When they finished their lunch, George manoeuvred the wagon down from the road to the dockside with Sophie on the driver’s seat beside him, wide-eyed but game.
The crates were large, as promised, each about nine feet long. Lothar and Volker, grunting, loaded them with the aid of some imaginative swearing, an amalgam of Gallian and Holmlandish, Aubrey guessed, and the way they brought the languages together gave Aubrey hope for the future.
When they returned to the base, Aubrey enlisted the assistance of Madame Zelinka’s people to bring a crate inside – the one with a prominent ‘#1’ stencilled on the end. He was confident no-one could simply walk past and carry the others off the back of the wagon, but he made sure the gate was locked.
While George unhitched the horses and tended to them with Sophie, Aubrey studied the crate. The Enlightened Ones had rested it against the wall, next to the front doors, under the window. Nine feet long and narrow, it looked uncomfortably like a coffin for someone who was very tall and spindly.
Caroline appeared from the kitchen. She’d put on her fighting suit again, now that they were back in their base, and her feet were bare. In one hand she had a damp cloth. In the other, she had a pry bar. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘I’m anticipating.’
‘Anticipating?’
‘You were about to start an argument about whether to open the crate or not.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say argument -’
‘Then you’d put forward the view that the orders didn’t say anything about not opening the crate.’
‘Didn’t they? Let me have a look at them again.’
‘Which you’d suggest was actually a way of telling us that the crates should be opened for good reasons.’
‘Like inspecting them for damage during transit.’
‘That’s the sort of thing.’
‘Or for sabotage.’
‘We can’t have sabotaged equipment going to the front.’ She handed him the pry bar. ‘In fact, you’d be derelict in your duty if you didn’t open the crate.’
‘I was just going to say that.’
She smiled. ‘I know.’
Under Caroline’s watchful eye, Aubrey took to the crate. He restrained an impulse to be indiscriminately destructive, something that pry bars seemed to inspire. He’d have to recrate the machine in order to transport it to the front so he eased off the lid instead of hacking at it. The nails groaned before giving way, only increasing the feeling that he was opening a coffin.
He straightened to find that on top of the packing material that was smothering the magic neutraliser was a large, buff envelope with his name on it.
‘It’s official, not personal,’ Caroline pointed out. ‘Last name only, no rank or initial. But it must be from someone who knows you well enough to assume you’d break into the crate.’
‘Craddock,’ Aubrey said after he tore open the envelope and scanned its contents. His eyebrows rose. ‘He’s aware of the wireless interference. The Department is doing its best to overcome it, but apparently every Directorate team near any of the fronts is having the same problem getting through. Tallis is furious.’
‘Commander Craddock said that Commander Tallis is furious? Let me see.’
‘I’m reading between the lines.’
‘What else does it say?’
‘The Holmland mobilisation in this region is continuing. Much rail traffic. Heavy armaments, troops, materiel, pointing to a concerted push. Albion and the colonies are sending reinforcements. Gallia too, but Holmland infiltrators have done a good job in blowing up railway bridges, apparently.’ Aubrey read on quickly, noting that more magicians were disappearing, both in Albion and across the Continent – and reports were also arriving indicating that the disappearances weren’t limited to magicians; magical artefacts were disappearing from museums and private collections.
His eyebrows rose. ‘Dentists.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Caroline said.
‘Commander Craddock wants us to question any dentists we come across.’
‘He’s concerned about the state of the army’s teeth?’
‘He wants to know if any supplies have gone missing.’
‘Dental supplies.’
Aubrey took a last look at the document and slipped it back into the envelope. He’d need to read it again, at least once more. ‘Craddock is worried about something, but I’d wish he’d be a little less cryptic.’
‘I think it goes with the job,’ Caroline said. ‘Any other changes to our orders?’
‘No. We’re to take the neutralisers to the front and then assist in any way.’
‘We have a contact?’
‘Lieutenant-Colonel Stanley, special magical advisor to General Apsley.’ He smiled. ‘They know about my non-traitor status!’