Word of Honour

Aubrey quickly counted the stripes on the man's sleeve. 'Captain Stephens, is it?'

Stephens spread his hands as if to suggest it was all a mystery to him. 'Apparently someone at the Admiralty got their files mixed up. Happens all the time.'

'Weren't you captain of the Steadfast in the Kregheim disaster?'

Stephens brushed this away. 'Fine ship, the Steadfast. Almost sailed herself.'

That may have been true, but Aubrey was sure that it wasn't the ship that gave the orders to steam into rebelheld Jarosevnia and rescue the Albion citizens trapped there – while being peppered by the guns in the massive fort that overlooked the city.

'And what's your current command?'

Captain Stephens grinned. 'Can't tell you right now, I'm afraid. Exciting stuff, though.' He scanned the crowd milling around Sir Darius, Rokeby-Taylor and Admiral Elliot. The officers were doing their best to look attentive while the admiral pointed out features of the base. 'A grand sailor, Admiral Elliot, can navigate the Rosscommon Shoals on a moonless night without scraping his bottom.'

'I should hope not,' Aubrey said after some deliberation.

A dozen or so brand-new motorcars arrived. Admiral Elliot took Sir Darius and Rokeby-Taylor in the first. Captain Stephens made sure Aubrey and George were in the second, and he ordered the driver to head toward a long, nondescript building on the water's edge, just around a rocky point from the main dock area, while the other cars took the remaining officers back to the main base.

The sun was still high in the sky, even though George pointed out it was nearly four o'clock. A light breeze came onshore, carrying the smell of salt mixed with the potent tang of oil and coal. A bell rang across the water, the sound coming from one of the predatory ships that rode in the bay. Aubrey shaded his eyes against the sunlight skipping across the multitude of tiny waves. The might of Albion, the power that kept the seas free, was invested in this place. Without such a fleet, the island nation would be vulnerable in the worst way.

Which is why everyone views Holmland's naval build-up with more than a little disquiet, he thought and he counted the ships again to reassure himself.

As the party came closer to the corrugated-iron building that was their destination, Aubrey saw that one end actually projected some distance into the sea. Apart from that, it looked remarkably like a dirigible hangar – tall, with a single gable, a ridge running along its entire length. No windows. Two huge doors on the landward side, opening onto the road. A smaller door facing them.

'Is this a research facility?' he asked Admiral Elliot when they'd alighted from their vehicles.

The admiral glanced at him. Aubrey could see him weighing up whether he could afford to ignore the son of the Prime Minister or not. Eventually, he answered with some reluctance. 'It's part of it. Enclosed dock.'

'Ah. To keep away sightseers.'

Admiral Elliot worked his jaw for a moment. 'Something like that.'

Aubrey scanned the skies. They were a long way away from anywhere. Exactly who were they afraid of? Sunny skies, refreshing breeze, but suddenly the day seemed to be far more ominous than Aubrey had previously thought. He chewed at his lip. He stopped, gathered himself and reached out, using his special awareness, looking for any sign of magic, trying to get a sense of what may be going on behind the walls ahead.

He was rewarded with a palpable hit.

Heavy-duty magic was lurking behind those walls. Impressive, revolutionary stuff, if Aubrey was any judge. A derivative of spells stemming from the Law of Regression, he suspected, but exactly how that could help the navy, he had no idea.

Captain Stephens broke from the small group and hurried ahead. He unlocked the small door in the side of the facility and saluted. 'This way, Prime Minister, if you please.'

Inside, the shed was lit by electric lights suspended from the lofty ceiling. Aubrey was again reminded of the dirigible hangars in Lutetia, for the gantries, chains and heavy lifting equipment were all the same. It was apparent that serious engineering took place here. The place was quiet, but it wasn't hard to imagine it as a scene of industrial activity – hammering, welding, cutting, wrenching metal into shape.

Aubrey's sense of déjà vu had another tweak when his eyes grew accustomed to the change of light and he became more and more excited at what he saw. A long cigar shape took up most of the far end, where the shed projected into the water. Either side of the cigar shape were walkways, wooden jetties on solid piles driven into the seabed.

'Our experimental vessel, the Electra,' Rokeby-Taylor said. He beamed at it, as if he'd built every inch himself. 'Rokeby-Taylor Shipbuilding's finest work.'

'Ah, so this is the famous submersible,' Sir Darius said. 'At last.'

'You've heard of it?' Admiral Elliot bristled. 'This is meant to be top secret!'

'Well, I am the Prime Minister,' Sir Darius reminded him. 'Now, Clive, you say this is going to revolutionise naval warfare?'

'It's going to make battleships obsolete,' Rokeby-Taylor said airily. 'It's the way of the future.'

Aubrey had been admiring the size of the submersible – it was far longer than anything he'd heard of – but he winced at Rokeby-Taylor's insensitive remark.

'Obsolete?' Admiral Elliot thundered. 'Battleships? Never! Besides, these submersibles are unsporting. Hiding under water where they can't be seen? How is that fair?'

Captain Stephens coughed. 'Perhaps I should show the Prime Minister through the Electra?'

'That's what you're here for, Stephens,' Admiral Elliot growled. 'Take over.'

Admiral Elliot marched out of the facility without looking back. Captain Stephens apologised. 'He's a strong supporter of the submersible development program. Just don't disparage his battleships.'

'Did I do that?' Rokeby-Taylor looked crestfallen, but then he grinned. 'I won't do it again. Can't afford to have him offside. I say, Stephens, you don't know what sort of whisky old Elliot favours? I should send him a case or two, by way of apology.'

Sir Darius looked along the length of the Electra. 'So, Stephens, you're commanding this ship?'

'Boat,' Captain Stephens said. 'Submersibles are boats, not ships.'

'Why's that?' Aubrey asked. 'It looks big enough to be a ship.'

Stephens smiled. 'That it is, plenty big enough. One hundred and eighty feet, thirty men. But the first submersibles weren't this big, twenty, thirty years ago. Tiny things, limited range. They were called boats and it's stuck.'

'Wait until you see inside,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'It's a masterpiece.'

Captain Stephens turned on his heel. 'This way, gentlemen.'

He took them to a gangway. Above them, a conning tower projected from the body of the submersible, twice the height of a man.

'The Electra, Prime Minister,' Stephens announced. 'The most advanced vessel in the Albion fleet. This boat represents the ultimate blend of science, engineering and magic. Just you wait until you see her in action.'