Moment of Truth (8 page)

‘Aubrey,' his mother said. ‘You're starting to babble. Slow down. Tell us everything.'

He did.

‘I see,' his father said when he'd finished. ‘The Magic Department. And you say George has been snapped up by the Special Services. I can't say I'm surprised by either outcome.' He gave a hoarse laugh, one with little actual amusement in it. ‘I wonder if they realise what's ahead for them.'

‘What? The Department?'

‘No. The Holmlanders.'

Following the instructions on his enlistment papers – and still shaking his head at how his parents continued to confound his expectations – Aubrey presented himself back at Darnleigh House two days later.

It's starting to feel like home,
he thought as he glanced up at the glowering building. He was quite the veteran, being at the place so much lately. Standing on the pavement in a milling crowd, he probably was – at least, compared to those around him.

It was a mixed bunch, most of them holding papers similar to Aubrey's. Drawing attention to themselves was the only characteristic they seemed to share, which made Aubrey wonder about their future in clandestine intelligence. Most of them appeared lost or befuddled, and not a few of them showed every sign of being daunted by the reputation of the building they were standing outside.

Before he entered, Aubrey allowed himself a wistful moment. Events had conspired against him and his mission to declare himself to Caroline. He was going to have to postpone it, much as he hated to. Although Caroline had no idea of his mission, he felt as if he were letting her down, which was something he'd vowed never to do.

Inside, Aubrey had to wait in line with more bewildered recruits. The entrance hall of Darnleigh House had the remains of its Gothic origins, with a soaring vaulted ceiling and narrow windows high in the pillared walls. It tended to automatically create a hush, once foot was set inside, especially given the rumours that were whispered about goings-on in the bowels of the edifice.

Aubrey took note of how varied his fellows were, even more than the volunteers at the recruiting centre. For a start, nearly a third of them were female, young and old. The males ranged in age, too. Quite a few looked to be Aubrey's age, but others were mature adults, and some were middle-aged and even older. Aubrey saw one greybearded man hobbling toward the front desk with the assistance of a stick.

All Aubrey could assume was that Commander Craddock was untroubled by age or sex. Talent was his sole criterion. Although exactly what talents were of utility to the Department waited to be seen.

Doing his best to appear confident and assured, Aubrey presented his papers. They were stamped, filed, his name was crossed off a list, and he was given a sheaf of brand new forms and a slip of buff paper with instructions to go to Room 14a.

Aubrey hesitated, then turned back to the corporal who had processed him, but she was already working through the details of the next recruit. Aubrey nearly interrupted her but at the last moment he had second thoughts. He treated the situation as a test. What good would he be as a Department operative if he couldn't find a room in the headquarters building?

He could use logic, or gather information before setting off, or he could try to elicit instructions from people who belonged, but instead he chose the time-honoured method of wandering around and keeping an eye on people who gave the impression of knowing where they were going – or those who were looking for the same thing he was.

As he wandered, he was reminded that he was in a place that was obsessed with security. Many doors bore admonitions about authorised personnel only, or security clearance required, or the blunter – and unmistakeable – ‘Keep Out'.

He had no desire to test how well policed these signs were and he gave them a wide berth.

Aubrey found Room 14a on the first floor. Along with Room 14b, Room 14c and Room 14d, they were in Corridor 14 and Aubrey congratulated himself on concluding the obvious once he blundered into the right part of the building.

He knocked and entered. A depressingly cheery man in a white coat looked up from his desk. ‘Forms on the desk, buff slip in the basket, then take off your clothes.'

Aubrey swallowed. He looked around at the screen, the scales and the patient table. His recruitment may be somewhat unconventional, but it looked as if he wasn't going avoid the indignity of the medical examination.

After a chilly time of being thumped, prodded, jabbed and peered at, Aubrey was given a green slip to add to his sheaf of papers and directed to the Quartermaster's section. The bored operative eyed Aubrey for something rather less than a split second, then he glanced at a list on the counter before stalking off and returning with a bundle of black clothing, a pair of boots, and a slip of blue paper. He pushed all of this on Aubrey. He was about to ask where he could change when the operative jerked his head to the curtained booths on the left.

The uniform – trousers, long-sleeved shirt, pullover and beret – was comfortable and fitted surprisingly well, apart from the beret, which was a little tight. Aubrey had difficulty believing that the grizzly man had picked his measurements so well and so quickly, but shrugged it off as a benefit of experience. He pulled on the black boots and they too fitted perfectly – even though the operative had no chance of seeing Aubrey's feet.

Aubrey stood back and looked at himself in the mirror. This wasn't the uniform he'd been accustomed to seeing on Craddock's operatives, so he assumed it was the equivalent of a regular soldier's barrack dress, to be worn while stationed at headquarters. Regardless, he thought the simple black was dashing. Understated but stylish was his estimation. He had a fleeting pang wishing Caroline could see him, and then he was struck by the guilt he'd managed to put to one side.

He hadn't let Caroline know that George and he were going to enlist, and he hadn't communicated with her in the forty-eight-hour home period either.

His motives for this were mixed, and he was still trying to sort them out for himself. To begin with, he wasn't sure of her reaction, and he'd learned enough not to presume where Caroline was concerned. She might be cool about the decision, or outraged, or simply angry about it. On the other hand, she might be supportive. Not knowing, Aubrey had taken the coward's route and avoided telling her at all.

