CAROLINE’S REACTIONS WERE FASTER THAN AUBREY’S useless warning cry. She sheared and dropped the ornithopter to the port side – but it was too late.

Dr Tremaine’s magic stopped them, mid-dive, as quickly as running into an aerial brick wall. Amid the cacophony of shattering glass and tortured metal, the ornithopter buckled, metal falling away from it in shreds.

Trapped in the now-useless machine, they began to fall.

Wind screamed through the ruined craft, shrieking with delight at their predicament. Caroline wrenched at the controls. ‘I’ve lost everything!’ she cried, but she didn’t stop punching at switches, hammering at dials, dragging on the controls.

Far below, the sea was drawing nearer. Aubrey could see whitecaps and the tiny lifeboats, the survivors from the destruction of the weathership.

Aubrey closed his eyes and tried to ignore all distractions – especially the distraction of imminent death – and tried to remember the details of the only spell he knew that could save them. The only hope was a vastly more encompassing version of his levitation spell. It needed to include his friends and him, but also the ornithopter – it would be no use at all if their descent was arrested but they were still inside a plummeting machine. He barked the syllables, realised with a spurt of horror that he’d mangled the component for duration, backtracked and spat out a new version just in time for the ocean to rise and smash them.

AUBREY EMERGED FROM A SWIRLING CHAOS TO A NIGHTMARE of confusion. The only immediate compensation was that he could breathe. Somewhat. If he were careful.

He was in a world of water (that kept rolling over the top of him when he least expected it), darkness (that did its usual job of concealing objects long enough for them to sneak up and do various kinds of damage) and noise (which was just dashed annoying). He flailed weakly, then took another large mouthful of water – salt water – which only made things worse.

His collar was tugged. Dazed and floundering, he suspected it was another inanimate object trying to drown him when a voice came to him. ‘Aubrey! This way!’

He shook his head and it cleared somewhat, only to find that he was still in what was left of the ornithopter as it wallowed in the waves, undecided about whether it was going to plunge into the depths.

Caroline was framed in the doorway. She’d lost her beret. Her hair was in disarray. She stretched out a hand. ‘Hurry!’

Aubrey had a sudden, awful realisation that even though he hadn’t perished, the matter wasn’t over yet. He clutched his satchel of precious notes, then clawed off his seatbelt, just as the shattered windscreen let in a huge surge. The shockingly cold water dragged him over the back of his seat and scraped him against what had been the ceiling of the ornithopter, but now was more like a sieve.

The water receded. Aubrey had sense enough to sling his satchel around his neck and grab hold of a stanchion. He coughed, wiped his eyes with his other hand and found an anxious Caroline still waiting for him. He lunged for her hand and together they tumbled out through the doorway.

Moments later they were reunited with George and Sophie, shivering despite the greatcoats the seamen had surrendered after dragging them into the lifeboats. The boat rolled in the swell, while the wind had the edge that comes from driving for miles over non-tropical waters. Aubrey clutched the gunwale with one hand, Caroline’s hand with the other, grateful for this little wooden refuge in the immensity of the sea.

A baby-faced commander scrambled to join them. ‘You’re from the Directorate,’ he said, eyes widening when he took in their sodden uniforms. ‘You should be able to tell us what’s going on, then.’ He looked more closely at Aubrey. ‘I know you,’ he said slowly, then he performed the difficult task of recoiling while squatting in a crowded lifeboat. ‘You’re the traitor!’

Immediately, Aubrey was the focus of the entire crew of ex-weathershipmen. Minutes ago, they had been welcoming, partners in adversity and the like. Now they turned resentful eyes on him, ready to take revenge for being bombed.

He heard a click beside his ear. In other circumstances, once he recognised it he would have been extremely anxious or, given the chance, running in the other direction. This time, however, it was a comfort.

‘He isn’t a traitor,’ Caroline said. She gestured with her revolver. ‘But I’m not sure we could convince you of this, here and now. So, instead, you’re going to row us to Imworth harbour and drop us off. All the time, I’ll have this very powerful revolver trained on you, so do row well.’

‘There’s eight of us,’ a voice that Aubrey noted came from the far end of the boat, at the stern, ‘and that’s a six-shot Symons. You can’t get all of us.’

‘That’s a point,’ Caroline said brightly, ‘but if it comes to that we’ll only have two of you left. I’m sure we could overpower two of you, if we have to. Besides, what does it matter if only six of you perish if you’re one of the six?’

‘What if you miss?’ the same argumentative voice pointed out. Aubrey noticed that some of his crewmates, those closer to Caroline and her revolver, tried to shut him up, but he had the tone of someone who’d argue on his death bed.

‘I don’t miss,’ Caroline said.

‘How do we know that?’

‘Oh, you’re asking for a test, are you? Very well. Can I ask you to sit up straight while your crewmates lean to either side? No? Very well then. Skipper, I suggest that you get your men rowing with some vigour.’

This announcement was greeted with only a modicum of grumbling. Aubrey guessed that Caroline’s no-nonsense demeanour had convinced them more than any swaggering threats could have.

A shadow fell on them and the skipper cast an eye heavenwards with well-mastered apprehension. The skyfleet had reformed after its circling and destruction of the weathership. It was heading away from them. ‘Is Albion being invaded?’

‘Invaded?’ Aubrey looked up at the sky. ‘No. It’s far worse than that.’

