In the middle of these demands, Aubrey found himself in an odd frame of mind. Mired in the pressure of finding a solution to a formidable problem, he was enjoying himself. The density of brain work was exhilarating. He felt alive and invigorated. He was anticipating potential obstacles long before they emerged and so was able to sidestep them, or even turn them around so they became strengths instead of weaknesses. As this mood continued he began to look forward to difficulties, for he was sure that he would be able to resolve them, and each resolution was a moment of extra joy, a spike of satisfaction that made him glow all the more fiercely.
Until he hit an obstacle that stopped him dead.
At first, he smiled and tried recatenating some elements, then he substituted operators in the spell to approach his desired effect in a different way, but he still found the obstacle in his way. He went back a few steps and completely recast a significant section of the spell. He was pleased with this as it actually tightened up some aspects of the duration of the actual transference, but after he’d completed this recasting, the spell still wouldn’t gel.
He took a step away from the table and rubbed his face with both hands. His vision blurred for a moment when he tried to focus on the entrance to the dugout, but he hardly noticed, so hard was he thinking.
It’s the simple things that resist our efforts to manipulate them , he thought as he turned back to the offending section. Nearby, Caroline murmured something to Sophie. They may have been words in Albionish, but Aubrey was currently juggling Akkadian, Demotic and Phrygian so he couldn’t understand a word they were saying.
The sticking point was the location point for the arrival of the Holmland warmongers. Aubrey had a neat area picked out. A hundred yards into no-man’s-land, almost directly in front of their current position, was a large double shell hole formed where two shells had exploded close together. From there, the Holmland trenches could be reached via a rough scramble through one of the rare muddy sections of no-man’s-land, then past the usual barbed wire emplacements, a shattered fence line, and the grotesque pock-marked landscape that had once been woods and farmland.
Aubrey had chosen this location because he wanted the Holmlanders to arrive there and suffer the horror they had been insulated from. He wanted them to experience what they had sent so many others into – but he wanted them then to escape and, once they’d understood what they’d created, he hoped they might reconsider everything. He’d come to appreciate that reality had a bracing effect on plans and he was hoping that the shock the Holmlanders were about to receive might make them think again about the course of action they had chosen.
A few hours in no-man’s-land should suffice, he’d decided, enough to make them think they were going to die. Perhaps he could organise an Allied military advance, or a raiding team or two, or even an artillery bombardment in the area. Surely this would inspire them to seek their own lines, no matter how difficult they might think the passage would be?
After that, a renewed artillery bombardment of Holmland trenches would hammer home the point. Aubrey could imagine the politicians and the generals arguing about their lives versus military objectives. At best, Aubrey was hoping for a retreat. At worst, a halt in the planned Holmland advance. Whatever the outcome, time would be gained, precious time to bring up Allied reinforcements.
So the location for the arrival of the Holmlanders was a key part of his plan – and here it was, proving more difficult than Aubrey had imagined. He wasn’t sure if was the necessary effect of bringing together a dozen people from widely spread origins, or if it was the difficulty alluded to by Colonel Stanley, the need for precise location elements in any transference spell, but nothing he tried addressed the issue of exasperating vagueness when it came to fixing the location point. When he ran through the most recent draft of the spell it had potential outcomes that included spreading all twelve men over a hundred miles or so, or having them arrive at daily intervals for nearly a fortnight. One hastily abandoned option would have had the Chancellor’s cronies appearing at different heights ranging from a few miles above the surface of no-man’s-land to a mile or so underneath it.
Vagueness, uncertainty. He couldn’t excise it from the spell, no matter what he tried. He gnawed at the elements for location and tried to constrain them, elucidate them, enhance them and define them, but nothing worked.
‘Aubrey.’
It took him a moment to recognise his own name. ‘Caroline?’
She stood, neat and sublime in her uniform, managing to convey both concern and utter confidence in his work. ‘George, Sophie and I agree. You need to walk away for a moment.’
Aubrey worked his mouth a little before answering. It felt as if he’d been chewing on ashes. ‘I do?’
‘It’s obvious you’ve come up against something you can’t sort out. You need a break to refresh yourself.’
‘But how did you know?’
‘You’ve been clenching your teeth. You only do that when you run into a problem that you can’t solve straight away.’
‘Ah.’ His jaw was aching, now that she’d pointed it out. He rubbed it and reflected on the observational powers of his friends. ‘How long have I been at it?’
‘It’s just gone past 2200 hours.’
‘Seven hours.’ His eyes were smarting. ‘I think I’ll step outside for a breath of air.’
George was immediately at his side. ‘Capital idea, old man. I’ll join you.’
Sophie smiled bravely at him from the other side of a steaming mug of tea. On the way out of the dugout, Aubrey saw Colonel Stanley slumped in a corner, snoring, his head propped on some excess sandbags.
George held out an arm and prevented him from leaving while a squad of sappers jogged past, shovels in hand and carrying slit lanterns, then he signalled for Aubrey that the way was clear.
Aubrey stretched more than his legs as he wandered along the trench. He rolled his shoulders and swung his arms and felt as if his whole body was uncoiling.
A flare bloomed in the sky, turning night into a ghastly sort of day. Aubrey found a step and carefully levered himself to the parapet. Finding a loophole in the sandbags, he surveyed the scene, reminding himself of exactly what he was doing.
George joined him. ‘A scrap of land,’ he said softly. ‘Hardly worth fighting over.’
‘We’re not fighting for that scrap of land. We’re fighting for what it represents. Not fighting for it would mean we were giving in.’
‘I wouldn’t be happy with that,’ George said, ‘but I wish we didn’t have to. I suppose it’s stand up or be knocked down.’
‘Something like that.’ Aubrey sought for his location point and found it, unmistakable in the broken landscape. He thought it a perfect place to see how stupid war was. He could even worm his way out there himself, if he followed that chain of pot holes, and then worked his way under that forest of barbed wire someone had risked himself to set up. Aubrey traced the route with his eye, then the flare faded and left him thinking.
Three closely spaced explosions erupted on the ridge behind the Holmland lines. ‘We’re shelling the hills, now?’ Aubrey asked.
‘Communications have been spotty, up and down the line, but we’ve been told that artillery commanders have been ordered to use their initiative. If they see a target up there, they can have a dash.’
‘Have a dash. Sounds jolly.’ Aubrey peered into the night for a moment, its blackness hiding the magnitude of his task.
An idea jumped out of the darkness and hit him between the eyes. He stared, unseeing for a while, examining the idea from all sides, to see if its lunacy was simply ridiculous or if it was the special sort of outrageousness that he had come to value. ‘I have to get back to it, George.’
‘See? It did you good, getting away for a while.’
‘It did that,’ Aubrey said vaguely, his mind working elsewhere at a rate hitherto thought impossible. ‘Which way is the dugout?’
When they entered, Stanley was at the makeshift table, yawning and doing his best to focus on the scattered papers in front of him. Aubrey noticed that his eyes were bloodshot. ‘Impressive stuff, Fitzwilliam. Damned impressive.’
‘Sir.’
Sophie stretched out on a bench under a map of Stalsfrieden. George went to rouse her, but Aubrey shook his head. ‘Let her sleep.’
‘Are you sure?’
