Word of Honour (2 page)

T
HEY WAITED FOR THEIR HOST IN THE GRAND ENTRANCE OF
Rokeby-Taylor's residence. It was a magnificent round
hall, full of gilt and marble, designed to impress.

'Ah, Darius! I'm glad you're here!' Clive Rokeby-Taylor appeared at the top of the wide staircase. At first,
Aubrey thought his hair was a startling white, but that
was because he stood in the sunlight coming from the
cupola directly above the staircase. When Rokeby-Taylor
drew nearer, Aubrey saw that his hair was golden. As
the industrialist came down the stairs he spread his arms
wide, looking like a grain god descending to bestow the
blessings of the harvest. 'It's been too long.'

'Clive.' Sir Darius shook the proffered hand. 'This
is my son, Aubrey, and his good friend George Doyle.
I hope you don't mind my bringing them along.'

'Not at all, not at all.' When Aubrey shook Rokeby-Taylor's hand, the grip was firm and decisive, the sort
of handshake that immediately inspired confidence.
Aubrey couldn't help smiling in response to Rokeby-Taylor's breezy charm. 'Aubrey. George. You're Stonelea
boys, aren't you? Tell me, has the old place changed
much?'

Rokeby-Taylor was only of medium height, but
seemed taller because of his energy. Aubrey could easily
imagine him bouncing on his toes, impatient to move if
kept in one place for too long. His eager, open face made
him seem younger than Sir Darius.

'I say, Clive, you're wearing green these days,'
Sir Darius said, pointing to Rokeby-Taylor's tie.

Rokeby-Taylor glanced down and his brow wrinkled
in what could have been irritation. It vanished in an
instant, though, and he grinned sunnily. 'Many things
have changed, Darius. I now wear both red and green
with confidence.' He saw Aubrey and George's puzzlement.
'No secret. I'm colourblind, have been all my life.
Never been able to tell the difference between red and
green so I avoided both of them.' He shook his head.
'But not now. I have a man who dresses me. A whole
new world, it is.'

Sir Darius cleared his throat as Rokeby-Taylor
launched into a story about Stonelea and how he hid a
goat under the stage of Clough Hall. 'We should go.
I don't have much time.'

'Of course, Darius. But I want to hear more about the
old school, you understand?' He winked at Aubrey and
George. 'I've chartered an ornithopter. Shall we?'

C
LEAR HAVEN WAS A VAST DEEPWATER ANCHORAGE IN
the middle of the Tangasset Islands in the north of
Albion. As the ornithopter swept over Bamleigh Strait,
Aubrey's excitement rose. Ahead, the rocky, forbidding
islands of Rothman and Hurley were separated by a wide
channel – the southern access to Clear Haven.

The channel opened out before them into a wide
expanse of sheltered harbour, the home of the Great
Fleet of Albion. Aubrey counted more than fifty ships –
battleships, destroyers, cruisers – and scores of smaller
tenders, lighters and supply ships. It was a confident,
almost arrogant, display of power. Aubrey hoped it would
be enough for the troubled times that lay ahead.

The ornithopter tilted, banking to the left in a wide
arc. The pilot eased the aircraft toward the northern
island of Whiteside, where the shoreside component of
the naval headquarters was situated.

Considering the short warning given by the pilot's
radio contact, the welcoming party waiting at the
ornithopter port was impressively large. Each man had a
hand clamped to his cap to stop it blowing off in the
wind created by the enormous wings.

Rokeby-Taylor craned his neck and peered out of the
window. 'I've been dealing with faceless men at the Navy
Board, Darius. Who's who out there?'

'Admiral Elliot's on the right,' Sir Darius said after
the pilot shut down the engines. 'Admiral of the Fleet.
The rest are admirals, vice admirals, rear-admirals. A few
captains, but most of them are probably out there, doing
the hard work of keeping their ships ready.'

'Wonderful. I'm glad they're here to see history being
made.'

'There's nothing like a budget reallocation to make an
admiral sit up and take notice,' Sir Darius said. 'There is a
lot of money at stake here.'

'I know that, Darius, believe me. But it's still exciting,
isn't it?'

George slapped a cap onto his head. 'I hope we'll get a
chance to visit one of the dreadnoughts.'

'If we have time,' Sir Darius said. He smoothed his
moustache with a finger, thoughtfully. 'We have other
vessels to visit, first.'

A
DMIRAL ELLIOT WAS A LANKY, ANGULAR MAN WITH A
close, white beard that matched his hair. His eyes were a
watery blue. They looked vague and distant, but when he
spoke it was with the clipped rhythm of a man accustomed
to giving orders – and having them obeyed immediately.

