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?’
‘Just practising, Bertie, in case I ever need to infiltrate a Holmland military hospital. I’ll be up in a minute.’
‘That’s what I wanted to hear. I don’t want to pin a medal to your pyjamas. Most undignified.’
‘Medal?’
‘Apparently I have one for each of you, but they’ll probably have to wait, your mission’s being top secret and all that. For now, I want to hear everything.’
Aubrey and his friends looked at each other. ‘Where do we start?’ he said.
‘Start after the Stalsfrieden factory fire. I have reports of events after that, but they’re so spotty I could use them as a leopard suit. Fill in the details, if you would.’
Telling the heir to the thrones of Albion and Gallia about their adventures became so much like old times that Aubrey almost forgot where they were. Caroline, Sophie and George all butted in, correcting his account, taking over, handing it from one to the other and laughing at the prince’s astonishment. Sophie was hesitant to begin with but, heartened by the others, she even managed to groan at one of Prince Albert’s execrable puns about firearms and finding people of the right calibre.
The tone of the recounting became more sombre as they came to describing the events at the front, and Aubrey hoped that Bertie was taking this in. The front was no joking matter. The prince grew more and more angry when they described the hardships of the trenches, and Aubrey thought it was anger most well directed.
After Caroline narrated the last episode – sensibly, as Aubrey had no idea about how she’d dug him out of the collapsed trench, de-peached him and then organised a squad to carry him to medical aid – Bertie sat back, thinking.
‘You’ve done a fine thing, all of you. A touch reckless, Aubrey, but effective.’ He put his hands together. ‘I like to think our generals are a little more aware of what they’re sending our soldiers into than the Holmlanders, but am I deluding myself? Perhaps I should recommend that all members of our High Command must visit the front, and do so regularly. In fact, I’ve a mind to do so myself since I’m so close.’
‘Begging your pardon, Bertie,’ George said, ‘I don’t think you’d be let within ten miles of the front. You’re too valuable.’
The prince grimaced. ‘They do say that, don’t they? I had enough trouble getting this far.’
‘Which makes me ask,’ Aubrey said, ‘what exactly are you doing here, Bertie?’
‘I’m doing my bit.’ The prince hesitated and he turned his cap over in his hands a few times. ‘I wanted to do something, you see. Even figureheads can, was my thinking.’
‘You’re far from a figurehead.’ Aubrey knew how much work Bertie had done in the last few years. Ever since his father had grown incapable of fulfilling the role of king, Bertie had taken on many of his ceremonial roles as well as the tedious bureaucratic roles. Even though the public knew the King was ill, Aubrey was sure they had no idea how ill – thanks to Bertie’s work.
‘I appreciate that, Aubrey, but I decided a gesture or two could be important. So I decided to leave Trinovant and to rally the troops. And the alliance.’ He nodded to Sophie. ‘You’re aware that the alliance with Gallia has been coming under some pressure?’
‘It is true,’ Sophie said. ‘My father said that many people are unhappy about the war. They think that Albion is using Gallia as a wall to stop the Holmlanders. And there are others who are unhappy with the way we are governed. They want a king.’
‘Gallian royalists, in this day and age. I can’t believe it,’ Bertie said, without any hint of irony. He picked at the braid on his cap. ‘You forgot to mention the Gallians who are horrified by such a possibility.’
‘Gallia is used to political unrest,’ Sophie said, ‘but it is a bad time for such things.’
‘So you decided to shore up support with a goodwill tour,’ Aubrey said to Bertie.
‘A little more than that, actually.’ Prince Albert hesitated a little and straightened his tie before going on. ‘I took the Gallian Crown Jewels with me to Lutetia and reunited them with the Heart of Gold. After that I read an official document to the Gallian assembly, declining our claim to the vacant throne and promising that our family would never pursue it.’
Aubrey had survived a few bombshells in recent times, but he still hadn’t grown used to them. Especially not when dropped in his own bedroom.
Caroline recovered first. ‘And how was this received in Gallia?’
‘Barely restrained relief is the best way I’d describe it. As Miss Delroy noted, it’s a bad time to be arguing about such things. My quashing any possibility of an Albionite reclaiming the throne of Gallia was the best solution.’ He chuckled. ‘They held a banquet to commemorate this important occasion, but I think the unanticipated nature of my announcement caught them rather on the hop. They couldn’t find the state silver to serve the dinner on and had to borrow some ancient gold plate from the sisters at the Cathedral of Our Lady.’
Aubrey’s curiosity jabbed him. ‘The Gallian state silver is missing?’
‘Stolen, someone said, but the president told me that it had been sold. Silver prices have been going through the roof. He’d ordered that the state silver be sold and the proceeds put into the war effort, to show that the government was serious about sacrifice.’