THE COAST OF ALBION STUBBORNLY REFUSED TO GET ANY nearer, even after two hours of determined rowing from the disgruntled crew. With the gentle rolling of the lifeboat, added to Caroline’s closeness and the rushed spell casting that had saved their lives, Aubrey was struggling to stay awake and failing when George leaned across to him, speaking low so the weathershipmen couldn’t hear. ‘I think I know where we are.’

With some effort, Aubrey restrained himself from attempting a quip about being at the aft end of a lifeboat, and spoke in the same hushed tones. ‘Imworth is over that way, isn’t it? To the north-west?’

‘True, but we’ve a fair distance before we get there.’

‘Where we’ll have some explaining to do.’

‘Which is why we should put in over there.’

George gestured with a single finger, shielding it with his body from the scrutiny of their enforced shipmates. A scattering of lights was showing on the cliff tops a few miles away.

Aubrey peered through the night, doing his best not to make it look obvious. The cliffs loomed over a narrow strip of beach where waves boomed, sending up spray that looked like mist at this distance.

‘It doesn’t look like a good landing place.’

‘That’s the point. Imworth is the only good harbour along this stretch of coast, but if we can land here and climb to the top of the cliffs, the train line isn’t far away. We’ll be far from here before the alarm can be raised.’

Aubrey yawned. His eyes watered, blearing the clifftop lights and turned them into little stars. ‘If we can land, I think I can get us to the top.’

THE WEATHERSHIP SKIPPER ARGUED WHEN AUBREY ordered a landing, but Caroline’s revolver-backed counterargument carried the day. As the lifeboat was buffeted by the roaring waves – and once when rocks grated heart-stoppingly along the keel – Aubrey wondered if George’s plan were such a good one at all.

The skipper proved to be a decent fellow. When Aubrey and his friends stood dripping on the narrow strip of wave-hammered stones, he suggested that they surrender their firearms and he’d take them to Imworth. When they refused, he shook his head and ordered his men to push off.

The wind whipped spray in their faces. George grabbed Sophie as a brute of a wave nearly bowled her off her feet.

‘Now what, Aubrey?’ Caroline asked. Like all of them, she was drenched to the waist – a result of leaping out of the lifeboat into the wild surf – but she still was able to look collected and stylish.

‘Hold hands. All of you.’

Aubrey was becoming polished with levitation spells. They soon left the shingle behind and drifted through the gloom, alongside the improbably white face of the cliffs and into the scrubby, stubborn bracken that faced the sea.

An hour later, after Sophie had laid a subtle disguising spell on Aubrey’s features, they stumbled wearily into tiny East Stallington Station, a few miles from where they’d landed. George used the public telephone at the station to report to the Directorate, confirming the identity of the skyfleet that had broached the borders of Albion and the surmises about its intention. He’d barely hung up when the Trinovant train pulled in. Within seconds, Caroline had leaped into the cabin of the locomotive and used her pistol to commandeer it. She wanted to ensure that that the driver didn’t do anything silly like adhering to a timetable and stopping all stations. Aubrey appreciated such thoughtfulness as he made himself as comfortable as possible in the warm, noisy cabin, and went to sleep with his satchel on his lap.

TRINOVANT WAS IN THE CLUTCHES OF THE SMALL HOURS of the morning by the time the train reached St Swithins. Aubrey and his friends leaped from the train as soon as it had slowed enough, and sidled through a place that was crowded despite it being a time when all good citizens should be abed.

Aubrey stopped at a grimy, red-brick pillar near a darkened workshop entrance. He yawned, then peered at the helmeted figures on the platform opposite, tall amid the anxious Trinovantans who were waiting, suitcases and valises by their sides, to leave the capital. ‘I know how this will sound,’ he said to his friends, ‘but how do I look?’

‘Not at all yourself.’ Caroline stretched, reaching for the ceiling with both hands linked. ‘And I assume that’s just what you’re after.’

‘Sophie, you have a real talent for this sort of thing,’ Aubrey said.

Sophie was looking about anxiously at the nervous throng. ‘Are you sure? I can try another spell if you are unhappy.’

George turned away from the platform, folding his arms. ‘Police.’

Aubrey straightened his jacket. ‘Let us go about our business, then, as all innocent people should.’

Aubrey held his breath as he and his friends squeezed past the four police constables in greatcoats who were casting about with lanterns and checking doors. He nodded at them and received wary acknowledgement in return as the nervous young men recognised the uniforms of the Directorate. Even the remarkably attractive Caroline and Sophie failed to bring a smile to the lips of the constables, and Aubrey wondered exactly what they’d been told. Were they looking for Aubrey Fitzwilliam, traitor of Albion, or was this simply part of the general climate of mistrust that war had brought?

Once free of the crowd that was choking the station, they made their way toward the Eastride underground station. Walking through the quiet, night-time streets, Aubrey noticed how the stars were hidden by clouds, a low overcast sky hanging over the capital. Crossing at the intersection of Bennett and Garland Streets, a ghostly beckoning caught him as he was about to step from the footpath and he nearly overbalanced. Caroline caught his elbow, glanced at him and frowned as he rubbed his chest with his free hand. ‘What is it?’

Aubrey couldn’t help but look skywards. To the north, out over Stapledon and Allingham, a mass of clouds broke apart. The outlines of Dr Tremaine’s skyfleet, black against the dark grey of the thunderheads, were unmistakable. ‘He’s here.’