Heart of Gold (30 page)

'Flame arc lamps?' Aubrey asked. 'You use them for
coloured light?'

'It creates a pretty effect. Most spectacular.'

'So you don't use ordinary carbon rods?'

'No, of course not. Flame arc lamps are special. The
carbon is mixed with . . .' She flapped a hand. 'Other
things.'

'Metal salts,' Aubrey said. 'Magnesium fluoride. Barium
fluoride.'

'Yes, yes. Those and others.'

'It's old technology,' Aubrey explained to a puzzled
Caroline and George, who'd come over, brushing
sawdust from his trousers. 'Filament lamps are more
reliable, especially when magically stabilised.'

'But more expensive,' Robert said from above. He
swore again. 'If we had the money, we would replace this
cursed thing tomorrow, wouldn't we, Simone?'

'Where do you get the special rods?' Aubrey asked
Simone.

'The same company that provides chemicals to
photographers. It's the only supplier of such things in this
part of the country.'

'Splendid,' Aubrey said. Pieces were falling into place.
He turned to Caroline and George. 'We need to go
there. Now.'

'What is it?' Caroline said.

'The Soul Stealer. He must get his material somewhere,
especially the components for the flash powder he
uses. A chemical supplier may have records.'

'It's late,' Caroline pointed out. 'They may be closed.'

'That's why we must hurry.'

Simone, perplexed, gave Aubrey the address.

As they went to leave, Duval broke away from an
earnest conversation with three of his cast. 'You are
going?'

'We must,' Aubrey said.

'The next rehearsal?' Caroline asked.

'Tomorrow evening.'

Aubrey groaned. He had thought it was an internal
one, but when everyone stared at him he realised otherwise.
'Sorry. I just thought of something.'

Duval raised an eyebrow. 'And the ball?' he said to
Caroline. 'You will consider my offer?'

'When you get your invitation.'

More farewells and they were off, with Aubrey
brooding over the embassy ball. In many ways it was a
small thing, considering the events that were unfolding,
but it was taking a considerable amount of his attention.
How was he going to invite Caroline to the ball now that
Duval had made advances? The Gallian had stylishness,
flair, confidence and never seemed overawed in the company
of the opposite sex.
I'm sure he's never been tonguetied,
or started babbling, or generally been an embarrassment
,
Aubrey thought. Why was it that he could conceive and
execute a fiendishly complex plan to catch a master
criminal like Dr Tremaine, but when it came to deciding
the best way to approach a young lady, he had no idea
what to do?

He sighed. It astounded him that the human race
hadn't died out millennia ago, considering how difficult
it was to arrange a simple thing like getting to know each
other. Apparently people had managed it for a long time,
but the whole business made his head spin.

In this glum mood, he didn't object when George
hailed a cab. The horse ambled through the Blessine
district, past the great cemetery of the Five Brothers, to
the industrial area next to the rail yards that were part of
St Denis Station. Along the way, Aubrey counted three
sink holes that had opened, swallowing buildings whole.
They had been barricaded, but the stench that came from
them was not so easily blocked off.

The evening was turning into night when the cab
deposited them in front of a modest red-brick building.
It had an elaborate sign announcing that it was the
establishment belonging to Poyas and Stern, Chemical
Suppliers, a company modern enough to boast a telephone
number. The building was in a short street that
seemed to be entirely made up of foundries and metal
works. The smell of hot oil greeted them as Aubrey
alighted, only to be confronted by a heavy grille over the
front door.

George rattled the grille. 'No late workers here, it
seems. I can't see any lights.'

Aubrey wasn't satisfied. 'Perhaps they don't do much
walk-by trade.'

'A lane runs down the side,' Caroline reported. 'There's
a long yard behind the building, and a gate.'

'Very good,' Aubrey said. 'Let's see what we can see.'

The yard was quiet. Barrels were piled against the
wooden fence, and a mound of scrap metal stood just
inside the gate. Dozens of wine bottles were stacked
against the far fence. Two delivery lorries were backed
against the wall of the building, under a long, barred
window.

The back door of the building was open. Aubrey
stopped. The quietness made him nervous, as did the fact
that the door was not wide open – it was barely ajar.

'Shall we knock?' George asked. 'Or just waltz in and
ask for a dozen of their best carbon rods and their
customer record books?'

'I see movement. A light,' Caroline said softly.
'Someone is inside.'

'George,' Aubrey murmured. 'Can you go back to the
front of the building, please? Take note of the telephone
number, then go to the telephone box back at St Denis
Station and ring it.'

Caroline nodded. 'If those inside pick it up, we'll know
whether they're legitimate or not.'

'If they answer, ask them about strontium fluoride
carbon rods. That will test if they know what they're
talking about.' Aubrey smiled. 'But if they simply let the
telephone ring, I'd say that they're intruders.'

George patted his pockets. 'I hope you have change,
old man.'

Aubrey pulled out a handful of coins and then George
was off. 'We need a vantage point,' he said to Caroline.

'To see without being seen.' Caroline scanned the yard.
'The scrap metal?'

'Not good enough,' Aubrey said slowly, his mind
working. 'I may have a solution . . .'

'Magic?'

He nodded. 'A spell of concealment. It's effective, but
short-lasting.' He cleared his throat. 'The area of effect is
limited. And there are two of us. To conceal. As it were.'

'Enough, Aubrey, I understand.'

'I wouldn't suggest this if it weren't –'

She held up her hand. 'It's important. I know. Let's not
be so prim, shall we? Can we move while this spell is in
force?'

'Yes. As long as we stay close together.'

'Good. Do your trickery and then we can move until
we're inside the fence. We'll take up a position to the
right of the gate so we can see the window and door.
Satisfactory?'

'Yes. Good. Stand behind me.'

