Heart of Gold (25 page)

A
UBREY AND
G
EORGE TOOK A LATE LUNCH AT AN EATERY NEAR
the Ironmonger's Bridge. Aubrey devoured his omelette
with relish, enjoying the return of both his appetite and
his sense of taste. He enjoyed the clean taste of basil, and
the bite of the black pepper, and realised he'd missed such
homely pleasures.

His attention was drawn by the water in the river. He
stared, his fork in mid-air. 'Do you notice anything about
the Sequane, George?'

George looked up from a Lutetian newspaper he'd
picked up through force of habit. 'Sorry, old man, just
getting up-to-date with the goings on in the Assembly.'

'Don't lie, George, it doesn't become you. Look out
there and tell me what you see.'

George peered through the window. 'Water. Boats.
Ducks. Nothing extraordinary.'

'But look how slowly the boats are travelling, even
with the current.'

George folded the paper and stared. 'The wake looks
strange, too.'

'And see how distressed the ducks are? They're having
trouble climbing out of the water.'

'Bizarre.'

'I can feel the magic.' Aubrey leaned closer to the window.'
George, it looks as if the water is getting thicker.'

They paid for their lunch and went to the river bank.
A man in a striped shirt was sitting in a rowing boat a few
yards away, cursing as he worked the oars. Each pull
seemed a huge effort.

The wake from the vessels was washing sluggishly
against the stone retaining walls, as if the waves were
made of treacle.

'Out of the ordinary, that,' George observed.

The low level of magic emanating from the river
prickled on Aubrey's skin. He stared at the water and
rubbed his hands together, as if this could ease his foreboding.'
The river's been affected by the loss of the Heart
of Gold.'

George picked up a pebble and tossed it at the river. It
struck the surface and stayed there for a second or two
before slowly sinking. 'Then we'd better restore it. Can't
have a solid river in a city like this. Dashed unattractive.'

'It's more serious than that. Tons of goods come into
the city via the river. If no food comes from the countryside,
Lutetia will become very hungry, very soon.'

George was startled and eyed the river with serious
distaste. 'What are we dawdling for, old man? Let's go.'

Aubrey had wrapped his brick in newspaper to avoid
stares and he cradled it in both hands as they made their
way across the city. At times, he felt a faint stirring as the
brick tried to orient itself toward the Heart of Gold, but
the movements were too faint to be trusted. Aubrey
knew he would have to amplify them before he could be
certain of its direction-finding ability.

He led them to Autumn Park, on the other side of the
Plaza of Democracy. George smiled, took off his new
boater and scratched his head. 'Good thinking, old man.
Fine view from there.'

'The Exposition Tower has the best view in Lutetia.'

The Exposition Tower was by far the tallest structure
in the city. In its short lifetime it had already changed
from an object of controversy to a symbol of the city
itself. A complex meshwork of thousands of interlocking
girders held together by millions of rivets, it had been
called a monstrosity, a ironmonger's nightmare, a modern
miracle and a dream in steel. Of late, it had been used as
a marvellous antenna for the new radio machines.
At night, the most advanced electric lights made the
Exposition Tower shine, a beacon in the darkness that
could be seen for miles.

'Good thing they decided not to tear it down after the
Exposition,' George said.

'How could they? It
is
Lutetia, now.'

Aubrey and George joined the crowds of people who
were after a view of the city. The lift took them in a
stately glide up to the first observation level. Even though
it was the lowest of the three public areas, it was still
high above the surrounding rooftops. Aubrey could see
over parks, mausoleums, churches and the banks of
the strangely gelid river, where people were gathering,
attracted by the phenomenon.

A thin, uninviting haze hung over the city. The sun was
warm, and a breeze had sprung up. It, too, was warm, but
it carried a stink, a smell of rot that made Aubrey wrinkle
his nose.

'Not a wonderful advertisement for the city.' George
shook his head as if he could dislodge the smell from his
nostrils. 'I wonder where it's coming from?'

'All around, I'd say.'

'Sorry, old man?'

'I think Lutetia is decaying without the Heart of Gold
in its rightful place. The earth tremors, the thickening of
the river, the smell . . . And look at the people around
you. They look as if they've suffered a death in the family.
The loss is infecting everyone.'

A few sightseers were out, gazing over the city, but
their faces were morose and discomfited. Aubrey would
have expected chatter and joking as they tried to spy
landmarks, their own homes or places of work, but
instead they looked as if they were merely going through
the motions.

'I suppose it could have something to do with the
brouhaha in the Assembly, too,' George said.

Aubrey shrugged. 'Possibly, although the Giraud
government has been unpopular for some time. The
Marchmaine issue hasn't helped, of course.'

'What about your brick, old man? Any chance of
giving it a go?'

