AUBREY DARTED BEHIND A SCREEN TO CHANGE AS the prince was whisked away by the generals, colonels and other nabobs who had congregated, aware of the significance of the moment.

Aubrey’s head popped up and down as he grappled with trousers and boots, providing a series of glimpses of the hullaballoo as he bent and straightened, so that Bertie’s progress stuttered along, shuffling across the room only to become bogged at the door by a crowd that was managing the difficult task of cheering solemnly.

A familiar figure detached himself from the flotilla around the ex-prince and strode toward them, moustache a-bristle. ‘Fitzwilliam?’ General Apsley said. ‘You’re up and about? Good. Planning meeting in the conference room on the ground floor. Five minutes.’

THE CONFERENCE ROOM HAD PROBABLY BEEN A DINING room when the chateau was new. It overlooked the remains of gardens that, on this side of the estate, now seemed to be growing sandbags and tents as the chateau continued its transformation into a regional headquarters. An extensive hospital had been set up with a summer house as its central building and Aubrey wondered how this new location signalled a shift in the ebb and flow of the war. It was certainly a move up from the farmhouse that General Apsley had been using, but Aubrey wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

With lunchtime approaching, George volunteered to reconnoitre the chateau, taking Sophie to help in case he ran into anyone who didn’t speak Albionish. Aubrey was about to suggest that Caroline go with them, but her stern expression hinted that she wasn’t about to be left out of what promised to be a top-level planning meeting.

Bertie was at the head of the table, looking – understandably to Aubrey’s way of thinking – somewhat distracted. General Apsley was at the new King’s right hand. He conducted the meeting while aides scurried about adjusting charts and maps on the easels that stood on the dais at the end of the room.

‘The Holmland build-up is in disarray,’ General Apsley announced to the assembly of field commanders, intelligence operatives, Directorate agents, deputy quartermasters-general and one young King. ‘Their army is holding the line at Fremont, but their recent reinforcements have been pulled back instead of pressing forward.’

Ex-Prince Albert looked over his hands, steepled in front of his chin. ‘I think you’ll find that this is the result of Fitzwilliam’s work.’

As every gaze around the table swivelled around and locked on him, Aubrey felt as he imagined a small patch of ground in no-man’s-land would, the patch of ground that happened to be the centre of the coordinates of a massed artillery bombardment.

‘Fitzwilliam?’ General Apsley said. ‘Your friends declined to say much about your doings until you were with us again. Best if you report now, I’d say.’

Aubrey took a deep breath. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said and outlined the events at Fremont before finishing with: ‘and I’m hoping that’s why the troops have pulled back. To escort the Chancellor and the others away from the front.’

General Apsley stared at him, mouth half-open, and he wasn’t the only one in the room to adopt such a pose. ‘My sainted aunt,’ the general said eventually. ‘You magicked the Chancellor and all of his crew into the middle of a battleground? Astonishing.’

‘Fitzwilliam here is regularly astonishing,’ Bertie said. ‘We’re lucky to have him on our side.’

Aubrey blushed. ‘Just doing my duty, your highness. Your majesty.’

‘At any rate, Fitzwilliam, you’ve struck a fine blow. Good show.’ General Apsley glanced at a map of the battlelines behind him and beamed. ‘The Chancellor and the others are bound to fall back to Stalsfrieden, where they can join the train. You’ve bought us some time, but I’m afraid they’re not giving up. We have reports that more reinforcements are coming from the Central European Empire and from the eastern front. The Holmland generals aren’t going to leave anything to chance, this time.’ He glowered at the map before brightening. ‘But we have some news of our own, let me tell you. Our reinforcements have arrived.’

Spontaneous cheering greeted this, most emphatic from the weariest, least well groomed of those present, the ones who Aubrey assumed had been spending time at the front.

General Apsley patted down this applause. ‘We should have the last of ten thousand fresh men here by nightfall, including regiments from Antipodea and the subcontinent.’

This was greeted with murmurs of approval. The reputation of the Antipodeans had preceded them, while the sub-continental regiments were experienced and deadly.

The talk soon veered around to matters of supply and deployment. Aubrey’s attention began to wander, but he snapped to alertness when two black-uniformed operatives slipped into the room. One took a satchel straight to General Apsley. The other, after looking about for a moment, made a bee-line for Aubrey.

‘Fitzwilliam?’ he whispered once he’d made his way close enough.

