Heart of Gold (40 page)

The moment was his.
Every
moment was his, he
realised, every instant of his life, but this one was momentous,
with the fate of nations hinging on it.

And it was up to him.
Why not?
he thought.
I can mess
things up as well as anybody can.

Aubrey went to Saltin's shuddering form on the stool.
Hoping he wasn't too late, he took the Heart of Gold
from the airman.

Aubrey had expected a struggle, but the artefact came
easily from Saltin's grasp. As soon as it left his hands, the
airman slumped to one side and fell off the stool.

'See to him,' Aubrey croaked, then he staggered. The
world blurred, and the floor beneath his feet seemed to
tilt. He tripped and stumbled until he collided with the
the strongroom wall. Sagging, his breath came in ragged,
painful gasps.

The Heart of Gold was a storm of magical power in
his hands.

Aubrey had hoped his magical talents and training
would help him endure the power of the artefact. If this
were true, he pitied all of the untrained unfortunates
who'd held it, for it was as if he were being taken apart.

His throat felt as if it were being crushed by a giant
hand. He hunched over as a hundred minute spasms ran
through his body. His teeth and bones ached while redhot
needles pricked every inch of his skin. He shook,
convinced that he was about to be turned inside out.

But his hands, where they held the softly glowing
golden heart, did not suffer at all.

A desperate core of rationality struggled to make sense
of what was happening to him, cataloguing the sensations
so he could ponder them later. Then, with despair, he
realised that it wasn't just his body that was being
punished, it was his soul.

As soon as he'd taken the precious object from Saltin,
Bernard's protection spell shattered into a million pieces.
His soul was wrenched about by the torrent of magical
power that was coursing through his body. It flapped in
the wind like a loose sail, threatening at any moment to
detach itself and be whirled away.

Aubrey choked, then coughed and snatched a breath
of air. He trembled, and he groped, blinded, scrabbling to
hold himself together.

'Aubrey! What have you done?'

Caroline's hands were on his shoulders, but the sensation
was distant and muffled. 'The chapel,' he said with a
tongue like a block of wood. 'We must get to the chapel.'

She dug her fingers into his shoulders. He lolled helplessly
in her hands and flashes of agony burst like fireworks
in front of his eyes. 'You fool,' she growled. 'This is
no time to be a hero.'

Even though he was concentrating on holding on to
his soul, Aubrey found an instant to be offended by her
remark. 'If not now, when?' he managed to slur, then he
decided he was better off with his eyes closed. It was too
much effort to keep them open.

Irregular waves of magic marched through his body,
each bringing a new taste of agony. He hadn't realised
that pain had various flavours, but he was rapidly being
introduced to the variety of ways a body could hurt:
burning, stinging, aching, hammering, searing, cutting.
Each overlapped with the last, melding and then separating
into fresh ordeals.

He tried to remember a spell, something to help, but he
found it difficult to organise any sort of coherent thought.
Everything he tried to piece together splintered and was
blown away by the magical inferno that consumed him.

A different voice. 'I'll take him.' A strong arm under his
shoulders. George.

Aubrey opened his eyes. 'Thank you.'

George studied him. 'You're in trouble?'

'Yes. Very much so.' He jerked, hissed, then ground his
teeth together. 'The chapel,' he whispered. 'And contact
Inspector Paul.'

'You can drive him in one of those lorries,' Caroline
said. 'What's it like outside?'

'A pitched battle. Marchmainers against Holmlanders
would be my guess. Oh, and that dinosaur is rampaging
about, too.'

'It sounds as if we have a diversion.'

The world swooped and Aubrey realised, dimly, that
he'd been picked up and slung over George's shoulder.
Every step was an explosion of pain echoing through his
skull. He focused on his soul, clinging to it more with
stubbornness than art.

Aubrey slumped on the long bench seat of the lorry.
He could hear George and Caroline arguing but couldn't
make out their words over the throbbing of the engine.
Or was it the engine? He opened his eyes. George then
disappeared into the strongroom. He came back carrying
Saltin. He loaded the airman into the back of the lorry
before leaping into the driver's seat.

