They pedalled across the Market Bridge, half a mile downriver from the blaze, and looked to where the fortress stood.
The guards at the gatehouse were diligent, and prompt enough as they examined George’s credentials, but Aubrey was concerned at how fatigued they looked, as if they hadn’t slept for days. The younger of the two guards – and neither of them looked seventeen – yawned almost continuously while his comrade summoned Major Saltin on the telephone.
‘Doyle!’ the Gallian cried as soon as he came into view. He was wearing his navy blue air service uniform, but Aubrey noted that it had been patched at the shoulder, and one sleeve was singed.
Saltin saw Aubrey. He stopped, eyes wide, mouth moving silently. Aubrey was alarmed that he was about to cry out but George was alert. He took Saltin’s arm. ‘You don’t know my batman, do you, Saltin? Private Taylor?’
Saltin gaped at George. ‘Taylor? Batman?’
‘My servant,’ George said jovially. ‘A dab hand at shining boots, aren’t you, Taylor?’
Aubrey saluted with what he hoped was the right touch of servility. ‘Sir.’
‘Taylor,’ Saltin repeated dubiously. ‘What is going on?’
‘War is a confusing time, Saltin,’ George said, ‘but I have some information that might help clear things up. D’you have anywhere we can speak in private?’
Saltin scowled, but then he brightened. ‘Do not tell me that this is Mme Delroy I see here? M’mselle, why aren’t you back in Lutetia? You are the only intelligent one writing for that newspaper of yours!’
Sophie extended her hand. ‘High praise from the Chevalier of the Skies.’
‘Chevalier of the Skies?’ George repeated. ‘Is that one yours, Sophie?’
‘Her reports have been good for my career.’ Saltin beamed. ‘But now, come away, I have much confusion that needs removing.’
‘S O YOU ARE NOT A TRAITOR, F ITZWILLIAM,’ S ALTIN said, ‘despite what the newspapers say.’
Major Saltin’s office was on the ground floor of the administration wing of the fortress. Aubrey, George and Sophie were sitting in front of Saltin’s desk in hard chairs. Behind Saltin a window looked over the parade grounds, and it was only with difficulty that Aubrey tore his gaze away from the unlikely structure that towered where the central flagpole had once stood. Before he could respond, George cut in. ‘Traitor? Aubrey? I should think not, Saltin. If it weren’t for Aubrey, Divodorum would be overrun with giant mechanical golems.’
‘Mechanical golems?’ Saltin fingered his moustache. ‘This sounds as if you have a tale to tell me.’
The tale took some telling, enough for Major Saltin to interrupt it in the middle and summon coffee, apologising for the poor quality before the story resumed. Aubrey had to admit that Saltin was a fine audience. He listened attentively and seethed at the perfidy of the Holmlanders, shook his head at the outrageousness of Dr Tremaine’s plans and groaned at Sophie’s description of Lutetia in the grip of political infighting.
Aubrey finished by detailing his suspicions about the Holmland build-up in the area. ‘What do you think, Saltin?’
Saltin sat back in his chair and laced his fingers on his chest. ‘We saw preparations before our last airship was shot down. Pushing through Divodorum could be tempting.’
Saltin glanced to the north-east. Aubrey could imagine him seeing right through the walls, over the earthworks, past the forests to where the Gallian troops were dug in. ‘We have been expecting reinforcements,’ Saltin said, ‘but we have been disappointed.’
‘Can you hold the line if you don’t get them?’ George asked.
‘Yes. For how long, though, I’m not sure.’
Aubrey frowned, thinking of Stalsfrieden and the Crystal Johannes. ‘What if Dr Tremaine brings up something magical to throw against you?’
Saltin sat up in his seat. ‘Magical? Such as?’
‘I don’t know,’ Aubrey admitted, and he drummed the arm of his chair with frustration.
‘We’ve been promised more magical neutralisers from your Directorate. They should help our defence.’ Saltin waved a hand at the window. ‘After all, our main protector is of Albionish design and it has been most helpful.’
‘The tower. It’s a magic neutraliser,’ Aubrey said with wonder. He could barely restrain himself from leaping out of his chair and racing out to examine it.
He had the rewarding feeling that came when a number of disparate data fell into place. The bizarre tower was a gigantic magic neutraliser. It explained the odd behaviour of the fireboat pumps, and probably explained the way the warehouse fire across the river ebbed and flowed. The warehouse must be on the edge of the neutraliser’s area of effect.
‘Grateful as we are,’ Saltin said, dragging Aubrey from his thoughts, ‘I wish your Albion thinkers had put more effort into the design. It is hideous.’
‘Isn’t that because it’s built from scrap?’ George asked.
‘We used what we had. The plans that were sent to us were deliberately flexible when it came to materials. Except from the vital parts, which were shipped to us very carefully. First to Lutetia via airship, then by train, and finally by barge to our docks.’
‘But how have you coped with no magic here, in the fortress?’ Sophie asked. ‘You’d have it embedded in a hundred little places.’
‘We do. It’s been a nightmare of plugging and patching, finding what no longer works.’ He chuckled. ‘The hot water boiler in the officer’s quarters had a magically enhanced relief valve that burst when the neutraliser began to work.’
‘Cold baths, eh, Saltin?’ George said.
‘It is a small price to pay,’ Saltin said, ‘to know that the fortress is safe from magical attack.’
‘As long at the neutraliser can cope,’ Aubrey said.
‘Do you have any reason to think it cannot?’
‘No. But I didn’t think that magic neutralisers could be built on that scale, either.’ A thought came to Aubrey. ‘That dirigible, this morning. It was trying to bomb the neutraliser?’
‘They have been trying for some time, but the tower interferes with their craft the same way as it interferes with our hot water. So far, they have missed.’
‘And managed to hit a warehouse or two,’ George pointed out.
‘Divodorum is suffering,’ Saltin agreed, ‘but we remain strong.’
32
While Aubrey inspected the neutralising tower under the supervision of Major Saltin, Sophie dragged George into the town on an expedition to find food. Aubrey found the construction fascinating. Four massive legs, made up of multiple steel girders bolted together, slanted up to a platform. Bracing these legs was an erratic web of timbers of all sizes, completely enclosing the interior of the area bounded by the legs. The array interlocked so completely that Aubrey suspected the whole thing had been organised by a corps of lacemakers who had grown tired of doilies and who had leaped at the chance to create something on a monumental scale.
High overhead, projecting from the lofty platform, was a metal cylinder. When Aubrey shaded his eyes, he could make out that it must be at least a foot in diameter and was solid, not a pipe, although Aubrey was prepared to wager that this was because both ends were capped and that the workings of the neutraliser were inside. He could feel the tell-tale emanations of magic that trickled from it – a passive but immensely powerful spell at work.
Both ends of the cylinder jutted out past the edges of the platform by a good three feet. Attached to each end of the cylinder was the most puzzling aspect of the entire construction: four slim metal rods, ten or fifteen feet in length, in the formation of a cross. By walking around and around the unlikely construction, Aubrey could see that the crosses were offset, not mimicking the angle of the other.
Aubrey spent some time trying to establish the extent of the magical protection afforded by the giant neutraliser. Under Major Saltin’s amused eye, he backed away from the structure, trying a simple fire spell every few yards. Eventually, he had to exit through the gatehouse. Whoever had been in charge of enspelling the central core of the machine had done a fine job – or had been extremely lucky. The neutralising field was as nearly circular as Aubrey could make out, and it cloaked the fortress completely, ending some distance outside the walls.