Heart of Gold (10 page)

'If we can cross the street without being run down,'
George said as a pair of gowned cyclists careered around
a corner and drifted toward them. They were conducting
a heated argument and paying no attention to the road in
front of them.

'Put your best foot forward, then.'

Aubrey and George ducked through an arch and came
out into a paved courtyard. Five minutes later, they were
lost in a maze of narrow lanes and steep-roofed stone
buildings. Aubrey stood in the middle of a small courtyard
trying to get his bearings. George examined a large
camellia with all the intensity of someone who knows
very little about gardening but wants to appear as if he
did. Students hurried through the sunny space, avoiding
the path and crossing via a well-worn track in the grass.
A professor wandered along, staring at the sky and
muttering, before disappearing through an open gate.

'A map would be a fine idea,' Aubrey said. Grateful for
the chance to rest his weary legs, he sat on a bench that
was against the sandstone wall of an anonymous building.
He took care to avoid the pigeon droppings.

'We're the only ones who don't know where we're
going.'

'Which means all these other people do.'

'Exactly.'

While George smiled, Aubrey asked a number of
students for directions to the Faculty of Magic. The
results were not encouraging. Most were puzzled by the
request, claiming that no such faculty existed. Some were
horrified. But one ancient professor thought he remembered
it being on the western side of the campus, near
the Library.

On the other side of the courtyard was a small
walkway. It led to a large plaza overlooked by three- and
four-storey buildings that varied widely in their ages, but
not their elegance. The plaza was paved with red brick,
but the harshness of this was broken by small, cylindrical
conifers encircled by bench seats. It seemed to be a
popular meeting place.

George drew Aubrey back into the archway. 'What is
it?' Aubrey asked.

'You'll never believe it.'

Aubrey always felt that this sort of statement placed a
low estimation on his powers of imagination. 'Tell me.'

'Hugo von Stralick.'

'He's here?'

'That's him, over there, charming those two girls.'

Aubrey couldn't believe it. They'd run into the
Holmland spy in the tangle of events surrounding Dr
Tremaine's plot to tip Albion into war. The last Aubrey
had heard of von Stralick was that he'd fled the country
to avoid being arrested.

Von Stralick was leaning against a pillar that supported
an arched colonnade. He was dressed in an immaculate
dark-blue suit. His white kid gloves almost shone in the
sun. Aubrey grinned. 'Let's see what he's up to.'

They managed to stay out of von Stralick's sight by
keeping to the colonnade and behind the knots of
students hurrying between lectures. When they reached
von Stralick's pillar, Aubrey stepped out one side, while
George appeared from the other.

'Ah, Hugo!' Aubrey said. 'Won't you introduce us to
your friends?'

Apart from a momentary widening of his eyes, von
Stralick was unfazed. 'Ah, Fitzwilliam, Doyle,' he said, as
if he'd seen them only five minutes ago. 'Lola and Marie
were just leaving, weren't you, my dears?'

Lola and Marie were young, well-dressed, and looked
as if this was the last thing they'd been thinking. They
made their farewells, with a few backward glances.

'I say, von Stralick,' George said, 'did you have to send
them off like that? They seemed dashed friendly.'

'They were spies, George,' Aubrey said. 'Von Stralick
wouldn't want us around while they discussed Holmland's
espionage activities.'

Von Stralick looked pained. 'Informants, not spies. And
information gathering is not espionage. Really,
Fitzwilliam, was I this rude when I was in Albion?'

'This is Gallia, not Holmland.' Aubrey took a step
backward. 'You've done a fine job with your hair. You'd
hardly notice your ear at all. And the gloves hide your
missing finger beautifully.'

Von Stralick smiled. 'If you think you can make me
lose my temper and reveal all Holmland's plans, then
you're wrong.'

'Still junior attaché at your embassy?'

'Under-secretary for Cultural Affairs. A promotion.'

'A spy is still a spy,' George said.

'What do you care? This is Gallia, as you pointed out.'

'And Gallia is an Albion ally,' Aubrey said. 'An important
Albion ally.'

Von Stralick beamed. 'But enough about me. What
about you two? What are you doing in Lutetia?'