'Didn't we start this way?' Aubrey mumbled. 'Except it
was an ornithopter. And I was driving. Flying.'

'Easy, old man,' George said. 'Don't talk. Save your
strength.'

'Caroline,' Aubrey croaked.

George ground the gears and the lorry started to
move. 'She's gone to get her mother away from here.'

'Shouldn't've let her leave.'

George was silent for a minute, his brow furrowed
with concentration as he manoeuvred the lorry through
the doorway. It emerged into the smoke billowing
from the hangar. Through tear-filled eyes, Aubrey saw
that half the hangar had collapsed, while fire was raging
through the rest. The gunfire of a sizeable skirmish
hammered through the smoke.

George stamped on the accelerator and the lorry spat
gravel behind it. It surged through the smoke, away from
the tumult and toward the gate.

'I didn't let her leave,' George shouted over the scream
of the motor. 'You know perfectly well that you can't get
Caroline to do anything she doesn't want to do.'

Aubrey realised he was nodding, not in agreement
with George, but in time to the magical pulse coming
from the Heart of Gold. It rolled through him, ancient
and majestic, a power from a time long gone.

His mouth was difficult to work. 'Not you. Me. I
shouldn't have let her leave.'

The gatehouse was empty. The lorry rocketed past and
George threw it into a screeching right-hand turn.
Lutetia lay ahead.

'No, old man.' The engine was like a saw on Aubrey's
skull. 'Caroline is someone you shouldn't ever let leave.'

T
HE TRIP BACK TO THE CITY WAS A NIGHTMARE.
Aubrey would have been flung around like a rag
doll if it weren't for the restraining arm George dropped
across his chest whenever they shrieked around corners.
The little space of the lorry's cabin became Aubrey's
world, a noisy cocoon smelling of hot oil and sweat.

The Heart of Gold was fat and heavy in his lap, a reef
he'd foundered on. Helpless, he lapsed into an internal
world of struggle and torment.

'Nearly there, old man.' George sounded as if he were
speaking through a mask. Aubrey couldn't answer. All
that was stopping his soul being drawn to the true death
was his refusal to let go.

Thoughts flitted around the edges of his mind, splinters
of arguments he'd had with himself, remains of desires,
dreams, ambitions. Distracted, his attention staggered
from one to the other, never settling on one for long.

He grunted as the pain intensified. While he was
attending to his soul, his body was being pulled by the
power of the Heart of Gold. With its primeval magic, it
was trying to change his physical self, wrenching it into
patterns long gone from the face of the earth. His bones
creaked, yearning to reshape themselves along strange,
ancient lines.

He dug in. It was no good holding onto his soul if his
body was consumed.

Accustomed as he was to changes in his being, he drew
on his experience. It helped him resist the transformational
waves that pulsed through through every inch of him.

Nevertheless, a particularly sharp jab made him hiss
and open his eyes. He was surprised when he saw that
night was close. Shadows of the houses stretched across
the road ahead. They'd reached the city.

'Steady on, old man,' George said. 'I'll get you there.'

Aubrey closed his eyes and sought for the strength to
endure.

'W
E'RE HERE.'

Aubrey jerked and opened his eyes. Black shapes skittered
across his vision, vague almost-decipherable sigils
that frightened him badly. He blinked and they swirled
away. 'George?'

'Easy, now. Let's get you out of the lorry.'

Aubrey did his best, but without his friend, he would
have been stuck there. George lifted him out and he was
grateful to feel a breeze on his skin.

'Come on, now,' George said. 'We have to hurry.'

'Hurry?'

'We crashed through a blockade or two. And I don't
think we're meant to park here, either.'

With an effort, Aubrey lifted his head. They were right
outside the processional doors of the Cathedral of Our
Lady. The lorry had mounted the footpath, glancing off
a lamp post that was now leaning at something rather less
than vertical. The front fender had rammed the bluestone
newel post of the stairs. He was grateful that the cathedral
hadn't faded like some of the other churches. He
wondered if it wasn't because it was closer to the centre
of Gallia and so was holding together longer. It was a
fascinating thought, but he couldn't hold onto it. It
wandered away and was lost in the jumble that his mind
had become.

