Heart of Gold (19 page)

The speaker licked his lips. 'We will prevail. Our
committees are planning more fundraising, greater
membership drives and a better organisational structure.
We will, in time, swell to numbers so vast that the
government will not be able to ignore us.'

Aubrey had heard more inspirational speeches and,
apparently, so had many of the audience. A stocky man in
the front row stood and shook his fist. 'Committees!' he
shouted in guttural Gallian. 'I spit on your committees!'
He pointed at the red-bearded man. 'Tell us about action,
Gabriel! What do the Sons of Victor say?'

The red-bearded man grinned with a smile so ferocious
that, for a moment, it seemed as if he were the only
person on the stage. He strode to the lectern, which was
quickly surrendered to him. He jabbed a finger at the
audience. 'I say that the spirit of Martin Victor lives on!
Marchmaine will be free!'

Aubrey started. For an instant, he'd been seized by an
extraordinary sensation. He felt as if he were bobbing in
the ocean and had risen up the face of a large swell, then
dropped down the other side. He looked around,
blinking, but no-one else seemed to have noticed a thing.

The rolling wave of magic came again. Aubrey's awareness
nudged at him, painfully. He concentrated, and could
feel that the magical pulse was ancient. It had a ponderous
majesty that spoke of eons past. At first, he was
worried that someone had set off another of the anger
spells that had caused the riot at the Middle Bridge, but
this magic was utterly different.

Someone screamed. Above, Aubrey saw the moon,
half-hidden by clouds. A few stars were showing and he
tried to make out the constellations to which they
belonged. Then, with a shock that caught in his throat,
he realised he was looking right through the ceiling of
the Academy of Sciences.

He reached behind him and touched the wall, reassuring
himself that the building was still there, because the
walls of the auditorium were fading as he watched. It had
become ghostly, insubstantial, in places as clear as glass,
while in others it had become misty and translucent.
When he pressed, his hand sank into the substance of the
wall, and he jerked it out with a grimace.

Another scream cut through the hubbub, then shouts
and cries of dismay as the audience took in what was
happening. The walls, the stage, then the floor all began
to grow fainter and fainter until the buildings and roads
on either side of the Academy showed through.

A man shot to his feet. He clamped his cap on his
head, then spun on his heel and ran up the aisle toward
the rear doors. It was as if a signal shot had been fired.
Pandemonium erupted. Everyone in the hall stood,
shouting and pressing toward where they thought the
exits were. A mass of humanity battered at the fading
outline of the doors, thrusting them open.

'What's going on?' Caroline demanded over the
uproar.

Aubrey didn't answer. He was being bombarded with
waves of magic. They rolled over him, twisting at his
magical awareness and leaving him gasping. His heart
thudded in his chest as he tried to make sense of the
mighty enchantment that was transforming the Academy
of Sciences.

At the same time, he was not happy about being
trapped in a mob. He knew that a panicked crowd was a
dangerous beast, likely to behave unpredictably. There
was no point trying to appeal to logic or better nature
when fear was on the rampage.

The crowd had almost come to a standstill, caught in
the bottleneck of the doors. He saw elbows being used,
and punches started flying as those desperate to be out of
the fading building tried to assert their claim for early
exit. Women were flung aside, old men knocked over,
umbrellas and walking sticks became weapons.

'We have to get out!' George shouted. His eyes darted
from side to side, looking for imminent danger as the
mob surged one way and then the other, seeking the
exits. A number of the more panicked audience members
were pushing at the unseen wall and struggled as if they
were caught in thick glue.

Aubrey passed a hand over his face. He didn't need a
physical challenge, not in his state. And he couldn't
contemplate a magical solution either, especially given
the magnitude of the enchantment that was on the loose.

He straightened. Dully, he noted that von Stralick had
disappeared.
Typical.

Over the tumult of the crowd, Aubrey heard the
splintering of wood, then exclamations of surprise. Then
came angry shouting and police whistles.
The riot they
anticipated may well have started, but through fear, not anger
,
he thought.