He greeted Sir Darius and Rokeby-Taylor and took
them aside. As soon as he did, a youngish-looking officer
stepped forward from the gaggle of top brass and introduced
himself to Aubrey and George. 'Thomas Stephens.
I've been given the job of escorting you around today.
Not sure if it's to keep you out of trouble or me.'

His hair was fair, cut short, but Aubrey could see that
it was curly. He had a trim moustache; he was stout and
of middling height.

Aubrey quickly counted the stripes on the man's
sleeve. 'Captain Stephens, is it?'

Stephens spread his hands as if to suggest it was all a
mystery to him. 'Apparently someone at the Admiralty
got their files mixed up. Happens all the time.'

'Weren't you captain of the
Steadfast
in the Kregheim
disaster?'

Stephens brushed this away. 'Fine ship, the
Steadfast
.
Almost sailed herself.'

That may have been true, but Aubrey was sure that it
wasn't the ship that gave the orders to steam into rebelheld
Jarosevnia and rescue the Albion citizens trapped
there – while being peppered by the guns in the massive
fort that overlooked the city.

'And what's your current command?'

Captain Stephens grinned. 'Can't tell you right now, I'm
afraid. Exciting stuff, though.' He scanned the crowd
milling around Sir Darius, Rokeby-Taylor and Admiral
Elliot. The officers were doing their best to look attentive
while the admiral pointed out features of the base. 'A grand
sailor, Admiral Elliot, can navigate the Rosscommon
Shoals on a moonless night without scraping his
bottom.'

'I should hope not,' Aubrey said after some deliberation.

A dozen or so brand-new motorcars arrived. Admiral
Elliot took Sir Darius and Rokeby-Taylor in the first.
Captain Stephens made sure Aubrey and George were in
the second, and he ordered the driver to head toward a
long, nondescript building on the water's edge, just around
a rocky point from the main dock area, while the other
cars took the remaining officers back to the main base.

The sun was still high in the sky, even though
George pointed out it was nearly four o'clock. A light
breeze came onshore, carrying the smell of salt mixed
with the potent tang of oil and coal. A bell rang across
the water, the sound coming from one of the predatory
ships that rode in the bay. Aubrey shaded his eyes against
the sunlight skipping across the multitude of tiny waves.
The might of Albion, the power that kept the seas free,
was invested in this place. Without such a fleet, the island
nation would be vulnerable in the worst way.

Which is why everyone views Holmland's naval build-up
with more than a little disquiet
, he thought and he counted
the ships again to reassure himself.

As the party came closer to the corrugated-iron
building that was their destination, Aubrey saw that one
end actually projected some distance into the sea. Apart
from that, it looked remarkably like a dirigible hangar –
tall, with a single gable, a ridge running along its entire
length. No windows. Two huge doors on the landward
side, opening onto the road. A smaller door facing them.

'Is this a research facility?' he asked Admiral Elliot
when they'd alighted from their vehicles.

The admiral glanced at him. Aubrey could see him
weighing up whether he could afford to ignore the son
of the Prime Minister or not. Eventually, he answered
with some reluctance. 'It's part of it. Enclosed dock.'

'Ah. To keep away sightseers.'

Admiral Elliot worked his jaw for a moment.
'Something like that.'

Aubrey scanned the skies. They were a long way
away from anywhere. Exactly who were they afraid of?
Sunny skies, refreshing breeze, but suddenly the day
seemed to be far more ominous than Aubrey had
previously thought. He chewed at his lip. He stopped,
gathered himself and reached out, using his special
awareness, looking for any sign of magic, trying to get
a sense of what may be going on behind the walls
ahead.

He was rewarded with a palpable hit.

Heavy-duty magic was lurking behind those walls.
Impressive, revolutionary stuff, if Aubrey was any judge.
A derivative of spells stemming from the Law of
Regression, he suspected, but exactly how that could
help the navy, he had no idea.

Captain Stephens broke from the small group and
hurried ahead. He unlocked the small door in the side
of the facility and saluted. 'This way, Prime Minister, if
you please.'

Inside, the shed was lit by electric lights suspended
from the lofty ceiling. Aubrey was again reminded of the
dirigible hangars in Lutetia, for the gantries, chains and
heavy lifting equipment were all the same. It was
apparent that serious engineering took place here. The
place was quiet, but it wasn't hard to imagine it as a
scene of industrial activity – hammering, welding,
cutting, wrenching metal into shape.

Aubrey's sense of déjà vu had another tweak when his
eyes grew accustomed to the change of light and he
became more and more excited at what he saw. A long
cigar shape took up most of the far end, where the shed
projected into the water. Either side of the cigar shape
were walkways, wooden jetties on solid piles driven into
the seabed.