'We crashed?' he asked.

'You weren't paying attention. Other things to worry
about, I imagine.' George slipped his arm under Aubrey's
armpit and lifted. The world reeled and it took Aubrey a
moment to realise he was cradled in his friend's arms. His
head was too heavy to hold up and it lolled on his chest.
His stomach churned. Time swelled and stretched; hours
and instants were indistinguishable. The sounds of the
city were woolly and indistinct, as if the normal world
was only barely intersecting with his.

Hold on
, he told himself.

Three police officers were running either toward him
or away from him. He couldn't tell as their shapes seemed
to inflate and collapse in an erratic rhythm. He thought
he could hear shouts and whistles, but the echoes
confused him, coming before they should.

The day was fading.

He still held the Heart of Gold. It sat on his chest and
was as heavy as the world. Underneath its immensity, he
struggled for breath. He couldn't understand how
George could lift both it and him.

'Not long now,' George grunted.

'No.'

George grimaced and staggered up the stairs. He
pushed the door open with his hip. Aubrey thought the
heavy timber was going to close on his head, but George
caught it with his shoulder, grunting, and shoved it aside.

Inside the cathedral it was cool and dark. Candle
flames danced as Aubrey tried to make sense of the angles
and shapes. Pews, windows on high, columns, stone
blocks in the floor. They flitted and changed places as
George pounded along the aisle like time itself. Aubrey
anticipated every footfall, wincing in advance at the pain
he knew would follow, but when it came it was always
worse than he'd predicted.

He had vague impressions of people coming close
before hurrying away. George didn't speak and Aubrey
assumed he, too, was saving his breath.

They lurched out of the church proper and a figure
stood in front of them. 'Sister Claire,' George gasped.
'We've brought it back.'

Sister Claire smiled. Serene and patient, Aubrey felt her
concern wash over him. 'We know. We felt it coming.'

She disappeared. George groaned and followed her.

The Chapel of the Heart. The alcove. A nun, sitting,
hands outstretched. A lamp over her head. Her wimple,
touched with light.

'Sister Anne,' Aubrey whispered. His voice sounded
strange in his ears, as if it were strained through wire.

Sister Claire spoke. Aubrey heard it as the ringing of
bells. 'We've kept our vigil. Someone has waited here,
ever since it left.'

Aubrey eased himself from George's grasp, but was
grateful when his friend helped him stand. The Heart of
Gold beat, slow and soothing now, and the pain vanished.
It went so abruptly, so unexpectedly, that his knees
buckled and George had to catch him. 'You'll be all right,
old man.'

Aubrey wanted to tell him that he was more than all
right, but words were thick and clumsy, too big for his
tongue to manage. His gaze fell on the Heart of Gold in
his hands. Its presence was now restful, not damaging.
Aubrey blinked, confused, when it blurred while he
looked at it. He tried squinting, but it was like looking
through rain-streaked glass. The Heart of Gold eluded his
focus, shifting in ways he could not follow.

Suddenly, his surroundings whirled away. Images
flashed through his mind, one after the other, as if a
cosmic art gallery were being drawn past him at an everincreasing
rate.

At first, he saw wilderness, vast forests undisturbed by
humanity. He was puzzled – they sported strange, exotic,
almost tropical vegetation, lush with vines and tall palmlike
trees. Dozens, hundreds of these images rolled past,
and the scenes gradually changed: floods, fires, creatures
both gargantuan and bizarre. It was then that Aubrey
realised the landscape was that of many, many years ago.

The images streamed past him. He watched, amazed
and eager to know more. People came, primitive but
recognisable. Family groups, clustering together against
the wild, becoming a settlement. Farming, hunting, living
on the edge of a broad and pristine river. Then moving,
crossing to an island in the middle of the river when
threatened by a roving band of brigands. A village grew
there, protected.

