Aubrey liked Lieutenant Davey’s enthusiasm. As well as being infectious and allaying any misgivings they may have had, it was reassuring to see such keenness in the service of the country. Albion would be well served if all its people showed as much gusto as Lieutenant Davey.
Captain Bailey was standing right at the front of the bridge with a pair of field glasses pressed to his face. He was an older man, with a neatly trimmed grey beard. Three other airmen were on the bridge, one doing the helming and the others performing arcane tasks known only to fellow airmen. Keeping a lookout for flocks of birds? Aubrey guessed wildly. Monitoring gas expansion?
When Davey cleared his throat, Captain Bailey lowered his field glasses. ‘Ah, the Directorate people. Good to have you aboard. Miss Hepworth.’ He took her hand and bowed over it, very slightly. ‘Fitzwilliam, Doyle.’ He shook hands. He was a short man, stocky, with alarmingly broad shoulders. Wrestler’s shoulders, Aubrey always thought of them as. ‘Come into my ready room. Keep it on a seventy degrees north heading, Cheney.’
The helmsman nodded. ‘Aye aye, sir.’
The ready room opened off the bridge and was surprisingly spacious. It had a desk, at the rear near a round porthole that let in the late afternoon sun. The front half was more like a comfortable lounge with a suite of low leather armchairs in a circle, surrounding a low table.
‘Five o’clock on the dot,’ Captain Bailey said, taking one of the armchairs. ‘Perfect. What about a spot of tea?’
George beamed and Aubrey knew that the captain of the airship had a friend for life. ‘We’d appreciate that,’ he said.
The captain leaned to the wall and pulled a cord. ‘Tea, and we can decide how we can help you when we reach our target.’
Aubrey hesitated. Was this a trick question? ‘By landing and letting us off, I suppose.’
Captain Bailey raised an eyebrow. ‘Eh? What’s that?’
Aubrey looked at Caroline. She shrugged, slightly. ‘We thought you were taking us to Divodorum.’
‘That’s what my orders say. But they don’t say anything about landing. The A 205 never lands unless it’s at a well-appointed airfield.’
In his mind, Aubrey could see the mission plans shredding and blowing away. He knew that part of being a leader was coping with obstacles, but he’d been hoping that they wouldn’t come as soon as this one had. He glanced at the watch on his wrist – having left his family heirloom safely at Maidstone – and saw that they were officially an hour and a half into their mission.
At least the motorcar trip had been uneventful.
‘Captain, have you taken out special units before?’ Caroline asked.
‘It’s about all we’re doing at the moment. Ferrying them to the Continent, then heading back for the next batch. Always at night.’
‘At night?’ Aubrey said. ‘How do the teams alight?’
‘No idea. Once we open the hatch, it’s up to them.’
In the silence that followed this revelation, it was George who held up a hand like a hesitant schoolboy. ‘And how high up are you when you do this hatch opening?’
‘A few thousand feet.’
‘A few thousand feet,’ George repeated slowly. ‘Above the ground, you mean?’
Captain Bailey wrinkled his brow. ‘You field operative people have magic, don’t you?’
Aubrey sighed. ‘We haven’t been briefed on such procedures.’
‘These arrangements did appear rushed,’ Captain Bailey muttered. ‘I suppose this means we’ll have to turn back, if you don’t have the capability to perform a drop.’
Aubrey saw the look of disappointment on Caroline’s face, despite her best efforts to hide it. He rallied. Not just for her sake, he told himself. It was for Albion, and duty, and responsibility and all that. ‘Not so, Captain. How long will it take to get to our target destination?’
‘Close to three hours, with this headwind.’
‘I recommend that we proceed. We’ll be ready when we get there.’
Fourteen
Despite the A 205 being a military airship, it was roomy and well appointed. Aubrey couldn’t help thinking that if he had the choice between being a crew member on a dirigible or on a submersible, anyone needing elbow room should definitely choose the dirigible.
Aubrey, Caroline and George were assigned quarters, even though their transit time was short. After being dismissed by the captain, they were ushered through the polished wood and brass corridors by a young airman who keenly pointed out cargo and munitions bays, the wireless telegraphy room, engine rooms and the substantial galley, which nearly turned George aside as they passed, thanks to the savoury aromas issuing from it.
After depositing their meagre bags, they gathered in Aubrey’s cabin. The cabin was distinctly nautical in arrangement, with bunks and furniture constructed of aluminium and electric lights in the shape of portholes. ‘Aubrey,’ Caroline said. ‘You’re not putting us in an awkward position, are you?’
Such as being dropped from two thousand feet and not being quite sure about effecting a soft landing? He pulled the lightweight chair from the desk and offered it to Caroline. She sat, while George and he perched on the bunk. ‘On our recent train trip to Fisherberg...’ he began.
‘On which you carefully didn’t invite me.’
Aubrey paused. At the time, he’d tried to communicate with Caroline, but had been unable. In the end, Caroline had found her own way to the Holmland capital anyway, in the company of her mother. But if he pointed out either of these facts he would simply lay himself open to a charge of not trying hard enough. Again.
‘I’m sorry for that,’ he said, and then added, in a burst of sudden inspiration, ‘I should have tried harder.’
‘Hmm.’
‘In any case, I told you about the events of that journey. About being flung off the train and then running into the band of rebel Veltranians.’
‘I searched that train high and low,’ George said. ‘I had no idea where he’d gone.’
‘As if being pushed out of the train wasn’t bad enough, it happened just as it was going over a bridge. A very high bridge.’ Aubrey paused, remembering his terror. ‘It gave me considerable incentive to invent a spell that would ease my descent.’
‘I see.’ Caroline leaned against the desk. ‘And did you use any of the spellcraft you’d being playing around with when we were in Lutetia? When you levitated that whole tower?’
‘Some of the elements,’ he said. ‘Decreasing the effects of gravity, for instance. It’s interesting, really, but by decreasing the attractive pull of the earth for a moment I think the earth actually gets heavier. Infinitesimally, but nonetheless–’
Caroline held up a hand. ‘Enough, Aubrey. Save it for one of your journals.’
‘Ah. Of course.’
‘Anything you need, old man?’ George asked. ‘Magical paraphernalia or the like?’
‘Not having much paraphernalia about when I was falling through the air, I made do,’ Aubrey said, grinning. ‘But I do need one item: a feather.’
George stood. ‘So our mission to thwart Holmland begins with a feather hunt on an airship. Wait until my readers hear about this.’
‘What on earth are you talking about, George?’ Aubrey said.
‘You can’t write about our work,’ Caroline said. ‘It’s top secret!’
George looked surprisingly smug. ‘We all have our talents. My work on the university magazine was recognised by the Special Services people. They said I’d be perfect for a little scheme they’ve cooked up to help morale. A series of magazine articles about dashing Albionite soldiers and special operatives. Names and details changed, of course.’