Aubrey had been waiting for some privacy. He felt it
wouldn't be a very good idea to brandish a brick about
when one was so high off the ground. While he was sure
he'd been labelled a troublemaker by the police department,
he didn't want to confirm it.

A couple with a small child drifted away toward the
lift. Aubrey and George were left alone on the northern
side of the observation deck. He unwrapped the brick
and held it in both hands. 'The brick remembers what it
was like to be part of the tower,' he explained to George.
'That's the basis of the Law of Constituent Parts. But its
properties are diminished, being so much smaller than
the original. I need to enhance its yearning quality.'

It was a straightforward spell, one that Aubrey had
learned years ago. It wasn't often useful, however, because
of the fractionating that occurred when the whole was
divided into parts. What gave him hope, however, was
that the brick had absorbed magic over its hundreds of
years as part of a building that housed magicians. That
magic should add its own power to the spell and he
hoped he'd be able to amplify the yearning quality now
inherent in the brick.

He remembered the spell easily because, when he
learned it the first time, he was amused by the rhyming
syllables, even though he didn't – back then – know what
they meant. The Sumerian language was prone to
rhymes, another thing he hadn't known at the time, and
instead he'd simply thought of the spell as a nursery song.

He chanted it softly while holding the brick in front
of him. The spell was short and when he finished, the
brick quivered.

George eyed it suspiciously. Aubrey clamped his hands
around it. 'Unroll the map and we'll see what we have.'

He loosened his grip. The brick shifted and tugged,
pointing like a compass needle. 'What direction is that?'

'Steady on, old man, I haven't got the map up the
right way.' George frowned, lifted his head and gazed
over the city. Then he turned the map until he was
happy. 'There.'

'It's pointing past the Winter Bridge and the Church
of St Sebastian.'

George grunted and marked these two points on the
map. 'So, if I extend this line from the Exposition Tower,
it should cross the line we drew from the university.'

He fell silent.

'Well?' Aubrey urged.

'The Liberty Gardens,' George said slowly. 'That's
where the lines intersect.'

Aubrey studied the map. The Liberty Gardens was a
large park to the north of the river, a few miles from
their apartment. 'That's where the Heart of Gold is.'

He could already feel the yearning fading in the brick.
He wrapped it up again and tucked it under his arm.
No-one appeared to have noticed their antics.

Aubrey and George ambled home through the fading
afternoon. Soon the sun was setting over the city.
Shadows began to extend over the streetscapes like long,
black fingers.

They crossed Rationality Street and went around the
theatre district. Aubrey stopped dead. On the corner of
Tolerance Street, in front of a statue of the spirit of the
revolution, two young men were having their photograph
taken.

He couldn't help himself. He started toward the
photographer, who was bent over, peering through the
lens of the bulky camera.

George grasped his arm. 'I don't think so, old man.'

The photographer straightened and laughed. The two
young men laughed as well, then the photographer
folded his tripod and three of them set off together.

'It wasn't the Soul Stealer,' Aubrey said.

'No.'

'But he's out there somewhere.' Despite his new
internal armour, Aubrey wanted to find this fiend. Not
just for his own purposes, but because he couldn't stand
the thought of soulless bodies, so many of them, lost with
no hope of redemption.

Ahead, a motorcar screeched around the corner, barely
avoiding a flower barrow. The flower seller screamed
curses, but the motorcar didn't stop. It hurtled through
the light traffic, swerving around an omnibus. With
chilling deliberation, it crossed to the wrong side of the
road and ran up onto the pavement right in front of
the photographer and his two subjects.

Aubrey started running, drawn by an overwhelming
sense of disaster.

The motorcar's doors burst open and three well-dressed
men leapt out. Two of them pushed the two young men
aside, and struck one in the stomach when he bridled at
his treatment. The other man grabbed the photographer
and his equipment and shoved them into the back seat of
the car. Instantly, the three men piled into their vehicle. It
screeched off, roaring down the street, horn blaring,
demanding passage and leaving behind a trail of frightened
horses, cursing cabbies and dented fenders.

Aubrey reached the two young men. One was on the
pavement, gasping for breath. The other was helping as
best he could.

'What was that about?' Aubrey asked in Gallian. A
small crowd began to gather. No-one offered to help.
They stood watching, sullenly.

One of the young men, moustached and pale, shook
his head. 'I do not know. They took Charles.'

'Charles?'

'Our friend. He is a photographer. He asked us to test
a new lens he'd purchased. We'd taken a dozen or more
photographs and we were going for a drink.'

The breathless young man groaned. The other shook
his head. 'I think he may have broken a rib. I must get
him to the doctor.'

George helped the injured young man to his feet. The
two of them limped off. Aubrey chewed his lip. 'It looks
as if we're not the only ones looking for photographers.'

'Who else?'

'I recognised one of the kidnappers. He was one of the
men who stole the Heart of Gold.'

