CAROLINE HEPWORTH WITH DARK CIRCLES UNDER her eyes, Aubrey decided as he watched her slowly mount the stairs from the basement in the pre-dawn light, was still a delight. He fumbled with the coffee pot, eager to make sure that her mug was full and hot. ‘Here.’

‘Just what I need – my ninth coffee for the night.’

Aubrey bit his tongue. It was her tenth and it wasn’t actually night any more. He could make out the stacks of timber and discarded ironwork in the yard, if dimly, but he was starting to understand that correcting such things wasn’t important. ‘Did a response come through at all?’

Caroline sat at the table and inhaled from her coffee, closing her eyes for a moment. ‘Interference.’ She made a face. Lovely though it was, Aubrey accepted that it was her version of a grimace of disapproval. ‘The Holmlanders have found a way to distort messages. We had to change frequencies often, randomly, but we finally managed to communicate.’

‘We have orders?’

‘We do.’

Aubrey couldn’t help himself. ‘Was there anything about me?’

‘I wouldn’t know, would I? You’re the decoder.’

‘Really? You know how to use the machine as well as I do.’

‘I left most of the work to you. I only ran the first few, to make sure they were coming through properly.’

‘And was I mentioned?’

‘Only inasmuch as you were named in the orders. It was as if you hadn’t done anything unusual, haring off the way you did.’

Aubrey’s estimation of the wiles of Commanders Craddock and Tallis, already significant, rose again. He wondered what it would take to faze them.

‘They prize initiative,’ he said and he went to pour himself a coffee. Before he could, however, the floor and walls of the factory shook, and dust trickled from overhead. In the distance, an explosion sounded – a deep, frightening thump quite unlike the artillery barrage of the night before.

He was on his feet in an instant, but he wasn’t quick enough to beat Caroline to the front door. She clung to the frame with one hand and pointed to the north with the other. ‘There!’

Near the fortress, a pillar of flame rose to the heavens. Overhead, banking away from the site of the explosion, was a single airship. It was a sleek model, smaller than the usual giant dirigibles, and it was moving fast. He braced himself for further explosions but either the craft was having trouble with its bomb delivery or it had discharged its payload.

The fiery pillar was subsiding, but Aubrey didn’t like the look of it. The way the dense black smoke wrapped around it and the streaks of unsettling green amid the flames made it look unhealthy. He couldn’t feel anything, not at this distance, but he was sure that if he was nearer he’d be able to taste the magic.

A sleepy-looking George joined them, his sandy hair in disarray. ‘Good Lord,’ he said. ‘Is that what Divodorum has been putting up with since we left?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Aubrey said. ‘If this sort of thing had been regularly falling on the city, I’m not sure that we would have found anything when we came back.’

Madame Zelinka and von Stralick came down the stairs. Von Stralick looked well and remarkably spruce in the clean clothes he’d found in the basement store room. ‘This is not good.’ Madame Zelinka was grim. ‘From the roof, we could see that the bomb landed near the river.’

‘Not the fortress?’ Aubrey said.

‘Not far from it. They missed? Were aiming for something else? Who can tell?’

‘The explosion had something uncanny about it,’ Aubrey said. The combination of magic and aeronautical engineering was a worrying development.

‘We should investigate,’ von Stralick said.

‘I agree.’ Caroline put her coffee mug on the table and rose. ‘Now would be best, I’d say.’

‘It would,’ Aubrey said, and he took his courage in his hands, ‘but you need to stay here and get some sleep. You’ve been up all night.’

Caroline looked at him evenly. ‘As have you.’

‘I slept while you were busy. I even managed a bath and to find a new uniform. I’m more rested than you are.’

Caroline faced him squarely, obviously tired but equally obviously not willing to admit it. George and von Stralick looked uncomfortable. Madame Zelinka simply shrugged. ‘I shall ready my people.’

Von Stralick, full of tact on this occasion, jumped to agree. ‘Excellent idea. I shall assist you.’

‘George?’ Aubrey said. ‘Have you something you should be doing?’

‘That’s right. Sophie needs some help in the workshop. She had plans for better concealing this place through some magical innovation or other.’

