the papers, it was with a sense of detachment, for certainly nothing a lot of unwashed anarchists could do would ever affect them.
Unfortunately for his peace of mind, Peter had far too much imagination and intelligence to believe that.
“We’re sailing into dangerous waters, young Harcourt. Dangerous.” The general shook his head sadly, his face looking altogether like that of a sad hound. “Things are unstable. It’s not just the Masters of Germany and Austria that are withdrawing contact. They’ve closed off the borders to any sort of traffic, including the Elementals. For the last two weeks, not even a sylph has crossed over.”
“The Kaiser wants a war, and he’s going to get it,” James added, glumly. “The Masters are making sure we get no information whatsoever, and that has to be on direct orders from Kaiser Wilhelm himself.”
If that was true . . . well, then it was bad. Kaiser Wilhelm was no magician, but like the king, he was well aware of, and made use of, the mages of his own country. Normally this was for very minor things; far more than Britain, Europe was the home ground of some very unpleasant Elemental creatures indeed, and too much meddling could make them take an unhealthy interest in the affairs of mortals. Unhealthy for both sides, ultimately, but it was generally innocent bystanders that suffered the most. So generally, no head of state who was aware of magic actually asked his country’s magicians to do much.
This might change all that, however.
War had a way of changing everything.
“I’m afraid the general is right, Nige,” Peter said apologetically. “I was hoping the rumblings in the thickets I was hearing this spring were going to turn out to be things that could be smoothed over, but it sounds as though the situation is growing pear-shaped. I think we had best prepare for trouble. Our brethren on the Continent don’t engage in business likely to rouse up the Old Things without a damn good reason, and closing the borders is likely to do that.”
Nigel swore, and the atmosphere around the table took on a funereal color. No one here, not even the general, was under the illusion that Britain would be able to stay out of a Continental conflict. And no one was under the illusion that once Britain did enter it, things would be wrapped up in time for Tommy to come home for Boxing Day.
“We’d better go consult the mirrors and oracles, then,” Nigel said with a frown. “If the avalanche has started, it’s time for the pebbles to try to reckon how bad it’s going to be and make preparations.”
“It will be bad,” the general replied. “Very bad. Those idiots in the War Office think we can face down machine guns and gas with cavalry and sabers.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad surely—” Nigel began, then swallowed at the look on the general’s face. “Oh.”
“Ugly,” the general said, nodding. “I haven’t been snoozing in a chair at the fireside. Almsley here—and more important, young Hawkstell—have been keeping me informed. The Austrians have enough torpedo-firing submarines to run a pretty effective interdiction force on our merchant fleet. They have big guns with incredible range, they have those infernal machine guns, and they have and will use poison gas. They have armored vehicles with guns mounted inside them. They have highly trained and organized troops, a superb rail system to transport all of that, and a great deal of their army is motorized—nothing to get tired or frightened or need care and feeding. And we have the army of the last century.”
At that point, Peter decided to forgo the sweet course. He wouldn’t have the appetite for it anyway. He pushed away from the table. “Sorry, chaps, but I was summoned, and it doesn’t do to keep Alderscroft waiting.”
“Quite right,” the general replied. “Off with you, lad. Speak with me later, if you like.”
“I shall, sir,” Peter said respectfully, and withdrew to the stairs and lift
Unfortunately for his peace of mind, Peter had far too much imagination and intelligence to believe that.
“We’re sailing into dangerous waters, young Harcourt. Dangerous.” The general shook his head sadly, his face looking altogether like that of a sad hound. “Things are unstable. It’s not just the Masters of Germany and Austria that are withdrawing contact. They’ve closed off the borders to any sort of traffic, including the Elementals. For the last two weeks, not even a sylph has crossed over.”
“The Kaiser wants a war, and he’s going to get it,” James added, glumly. “The Masters are making sure we get no information whatsoever, and that has to be on direct orders from Kaiser Wilhelm himself.”
If that was true . . . well, then it was bad. Kaiser Wilhelm was no magician, but like the king, he was well aware of, and made use of, the mages of his own country. Normally this was for very minor things; far more than Britain, Europe was the home ground of some very unpleasant Elemental creatures indeed, and too much meddling could make them take an unhealthy interest in the affairs of mortals. Unhealthy for both sides, ultimately, but it was generally innocent bystanders that suffered the most. So generally, no head of state who was aware of magic actually asked his country’s magicians to do much.
This might change all that, however.
War had a way of changing everything.
“I’m afraid the general is right, Nige,” Peter said apologetically. “I was hoping the rumblings in the thickets I was hearing this spring were going to turn out to be things that could be smoothed over, but it sounds as though the situation is growing pear-shaped. I think we had best prepare for trouble. Our brethren on the Continent don’t engage in business likely to rouse up the Old Things without a damn good reason, and closing the borders is likely to do that.”
Nigel swore, and the atmosphere around the table took on a funereal color. No one here, not even the general, was under the illusion that Britain would be able to stay out of a Continental conflict. And no one was under the illusion that once Britain did enter it, things would be wrapped up in time for Tommy to come home for Boxing Day.
“We’d better go consult the mirrors and oracles, then,” Nigel said with a frown. “If the avalanche has started, it’s time for the pebbles to try to reckon how bad it’s going to be and make preparations.”
“It will be bad,” the general replied. “Very bad. Those idiots in the War Office think we can face down machine guns and gas with cavalry and sabers.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad surely—” Nigel began, then swallowed at the look on the general’s face. “Oh.”
“Ugly,” the general said, nodding. “I haven’t been snoozing in a chair at the fireside. Almsley here—and more important, young Hawkstell—have been keeping me informed. The Austrians have enough torpedo-firing submarines to run a pretty effective interdiction force on our merchant fleet. They have big guns with incredible range, they have those infernal machine guns, and they have and will use poison gas. They have armored vehicles with guns mounted inside them. They have highly trained and organized troops, a superb rail system to transport all of that, and a great deal of their army is motorized—nothing to get tired or frightened or need care and feeding. And we have the army of the last century.”
At that point, Peter decided to forgo the sweet course. He wouldn’t have the appetite for it anyway. He pushed away from the table. “Sorry, chaps, but I was summoned, and it doesn’t do to keep Alderscroft waiting.”
“Quite right,” the general replied. “Off with you, lad. Speak with me later, if you like.”
“I shall, sir,” Peter said respectfully, and withdrew to the stairs and lift
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