'We're part of a magical operation,' Aubrey said. 'We're
planning to awaken the ten thousand mystic warriors
who are sleeping under Lutetia waiting to defend the
city in its time of greatest need.'

Von Stralick frowned, then grinned. 'You will have
your Albion jokes.' He studied Aubrey's face. 'You do not
look so well, Fitzwilliam. Is the Gallian food not agreeing
with you?'

Aubrey was choosing between a few plausible
responses when a scream came from the other side of the
courtyard. Before he could locate the source, it sounded
again.

Aubrey turned back to von Stralick, only to find him
gone.

He didn't have time to look for him. More shrieks and
cries of horror came from the far side of the square.
People were now streaming toward them, fleeing from
the disturbance.

George scowled. 'Von Stralick?'

'Don't worry about him. What's going on over there?'

'I don't suppose we could simply leave it be? No,
I didn't think so.'

Aubrey led the way toward the disturbance. It was
difficult moving against the surge of the crowd, but he
skirted garden beds and vaulted benches until he and
George reached the gap between the buildings that
appeared to be the source of the noise.

A growl came from ahead, then a throaty cough that
turned into a moan. 'Someone's hurt,' George said and
he started forward.

Aubrey grabbed his arm. 'No.Wait.'

The telltale tingle of magic had made Aubrey pause.
He was trying to locate its source when a lurching,
drooling creature blundered through the archway, eyes
vacant, hands clutching at the air.

George stifled an oath. Aubrey danced back a step or
two, his skin suddenly cold at the thought of its touch.
Another one
, he thought with dismay.

The dispossessed one had once been a young woman.
She was dressed in her best clothes, as if she'd been about
to go to church – dark-blue jacket and dress, white
gloves. She wore a large hat, but it had come astray and
was dragging on her shoulders. Her hair hung loose and
bedraggled.

She lunged at them. Desperately, Aubrey dragged
George around the corner away from the shambling
menace. They stood with their backs to the office of the
university's maintenance department. 'What's that smell?'

'Smell? Aubrey, have you taken leave of your senses?'

'No. This is important.'

George frowned and sniffed the air. 'Smoke.'

'Wood smoke?'

'No. Like fireworks.'

'I thought so.' He caught George's expression. 'I'll tell
you later.'

Another tortured moan. 'What can we do for her?'
George asked.

'Stop her from hurting anyone. Restrain her, keep
her safe until the authorities come.' Aubrey peeped
around the corner as another scream arose. 'But we have
to act now.'

'Isn't anyone doing anything?'

'No. It's up to us.'

He darted out. On the other side of the archway, the
space between the two buildings opened into a covered
gallery supported by slender, cast-iron pillars. It was
empty, apart from the soulless horror and a terrified
charwoman who had dropped her bucket and mop. She
cowered against the wall and covered her eyes.

Aubrey moved into the vacant-eyed woman's field of
vision, flapping his arms. 'Here! Here!' In an instant
George was by his side, jumping around and waving.

The horror staggered back from the charwoman, then
lumbered around, seeking the source of this noisy interruption.
'Good,' Aubrey said. He refused to be taken
prisoner by panic, no matter how much he felt like it.

'Now, George, you keep her distracted while I work
on a spell.'

George glanced at Aubrey. 'Be quick about it, old man,
if you would.'

'I'll do my best.'

George moved to one side, still waving his arms and
shouting, doing his best to keep the woman's attention.
She moaned and drooled, then lurched at him, but
he skipped back and slid to one side. He shoved her
shoulder, putting her off balance, and quickly moved
away.

In the meantime, Aubrey was rehearsing a spell. It was
a simple binding spell, something he'd used a thousand
times. It applied the Law of Cohesion and the Law of
Elastic Deformation. It could be strengthened in intensity
or lengthened in duration by careful variation of
parameters.

This application was simple. All he wanted to do was to
manacle the woman's feet, hobbling them, and bind her
arms to her side. He knew it would tax his energy, given
his declining state, but there was little else he could do.

He focused on the empty one as she grappled with
George, and began.