Aubrey waited for George to nab the coffee pot and two cups before hurrying off, but Caroline jumped in before he could start. ‘Now, Aubrey, are you reassuming command of our unit, expanded as it is?’

Very carefully, Aubrey nodded. ‘I suppose I am.’

‘Which means that you’re ordering me to stay behind, despite the fact we’d worked out that such a command structure ill-suited our special group?’

‘When you say order,’ Aubrey began, choosing his words with all the care of a bomb disposal expert deciding which wire to cut, ‘I was actually using it in the sense of “a very sensible suggestion, one that is open to discussion”.’

‘Ah. I hoped so.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing. My staying behind and getting some sleep is probably a good idea. I was too tired to realise when you first suggested it.’

Aubrey turned this statement around and examined it from all sides before responding. ‘So you’ll stay here and rest?’

‘Since it wasn’t an order in that old-fashioned, inappropriate way, of course I shall.’

‘Caroline, if I ever stop taking it for granted that I can’t take you for granted, you’ll disabuse me of that notion, won’t you?’

She yawned, covering her mouth with an effort. ‘Of course I shall, Aubrey. Of course I shall.’

WHILE VON STRALICK MARSHALLED THE LORRIES, AUBREY had an idea. He had a notion that being independent of the vehicles might be an advantage, so he went via the kitchen to the rear yard of the factory. He hoped that the bicycles they had purchased on their last sortie in Divodorum were still safely locked in the shed, and when he used the key he’d retrieved from a nail behind a dreadfully obsolete calendar, he was relieved to discover that some vigorous work with a pump was all that was needed to make the bicycles fit for use again.

George was finishing a slice of toast and butter as he approached with Sophie. ‘Ah. Good thinking, old man. Should we drag out civilian clothes?’

Aubrey hesitated for a moment before answering. ‘Let’s stay in our field uniforms. I’m thinking that we might need to make an official visit to the fortress.’

‘Capital. I’ll take care of business while you hover at the rear.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’re the Traitor of Albion, remember? I have the proper credentials to get us into the place. As long as you tag along as my batman, it shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Wait – batman?’

‘I’ve thought this through, old man, and I’m sure it’s best if you pose as my military valet.’

‘Your batman.’

‘That’s right. It gives you an excuse to be with me, and it gives the Gallians an excuse to ignore you. No-one looks too closely at a batman.’

Sophie poked George. ‘You are enjoying this. Do not tease so.’

George spread his hands, a picture of innocence. ‘I’m just doing what I can to keep this team operating at peak efficiency, my gem. Part of which are my orders to keep Aubrey from being shot, which is what I intend to do.’

AS THEY MADE THEIR WAY ALONG THE DOCK ROAD THAT ran alongside the river, Aubrey had to grit his teeth and squint, as if facing a grit-laden gale. ‘You can’t feel anything?’ he asked Sophie, who was riding next to him.

She shook her head. ‘I’m not as practised as you. I had never heard of this confusion of senses that you speak of.’

Ahead, one of the last of the warehouses was ablaze – the source of Aubrey’s magically induced discomfort. A small crowd had gathered and stood on the riverbank side of the road in front of the warehouse. The Enlightened Ones were standing next to their lorries, a distance away, with von Stralick and Madame Zelinka conferring with two or three of their comrades. Smoke swirled into the air, and it moved with a sluggishness that Aubrey didn’t like at all.

‘I wish I hadn’t either.’ Aubrey had drifts of purple light on his tastebuds; the effect was verging on painful. At the same time his skin crawled with what he could only liken to anchovy flavour; he longed to scratch, but knew it would do no good.

George and he had had some experience with magical bombs dropped from Holmland airships back in Trinovant, enough for him to feel the similarities. This one had fallen about half a mile from the fortress, which loomed on the other side of the river. Aubrey wondered if it was the result of poor aiming or faulty equipment, or whether the bomb had fallen exactly where it was meant to.

At that moment, they passed the last of a row of oaks and the fortress came into view. He stared at it in disbelief.

In the middle of the fortress, in what must have been the parade ground, rose an iron construction, nearly as tall as the guard towers themselves. It was a madcap construction of girders, struts and bracings, obviously makeshift despite its size. Four great arms projected from the top, and it reminded Aubrey of nothing as much as a windmill made of the contents of a scrap metal yard, but he doubted that the arms could rotate, so massive were they.