‘Of course,’ Aubrey said, but another item was nagging at him. ‘And His Majesty, the King? What does he think of these developments?’
‘It was Father, of course, who thought this was the best course of action. He wanted to go with me, but the Privy Council advised against that in the strongest terms. When his doctors also spoke out, he subsided, reluctantly, and agreed when I said that I’d do it by myself. After he made up his mind, he was firm on it. Even when he took a turn for the worse, he insisted that I go.’
The state of King William’s health was of great concern to every Albionite – and every Albionite with close knowledge of his illness was always concerned with how much to tell the public. The war was an additional complicating factor. A strong leader was an advantage in wartime; a gravely ill one a handicap.
‘Prime Minister Giraud would have been happy at your announcement,’ Sophie said carefully. ‘He is a staunch republican.’
‘Indeed he is, Miss Delroy. His glee at my announcement was palpable.’
‘But what about the royalists who’ve been coming out of the woodwork?’ George said. ‘Sophie, you said your father was concerned about them.’
‘He was,’ she said. ‘Some of them have made troubles.’
‘As you say,’ Prince Albert said, ‘Gallia is accustomed to a level of unrest. I believe, and Prime Minister Giraud agrees, that the war against Holmland and its allies is far more important than a long-ago claim to a vanished throne. The royalists are patriots, after all. They will support the government in this time of crisis.’
‘Wait,’ Aubrey said. ‘You said something about the Gallian Crown Jewels. I’ve never heard about Gallian Crown Jewels.’
‘You’re not the only one who does research, Aubrey. I’ve been busy ever since your discovery of that awkward document suggesting my claim to the Gallian throne. After Dr Tremaine’s orchestrated announcement in Fisherberg, I’ve redoubled my efforts.’
‘And given employment to many researchers, no doubt.’
‘Hardly.’ Prince Albert drew himself up, mock seriously. ‘I rummaged about myself. Too sensitive, all this. I didn’t want people talking. No matter how loyal they may have been, a horde of researchers would, simply by their presence, cause gossip.’
‘Dusty work, researching,’ George said.
‘As I found, but I also found some interesting old books in libraries in various palaces about the country.’
‘Bertie, you do understand that you’re one of the few people in the world who can talk about more than one palace, don’t you?’
‘I’m aware of my position, Aubrey. It sometimes has benefits.’ The prince shrugged. ‘I’m sure that no-one has opened most of these books for years, centuries even, tucked away as they are.’
‘You could donate them to a library,’ Caroline suggested.
‘Or build a new one,’ George added.
‘A new library?’ Prince Albert considered this. ‘A capital thought. I’ll look into it, when this war is over.’
Aubrey wondered how many plans were now being appended with ‘when this war is over’. Normal lives were suspended, human trajectories interrupted. He could see this conflict affecting a generation – more than a generation. It would be a marker for decades to come.
‘I’m guessing,’ he said, ‘that one of these old tomes pointed you toward the possibility of the Gallian Crown Jewels.’
‘Very mysteriously,’ Prince Albert said. ‘You would have loved these books, Aubrey. Full of magical stuff.’
‘I was wondering about that.’
‘It became a sort of leapfrogging that would have been vastly enjoyable if it weren’t for the war. This book pointed to another book, which led to another document and so on. Eventually I found a chest right at the back of a shabby strongroom up north, in Reesdale Castle.’
‘The Gallian Crown Jewels?’
‘The Gallian Crown Jewels,’ Prince Albert affirmed. ‘Apparently they were whisked away during the Gallian Revolution, for safety’s sake, and ended up there.’
‘Whisked away a bit more successfully than the Gallian king was,’ George said.
‘Quite.’
Aubrey had, of course, seen the Albion Crown Jewels many times and accepted that kings, by and large, were very serious about their treasures. A substantial collection was a concrete display of how great and powerful they were. Whenever it was hauled out, for one ceremony or other, it was a very deliberate reminder to the population that the holder of such whopping great lumps of gold and gemstones wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
‘The usual assortment, Bertie?’ he asked. ‘Crown, sceptre, that sort of thing?’
Prince Albert essayed a small laugh. ‘The Gallian Crown Jewels indeed includes a crown. A modest one, compared to the great heavy thing that’s in the Albionite collection, but the star sapphire it sports is quite immense. There’s also an orb, a mace, a few rings and a rather ancient jewelled seal. The whole collection was in a bad way, but the crown confirmed what it was.’ He glanced at Aubrey. ‘I would have appreciated your being around, Aubrey, after I found it. Magical whatnot and all.’
‘Ah.’
‘I had to approach Commander Craddock, there being a marked shortage of experienced, trustworthy magicians at the moment. After some consultation with his research department, Craddock confirmed that the collection was imbued with magic that was slumbering.’