Faster, the images flew. The village extended, the
wilderness receded, and the village became a town.
Churches and buildings of stone replacing wooden structures,
and the first bridge spanned the river. Before long,
Aubrey understood he was looking at the birth of Lutetia.

Landmarks appeared – towers, cathedrals – the town
grew into a city, and the city became a nation, teeming
with people and their lives. Aubrey was taken through
happiness and sorrow, loss and triumph. He was shown
wars, families, grief, loss, famines, celebrations and
progress. He was given Lutetia: the City of Love, the City
of Lights, the City of Art, the foremost city of the nation
of Gallia.

He held the Heart of Gold in front of him, the true
and living heart of Lutetia and Gallia. It was as light as
thought. He took a step and placed it in the hands of
Sister Anne in the alcove.

Then he collapsed.

W
HEN
A
UBREY WOKE, THE WORLD WAS GREY
. H
E MUSED
on that for some time before realising that he was gazing
up at a ceiling. He could see the cornices, where the
ceiling met the wall. They were moulded in a geometric
pattern. Classical?

He considered this as time passed. It was interesting, in
a vague and comforting way.

Some time later, at the edge of his vision, he could
see an electric light. It was an elaborate mechanism,
all brass rods and glass shades shaped like upsidedown
Marmeluke hats. He supposed it was in the centre
of the ceiling, but he couldn't be certain without
moving his head. For some reason, he was reluctant
to do that.

Time drifted. He remembered that he'd seen a similar
electric light in the apartment he'd let from Madame
Calvert. After a dreamy while, he decided that this
was probably the same one and that meant he was
in his own room. By and by, he concluded that the
sheets and blankets meant he was in a bed. His bed, in
all likelihood.

The depressing greyness worried him, though. He
assumed he could see more if he moved his head, but the
prospect of seeing more of such a gloomy world was not
an inviting one. Sometimes a small disheartening vista
was preferable to a large disheartening vista. Dimly, he
thought that may be a clever notion, but he wasn't
cheered by it at all.

'Aubrey?'

It took him a moment, but he eventually recognised
George's voice. It was warming to hear it. He thought it
would be good to hear it again, so he waited.

After a time, George's face swam into view. He was
haggard. 'Aubrey? Are you there?'

For a moment, the question held Aubrey frozen. He
was poised, balanced between two worlds, like an underwater
swimmer looking up at the sunlit world beyond
the surface.

Then, with a rush he rose and embraced the world.

He lifted his head. 'George.' His voice felt thick and
unused. 'How long have I been like this?'

George stared for a moment. Then he turned away and
coughed. When he came back, he was wiping his nose
with a large red handkerchief. 'Almost three days, old
man. You've given us quite a scare. Quite a scare.'

'Three days?' Aubrey let his head fall back to the
pillow. He tried to remember what he'd experienced
after he'd collapsed in the Chapel of the Heart, but
nothing came to him.

'The doctors said it was a coma, and wanted to move
you to a hospital. I wouldn't let them, and Madame
Calvert helped us.'

Aubrey felt as if George was throwing darts at him, so
much information was coming so quickly. 'Three days?
Madame Calvert? Us?'

The grey world disappeared. Light flooded into the
room and Aubrey held up a hand, wincing. He squinted
at the window and saw a silhouetted figure drawing back
the drapes. 'Caroline?'

'She's kept vigil here, old man. We both have.'

Caroline came and sat on the bed. She wore a simple
white blouse and a black skirt. Her hair fell to her neck.
She smiled, and Aubrey's world was brighter. Living
seemed like a desirable outcome. 'How do you feel?'

'I feel wonderful.'
Weak and wrung-out, and glad to be
feeling anything at all.

She raised an eyebrow.

He rallied. 'Relatively wonderful, I mean. Considering
the alternative. I could be a wild boar by now. Or something.'

'Or dead,' George pointed out.

Aubrey winced. 'Indeed.' He glanced down and saw he
was wearing pyjamas. He was glad they were his best pair.
'I really feel quite well. What time is it?'