Aubrey had a great deal of affection for the facility he and his friends had set up in Divodorum. Left on their own with repeated instructions to hold the location, together they had worked to make the dilapidated factory secure and comfortable. George’s considerable handyman skills, plenty of building materials, and lots of time on their hands had transformed the place into a communications centre and base for forays into Holmland.
But it was more than that, Aubrey recalled fondly as the lorries set off again. The four of them had made it a snug refuge. With war pressing close, with the streets alert and nervous, twitching at the thought of Holmland spies, they had laid in supplies enough to keep their spirits up. With Sophie and George’s cooking, with friends close by, and despite living in what had been a factory, Aubrey had enjoyed their time there.
He hoped it hadn’t been bombed.
When the lorries reached the outskirts of the city, they encountered streets that weren’t deserted, but neither did they have to battle their way along. Aubrey counted three cafes that were still open, despite the hard times, and two of them had tables on the street where a handful of patrons was enjoying the sun. The sight of two lorries in convoy and not heading toward the fortress did cause some curiosity, but Aubrey imagined that enough unusual events had occurred in Divodorum for the phenomenon to be shrugged off.
When the lorries pulled up at the gates of their base, in the industrial quarter near the river, Aubrey held up a hand, listening, stopping anyone from alighting, but the only sound he could hear was the distant pounding of artillery and the sound of a siren that came from the direction of the airfield.
‘Still looks secure,’ George said when he joined Aubrey outside the gate. He held up the large padlock and inspected it. ‘It’s the same one I left on it.’
Aubrey chinned himself up and was relieved to see, undisturbed, the dominoes he’d distributed about the perimeter, all magically entangled and ready to sound an alarm if intruders crossed the boundary. ‘All looks well,’ he said, dusting his hands together. ‘Now, who has the keys?’
George peered at the lock, then at Aubrey, while making a great show of patting all his pockets. Sophie looked quizzical. Caroline gave a sigh of impatience, then took the lock in hand while extracting two curious wire shapes from her belt. In seconds, the lock fell apart.
Once the main doors had been hauled back, the interior of the factory beckoned. Aubrey stepped inside and took in the smell of glue and leather, and was satisfied with their work. They’d gone to great pains to make this floor of the factory look like the bookbindery it was meant to be. He ran his hand over a bench strewn with leatherworking tools and was confident that the only visitor had been the dust fairy, and she’d brought friends.
With evening drawing in, Von Stralick and Madame Zelinka supervised the Enlightened Ones as they backed the lorries into the yard and began unloading the supplies. George and Sophie disappeared, carrying some of the boxes of provisions the Enlightened Ones had brought with them. Soon, the smell of frying onions wafted from the kitchen and Aubrey’s stomach was rumbling.
Caroline waved to him from the other side of the factory. ‘I want to check the antenna,’ she called, pointing up the stairs.
Aubrey considered whether that was an invitation. It was possible, but assuming such would be most gauche, and asking if he could come would sound even more gauche. Since he had no desire to head a list of Great Moments in Gaucherie, he stayed mum.
Caroline gazed at him for a moment from the far side of the factory floor, past the dozen or so Enlightened Ones who were carefully balancing large crates between them on their way downstairs, past the bookbinding paraphernalia, past the dust and neglect, and he saw her face as clearly as if he were standing next to her. She smiled. ‘Will you come with me?’
28
On their previous visit to Divodorum, they had laid out the antenna by stretching it in an array from parapet to parapet, criss-crossing the roof. It couldn’t be seen from the yard below, let alone the street, but it made the roof a difficult place to traverse.
‘All is in order,’ Caroline murmured as she walked along the first stretch of wire, trailing a delicate hand near, but not touching, the wire.
‘You do fine work,’ Aubrey said as he followed her. The tarred roof of the quondam factory was flat, at least in theory, and it provided a fine outlook over Divodorum, where the familiar sights of the university and the fortress were obvious, even in the gathering darkness.
He stopped and put a hand to his eyes, the better to see. That tower near the fortress was new. Higher than the guard towers, it looked spindly and makeshift – and was it actually within the walls of the fortress itself?
‘It’s important work.’ Caroline reached the end of the roof. She ducked under the next wire with one supple movement, then began to track back the other way. ‘We must get your information back to the Directorate.’
‘Of course.’ Aubrey took a last look at the mysterious tower and joined her. Caroline was a slim shadow in the darkness ahead of him, but unmistakable nonetheless. In fact, he was sure he could pick her form out in any ‘Spot the Silhouette’ competition. The thought made his collar hot and tight and he nearly missed Caroline reaching the end, ducking and making her way back to where he stood.
A roar came from the north-west, a heavy pounding that brought them up short and held them unmoving for a minute or two. When it stopped, he could make out Caroline’s eyes in the darkness. They were solemn. ‘Gallian or Holmlandish?’ she asked.
‘Holmlandish, I’d say. They’re the only ones with those twelve-inch guns.’
Caroline glanced back at the source of the barrage.
‘Nine-hundred-pound shells,’ Aubrey added. ‘Nasty.’
‘You can tell that from the sound?’
‘Not exactly. Hugo had some documents about what the Holmlanders are hauling up to break the lines. I think they’re sending the Gallians a few goodnight wishes.’
Caroline paused for a moment, then turned her head toward the north-west. ‘You’re sure they’ll come in this direction?’
‘If they do, they’ll punch right into the heart of Gallia.’
Caroline didn’t say anything for a while. A breeze stole through the night and ruffled the hair at the back of her neck. In a movement so artless and unconscious that Aubrey nearly wept, she caught an errant lock and twisted it to and fro for a moment.
‘We don’t want that,’ she said finally, briskly. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘Get some advice from those who should know best,’ he said. ‘Is the antenna in good shape?’
‘It’s acceptable.’ She sighed and stretched. ‘From the sounds of it, I may be in for a long night.’
29
Caroline Hepworth with dark circles under her eyes, Aubrey decided as he watched her slowly mount the stairs from the basement in the pre-dawn light, was still a delight. He fumbled with the coffee pot, eager to make sure that her mug was full and hot. ‘Here.’
‘Just what I need – my ninth coffee for the night.’
Aubrey bit his tongue. It was her tenth and it wasn’t actually night any more. He could make out the stacks of timber and discarded ironwork in the yard, if dimly, but he was starting to understand that correcting such things wasn’t important. ‘Did a response come through at all?’
Caroline sat at the table and inhaled from her coffee, closing her eyes for a moment. ‘Interference.’ She made a face. Lovely though it was, Aubrey accepted that it was her version of a grimace of disapproval. ‘The Holmlanders have found a way to distort messages. We had to change frequencies often, randomly, but we finally managed to communicate.’
‘We have orders?’
‘We do.’
