Heart of Gold (15 page)

'Does he still work here?' Aubrey asked Maurice.

'He tinkers with magic still. He is old. He doesn't want
to die.'

'Oh?'

'He is sure he can find a way to preserve his soul, to
keep it from leaving this existence.'

Aubrey's eyes widened at this. He looked toward the
upper floors. 'Where is he?'

'In his rooms. Fifth floor.'

While Duval engaged Maurice in discussion about his
storage plans, Aubrey took the opportunity to climb the
stairs and look for Bernard.

As he climbed, his magical awareness began to nag at
him. He rubbed the back of his neck, then he felt pins
and needles in his fingers. He supposed his reaction could
simply be from the centuries of experimentation that
had taken place in the building, but after his recent
brushes with magic, he felt uneasy.

After he passed the third-floor landing, cobwebs began
to festoon the staircase, hanging from the balustrades
in baroque displays of lacework. When he reached the
fourth floor, he thought he could hear noises coming
from above. He paused, listening, and gripped the iron
handrail. A bright light flared, leaking from around one
of the doors on the fifth floor. Aubrey was heartened. He
had a destination.

He reached the landing on the fifth floor. The staircase
still went upwards. He wondered if it opened onto a
rooftop observatory, a favoured relaxation place for
magicians everywhere.

Aubrey stopped, frowning. He smelled a sharp,
chemical odour. And was that smoke in the air? Perhaps
Monsieur Bernard still had enough skill to tinker with
interesting magic.

The light flared again from behind the door three
places to his left. Aubrey started for it, but paused when
the bright light seeped through the crack around the
door again.

He reached the door and eased it open, finding himself
in a vestibule. It was crowded with boxes and Aubrey had
to pick his way through them before he reached the door
to the main room. With care, he opened it and stepped
into a decidedly old-fashioned magician's workshop.

The room was long with three tall, narrow windows
on the southern side, one of which was bricked over. In
the middle of the room were four benches. One was
covered with glassware that Aubrey was sure would make
an antique dealer very interested. Another had small slabs
of timber, woodworking tools and a collection of copper
bowls. The third and fourth were laden with alchemical
material and diverse spell-making paraphernalia – chalk,
flasks of mercury, powdered charcoal, ink, hammers and
tongs. An elaborate light fitting hung from the centre of
the ceiling, plates of silvered glass reflecting light about
the room. Racks of shelves lined the walls, some containing
books, others holding bottles and jars. Wherever
there were no shelves, boxes were piled high. At the right
side of the room, the racks were covered with a tattered
piece of canvas. It was a traditional, conservative working
place with no concession to modern magic at all.

At one end of the room, past the benches, a huge man
was sitting on a chair, gazing fixedly into the air. He wore
an old-fashioned suit and he had one arm resting on a
small table by his side. Behind him, billows of white
canvas hung from the wall.

Facing away from Aubrey, with all his attention on the
corpulent man, was a photographer.

Aubrey had observed George's dallying with photography,
and had learned enough to see that this camera
was a very strange contraption indeed. The tripod was
standard equipment, but the camera itself was oddly
proportioned, much wider than normal. The bellows
which connected the lens and the plate box was rich
leather while the woodwork was almost certainly
mahogany. A metal shelf holding flash powder was
attached to the right side of the camera by a moveable
arm. Aubrey wondered at the purpose of the brass levers
that protruded from the plate holder. The photographer
was adjusting them with particular care.

The photographer straightened, still unaware that
Aubrey had entered the room. He was a small man, with
a long topcoat. He wore a bowler hat so low that his
eyebrows nearly touched the brim.

'Now,' the photographer said in thick Gallian, 'your
final photograph.'

Aubrey cleared his throat. 'Hello.'

The photographer jerked around. He was holding a
photographic plate in one hand and a lit taper in the
other. Aubrey had an impression of a moustached, wildeyed
face with sharp cheekbones. His black hair hung
long and unkempt, almost to his shoulders. The photographer
stared at Aubrey with such astonishment that
Aubrey almost laughed.