The first few syllables came easily, but Aubrey was
shocked when the subsequent syllables were awkward on
his tongue. What should have been a straightforward spell
became a struggle. He started to sweat as the individual
spell elements seemed to resist his pronouncing them.
His muscles began to tremble and his head throbbed
abominably.

The final syllables fell from his lips and Aubrey immediately
knew that he'd botched the spell. A handful of
dull shreds – flimsy fragments, quite unlike the robust
bonds he'd been attempting to summon – appeared and
fell to the flagstones. They shrivelled and vanished.

'Stop messing about, old man,' George called. 'I'm in a
spot of bother here.'

Dazed, Aubrey stared at where the shreds had fallen. It
was a simple spell. He should have been able to cast it in
his sleep.

He realised his hands were trembling. Pain burned in
the small joints of his knuckles. He clenched his teeth
and then hissed as his jaw became two bright spots of
agony where it hinged. A wave of terrible fatigue swept
through him and he thought he was about to collapse.

A grunt brought Aubrey back to his surroundings.
George was backing away from the shambling woman.
With the back of one hand, he smeared at a trickle of
blood on his cheek, his face a grimace that combined
fear and uncertainty.

Aubrey shook himself. His condition might be
parlous, but his friend was in danger. Ignoring the pain,
he brought his hands together and clasped them, tightly,
to stop the trembling. Then he began the spell again.

This time, the syllables rolled smoothly off his tongue,
each one articulated clearly, with no dangerous elisions
or slurring. After uttering the final element, a glowing
ribbon flipped through the air and wrapped itself around
the woman's ankles.

Aubrey let out a sigh of relief, but before he could
examine his condition again the woman tottered and
started to fall backward, making no effort to cushion her
fall. Aghast, Aubrey saw that her head was going to smash
on the stone.

He flung himself, catching her by the shoulders and
grating his elbows on the flagstones. But instead of being
grateful, she reached up and clawed at his face, snarling.
Without letting go, he jerked his head back and tucked
in his chin to protect his throat. 'George!'

'Right here.'

George grabbed at the woman's arms, but she
wrenched them away. 'Look out!' Aubrey cried and
George barely avoided having his ear bitten off.

Aubrey eased her to the ground then leapt back. 'Hold
up her arms!'

George struggled, then seized both wrists. Aubrey
chanted the spell again. Another glowing loop appeared
and bound the woman's wrists.

Panting, George stepped back and glared at her. 'She
tried to make a meal of my ear.' He sounded more
offended than afraid.

The woman thrashed on the ground. Aubrey wiped
his brow. The pain in his joints had receded somewhat,
but still lay there like coals ready to burst into flame.
'I should have done the hands first. Idiot.' The woman
settled and growled. Her face and eyes remained as blank
as new paper.

Aubrey became aware that people were drawing
closer. They were fearful, but curious, and soon were
crowding around the unfortunate woman. Students, he
decided, with a few professors elbowing for room and
trying not to appear undignified.

A figure at the rear caught Aubrey's gaze. A slender
man in a grey flannel suit and a grey trilby. He had one
hand in his pocket and, when he noticed Aubrey's attention,
he stepped back behind a pillar. Aubrey went to
move in that direction, but before he could follow, a
uniformed police officer stepped through the crowd.

'Ah, Fitzwilliam,' he said, in his stylishly accented
Albionish. 'It is you again.'

'Inspector Paul.' Aubrey straightened his tie and tried
to look as law-abiding as possible.

Inspector Paul gestured and four constables appeared
with straps and heavy belts. 'I take it this is your spell
work?' Inspector Paul asked Aubrey. 'Would you please
cancel it?'

'Do you think that's wise?'

'My men are experienced. There will be no danger.'

Aubrey gathered himself and cast the short negation
spell. Before the soulless woman could react, Inspector
Paul's squad bound her until she couldn't move. With
smooth efficiency, they lifted her and disappeared
through the crowd.

'Now,' Inspector Paul said, 'I believe I will have to ask
you to come with me to the police station. I have some
questions that need to be asked.'

Not a good time, Inspector
. 'I'm afraid I can't do that. Not
at the moment. I have business to attend to.'
Some rest and
some restorative spells, for a start.