While von Stralick marshalled the lorries, Aubrey had an idea. He had a notion that being independent of the vehicles might be an advantage, so he went via the kitchen to the rear yard of the factory. He hoped that the bicycles they had purchased on their last sortie in Divodorum were still safely locked in the shed, and when he used the key he’d retrieved from a nail behind a dreadfully obsolete calendar, he was relieved to discover that some vigorous work with a pump was all that was needed to make the bicycles fit for use again.
George was finishing a slice of toast and butter as he approached with Sophie. ‘Ah. Good thinking, old man. Should we drag out civilian clothes?’
Aubrey hesitated for a moment before answering. ‘Let’s stay in our field uniforms. I’m thinking that we might need to make an official visit to the fortress.’
‘Capital. I’ll take care of business while you hover at the rear.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You’re the Traitor of Albion, remember? I have the proper credentials to get us into the place. As long as you tag along as my batman, it shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Wait – batman?’
‘I’ve thought this through, old man, and I’m sure it’s best if you pose as my military valet.’
‘Your batman.’
‘That’s right. It gives you an excuse to be with me, and it gives the Gallians an excuse to ignore you. No-one looks too closely at a batman.’
Sophie poked George. ‘You are enjoying this. Do not tease so.’
George spread his hands, a picture of innocence. ‘I’m just doing what I can to keep this team operating at peak efficiency, my gem. Part of which are my orders to keep Aubrey from being shot, which is what I intend to do.’