done,' Aubrey said. 'Just frightened, that's all.'
George glanced incredulously at Aubrey.
'You were lucky,' the gardener said. He studied the oak
branch, then pushed back his cloth cap and scratched his
head. 'Never seen that happen before.'
More staff began to appear and several men appeared
from inside, attracted by the commotion. 'Not in spring,'
Aubrey said. 'I've only seen it happen in autumn, when
the acorns are heaviest on the limbs.'
'Aye,' the gardener agreed, but his expression made it
clear that Aubrey was speaking gibberish to him.
The whistling stopped. An older man hurried from
the house. He was short, stocky and obviously in charge.
He surveyed the scene, studied Aubrey and George for a
moment, then caught the gardener's eye. As Aubrey and
George left they were conversing in low voices. Others
stared at the massive oak branch and the wound in the
side of the tree. Nothing seemed to be happening until
an ancient gaffer wheeled up a barrow and started
pointing towards a shed in the distance.
Aubrey held the door open for George and they found
ourselves in a corridor with a bare wooden floor. Their
footsteps echoed. 'Well, Aubrey,' George said softly, 'how
did you know they could whistle?'
'Wait a little, George. Let's go back to my room.'
A UBREY DROPPED INTO THE ARMCHAIR. 'L INE OF SIGHT, George,' he explained. 'That's what it was all about.'
'Line of sight?'
'Indeed. Our gardener who was a sailor, he was part of
it.' He tapped his chin with a forefinger. 'At least, he had been a sailor. Until recently, given the suntan on his arms.
He didn't know anything about gardening, judging from
his reaction to my oaks in autumn story.'
'Naturally. The whistling?'
Aubrey nodded. 'I could see that the man on the roof
had a clear line of sight right along the east wall. The
gardener could see into the kitchen garden where the
rooftop watcher couldn't. They were perfectly placed for
observation. And what would observation be without
some method of signalling what they saw?'
'The whistling.'
'George, do you remember at the gate, the two young
men who greeted us?'
'Of course.'
'Military types. Ex-army, I'd say. Did you notice how
the man who greeted us always stood to one side, never
getting between us and the gatehouse?'
'Line of sight.'
'Exactly. The second young man in the gatehouse
probably had a rifle on us the whole time, until he
received a signal that we were all clear.'
George's eyes widened. 'Are you saying that there are
guards everywhere here?'
'Special Services, I'd say. They're the only division that
recruits from both the army and the navy.' Aubrey stood
and began to pace the room. 'Not the Magisterium.
I'm not sensing a trace of magic about these fellows.
They're just good, honest servicemen, the best of the
best, creamed off from the regular army and navy and
recruited to do extraordinary duty.'
'And what's extraordinary about a shooting weekend?'
George said.
Aubrey grinned wolfishly. 'That's what I'm curious
about. I can't wait for dinner.'
Seven
A UBREY RAPPED ON G EORGE'S DOOR. W HEN IT OPENED, he put his hands on his hips and scrutinised his
friend. George had dressed in his dinner suit, which
the house staff had pressed. His shirt collar had been
freshly starched and stood high and proud. He tugged
at it, but Aubrey batted his hand away. 'Quite presentable,
George.' He reached out and adjusted his bow tie. 'There.
Perfect.'
'We're not late?'
'Nothing to worry about.'
'Let's go, then. I'm hungry. If it means getting some
food, I'm prepared to sit next to a hundred boring
Holmland diplomats.'
To Aubrey, the dinner was a vital chance to survey
those invited to the weekend. All the guests would be
in one place. By watching who sat next to whom and
which direction the conversations flowed, he'd be able to
determine some of the alliances, some of the tensions and
some of the possibilities.
Since the King's eccentricities had become pronounced
enough that he'd been effectively
George glanced incredulously at Aubrey.
'You were lucky,' the gardener said. He studied the oak
branch, then pushed back his cloth cap and scratched his
head. 'Never seen that happen before.'
More staff began to appear and several men appeared
from inside, attracted by the commotion. 'Not in spring,'
Aubrey said. 'I've only seen it happen in autumn, when
the acorns are heaviest on the limbs.'
'Aye,' the gardener agreed, but his expression made it
clear that Aubrey was speaking gibberish to him.
The whistling stopped. An older man hurried from
the house. He was short, stocky and obviously in charge.
He surveyed the scene, studied Aubrey and George for a
moment, then caught the gardener's eye. As Aubrey and
George left they were conversing in low voices. Others
stared at the massive oak branch and the wound in the
side of the tree. Nothing seemed to be happening until
an ancient gaffer wheeled up a barrow and started
pointing towards a shed in the distance.
Aubrey held the door open for George and they found
ourselves in a corridor with a bare wooden floor. Their
footsteps echoed. 'Well, Aubrey,' George said softly, 'how
did you know they could whistle?'
'Wait a little, George. Let's go back to my room.'
A UBREY DROPPED INTO THE ARMCHAIR. 'L INE OF SIGHT, George,' he explained. 'That's what it was all about.'
'Line of sight?'
'Indeed. Our gardener who was a sailor, he was part of
it.' He tapped his chin with a forefinger. 'At least, he had been a sailor. Until recently, given the suntan on his arms.
He didn't know anything about gardening, judging from
his reaction to my oaks in autumn story.'
'Naturally. The whistling?'
Aubrey nodded. 'I could see that the man on the roof
had a clear line of sight right along the east wall. The
gardener could see into the kitchen garden where the
rooftop watcher couldn't. They were perfectly placed for
observation. And what would observation be without
some method of signalling what they saw?'
'The whistling.'
'George, do you remember at the gate, the two young
men who greeted us?'
'Of course.'
'Military types. Ex-army, I'd say. Did you notice how
the man who greeted us always stood to one side, never
getting between us and the gatehouse?'
'Line of sight.'
'Exactly. The second young man in the gatehouse
probably had a rifle on us the whole time, until he
received a signal that we were all clear.'
George's eyes widened. 'Are you saying that there are
guards everywhere here?'
'Special Services, I'd say. They're the only division that
recruits from both the army and the navy.' Aubrey stood
and began to pace the room. 'Not the Magisterium.
I'm not sensing a trace of magic about these fellows.
They're just good, honest servicemen, the best of the
best, creamed off from the regular army and navy and
recruited to do extraordinary duty.'
'And what's extraordinary about a shooting weekend?'
George said.
Aubrey grinned wolfishly. 'That's what I'm curious
about. I can't wait for dinner.'
Seven
A UBREY RAPPED ON G EORGE'S DOOR. W HEN IT OPENED, he put his hands on his hips and scrutinised his
friend. George had dressed in his dinner suit, which
the house staff had pressed. His shirt collar had been
freshly starched and stood high and proud. He tugged
at it, but Aubrey batted his hand away. 'Quite presentable,
George.' He reached out and adjusted his bow tie. 'There.
Perfect.'
'We're not late?'
'Nothing to worry about.'
'Let's go, then. I'm hungry. If it means getting some
food, I'm prepared to sit next to a hundred boring
Holmland diplomats.'
To Aubrey, the dinner was a vital chance to survey
those invited to the weekend. All the guests would be
in one place. By watching who sat next to whom and
which direction the conversations flowed, he'd be able to
determine some of the alliances, some of the tensions and
some of the possibilities.
Since the King's eccentricities had become pronounced
enough that he'd been effectively
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