'Is this close enough?'

Aubrey felt her hands on his shoulders. He smelled
violets and his head swam.
I will not be distracted
, he
thought. 'Hmm?'

'How's this?'

Her arms went around him.

It doesn't mean anything. It's practical, that's all, nothing
more.
'Just about perfect.' He tried to concentrate on
the spell.

She leaned against him and rested her head on his
shoulder. His brain turned to jelly.

'What did you say?' she asked.

'Nothing.'

'It sounded like "blattoo".'

'Spell talk. Magic stuff. Very complicated. Now, don't
move.'

He had done harder things than working a spell with
Caroline Hepworth embracing him – preventing his soul
being drawn into the true death came to mind – but not
many.

'There,' he whispered. The air around them rippled
like a desert horizon at midday. He smiled. The gathering
darkness would obscure the warping effect. 'We're
concealed. Speak softly.'

She put her mouth to his ear and he did a remarkably
good job of not buckling at the knees. 'That waviness in
the air? That's the spell?'

'What? Oh, yes. Law of Photonic Flow. Or something.
An observer sees what's on the other side of us rather
than us. So to speak.'

'Let's move.'

Aubrey didn't know what to do with his hands. They
were hanging by his sides like lumps of dough.
In for a
penny
, he thought and placed them on top of Caroline's.
'Left foot first,' he whispered. 'One, two, three, go.'

Together, they shuffled through the gate, awkwardly,
splendidly. Then they inched sideways until they had
the fence at their back and an uninterrupted view of
the rear door. His heart was pounding, but the sensation
was delicious.

The telephone rang, shattering the quiet. Aubrey could
make out movement inside, then – while the telephone
continued its shrill call – the rear door of the supplier
opened. Three men hurried out. One did something to
the lock and suddenly the door was closed again.

The three men spoke in soft, guttural tones, then
seemed to come to some sort of agreement. Without
another word, they separated, two heading toward the
main street. The third was very familiar. He darted down
the lane.

Aubrey felt the spell dissolving. The waviness rippled
more vigorously, then evaporated.

Much to his regret, Caroline slipped her hands out
from under his. She stepped away and gazed into the
distance, straightening her hat. She glanced at him, then
turned away again. 'I . . .'

She seemed to be having trouble speaking, but Aubrey
was content to wait and gaze at her. She looked at him,
more directly this time, with no words on her lips, but
that was agreeable as well.

Then she smiled and said, 'That was very clever of
you.'

He sorted through all the layers of meaning in that
simple statement, found them all delightful, and it was as
if he'd suddenly stepped into a world that was altogether
brighter, more colourful, and sweeter smelling than the
one he'd previously dwelt in.

Pounding footsteps sounded and the moment was lost,
a bubble of time that was too delicate to last.

George burst around the corner of the gate. 'I say, did
you see who that was running away?' He stared. 'What's
wrong with you, Aubrey?'

'Wrong? Nothing. Nothing at all. Who was it?'

'Von Stralick.'

'Ah.' Aubrey had been considering a spot of burgling
to investigate the customer records, but this changed
matters. 'Let's see if we can find our valued Holmland
friend.' He grinned. 'It's time for him to share.'

D
INNER WAS IN A CROWDED LITTLE BISTRO CALLED
T
HE
Patriot. They managed to find a booth at the back, away
from the chattering drinkers at the front of the establishment.
Paintings of riots, stormings of prisons and the
trials of aristocrats adorned the walls. Aubrey thought the
engravings of various executions were rather grim, but
they didn't seem to be upsetting any of the diners.

Aubrey ate his lamb and bean casserole with relish. It
was the best thing he'd ever tasted. At least, the best since
his last meal.

'So von Stralick isn't telling us everything he knows,'
George said after a mouthful of his fish soup.

'I never assumed he did,' Aubrey said. 'He's a spy, after
all.'

Caroline had finished her chicken with sausage. She
sipped her glass of mineral water. 'So it appears he is after
the Soul Stealer too. What for?'

'Let us assume it's for the obvious reason, while
agreeing that there may well be an answer that's not
obvious.' Aubrey spun a spoon on the polished wood of
the table. It flashed as it caught the light. 'Holmland is
preparing for a war. Weapons are the key to winning a
war. Imagine if the Holmland army had a weapon that
could steal the souls of the enemy soldiers.'

'Sounds like a good reason to me,' George said. He
munched on a slice of crusty bread.

Aubrey sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Or
maybe the Holmlanders are simply going to do a spot of
photography. I don't know.'

Caroline tsked. 'Do you think the Holmlanders would
be breaking and entering if that were the case? No,
they're up to no good.'

'You're right.' Aubrey drummed his fingers on the
table. 'The Soul Stealer. The Heart of Gold. These are our
priorities, but I think the Heart of Gold is the more
important.'

A burly man entered the bar. He was greeted with
shouts and cheers by the drinkers, but his face was
furious rather than delighted. A beer was thrust into his
hand. He swallowed half of it and slammed the glass on
the counter. While the others crowded around, he
launched into a loud and bitter tirade, thumping the bar
regularly to emphasise his points.

Aubrey listened. The man had come from the country,
delivering a wagonload of pears, but something had
happened.

'Why is he so hot under the collar?' George asked.

'More roadblocks, on every road, more than one in
many places,' Caroline said. 'His day has been a nightmare,
it's taken him hours longer than usual to get out to
the market gardens and back again.'

'The authorities are doing their best to keep the Heart
of Gold in the city,' Aubrey added, nodding. 'He says that
when he left the city this morning, his cart was held up
while Bureau of Exceptional Investigations operatives
went over it. He claims that the Bureau has a ring of
magical operatives around the city. They boasted that
nothing magical could get out.'