M
ADAME
C
ALVERT WAS WAITING FOR
A
UBREY AND
George when they arrived back at the apartment
building after snatching a late bite to eat. 'We have
had a run on the banks today,' she announced.

Aubrey considered this and decided that it was something
he couldn't be held responsible for. 'That's bad
news. Are you inconvenienced?'

'The Prime Minister acted and closed them before too
much damage was done. I'm sure it will right itself, but
the government was nearly defeated in a motion of no
confidence this afternoon.'

Again, Aubrey felt that he was free of blame here.
'Strange times, Madame Calvert, strange times.'

'There was a riot at the flower market, the river has
stopped running and the earth itself is shaking.'

The disruption to the city was spreading. Aubrey had
grave fears as to what would happen if the Heart of Gold
were not returned. 'Why are you telling me this, Madame
Calvert?'

She pursed her lips. 'I'm unhappy because Lutetia isn't
at its best to host your father.'

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. 'Have you been reading my
correspondence?'

'Of course not. I received a letter from him myself.'

George almost dropped his hat. 'Sir Darius sent a letter
to you?'

Madame Calvert softened at this. 'We knew each other
many years ago, when we were much younger, before he
found his wife. We have kept in touch.'

Ah, so that's why Father suggested we should stay here
,
Aubrey thought. 'Father's letter said that this is an official
visit, to show support and goodwill toward the Gallian
government. Prime Minister Giraud is especially eager
for him to come.'

'Should show the Holmlanders that the Albion–Gallia
alliance is still strong,' George said.

'The Holmlanders and everyone else who is watching,'
Aubrey said, then he glanced at George. 'That was a
remarkably astute observation. You always swore that
politics was a bore.'

George grinned. 'I'm undertaking a program to
become a Renaissance man. Politics first, then painting,
then I'll turn my hand to falconry. Or astronomy.'

'Should keep you busy.'

'A person needs a hobby.'

Madame Calvert tapped her foot on the tiled floor.
'Your parents will be staying at the embassy. Will you be
joining them? Do I have to advertise your rooms?'

'No, no, we're comfortable here, aren't we, George?'

'Extremely.'

Madame Calvert frowned, sceptical. Aubrey decided
that this was as positive as she would get this evening, so
he excused himself. He and George hurried up the stairs
to their rooms.

Fatigue descended on Aubrey as George unlocked the
door to their suite. He leaned against the wall, but was
pleased to find that the exhaustion seemed natural, the
result of his exertions during the day. His soul seemed
well content, snugly enclosed by the magical barrier of
Monsieur Bernard's spell.

He yawned. 'George, I have to go to bed.'

George held the door open. 'I understand, old man.'

'Don't worry. I'm well, in no danger. I'm simply tired,
that's all.'

'The spell's working?'

'I think so. I had planned to go out tonight, to see if
we could do a spot of work on Bertie's family.' He
yawned again. 'But I don't think I'm capable of it. Not
now.'

'Sleep, that's the ticket. Get a good night's rest and
we'll track down this Heart of Gold tomorrow.'

Aubrey lay on his bed and felt good, healthy sleep
taking him up. He resisted it, revelling in the sensation,
and thought about his father's imminent arrival.

Aubrey had a number of items to report. The mysterious
attack at the airfield, von Stralick's revelation about
rogue Holmland agents at large . . .

I'll put it in writing
, he thought, just before he fell
asleep.
When I get a moment.

A
UBREY OPENED HIS EYES AND NOTICED, STRAIGHTAWAY,
that they weren't gritty from lack of sleep. He grinned
and threw back the bedclothes.

Dancing with eagerness to go downstairs and tackle
the day, he dressed, then splashed water on a face that
didn't look wan in the mirror; when he brushed his hair,
it shone with a lustre that he hadn't seen for days – and
it all stayed on his head instead of being snagged in his
brush.

Smiling, he almost floated down the stairs. He burst
into the breakfast room, where he nearly tripped over
at the aroma of coffee and fresh pastries. His mouth
watered.

'Morning, Aubrey,' George said from a table by the
streetside window. He flapped a newspaper. 'Give me a
hand with this, will you, old man?'

Aubrey translated for George, while devouring a
breakfast that tasted like heaven. The Saturday newspapers
were full of reports on the riots, the earth tremors,
the crisis with the banks, the strange condition of the
river and the abduction of several photographers. None
of them mentioned the Heart of Gold.

The bank crisis, apparently, had come from nowhere.
In response, the Minister for Finance had conducted a
long conference where he attributed it to rumours about
dock-worker action, the failure of the grape crop, a rise
in taxation and a rebellion in one of the tropical Gallian
colonies, all of which he declared untrue.

The river phenomenon also took up much space, with
ferrymen, bargees and those who dwelt near the river
up in arms. Blame was apportioned to many, with the
government the first choice, but manufacturers, farmers
and minority groups – religious, cultural and foreign –
also had the finger pointed at them.

