middle of it, a formidable battleline of giant warships, ignoring the anti-aircraft fire that fell far short of its lofty elevation.
An untried spell, put together in difficult circumstances? Aubrey was ready but, before he could even articulate the first syllables that he was still arranging in his mind, the heavens were torn apart in a blinding flash. The thunder that followed made the anti-aircraft fire sound puny.
Aubrey blinked at the purple after-vision. He shook his head to clear it but his ears were still ringing as he scanned the sky. Lightning lanced across the black wall of cloud, ragged rips in the heavens, leaking brightness that made his eyes water.
How was he going to spy a bomb dropped in such conditions?
Wedged between the stairs and the side of the chateau, Aubrey extended his magical awareness, hoping to detect any magical emanations from falling bombs. It was a forlorn hope but desperation often gave birth to such unexpected offspring.
Even with his senses – mundane and magical – so attuned, Aubrey nearly missed the particular lightning bolt amid the garish display the heavens had become. In the split-second he had, he realised it was because of foreshortening – he didn’t see it because it was coming directly toward him.
The next thing Aubrey knew he was lying in the rhododendron bushes near where his beret was lodged. The noises about him were muffled and dim. When he stood, on shaky legs, he realised he’d been deafened by the blast that had flung him sideways. Numbly, he contemplated the diamonds scattered on the ground at his feet for a few seconds, before he realised that they were actually fragments of glass. A soldier grabbed his arm, shouted something and pointed up, then ran toward the stairs of the chateau.
Pull yourself together, Aubrey admonished himself. He untangled his beret and held it in his trembling fingers. He smelled burning and looked up.
All the windows on the top floor of the chateau – the third – were gone. He couldn’t see flames, but what he saw on the roof of the building finally stirred his feet into action.
Giant electrical figures were capering about, swinging from antenna masts, skating along wires, dancing on chimneys, a horde in a manic, sparking frenzy.
Aubrey ran for the stairs, bent double, for the skyfleet was rolling directly overhead. It was a vast, oppressive presence, bringing a howling wind that came from all directions. The storm cannoned into Aubrey and sent him reeling. Only by throwing out a hand and catching the newel post of the stairs was he able to prevent himself from being hurled away from the entrance.
Inside, the chateau was pandemonium as military personnel from privates to generals either tried to flee the assault on the chateau or assist the injured who were staggering down the stairs.
Aubrey sprinted in that direction and swam against the current, mounting the stairs as fast as he could, while hoping that Caroline had managed to find safety with Bertie.
He was alone when he burst out onto the flat area between the turrets, the erstwhile site of the antenna array, just in time to see the last of the electrical fiends cavort on top of the flagpole, which had – until a few minutes ago – flown the Gallian flag. Its rough human shape and its magic left Aubrey in no doubt that it was a cousin to the creature he’d defeated on the roof of the Divodorum base, but before he could do anything the flagpole exploded in a hail of splinters that sent him sprawling to protect his face.
When Aubrey rolled to his feet, the malicious sprite had vanished. The flagpole was a blackened stub amid the slag and shreds of wire that had once been a carefully aligned antenna array.
Aubrey rubbed his aching head, realised that his beret had gone missing again, found it in a tangle of nearby metal and lodged it on his head while he stepped gingerly across the melted and charred remains that had been, briefly, a playground for Dr Tremaine’s malign magic. When he reached the western parapet, he saw that the skyfleet was sailing away and taking the storm with it. Lightning jabbed down at the earth, making it look as if the ships were walking on giant, electrical legs, stalking across countryside with impunity. A telegraph pole exploded in a shower of sparks, then another, before the skyfleet crossed a ridge and Aubrey lost sight of its sparky spideriness.
A cry made him whirl to find Caroline joining him on the roof. ‘Aubrey!’
While Aubrey had the highest estimation of Caroline’s abilities, he nevertheless was relieved to see that she was unharmed. He veritably skipped across the roof, vaulting over a gaping skylight and dancing around a metal pole that jutted at an angle right through a dislodged downpipe.
She took his outstretched hand. A host of expressions flitted across her dear face before she settled on careful professionalism. ‘Bertie is safe. The telegraph room exploded and is burnt out, but that’s the only real damage.’
‘You’re unhurt?’
She tilted her head, but didn’t let go of his hand. ‘One must put first things first, Aubrey.’
‘I did.’
The service door banged back. George and Sophie emerged. ‘A right mess,’ George said after surveying the damage. ‘They won’t be putting this back together in a hurry.’
Click, click, click. Aubrey had it. He ran for the stairs. ‘Exactly, which means we need to be on our way.’
Banging down the stairs, Aubrey told Caroline what he’d seen on the roof – and he shared what Professor Mansfield had said with George and Sophie. ‘We need to let the Directorate know,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘but it looks as if… Ah! General Apsley!’
At the bottom of the stairs, the general was standing like a rock in the middle of a stream. While others rushed about, carrying boxes and valuables, the general had his hands behind his back, taking account of proceedings with some approval. ‘Fitzwilliam! Very good! This way!’
He broached the flood and ushered them into a drawing room to one side of the main entrance. The room was mostly gilt, mirrors and vases, a tiny showpiece designed to impress. It looked over the hospital area, which was, to Aubrey’s relief, untouched apart from some flailing canvas and a few minor collapses.
Bertie stood as they entered. ‘Relief seems to be the order of the day,’ he said. ‘I’m glad to see you, Aubrey.’
‘Bertie. Sir. Your majesty.’
A quick smile. ‘Enough of that. The general was eager to find you after I told him you’d know what just hit us.’
Aubrey addressed himself to the general. ‘It was Dr Tremaine, sir, and I’ve just learned he’s on his way to Trinovant. I don’t think I need to tell you that he needs to be stopped.’
‘Tremaine, eh? That was his magic?’
‘It was. I’ve seen his skyfleet magic before, and the electrical attack was undoubtedly his.’
‘Trinovant?’ General Aspley said. ‘Whatever for? I’d been led to believe that he was determined to organise a battle here, in Gallia.’
Aubrey screwed up his face in frustration. ‘He was, but he’s abandoned that plan. Whatever he has in mind now is unlikely to be less dangerous.’
‘So he wasn’t after our new King?’
‘I doubt it. If he had been, we wouldn’t be standing around and chatting like this.’ Aubrey felt some more pieces clicking into place. ‘He’s stopped us letting the Directorate know that he’s coming.’
‘All the communication equipment is unsalvageable,’ Caroline said. ‘It would take weeks to repair the damage.’
Aubrey jabbed a finger into the air, at nothing in particular. ‘As the skyfleet headed west, it was destroying the telegraph lines to make sure. He knew Professor Mansfield had escaped.’
‘He’s on the way to Trinovant?’ Bertie’s face was grave. ‘We must get word to them.’
Caroline seized Aubrey’s arm. ‘And so we shall.’
63
The ornithopter stood next to what had once been stables but was now being used as a mechanical workshop. The Gannet gleamed in the low light of the receding storm. Its wings were folded back in the resting