'Time to find a rear exit,' George shouted, pointing
toward the stage that had faded unevenly, leaving enough
to distinguish a possible way out.

George took the lead, acting as a battering ram. Aubrey
followed gratefully in his path, and they managed to
worm along a wall that was patchy in its solidity – partly
ghostly, but stretches seeming almost unaffected. They
stumbled onto the vacant stage, which was one of the
more concrete-looking parts of the hall. A few others had
the same idea and a ragged line of people staggered up
the stairs, and into the wings, away from the tide of
humanity that was still trying to crush through the
remains of the main doors.

Aubrey followed George's broad back through the
backstage darkness. A door loomed, with blessed fresh air
gusting to them. George disappeared through it and
Aubrey hurried after.

As soon as he was through, Aubrey was grabbed by
rough hands. Before he could protest, he was pushed
onto the flat bed of a wagon to join an angry-looking
George. He scrambled, and saw Caroline tumbling to
join them. She rolled neatly and came to a crouch, alert
and ready to move. Aubrey felt like applauding, but he
was shoved to one side, so that his back was to the sideboards.
Caroline moved to a similar position nearby.

Out of the frying pan?
Aubrey thought. But they didn't
seem to be in any immediate danger, and he decided that
demands for information may not be the best course of
action in such a tense situation. He caught Caroline's eye,
then nodded at George, who was sitting on Caroline's
right.
Wait
, he mouthed.

He studied the others in the cart. They were the same
motley assortment as had been in the lecture hall, except
for one that made Aubrey very interested indeed:
Gabriel, the red-haired firebrand from the Sons of Victor.

A voice shouted, a whip cracked and the wagon
lurched off down the narrow alley. Behind them, the
Academy building had become an apparition, a ghostly
replica of itself that faded as he watched. It hung
against the night sky, misty and grey, as if it were made
of smoke.

When the wagon swung out onto the Boulevard of
Industry, the gas street light showed that Gabriel was
staring at them ferociously.

'You are not Marchmainers.' He pulled out a knife.

Time slowed. Aubrey could see the knife had a leather
handle. He could see that it had a nick on the back of the
blade. He could see that Gabriel's knuckles were torn and
bloody.

Time for a plausible story
, he thought. Very plausible,
very fast.

'No, sir,' he said in his best Gallian. He felt it was best
to be polite to a man who was brandishing a big knife.
'We're from Albion.'
There, that should buy me some time to
come up with something.

'So? I thought as much,' said Gabriel in Albionish.
Aubrey tried to place his accent. It was Marchmainer, but
with an odd inflection, slightly emphasising each t. 'It
doesn't mean I shouldn't kill you.'

'Ah.'

Aubrey felt both Caroline and George tensing, ready
to tackle Gabriel. He shook his head and they subsided.

Gabriel had three compatriots. They were big, thicknecked,
and Aubrey decided that all of them had been
destined to work as bodyguards from the time they could
walk.

'We're Marchmaine supporters,' Aubrey said quickly.
'Many Albionites admire the struggle for Marchmaine
independence and want to help. And we see Martin
Victor as one of the great political figures of the nineteenth
century.'

'Of course you'd say that. I have a knife.'

'What can I do to prove it, then?'

Gabriel spat over the side. 'You can't. But you can tell
me why I shouldn't kill you now.'

Before Aubrey could say anything, Caroline spoke.
'Ransom.'

Gabriel's knife didn't move, but he flicked a glance at
her. 'Go on.'

'My mother is a wealthy woman. She has many influential
friends. I'm sure she'd be happy to make a large
donation to the Marchmaine cause – as long as we're
unharmed.'

Gabriel's knife disappeared. He smiled, but Aubrey
found it as disconcerting as his menacing expression.
'I'm glad we were able to rescue three Marchmaine
supporters from the Lutetian authorities. They are
probably assaulting the others as we speak.'

Gabriel banged on the driver's seat and growled a few
words. The driver whistled and urged his horse ahead.

'All right,' Gabriel said. 'I think it best if we leave the
vicinity for a while. The police may be after us.'