The photographer narrowed his eyes and touched the
taper to the flash powder. A brilliant flash of light
erupted. Aubrey reeled back, clutching his eyes while
purple bursts danced across his vision and his magical
senses ran riot.

He heard a curse, followed by clattering and fumbling,
a crash and more swearing.

Opening his eyes and squinting through the smoke of
the flash powder, Aubrey saw the photographer swinging
a large black bag at him.

Aubrey ducked, rolled to one side and took a blow on
his shoulder that made him grunt. His momentum
combined with the blow to knock him forward, but as he
fell he groped for his attacker. He grasped cloth, but with
another curse it was yanked free.

The pounding of feet on the iron walkway signalled
the flight of his assailant down through the tower.

Rubbing his shoulder, Aubrey climbed to his feet. He
limped through the vestibule and out onto the walkway,
wondering what had provoked such a reaction.

Below, clanging pell-mell down the stairway, as if all
the fiends of hell were after him, was the photographer.
He held his large black bag in one hand and he carried a
long case on his shoulder.

The photographer looked up and saw Aubrey peering
down at him, then he was off again. He pushed past
Duval and Maurice, who'd come to see what all the din
was about.

Aubrey went to the railing. 'A madman,' he called.

Maurice screwed up his face. 'This place has seen
plenty of them.'

Wincing, Aubrey rubbed his shoulder again. He'd
have a good-sized bruise, he guessed, right underneath
the shoulder blade. As the discomfort eased, however,
he became aware of another sensation – the rasping of
magic.

He stared back at the workshop, his heart beginning to
race. A deep moan came from the open door and his
chest was suddenly tight with fear.

A large, blundering shape filled the doorway. It swayed,
then pawed at the air, muttering. When it stepped out of
the darkness, Aubrey saw it was the fat man who'd been
posing for his photograph. His vast belly was a bulwark
in front of him.

Then Aubrey saw his face. Slack, blank-eyed, devoid of
all intelligence, it was the tell-tale visage of one who had
been visited by the Soul Stealer.

A Gallian wail came from Maurice two floors below.
'Monsieur Bernard! What has happened to you?'

Aubrey flexed his hands. Bernard slowly heaved his
great bulk to face him, and his moans turned to growls.
With an effort, as if his body was slow to follow
commands, he moved toward Aubrey, swinging his arms
like clubs.

Aubrey skated backward, then turned and ran. He
circled the walkway, and Bernard came after him with
the awkwardness that seemed to come with the dispossessed
state. Aubrey was confident that he could keep
his distance.

Bernard – or the creature who had once been Bernard
– growled and coughed, staggering from wall to railing,
making rough, haphazard progress.

Aubrey could have lured Bernard further, then
sprinted around to the stairs, but he continued backing
away, weighing up his options.

With his state deteriorating again, he needed to find a
way to stabilise his condition. He'd been hoping, deep
down, that in the Faculty of Magic he'd find something
that could help. Maurice had hinted at Monsieur
Bernard's work in preserving life. Could the last magician
in the faculty be Aubrey's saviour?

But he won't be any help at all in this condition
, Aubrey
thought as he kept his eye on the mindless brute
Monsieur Bernard had become.

As if to emphasise Aubrey's thoughts, Bernard tottered
to one side and collided with a door. It rattled under the
impact and he swiped at it with a flat backhand.

Noise from the stairs made him look in that direction.
Maurice stood on the staircase, appalled at what had
happened to his master. Duval was below him, staring,
equally horror-struck.

'Don't let him see you,' Aubrey called.

'What are you going to do?' Duval replied.

'What's in his room, Maurice?'

Maurice ran a hand through his stringy hair. 'Magical
equipment. Books. Things he has collected over the
years. He's never thrown anything away.'

I hope that's the case
, Aubrey thought. 'I'm going to
entice him back there. Then I'll help him.'

Duval gaped. 'You're a magician?'

'Yes.'

'What can we do?'

'Be ready if I call.'

