervous about having a couple of bombs in their vicinity.'

Aubrey understood that, if his probing of the canister was accurate, it wouldn't only have been the Gallian Embassy that would have suffered if the earthquake had been released. It would require more study, but he had an awful suspicion that a way had been found to aim an earthquake's effects in desired directions – and the Houses of Parliament weren't that far away.

‘Splendid. I'll get the others to cart the thing off with the high explosive bomb.'

‘That's safe, too?'

‘Oh, yes, no worries there. Good work, Fitzwilliam. Glad to have had your help. Don't forget that we'll need a full report on your methods, to help disarm the other canisters.'

Aubrey dragged himself out of the crater to see Major Morton had wandered over to the other bomb site, where he was chatting with some more of his people.