‘Slumbering?’
‘That’s how he put it. When I mentioned the Gallian Heart of Gold, he became very excited.’
‘I’ve never seen Commander Craddock excited,’ Caroline said. ‘How did he show this?’
‘His nostrils flared.’
‘Very excited,’ Aubrey said. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t collapse after that.’
‘He consulted some of his magical theoreticians again and confirmed my suspicions that reuniting the Crown Jewels with the Heart of Gold could be very useful for Gallia.’
‘This reunification, Bertie,’ Aubrey said urgently. ‘It worked?’
‘I have no idea. The sisters who take care of the Heart of Gold weren’t surprised when I arrived with the jewels, which is really quite startling in itself. When they lay the items on a ledge in the back of the niche where they guard the heart, I’m sure it began to glow more brightly, but I could be imagining things.’
‘I doubt it.’ Aubrey looked around. ‘Is that a wardrobe? And, if so, is my uniform in it?’
The cabinet he was indicating was decorated in high Gallian mode, pale blue, with gilt curlicues surrounding enough mirrors to make Aubrey fear for his life if the sun caught them directly. An elaborate panorama of a unicorn frolicking with a bevy of milkmaids stretched across the top. The unicorn looked decidedly nervous about whatever the milkmaids had in mind.
While Caroline was taking some time to distinguish the actual door knob from the countless silver buttons, handles and projections doubtless designed to suspend periwigs or recalcitrant servants from, Sophie turned to the prince. ‘Do you think it will help, this magical bringing together?’
‘Commander Craddock was anxious that it take place, which I take as a sign of its importance.’
Aubrey grimaced. ‘I don’t think, however, we should be looking for an army of spectral warriors to suddenly start charging across the sky, wiping the Holmlanders from the map. The Heart of Gold’s magic is more of a preserving kind, building on what’s already there. When it was stolen, Lutetia literally began falling apart.’
Sophie shook her head. ‘I remember. Earthquakes, buildings falling down.’
‘That sort of thing was the effect of its loss,’ Aubrey said. ‘I think that we can look to these artefacts to help once the war is over.’ There it goes again. ‘Some of the hurts may be healed. The nation might right itself more quickly, that sort of thing.’
A discreet, but insistent, knock sounded on the door. Aubrey was interested to see Bertie’s reaction: it was both irritated and understanding, a blend that Aubrey didn’t think was possible – but perhaps it came with being the heir to the throne. ‘Enter,’ Prince Albert said.
An aide in the same uniform as the prince hurried into the room. He tried to bow and salute at the same time and made a mess of the whole lot. His urgency made Aubrey uneasy. ‘Your highness! Sir! It’s
…’ He worked his mouth for a moment, then snatched a leather satchel from under his arm and thrust it at the prince. ‘Sir!’
Prince Albert studied the satchel for some time before opening it and Aubrey’s unease grew. A muffled commotion came from the open doorway, where wagonloads of brass glinted from the shoulders of officers who were gathering at the door the aide had neglected to close behind him. The officers were muttering ominously. In the distance Aubrey was sure he could hear shouting.
He glanced at his friends to see that they, too, were alarmed. Caroline, holding his jacket on a coat hanger, looked out of the window then turned, open-mouthed, toward him.
I really don’t want to be lounging around right now, Aubrey thought, but decided that it would be poor timing to fling back his bedclothes while Bertie was reading a letter that made him frown so deeply.
The prince folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. For a moment, he looked into the middle distance, then he glanced at the envelope again before slipping it into the satchel, which he gave back to the aide, who was quivering at attention.
The prince stood. Carefully, he shook out the creases in his trousers and straightened his jacket. He placed his cap on his head and spent a moment making sure that it was neatly settled. He cleared his throat. ‘I regret to have to tell you, but His Majesty passed away this morning.’
Inevitably, one of the generals at the door said it: ‘The King is dead!’
The response came loud and clear from the others. ‘Long live the King!’
They took this as permission to pour into the room, a horde of brass-laden officers, all wanting to get close to the new monarch.
The prince took this calmly. He nodded, then saluted. A score of arms snapped back a salute. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We have much to do. Albion has lost a great king.’
Aubrey saw it all. It was an impressive display of self-control from someone who had been taught, ever since he was old enough to understand, about the importance of duty. Bertie had known that this day would come, the day where an ancient tradition would swing into action and sweep him away, turning him from what he was into something else. The prince was thoughtful, grave, but very much in command. A young man, but one who was ready for this moment.
Despite this, Aubrey wanted to reach out to his friend, to acknowledge that there was something personal in this moment, something that was being lost in the overwhelmingly public ritual.
We may have lost a king, Aubrey thought, but you’ve lost a father.