Despite the weariness that dogged him, Aubrey ran for
Bernard's workshop. He burst through the vestibule and
into the main workshop. He stood directly under the
mirrored light fitting and gazed around. A magician's
workshop was the perfect resource for improvisation, so
he had no shortage of useful stuff. While he thought, he
pocketed a small box of rubber bands and a glue pot.

Behind him, Bernard's growls grew louder, followed
by the sound of boxes tumbling on top of each other.
Aubrey slipped around the first workbench, putting it
between himself and the door. Keeping one eye on the
entrance, he searched the bench and tried to form a plan.

He could try immobilising Bernard with his standard
binding spell.
As long as it's strong enough for such a behemoth
,
he thought when he took in the enormous bulk of the
man framed in the doorway. He riffled through the spells
and fragments of enchantments he'd learned, seeking
something useful, but with the nagging doubt that came
from the spell failure he'd experienced with even the
simple binding spell.

He needed to restore Bernard's senses if the magician
was to be of any assistance. To do that, he'd have to establish
exactly what was wrong with the man. For a wild
instant, he grinned at his calmness. This was turning into
a rational investigation in the best manner of modern
magic. Test, observe, hypothesise, even while being
menaced by a mindless creature intent on mayhem.

Bernard stumbled into the workshop, each footstep a
ponderous one. His face was somehow both empty and
cunning.

Quickly, Aubrey decided that Bernard didn't look like
a docile experimental subject at all. He resolved to
postpone a methodical examination until later, when he
wasn't in danger of being torn apart.

Aubrey gathered himself, determined not to mess up
this casting, and chanted the binding spell, twice in quick
succession. Twin glowing ribbons flew across the room,
one hobbling Bernard's feet and the other looping over
his head to trammel his arms.

Aubrey was dismayed when Bernard managed to
wrench one arm free, but as he struggled, it gave Aubrey
a chance to snatch some chalk from the workbench. He
edged past Bernard until he was directly behind him, in
the alcove formed by the vestibule projecting into the
room. Here Aubrey found the clear floor area that was
vital in any magician's workshop. He dropped to his
knees and hurriedly swept the dust away with a hand to
find faint traces of chalk marks.

A roar and a crash made Aubrey's head jerk up.
Bernard had managed to burst free of the glowing loop
around his arm and chest, but his flailing combined with
the binding on his feet had sent him sprawling against
the workbench. A pile of glass photographic plates
toppled and smashed, tins of powder sprayed and a
wooden elephant marched up and down on the bench
while playing a fanfare through its trunk. Bernard
sprawled in this wreck, thrashing and managing to tangle
himself in a large spring he'd dislodged from a brass
orrery on the bench.

Concentrate!
Aubrey told himself. He tried to work
swiftly but methodically as he drew a simple restraining
diagram. All he had time for was a straightforward double
ring of chalk on the floor, but he strove to make up for
its deficiencies, chanting while he inscribed, throwing
together variables of integrity, volume and duration. His
palms were sweating, and a monstrous headache pounded
behind his temples, but he kept his grip on the chalk, not
wanting any irregularity in the double lines. He joined
the loop together and stood, the completed ring between
him and Bernard. Aubrey waved to attract his attention.

Bernard had freed himself from the tangle of glassware
and wire. His legs were free of the last glowing loop.
Green oil dripped from one of his arms, but he didn't
seem to notice. He turned, searching, in a complete
circle, kicking aside a flat metal bowl which spun on its
rim, but it was only when he noticed Aubrey's waving
that he fixed on his target and started in that direction.

Aubrey's head pounded as Bernard came closer to the
trap. In a few more paces he'd step into the ring and
Aubrey would have him, safe and locked up.

Aubrey froze. He stared at the diagram on the floor,
stunned at his ineptitude. He'd made a novice's mistake
and not left a gap in the ring. Bernard wouldn't be able
to get inside.

With Bernard only a few feet away, Aubrey leaped
across the ring and broke the chalk line with his foot.
The gap was small, but he gambled that it was enough of
an interruption to the integrity of the restraining figure.

Aubrey retreated, using himself as bait. Bernard didn't
hesitate. He lifted his massive leg and stepped into the
circle.