'Our experimental vessel, the
Electra
,' Rokeby-Taylor
said. He beamed at it, as if he'd built every inch himself.
'Rokeby-Taylor Shipbuilding's finest work.'

'Ah, so this is the famous submersible,' Sir Darius said.
'At last.'

'You've heard of it?' Admiral Elliot bristled. 'This is
meant to be top secret!'

'Well, I
am
the Prime Minister,' Sir Darius reminded
him. 'Now, Clive, you say this is going to revolutionise
naval warfare?'

'It's going to make battleships obsolete,' Rokeby-Taylor said airily. 'It's the way of the future.'

Aubrey had been admiring the size of the submersible
– it was far longer than anything he'd heard of – but he
winced at Rokeby-Taylor's insensitive remark.

'Obsolete?' Admiral Elliot thundered. 'Battleships?
Never! Besides, these submersibles are unsporting.
Hiding under water where they can't be seen? How is
that fair?'

Captain Stephens coughed. 'Perhaps I should show the
Prime Minister through the
Electra
?'

'That's what you're here for, Stephens,' Admiral Elliot
growled. 'Take over.'

Admiral Elliot marched out of the facility without
looking back. Captain Stephens apologised. 'He's a strong
supporter of the submersible development program. Just
don't disparage his battleships.'

'Did I do that?' Rokeby-Taylor looked crestfallen, but
then he grinned. 'I won't do it again. Can't afford to have
him offside. I say, Stephens, you don't know what sort of
whisky old Elliot favours? I should send him a case or
two, by way of apology.'

Sir Darius looked along the length of the
Electra
. 'So,
Stephens, you're commanding this ship?'

'Boat,' Captain Stephens said. 'Submersibles are boats,
not ships.'

'Why's that?' Aubrey asked. 'It looks big enough to be
a ship.'

Stephens smiled. 'That it is, plenty big enough. One
hundred and eighty feet, thirty men. But the first
submersibles weren't this big, twenty, thirty years ago.
Tiny things, limited range. They were called boats and it's
stuck.'

'Wait until you see inside,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'It's a
masterpiece.'

Captain Stephens turned on his heel. 'This way,
gentlemen.'

He took them to a gangway. Above them, a conning
tower projected from the body of the submersible, twice
the height of a man.

'The
Electra
, Prime Minister,' Stephens announced.
'The most advanced vessel in the Albion fleet. This boat
represents the ultimate blend of science, engineering and
magic. Just you wait until you see her in action.'

Aubrey grinned at Stephens's infectious enthusiam. It
was good to see someone so keen on using the latest
developments. Many in the military were wary of magic;
Stephens seemed eager to embrace it.

'We've had some of the best people working on it,
Darius,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'We even brought in some
clever chaps from the Continent, to work on the batteries.
The guidance system on the torpedoes was a collaboration
job, Phelps and Ainsworth.'

'From Greythorn?' Aubrey asked. 'They were part of
the research team on elemental magic.'

'This is much more important than all that theoretical
stuff,' Rokeby-Taylor said. 'This is vital for the defence of
the realm.'

Aubrey had a different point of view on that but he bit
his tongue.

Captain Stephens strolled over the gangway. 'Double
hulled, the
Electra
is,' he went on. 'The internal hull for
holding pressure and the external skin shaped to let us
slip through the water like a shark.'

He climbed up the ladder on the side of the conning
tower. Sir Darius mounted easily; the others followed.

Aubrey was fascinated by the
Electra
. This sort of thing
excited him – using magic in a careful, rational way to
improve processes and materials, to break new ground,
to shape new futures. The sooner all the mystical hand-waving
could be left behind as an embarrassing relic of
the past, the better. Magic was knowable, just as the inner
workings of atoms was proving to be knowable. It was a
bold world that was dawning and Aubrey was eager to be
part of it.

Captain Stephens proudly showed them around.
Aubrey couldn't help noticing how everything was built
on a reduced scale – passageways, doors, even bunks –
and he assumed the sailors selected to serve on the
Electra
would be chosen for their stature as much as anything
else, the same way jockeys were.

He had a momentary vision of the narrow stairs full of
colourful racing silks and he stifled a laugh.

Captain Stephens glanced sharply at him. 'Yes, you're
bound to find the air a bit close down here. That's what
happens when you run engines in a confined space, then
pack thirty men in as well.'

'Show them the batteries, Stephens,' Rokeby-Taylor
said. He turned to the others. 'It's where we have some
of our most advanced magical developments.'

Captain Stephens glanced at his watch. 'It'll have to wait
for a moment, sir. The officers should have come aboard
and the crew is due. If you'll follow me to the wardroom.'