Aubrey indicated that he was, indeed, of that name, and in return received a message satchel.

‘I’ve come straight from Darnleigh House,’ the operative said. ‘Orders were to get this to you post-haste.’

Aubrey looked for, and found, the tell-tale callus on the inside of the man’s left forefinger, and confirmed his guess by the marks on either side of the man’s chin where the straps of his flying helmet rested. ‘What model ornithopter were you flying?’

The man blinked. ‘A new model. The 780 Gannet. Special long-range capability.’

Some stern looks from nearby hushed Aubrey. He signed his thanks to the operative, who withdrew.

While a lieutenant-colonel delivered a paper about the possibility of a temporary rail bridge to replace the one lost at Divodorum, General Apsley was scanning the documents in the satchel he’d been delivered. Aubrey thought it best that he do the same.

One document confirmed Aubrey’s speculation about the magnitude of the disappearance of magicians in Albion. It also summarised findings from their Gallian intelligence colleagues, who also noted that magicians had been vanishing.

Another document was a report from the remote sensing department. While Aubrey had had some contact with the field operatives who had the rare skill of being able to sense magic at vast distances, the bulk of these operatives worked from the basement of Darnleigh House. Commander Craddock’s note, appended to the report, suggested that Aubrey might be interested in the activity report compiled by the sensers.

He was. A map provided with the report showed what the sensing department nominated as ‘hot spots’, areas of concentrated magic. The map had been matched and overlaid with a map of the Divodorum front, and then of the supply and transport lines back into Holmland.

In the days prior to Aubrey’s great spell, objects of magical power were being transported toward the Divodorum front. Most were coming from the direction of Fisherberg by train, but calculated guesses indicated that some were coming by airship, others by river barge. Twenty-seven separate objects impinged themselves on the map, shining brightly like beacons, tracking day by day toward the battlefront – only to halt and then change direction after Aubrey’s great spell.

These observations matched up with the sensations Aubrey had had in the trenches. Vast magic had been in the area. Had it been assembling to generate an attack, or was it merely giving strength to the illusory charges sent toward the Albion lines?

Now, according to the findings of the remote sensers, Stalsfrieden was ablaze with magical power. The only thing the commander of the remote sensing unit could compare it to was the emanation of the Heart of Gold in the middle of Lutetia. Aubrey immediately concluded that the magical artefacts had withdrawn with the Chancellor. Was this Dr Tremaine’s doing? Was he withdrawing as well? What did it signify?

He rubbed his forehead. Intelligence was gathered to make sense of the confusion of war, but sometimes it was like striking a light in the middle of a midnight forest – the nearby trees could be seen a little better, but everything else remained decidedly ominous.

Once he read each paper, Aubrey passed it on to Caroline on his left. When Aubrey finished with the last document – a repetition of the puzzling request for information about any missing dental supplies – he sat back just as the lieutenant-colonel finished and General Apsley jumped to his feet.

‘Excellent, Phillips, excellent.’ He beamed. ‘Now, I have some news directly from our High Command. The PM himself –’ he paused to nod at Aubrey ‘– has signed these orders, which apply to each and every one of you here. We have the task, the most urgent task, of ensuring that our new King be returned to Albion immediately. This is the highest priority for all units, and we are to provide any assistance necessary to expedite this goal.’

Bertie frowned slightly, then nodded, and Aubrey knew that his friend had immediately understood the necessity for him to be removed from all possibility of danger. Having an heir to the throne near the front like this was barely acceptable, even given the rallying effect it had on the morale of the troops, but hosting the actual King? Preposterous.

Aubrey had also seen the thoughtful looks many around the table had been giving the new King. He guessed they were the more ambitious among them, deciding how best to commend themselves to the new monarch. Ambition never slept.

General Apsley went on to canvass the safest way to transport King Albert back to Albion, but Aubrey had other more important matters at hand. After taking in the information from the Directorate, he tried drawing diagrams to determine how Dr Tremaine fitted in.

His cogitations were interrupted when George appeared at his elbow. It didn’t create any great interest as the room was abuzz with comings and goings; the brass at the table constantly had aides whispering into their ears with news, information and dinner menus, for all Aubrey knew, so one more was hardly noticed.

‘You need to come with me,’ George said softly, but urgently. ‘Professor Mansfield has escaped from Dr Tremaine and wants to talk to you.’