The result wasn’t silence because the earth was still settling, protesting at the indignities inflicted upon it, dirt still falling like hail.
A commander’s whistle sounded. Aubrey’s abused ears took a moment to work out that it came from off to his right, in the direction that Captain Robinson had gone. He sprinted in that direction, lurching from one side of the trench as his body did its best to propel him forward with the objective of stopping the poorly timed advance. If Robinson’s men pushed forward by themselves, it could be a disaster. Aubrey needed to warn them, to get the captain to fall back. He didn’t want his plan to be the cause of needless deaths.
Men were scrambling up the sides of the trench, rifles in hand, shouting encouragement to each other and, more chillingly, wordless battle cries. Aubrey swarmed after them and stood for a moment on the other side of the parapet, trying to find Captain Robinson while simultaneously being stunned by how the landscape had been transformed.
It was as if the old no-man’s-land had been stripped away and a totally new one dropped in its place – one that took the essence of the original no-man’s-land and distilled it, creating a place that had all the horror of the old, but intensified a thousandfold. This new no-man’s-land had been made by a madman, one who was entranced by smoking craters and desolation. Aubrey was sickened to think that might be a glimpse of where war was heading.
Robinson’s men were charging. Their bayonets were fixed. In a ragged line, they advanced toward the Holmland trenches, thankfully meeting no resistance.
Aubrey tried to spy the officer, but at that moment a single shot came from the Holmland trenches. Aubrey pitched backward and felt himself falling slowly, dreamily. All his plans, thoughts and hopes ran away, no matter how he tried to clutch them, and then everything else did as well.
57
Magic, Aubrey thought, It must be magic.
One instant he’d been standing on the edge of an Albion trench – rather foolishly, now he thought about it – and the next he was lying in a very comfortable bed in what looked like a Gallian chateau.
Extraordinary.
The bed was one of the old-fashioned four-poster type, with heavy drapes and canopy of blue velvet. He’d never liked the style, finding them dusty, but he was willing to concede that it was considerably superior to the frontline trenches. The lack of gunfire was a particular improvement.
In a comfortable stupor, he allowed his gaze to roam around a room that was the sort of gilt and plaster confection that made him think of wedding cakes. Rather too many cherubs cavorted about the cornices for his liking, but it was clean and warm. The tall windows, with more blue velvet drapes, showed him glimpses of trees that hadn’t been shattered by shell fire.
So I’m definitely not in no-man’s-land.
A formidable woman was sitting on a gilt chair not far from the bed. Aubrey decided that unless she had a penchant for wearing uniforms with red crosses all over, she was probably a nurse. She was studying him carefully and looked as if she were just dying for an opportunity to lunge at him and thrust a thermometer into his mouth.
She confounded this by shaking her head, then getting up and leaving the room. This was, Aubrey decided, very un-nurselike behaviour. His view of nursely behaviour – formed by close reading of Nurse Lily’s Adventures, a romance book George had lent him – was that a real nurse would be tending him solicitously, gazing into his eyes while resting a comforting hand on his forehead. Either that or ramming a needle into his arm while lecturing him about the virtues of carbolic soap.
The door opened. Caroline entered, in uniform, and Aubrey felt as if he’d won a lottery. George and Sophie were close behind, and they were equally spruce.
Caroline stopped by the bedside. ‘Nurse Lucas told us you were awake.’
Aubrey sat up and considered this. ‘Nurse Lucas? I knew she was no Nurse Lily.’ He shared a significant look with George.
‘We don’t have time for nonsense, Aubrey.’ Caroline sat on the edge of the bed. She rested a comforting hand on his forehead and he was overjoyed. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Well enough, I suppose, for someone who’s just been shot.’
‘Shot?’ George said. ‘I’m afraid not, old man.’
Aubrey felt his head for a bandage and found only hair. ‘I assumed …’
‘You were standing on the parapet of the trench, doing your best to be a target,’ Caroline said. ‘A mine exploded. Part of the trench collapsed. You fell in and hit your head on a crate of tinned peaches.’
‘Ah. Nothing heroic, then?’
‘You stopped the Holmland advance, Aubrey,’ Sophie said. ‘That is very heroic, no?’
‘They’ve pulled back?’
George cut in. ‘The Holmland front line is still being held, but most of their forces at Fremont have been pulled back.’
‘Wait.’ Aubrey looked at the window. Gardens and blue sky remained serene. ‘How long has it been?’
‘Not quite two days,’ Caroline said. Her reserve slipped a little. ‘You were quite undone by your spell casting.’
‘Holmland reports have been intercepted,’ George said. ‘They’re trumpeting the fact that the Chancellor has been at the front. They’re trying to make it into a propaganda coup.’
Caroline tapped him on the shoulder. ‘The file in your satchel, Aubrey, the one Hugo gave you. We handed it to General Apsley and his staff. The photographs have helped confirm that the Chancellor and the members of the Central Staff were on the Holmland front lines.’
Aubrey was relieved. The file had been important in his spell making, but he was glad it was continuing to be useful.
‘The best news is that the whole mobilisation at Fremont has stopped,’ Sophie said.
‘Forces were being devoted to keeping the Chancellor safe, I suspect,’ Aubrey said, relieved more than triumphant. ‘Until he was able to leave without appearing cowardly.’
‘Reinforcements have started arriving from Lutetia and Albion,’ Sophie said. ‘It doesn’t matter if the Holmlanders regroup now, we are ready for them.’
‘You bought time, Aubrey.’ Caroline patted his pyjamaed shoulder and left her hand there. He covered it with one of his.
‘And now it’s time to get me out of here,’ he said. ‘Wherever here is.’
‘We’re on the outskirts of Divodorum,’ Caroline said, ‘well away from the front.’
‘I venture that this isn’t a military hospital. How did I get here?’
‘That would be my doing,’ came a voice from the doorway.
Aubrey stared. ‘Bertie!’
Caroline, George and Sophie snapped to attention. Prince Albert made a face and closed the door behind him. ‘Oh, please don’t. Sit, all of you. I’ve had enough of that sort of thing this last week to last me a lifetime.’
Prince Albert was in the uniform of Colonel in Chief of the Crown Prince’s Light Infantry Regiment, his own. Aubrey thought the green went well with Bertie’s dark features, and his slimness set off the jacket very neatly.
The prince took off his cap and drew up a chair. He smiled at Sophie, after she and George had sat and Caroline had resumed her station on the bed. ‘Miss Delroy, is it not?’ he said in Gallian. ‘I have been following your exploits with great interest. Your piece in the latest Sentinel was excellent. It’s rallied Gallian spirits most splendidly.’
Sophie coloured delightfully and responded in the same language. ‘I do not know what to say, your highness.’ She paused and looked at George, switching to Albionish. ‘Your highness. Is that correct, George?’
The prince laughed. ‘“Bertie” is perfectly acceptable, Miss Delroy, at least in this room. I believe all four of you have earned the right to some familiarity, considering what you’ve achieved in the last few months.’ He frowned at Aubrey. ‘Now, Aubrey, malingering again?’