Which is only going to make it worse when she finds out,
he thought. He considered sending her a letter, but glumly knew that his mother would let her know before a letter could possibly reach her.

So much for my mission.

Aubrey rolled his civilian clothes into a bundle and fastened his belt around them to keep them together. When he exited, an eager-faced recruit was at the counter, drumming his fingers while waiting for his turn. Aubrey took a moment to examine the place with his magical senses.

He grinned. Right where the recruit was standing, a spell had been embedded in the floor. A little examination showed that it was a passive spell that measured and weighed a body in the vicinity, a neat and minor application of the Law of Dimensionality. The operative must have some connection on his side of the counter that directed him to the correct uniform components for each recruit. Aubrey's tight beret must have been a hiccup in the spell, which was only to be expected with such a complex application.

The slip of blue paper directed Aubrey next door to a large room that was bright with electric light. He winced when he saw the walls lined with mirrors and the halfdozen barber chairs on each side. The rotund fellow in a white coat nearest the entrance pounced. ‘A customer! At last!'

His eleven colleagues watched enviously as Aubrey was guided to the nearest chair. ‘Now, what would you like?' the barber cheerily said as he tied a smock around Aubrey's neck. The white linen covered him entirely. ‘Something along the lines of the latest from Lutetia? Or were after the Venezian look?'

‘Venezian?'

The barber barked a laugh. ‘Only joking, youngster. Just one style here, so hold still.'

A few minutes of buzzing, clipping and slashing later, Aubrey grimaced at the image in the mirror. Over his shoulder, the barber was grinning. ‘Done, and it's not going to grow back while you're sitting there. Next!'

The barber whipped the sheet away. Aubrey was given a slip of yellow paper and pointed toward the door. Automatically, his hand went to his head to feel the closely shorn sides. On top, it was a little longer, but nothing like the luxurious crop he'd become used to. He had a fleeting pang, but he had more important things to worry about. The slip in his hand, for instance.

On his way to the main hall Aubrey found that his beret now fitted perfectly; his admiration of the measurement magic rose.

Everyone was going in the same direction. Most of the recruits were rubbing their arms and – to judge from their expressions – giving every impression that the main purpose of a medical examination was to make one feel quite unwell.

The main hall was enough like a lecture theatre to make Aubrey feel quite nostalgic. At the front was a dais, a long desk or bench, and a pair of lecterns. On the wall behind the dais was a large blackboard, which looked freshly cleaned.

Rows of hard, wooden chairs faced the stage. Aubrey found a spare seat three rows from the front, in between a middle-aged man who looked as if he'd just walked out of his position managing a bank, and a woman a few years older than Aubrey, who glanced at him through her glasses before clutching the bag on her lap as if he'd made a move to steal it. She was trembling and Aubrey had a great deal of sympathy. He'd been in Darnleigh House before. These new recruits must be uneasy, given the reputation of the Department and its chief.

Within a few minutes, the doors at the rear were closed. Aubrey twisted and looked to see that the hall was only a third filled and he nodded, thoughtfully.
A hundred,
he thought,
maybe a hundred and twenty. Not many, but not bad for a couple of days' recruiting.

Commander Craddock entered. As he strode to a lectern, he swept his gaze over the new recruits. From his face, Aubrey couldn't tell if Craddock were impressed, dismayed or bored with what he saw.

Without any preamble, he began. ‘Most of you in this room did not volunteer for the Magic Department. Most of you went to enlist, in good faith, in more regular branches of the service. For that, I applaud you. For being diverted, I apologise. Each of our recruitment centres was given a list of names to look for, but they were also equipped with a device which detected incipient talents, those that will better serve Albion here rather than slogging in trenches or stoking engines in a battleship.'

Aubrey straightened.
That
explained why so many of them were looking stunned. They hadn't known that they had magical ability!

Magical ability wasn't common, any more than a talent for higher mathematics or concert-level music. Hard work and training could make the most of natural ability, but little could be achieved if a person was devoid of it in the first place. Some schools tested for magical ability, but many people never had the chance to find out if they possessed the raw skill. Aubrey often compared it to someone who lived all his life in the desert. He may potentially be the world's best swimmer, but would never, ever know it.

To hear that the Department had a device to detect incipient magical ability, though, that was news indeed. He added it to his list of things to be investigated.

Craddock cleared his throat and Aubrey was jolted from his cogitation to find the commander looking straight at him. ‘Others, particularly the ladies here,' Craddock continued, ‘were sought out for known talents and skills. I'm afraid the already depleted magical departments of the universities will be under-staffed for some time. I won't apologise for that, for this is a time of crisis. Albion needs you.'

Aubrey rubbed his chin. The already depleted magical departments of the universities? He'd heard rumours that various positions in magical faculties were currently unfilled, with a number of prominent researchers taking sabbaticals while others had simply disappeared. Dark mutterings in the cloisters of Greythorn suggested numerous possibilities, each more outlandish than the last.

‘All of you need one thing,' Craddock said after a pause. ‘Training. For the next month you will live here at Darnleigh House. All of you will receive physical training. In addition, each of you will receive specialised training according to your skills. Any questions?'