Aubrey lingered over a small piece on page five.
'Listen to this, George. "A giant elk was seen on Truth
Avenue yesterday. After charging at and scattering a pack
of dogs, it escaped into the Talroy Gardens and has not
been seen since. The creature's antlers were reported as
gargantuan. It is said that the creature had been captured
in the country and false antler extensions attached as
a prank."'

'A prank? Not a terribly funny one. Especially for the
dogs.'

'Do you know the nearest place you could get an elk?
In this day and age?'

'Ooh, you might be able to find one in Senpathia. Lots
of mountains there.'

'Can you imagine someone finding an elk there and
transporting it hundreds of miles only to let it go in the
middle of Lutetia as a prank?'

Aubrey rubbed his chin. Weren't the Talroy Gardens
near the Liberty Gardens? Was this bizarre appearance
another effect of the Heart of Gold?

'Doesn't make much sense to me,' George said. 'But
Lutetians are such wild, romantic fools.'

'Too many strange things are happening in one place,
George.'

George sipped his coffee. 'Sounds as if the whole city
is breaking down.'

'And if Lutetia breaks down, I know which neighbouring
country will be ready to move in.' Aubrey sighed
and folded the newspaper. 'The Heart of Gold must be
restored.'

'It'd be pleasing if we could manage this before your
parents get here.'

'I'd thought of that.' Aubrey sipped at this third cup of
coffee and closed his eyes in appreciation of its richness.
It's the little things that remind us we're human
, he thought,
and how enjoyable it can be.
'Oh, did I mention that the
embassy is going to hold a ball this weekend, in honour
of the alliance?'

'A ball? Well. Are we invited?'

'I'm expected to be there. And so are you.'

'Splendid.'

Aubrey dusted some crumbs from the front of his
jacket. 'I thought I might ask Caroline.'

George nodded, with a completely straight face. 'I
thought you might, too.'

'She may enjoy that sort of thing. Music, a chance to
get dressed up.'

'You're just thinking of her. I know how unselfish you
are.'

Aubrey grinned. 'You know me too well.' He stood. 'And
who'll you partner? I'm sure Caroline's mother is free.'

George opened his mouth, but before he could speak,
Madame Calvert appeared at their table. 'The embassy
ball? I have a niece who would be delighted to accompany
you.'

George spluttered. 'I . . .Well, I'm sure that . . .'

'Excellent. I'll make the arrangements.'

'W
HY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING, OLD MAN
?' G
EORGE SAID
as they mounted the stairs to their rooms.

'I thought you were handling the situation beautifully.
I tend to be overawed when you adopt your smooth,
suave persona like that.'

George jammed his hands into his pockets. 'I was
thinking of asking that waitress from the café in the
gardens. Or I'm sure one of the girls from that acting
troupe would be interested. Fun-loving types, they
seemed.'

'I'm sure Madame Calvert's niece will be very presentable.'

'Presentable,' George repeated. He coughed and held a
hand to his forehead. 'I feel a cold coming on. I don't
think I'll be well enough to go.'

'Don't worry, George, we have much to do before
then.'

'I'll never make it. I'm fading fast.'

B
EFORE THEY SET OUT FOR THE DAY
, A
UBREY PREPARED
himself as best as he could. He stowed some of his useful
items in his jacket: chalk, a pocket knife, some clay, three
glass marbles, a brass door knob and – on a whim – a
feather.

The brick from the Faculty of Magic lay on his washstand.
Aubrey studied it, humming to himself as he did.
Its properties could come in handy, but it was an
awkward thing to be carrying around. If challenged, he
imagined he could present a plausible excuse – 'I need
to mend a wall and I wanted to get the right colour' –
but in these suspicious times it could strain even his
powers of persuasion.

Why take a whole brick when a piece will do?
he thought.
Just as the brick had stood in for the tower, if he could
break it up, a fragment could stand for the whole. When
they came near the Liberty Gardens he could use small
pieces of brick – even brick dust – to determine the
exact whereabouts of the Heart of Gold.

He paused and hefted the brick in both hands.
How am
I going to shatter a brick in an exclusive Lutetian apartment?

He scanned the room, hoping he'd simply overlooked
a hammer and anvil tucked into the corner.
Plenty of delicate, spindly furniture. Lots of subtly
patterned wallpaper. Not much in the way of blacksmith's
tools.

He shrugged. Why use muscles when gravity could do
the work?

Balancing the brick under one arm, he knocked on
George's door. He entered just as his friend called,
'Come in.'

George was standing in front of the cheval mirror with
two brushes. 'How's my hair?' he asked.

'Perfect.' Aubrey went to the window. Below was a
quiet alley. 'Excellent. Now, I want you to nip down there
and tell me if anyone's coming.'