The telephone on the sergeant’s counter rang. When he answered, his attention immediately went to the Group W bench and Aubrey swallowed. The sergeant had the look in his eye that Aubrey imagined some commanders had when choosing volunteers for suicide missions. ‘You two.’ He jabbed his pencil at Aubrey and George. ‘On the end. Room 3. Look lively.’
‘Both of us?’
‘Now, sunshine.’
Aubrey swung open the door to Room 3 to see it was bare apart from two wooden chairs in the middle. George shrugged. ‘The army.’
When the door closed behind him, it revealed that a tall officer had been standing behind it. He was tall and lanky and had so little chin Aubrey assumed all his pillows had no slips. ‘Right. This way.’ He pointed at a door that could only lead outside.
‘No medical examination?’ Aubrey asked.
‘This way,’ the officer repeated, as if he were talking to a small child. ‘This way.’
Aubrey was strangely reluctant, but guessed that disobeying orders was a bad way to start an army career.
In the lane outside the door, a lorry was waiting, motor running. A private stood at rigid attention by the tail gate. ‘In the back,’ the officer ordered. ‘Hurry now.’
As soon as they scrambled in, the tail gate was banged shut and the lorry lurched off down the lane. A screeching left-hand turn and they bullocked their way into High Street traffic.
‘War does strange things to normal procedures,’ George shouted over the growl of the engine. Canvas flapped over the rear of the lorry, making it easy enough to see their passage.
‘The modern army,’ Aubrey said. ‘It’s all new.’
The driver was in a hurry. He used the horn almost constantly as he threw the lorry from side to side through the busy traffic. ‘We’re headed toward the city,’ Aubrey said as they passed Limner’s Hall. ‘Maybe they’re inducting everyone at the Ministry of Defence.’
‘All the criminals, anyway.’
Aubrey sat back at that. Maybe undesirables were shipped off somewhere. He could see them driving straight through the city and heading out into the country east of Trinovant, ending up in a camp that harboured all those unfit for military service, like a boil on the buttock of Albion.
The lorry rounded the Jubilee Pavilion and roared along Hollingsworth Street, past the greenery of Pitcher Park and then into Eastride. It was then that Aubrey threw out his first wild imaginings. When they slowed and turned into Pettypoint Street, he was certain he knew where they were going. Grainger Square loomed ahead. They turned right and drew up in front of a vast, gloomy building, the knocked-together conglomeration that began with a pair of three-storey townhouses and had grown over the years into a vast warren of secrecy.
‘Good lord,’ George said, staring up at the oppressive façade that loomed over them. ‘Darnleigh House.’
The soldier who had loaded them appeared at the rear of the lorry. ‘All out,’ he said, but his eyes were on the building rather than on his passengers. ‘This is your stop.’
Commander Craddock watched Aubrey and George from the other side of his desk. ‘We can’t waste talent, I’m afraid. While you would have been useful in the army, we think you could be more useful elsewhere.’
Aubrey’s irritation at being impressed – at being co-opted against his will – was soothed somewhat by this, but he allowed it a bite. ‘It is called volunteering, isn’t it?’
‘Unfortunate, that,’ Craddock said. He had a small silver paperweight in one hand and he rolled it through his fingers. ‘It’s not necessarily the best thing for the country.’
‘Ah. And you know better?’
George looked uncomfortable at this exchange. ‘I say, Commander, I can appreciate why you’ve got Aubrey here. Top notch magic talent and all that. But it doesn’t explain what I’m doing here.’
‘I agree,’ Commander Craddock said. ‘It’s remarkable, Doyle, how little magic you have in you. Many people have a touch, even if only an infinitesimal amount. But you seem entirely devoid of magic.’
George smiled. ‘That comes as quite a relief, actually, since I’ve seen the sort of thing magic can do.’
‘You do have other skills, but they are of more use elsewhere. Propaganda, perhaps, with your writing. Just follow Tate here and she’ll take you to Lattimer Hall.’
Aubrey and George swivelled in their chairs. A blackclad Department operative was standing at the door. Long black skirt, black jacket, gloves. Aubrey hadn’t heard her enter. ‘Lattimer Hall?’ George said. ‘Special Services headquarters?’
‘Just across the park,’ Craddock said. ‘We work closely together now that we’re united under the auspices of the Directorate, especially when it comes to recruiting.’
‘You have your recruiters on the lookout?’ Aubrey said.
‘We have a list of names,’ Craddock said. He placed the paperweight in a small silver saucer. It shone like a beacon. ‘If they appear at a recruiting office, we’re notified. When you and Doyle showed up, I said we’d take you both in and then get Doyle here to Lattimer Hall.’
‘And what if these names don’t volunteer?’ Aubrey asked.
‘They will. Given time.’
‘So you don’t think the war will be over by Christmas?’
‘Do you?’
Aubrey remembered the war build-up he’d seen in Holmland. ‘I doubt it.’
‘The war will be a horror beyond most people’s imagining. When this becomes apparent, it will deter some from volunteering – but others will understand how important it is.’ Commander Craddock pushed the paperweight with a finger. It rolled around the saucer. ‘And if they don’t, we’ll have to convince them.’
Aubrey hoped that wasn’t as ominous as it sounded. Craddock had made a professional career out of sounding threatening.
George stood. ‘Be careful, old man,’ he muttered to Aubrey, but he brightened when he joined Tate, the Department operative. She looked at him coolly from under her cap with large dark eyes. ‘Are we in any hurry?’ he asked her. ‘I know a little café, just around the corner...’
His voice cut off as the door shut, and Aubrey smiled. George would never die wondering.
‘Things have changed, Fitzwilliam,’ Craddock continued. ‘With the declaration of war, I need every talented individual I can get hold of. I want to bring you on board, not as an irregular, but as a full operative of the Department.’
‘I see.’
‘I’m organising a special intelligence and espionage corps. I want you to be part of it.’
Aubrey sat upright. ‘But aren’t I a little young?’
Craddock smiled grimly. ‘You’re eighteen. Many of our army volunteers are younger than that. Besides, how old do you have to be to die for your country?’
Aubrey swallowed. ‘I’d prefer to live for my country. I could get more done that way.’
‘So do I, but I want you to understand what’s at stake here.’ Craddock took a large, leather-bound ledger from a desk drawer. He opened it. ‘I’m going to need all sorts of people, young and old. We’ll be recruiting women, too, plenty of them.’
‘For active service?’
‘Of course. We’re not going to overlook talent, wherever we find it. The regular army can shilly-shally on such matters, but we can’t afford to. I anticipate that members of these special units will have to work in different places, blending in unobtrusively.’
‘Overseas?’
‘Wherever they’re needed. Behind enemy lines, in Gallia, in the Goltans.’
When Aubrey had committed himself to being a soldier, he’d accepted that he would be sent to the front. He’d worked up his courage to encompass this eventuality, and now his expectations were thrown out of the window. This was not what he’d been planning – but it was altogether more exciting.