‘This is what they teach you at your university?’
‘Er, not exactly. This is something of my own.’
‘Something you’ve done before?’
‘Not in its entirety.’
George snorted again. ‘Not to any extent at all, am I right, old man?’
‘That may be the case.’ Aubrey grinned. ‘But the principle is sound, don’t you think?’
‘You convinced me,’ George said, ‘but you could read a spell out of a Christmas cracker and I’d be impressed.’
Sophie looked from George to Aubrey and back again. ‘So he is making this up?’
‘As he goes along,’ George said. ‘Not to worry. He usually makes it work. In the end.’ George rubbed his chin and studied the array of finished kites: two large box kites and three diamond kites, all with their lacquer drying. ‘I take it then, old man, you want to fly the kites from our roof and come as close as possible to the battle lines?’
‘I was getting around to that.’
‘You realise, of course, that the height and distance of a kite is dependent on its lifting power?’
Aubrey affected an airy wave. ‘So obvious, I would have thought, as not to require noting.’
‘And the weight it has to lift includes the string? Which gets heavier the longer it is?’
Aubrey bounced through the implications of this. ‘String isn’t exactly what I had in mind.’
‘You didn’t? Pray tell, what were you planning to use instead of string? Something that is lighter, but stronger, I hope.’
‘Find me a spider, would you?’
With a roll of destickied spider silk, thanks to the Law of Contiguity and an inverted application of the Law of Cohesion, they were nearly ready.
The challenge of working with such limited ingredients gave Aubrey great enjoyment, but it was tempered by the constant, intrusive memory of the events of the previous day. His concentration was interrupted a number of times by flashes where he saw the bridge erupt, and memories of the half-glimpsed, broken train plunging to its doom. He recalled the panic among the onlookers, the valiant but vain efforts to help. Because of this, he twice bungled his thread-making spell, which meant that George and Sophie had to hunt up more cobwebs in the dusty recesses of the factory, a duty they didn’t seem to mind. Sophie’s attentiveness and perceptive questions were helpful and also kept Aubrey on his game. Nothing like explaining something to an intelligent audience to help one’s own thought processes.
While they were off hunting up the spider silk – or whatever they were doing – an unhappy Caroline appeared.
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
Because you looked so comfortable where you were, he only prevented himself from saying with a huge effort. ‘Sorry. I thought you were awake.’
She glanced at him, then frowned, then went to speak, rethought, frowned again, then shook her head. ‘That doesn’t make any sense at all.’
No, but it’s giving you time to calm down. ‘It doesn’t? I beg your pardon. We’re busy kite-making here.’
‘Kite-making?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re deliberately throwing up non sequiturs, aren’t you?’
Yes. ‘No, honestly, we’re making kites. I had an idea about intelligence gathering. Let me explain.’
He had to give Caroline credit. She gradually put aside her annoyance at not being wakened to listen to his plan for the kites – and she was good enough to be impressed.
She picked up one of the spare bamboo struts and examined it. ‘So we’ll have some idea of what’s happening at the battlefront, without too much risk?’
‘If it works.’
‘I’m sure it will. Most of your lunatic schemes seem to, one way or another.’
‘That’s me. Aubrey Fitzwilliam: purveyor of lunatic schemes to the rich and famous.’
They caught and held gazes for a moment – a still heartbound moment – and then Caroline waved the bamboo strut and the moment was gone. ‘Don’t you want to know about the message to the Directorate?’
‘The Directorate?’ Aubrey’s putty-like brain coughed and wheezed into action. ‘Of course, the message to the Directorate.’
‘I sent it, but I’m not happy. It took a long time – there was much to report – and I have the feeling that it may have been intercepted.’
Aubrey shrugged. ‘It shouldn’t matter. That code is unbreakable.’
‘Famous last words.’ She rolled her shoulders and stretched. ‘But it’s not the code-breaking that I’m most worried about. It’s triangulation.’
Aubrey grimaced. ‘Of course. The longer you’re broadcasting, the easier it is for the Holmlanders to get a fix on our position.’
‘If they’re looking for us. I may simply be overreacting.’ ‘In this case, I’d most definitely prefer to overreact than underreact. Underreacting is likely to get us some unwelcome visitors hammering on the door.’
In the middle of the tiredness and tension, Aubrey realised that he was very comfortable with Caroline. Then, with a start, he wondered how that happened. Being with Caroline had always been exhilarating, but he would never have claimed it was comfortable. Comfortable suggested old slippers and cardigans, and he could never imagine Caroline in a cardigan.
Their relationship had changed. In their earnest efforts to remain good friends, they’d become just that. Good, comfortable friends. Cocoa and ginger nut friends. How are you and very well thank you friends. It was an eminently practical and workable way of living, but Aubrey felt as if he’d lost a diamond and found a hundredweight of coal.
‘Sorry?’ he said, realising that Caroline had continued speaking while he was wool-gathering.
‘I said that I asked the Directorate for an urgent response, but all I was told was to wait for further instructions. Again.’
‘I can’t imagine they’ll be able to send another remote sensing team straight away. If the rest of the Directorate is stretched thin, I’d say that the remote sensing department must be stretched almost transparent.’
It was close to dawn, after a frustrating night of waiting at her station, when Caroline received her response. This time, Aubrey was awake and alert, thanks to seven cups of very strong coffee, each one regularly spaced through the night-time hours. The message was terse, and Caroline had to ask for a repeat transmission, as the brevity made her think the message had been interrupted.
‘HOLD POSITION,’ Aubrey read after decoding. ‘GATHER INTELLIGENCE.’
Caroline made a face. ‘A distinct lack of imagination there.’
‘No,’ Aubrey said distantly. Without thinking, he rolled up the piece of paper and tapped it in his hand like a baton. ‘Tomorrow, we’ll follow orders and test our intelligence-gathering kites.’
‘And then?’
‘Hold our position. Gather intelligence.’
Twenty-one
A week – seven frustrating, maddening days – later, no further news had arrived from the Directorate. Aubrey wished the message had given some sort of time expectation. ‘GATHER INTELLIGENCE FOR THREE DAYS’ or ‘HOLD POSITION FOR A FORTNIGHT’ would have been preferable. The lack of certainty was frustrating but, he was starting to understand, it was the military way of doing things.
The makeshift kite intelligence-gathering devices worked well. More or less. Dazzling to look at, especially in the full sun, the kites flew high and true in the consistent breeze from the west. The spider silk was strong, if a little difficult to handle due to its extreme thinness. Leather gloves were definitely needed when handling the line, even after George had rigged a clever hand-cranked spooling mechanism on the roof.