fingertips. He ignored the occasional flickering of the little floating ball of light as Sophie maintained it while they scratched away at spells in notebooks.
Caroline, George, von Stralick and Madame Zelinka left the spell workers alone in the rear of the lorry, but Aubrey heard them outside, discussing supplies, ammunition and communication.
‘Aubrey,’ Sophie said, holding out her notebook, ‘what do you think?’
The first thing that struck Aubrey was her bold handwriting, and how few crossings-out she’d made, even though she’d covered page after page with spell elements. He felt his hand moving to cover his own notebook, suddenly aware of his customary mess of workings, made worse by handwriting that his masters at Stonelea had despaired over, resigning themselves to the fact that ‘scratchy’ was the best it was going to get.
Crosses, substitutions, arrows to second thoughts written vertically in margins, letters and numbers getting closer together as the ideas came faster and faster … His pages were typical Aubrey work, not really fit for public consumption, not unless he actively wanted to inspire a headache in the reader.
Conscious of her anxious gaze, he worked his way through Sophie’s spells and was impressed by her approach. It wasn’t the way he would have done it, but that was the point. He’d asked her to help, so he had to support her way of going about it. It was good – clever, efficient, smooth in its application of the Law of Seeming – but it simply wasn’t his way.
He was aware enough to realise that this was a leadership lesson, coming at a time he hadn’t been expecting it. The point of delegation wasn’t giving someone a job and then doing it for them. That defeated the whole purpose.
He could see a few places where the interlocking spells could be refined, and he knew that the co-efficient for parameter in the spell that would help people lose their bearings wasn’t in the right place, but these were small problems, things he could help with.
As he assisted her with these improvements, he realised that, soon, Sophie was going to face a major choice in her life. Her avowed career was journalism, but she also had an eye on politics, much as Caroline and Aubrey had. She was also proving to be a capable member of a special missions team, so that career would no doubt be open to her if she chose. On top of that, Aubrey could see that she had an aptitude for magic.
Choices , he thought, and was immediately glum. Such choices, such thinking about the future was currently pointless. The immediate future was war, and it was so all-encompassing that it was impossible to see anything on the other side of it. ‘After the war’ had already become a wistful, longed-for time, somewhere in the never-never.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Caroline. ‘We have a few hours before dawn. I suggest we all get some sleep.’
Even though Aubrey felt startlingly alert and alive, he understood the need for rest. ‘Excellent idea,’ he said to a world that, in this immediate vicinity at least, was remarkable.
‘Y OU ARE RIGHT , F ITZWILLIAM .’ V ON S TRALICK TOOK the binoculars from Aubrey and focused them carefully. ‘This is no ordinary unit.’
The next morning, Aubrey and von Stralick were lying, prone, looking over the village of Korsur. The troops were still in place and still uncomplaining as they made breakfast. Extremely businesslike was the best description he could come up with, and he recorded that thought.
‘I’m not heartened by that,’ he said.
‘You shouldn’t be. The commander is the extremely well-connected Colonel Kirchoff, once head of the Imperial Household Guard. In a trade where brutality is tolerated, he has a fearsome reputation.’
‘Which makes me wonder why he and his troops aren’t at the front instead of guarding a village full of old people.’
‘A point that may be of some interest to you. I heard that after Kirchoff left the Imperial
Caroline, George, von Stralick and Madame Zelinka left the spell workers alone in the rear of the lorry, but Aubrey heard them outside, discussing supplies, ammunition and communication.
‘Aubrey,’ Sophie said, holding out her notebook, ‘what do you think?’
The first thing that struck Aubrey was her bold handwriting, and how few crossings-out she’d made, even though she’d covered page after page with spell elements. He felt his hand moving to cover his own notebook, suddenly aware of his customary mess of workings, made worse by handwriting that his masters at Stonelea had despaired over, resigning themselves to the fact that ‘scratchy’ was the best it was going to get.
Crosses, substitutions, arrows to second thoughts written vertically in margins, letters and numbers getting closer together as the ideas came faster and faster … His pages were typical Aubrey work, not really fit for public consumption, not unless he actively wanted to inspire a headache in the reader.
Conscious of her anxious gaze, he worked his way through Sophie’s spells and was impressed by her approach. It wasn’t the way he would have done it, but that was the point. He’d asked her to help, so he had to support her way of going about it. It was good – clever, efficient, smooth in its application of the Law of Seeming – but it simply wasn’t his way.
He was aware enough to realise that this was a leadership lesson, coming at a time he hadn’t been expecting it. The point of delegation wasn’t giving someone a job and then doing it for them. That defeated the whole purpose.
He could see a few places where the interlocking spells could be refined, and he knew that the co-efficient for parameter in the spell that would help people lose their bearings wasn’t in the right place, but these were small problems, things he could help with.
As he assisted her with these improvements, he realised that, soon, Sophie was going to face a major choice in her life. Her avowed career was journalism, but she also had an eye on politics, much as Caroline and Aubrey had. She was also proving to be a capable member of a special missions team, so that career would no doubt be open to her if she chose. On top of that, Aubrey could see that she had an aptitude for magic.
Choices , he thought, and was immediately glum. Such choices, such thinking about the future was currently pointless. The immediate future was war, and it was so all-encompassing that it was impossible to see anything on the other side of it. ‘After the war’ had already become a wistful, longed-for time, somewhere in the never-never.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Caroline. ‘We have a few hours before dawn. I suggest we all get some sleep.’
Even though Aubrey felt startlingly alert and alive, he understood the need for rest. ‘Excellent idea,’ he said to a world that, in this immediate vicinity at least, was remarkable.
‘Y OU ARE RIGHT , F ITZWILLIAM .’ V ON S TRALICK TOOK the binoculars from Aubrey and focused them carefully. ‘This is no ordinary unit.’
The next morning, Aubrey and von Stralick were lying, prone, looking over the village of Korsur. The troops were still in place and still uncomplaining as they made breakfast. Extremely businesslike was the best description he could come up with, and he recorded that thought.
‘I’m not heartened by that,’ he said.
‘You shouldn’t be. The commander is the extremely well-connected Colonel Kirchoff, once head of the Imperial Household Guard. In a trade where brutality is tolerated, he has a fearsome reputation.’
‘Which makes me wonder why he and his troops aren’t at the front instead of guarding a village full of old people.’
‘A point that may be of some interest to you. I heard that after Kirchoff left the Imperial
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