'Why?' Aubrey asked. 'Surely it can't be illegal to hold
a political rally in the capital of Gallia?'

Gabriel snorted. 'That shows how little you know of
Gallian politics. The police will find some excuse to
arrest many of our people, my friend.'

Aubrey didn't feel as if he wanted to be Gabriel's
friend, but he did want to learn more about Gallian
politics. 'Tell us more.'

For the next hour, as they wound their way north-west
through the city, Gabriel spoke at length about the Marchmaine
cause and how just it was. He was particularly
strident about how weak the leaders of the Marchmaine
Independence League had become, and how it was time
for the Sons of Victor – as the true upholders of Marchmaine
independence – to assume control of the struggle.

'Through proper democratic processes,' he said,
grinning with cold eyes. 'Of course.'

'Of course,' Aubrey echoed.

Eventually, the surroundings became less residential
and more industrial, with street lights much less frequent.
A large complex with the heady tang of a brewery stood
on the edge of what appeared to be open fields and
Aubrey realised they were on the edge of the city, where
it gave way to countryside. The air was cleaner, fresher,
altogether more wholesome.

They turned left off the main road, travelling for
another fifteen minutes through dark and flat lands with
few signs of habitation. Then they rejoined the main road
where the countryside became more thickly wooded,
with a dense forest of conifers bordering the road. Ahead,
Aubrey could see lights.

'Blockade ahead,' Gabriel said, noticing Aubrey's
interest. 'Not to worry. We turn off before it.'

True to his word, the cart almost immediately turned
left, through a gate. A well-laid road led to a tall fence,
another gate and a guard house. Beyond the fence lay a
flat, cleared expanse, surrounded by forest, with buildings
in the distance. A number of them showed lights. On the
other side of the buildings, enormous cigar shapes
bobbed in the light breeze.

Aubrey stared. They were at an airfield.

Gabriel grunted to his colleagues. 'Saltin has scored
himself a fine job here. His promotion has made him
chief of the engineers.'

'You know Captain Saltin?' Aubrey said.

'Why?'

'He was in Albion recently. George and I saved his life.'
Caroline raised an eyebrow. 'You didn't tell me about
this.'

'Err. I meant to.'

'Enough,' Gabriel said. 'We'll see if Saltin remembers
you.'

They were marched to the guard house. George
leaned close. 'Are we safe enough?'

'For the time being.' Aubrey rubbed his hands
together. Slipping away from these ruffians would seem
to be the best course of action, but this was an opportunity
to gather information – and he couldn't ignore
that. 'Be ready. We may have to move quickly.'

George gave a surreptitious wink. Then he leaned
against the fence and did his best to look like a harmless
Albionish buffoon, smiling cheerfully and gazing about
with benign interest. It was a guise he sometimes used,
and Aubrey knew that it made people take him too
lightly – often to their detriment.

Gabriel spent some time with the guards, finally
leaving them with laughter and encouraging slaps on
the back.

He rejoined Aubrey and the others. 'We go to the
main hangar. Saltin is there.'

They left the wagon at the gate. The Sons of Victor
fell in around Aubrey and his friends. Aubrey had the
impression that while they weren't exactly being
guarded, the Marchmainers didn't fully trust them, either.

Aubrey counted six dirigibles on the far side of the
airfield, moored to their masts. Five were the regular VT
model, and showed no running lights, but one was
different. It had a distinctively shaped gondola, while
the tail array was one he'd never seen before.

They skirted a cluster of smaller buildings and rounded
a number of large, domed fuel stores. Gabriel led them to
the third of four enormous buildings, both ends of which
were made up entirely of immense doors. The doors
were closed, so Gabriel took them to a smaller, humansized
entrance. It rolled back with a screech of metal.

Inside, the space was gargantuan, large enough to build
mountains. It was lit by huge electric lights dangling from
the far-off ceiling like upside-down mushrooms. The
place was still, tense with the thunderstorm tang of ozone.

Gabriel herded them toward a workbench, but Aubrey
had no eyes for it. In the middle of the hangar, surrounded
by an immense scaffold, was the beginnings of
an airship.