‘It looks like a giant electrical fan,’ Sophie said. ‘So big. What is it for?’

‘I think we may have to find out,’ Aubrey said, ‘but not before we do what we can about this fire.’

Fifty yards away from the blaze, Aubrey signalled his friends to stop. He didn’t want to come close, not immediately, not now that he could see what was engulfing the warehouse.

While the fire was roaring away, doing its best to consume the building, anything made of metal had come alive. Beams writhed like tentacles in the flames. Roofing iron rippled, curling and uncurling like beckoning fingers, while fire roared through the gaps.

Aubrey gnawed at his lip. He tried to divine if this animation of non-living materials was the intended outcome or simply an accident, but the magic ebbed and flowed, powerful and erratic one instant, almost vanishing the next.

George tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Look.’

On the other side of the river, soldiers were gathering on the walls of the fortress to watch the fire. ‘You’d think they’d try to do something about it,’ Aubrey said and he started sifting through possible magical assistance he could bring to the situation. Weather magic, though he was loath to try it? The Law of Transference, with the river so close at hand?

‘I think they are waiting for help,’ Sophie said. ‘From the river.’

A whistle sounded as a vessel approached from upriver, steam coming from two smokestacks. The purpose of the craft’s second chimney was revealed when the vessel tied up to a jetty opposite the blazing warehouse and a jet of water arced from the rear of the boat onto the flames.

‘A steam pump.’ Aubrey was impressed by the technology, but dismayed when the plume of water stuttered and cut out. Crewman scurried about, shouting and arguing. The water jet resumed, but the fire fighters had trouble keeping it constant.

Aubrey concentrated. ‘Ah. The regulator valve is magically enhanced to maximise output.’ He bit his lip. ‘The spell is fluctuating.’

‘Poor spellcrafting?’ Sophie asked. ‘An effect of the magical fire?’

‘Perhaps.’ Aubrey glanced at the fortress and the strange tower. ‘Perhaps.’

Spray wafted to them on the breeze and the crowd retreated, away from the jet of water. Aubrey wiped his face. The fire fighters were making some headway – the flames were noticeably less vigorous, but girders were still writhing about on either side of the huge gap that had opened when part of the roof collapsed. Madame Zelinka was organising the Enlightened Ones into squads.

‘Let’s leave this to them for the moment,’ Aubrey said. He eyed the peculiar tower in the fortress. ‘We have other matters to investigate.’

They pedalled across the Market Bridge, half a mile downriver from the blaze, and looked to where the fortress stood.

The guards at the gatehouse were diligent, and prompt enough as they examined George’s credentials, but Aubrey was concerned at how fatigued they looked, as if they hadn’t slept for days. The younger of the two guards – and neither of them looked seventeen – yawned almost continuously while his comrade summoned Major Saltin on the telephone.

‘Doyle!’ the Gallian cried as soon as he came into view. He was wearing his navy blue air service uniform, but Aubrey noted that it had been patched at the shoulder, and one sleeve was singed.

Saltin saw Aubrey. He stopped, eyes wide, mouth moving silently. Aubrey was alarmed that he was about to cry out but George was alert. He took Saltin’s arm. ‘You don’t know my batman, do you, Saltin? Private Taylor?’

Saltin gaped at George. ‘Taylor? Batman?’

‘My servant,’ George said jovially. ‘A dab hand at shining boots, aren’t you, Taylor?’

Aubrey saluted with what he hoped was the right touch of servility. ‘Sir.’

‘Taylor,’ Saltin repeated dubiously. ‘What is going on?’

‘War is a confusing time, Saltin,’ George said, ‘but I have some information that might help clear things up. D’you have anywhere we can speak in private?’

Saltin scowled, but then he brightened. ‘Do not tell me that this is Mme Delroy I see here? M’mselle, why aren’t you back in Lutetia? You are the only intelligent one writing for that newspaper of yours!’

Sophie extended her hand. ‘High praise from the Chevalier of the Skies.’

‘Chevalier of the Skies?’ George repeated. ‘Is that one yours, Sophie?’

‘Her reports have been good for my career.’ Saltin beamed. ‘But now, come away, I have much confusion that needs removing.’