Heart of Gold (43 page)

A tiny, peeved voice at the back of his mind whispered
about how much this deed had cost him, but he ignored
it. He knew he'd thrown away the stability he'd sought.
So be it. He'd done something important, and it was
worth it.

Von Stralick reached the wall and stood with his back
to it. The orchestra moved from the polka to a lively
mazurka, which brought cheers from the dancers. Aubrey
stood next to von Stralick, with Caroline on the other
side.

Von Stralick didn't look at Aubrey as he spoke.
'Gabriel. You know him?'

'The leader of the Sons of Victor.'

'He is one of us.'

Aubrey couldn't help himself. His head jerked around
and he stared at von Stralick. 'Gabriel is a Holmlander?'

'A spy. A plant. His mission was to galvanise the
Marchmaine movement and split Gallia in two.'

'He nearly succeeded. You know he's escaped from
prison.'

Von Stralick stiffened. 'When?'

'An hour or so ago.'

'Very bad. Very bad indeed.'

'Why are you telling us this?' Caroline asked. 'I don't
believe he's at all altruistic,' she said to Aubrey.

'I'm not,' von Stralick said. 'My superior is not
Gabriel's superior. We believe that he – and his faction –
are too rash, too dangerous for all our good.'

At that moment, Aubrey stopped and stared into the
distance. It was as if his mind were a great clockwork
mechanism just ticking over to noon, ready to ring the
midday chimes. 'Gabriel's master,' he asked with dawning
certainty. 'He wouldn't be a foreigner, would he?'

Von Stralick gave a tiny fraction of a nod. 'He is an
Albionite. You are very astute. What led you to this?'

'Oh, the way Dr Romellier mentioned a certain
name.' It also explained why Gabriel and the Marchmainers
tolerated the ornithologist at the airfield. If
Dr Tremaine was Gabriel's master, and if he had some
interest in Dr Romellier, then Gabriel would have been
ordered to keep an eye on him. 'And the audaciousness
of the plan. The intricacy of what was set in motion. It
reeks of our ex-Sorcerer Royal.'
Not to mention that the anger
spell that first threw the Marchmainers against the authorities
bore the hallmarks of Dr Tremaine's magic
, Aubrey thought,
but I'll keep that up my sleeve, for now
. 'And, of course, the
ultimate result of the events here in Lutetia would have
been war. A vast slaughterhouse of a war, millions of
people dead – the numbers of sacrifices Dr Tremaine
needs if he is to achieve his goal of immortality.'

'Ah,' von Stralick said. 'We thought Tremaine's role was
a secret.'

'How did he become involved?'

'He came to Holmland after he was driven out of your
country. Certain parties greeted him with open arms. His
knowledge is great.'

'I know. And he is a difficult man to resist.'

'He became an adviser to certain key government
figures. He was given a commission in the military,
extremely senior.' Von Stralick coughed. 'I have learned
that he was controlling Muller and Schnagel's
commander as well, promising him great things. He had
Gabriel dispose of them when they were proving too
independent.'

'Are you trying to stop the war, von Stralick?' Aubrey
said softly.

Von Stralick was silent for a moment. 'My superior
wants the whole continent. Holmland will need to go to
war to achieve it.'

'You haven't answered the question.'

'It is all I have to say on the matter.' He glanced at his
pocket watch. 'I must go.'

He wove his way through the dancers and disappeared.

Aubrey sighed. 'Do you think I'll be able to reach my
parents this time?'

Caroline smiled. 'Let's see.'

'It's extraordinary, really,' Aubrey said as they skirted
the dance floor. 'Holmland has been blowing up Gallian
military facilities, but the Holmland Ambassador is over
there laughing with the Gallian Foreign Minister.'

'Politics. Diplomacy. It's a strange world. Not enough
women involved, I'd say.'

'Really?' Aubrey said. 'You're not thinking of . . .?'

'My thoughts are my own,' she said solemnly, but her
eyes teased him.

As Aubrey worked their way past two dowagers who
were scribbling in notebooks and sharing their findings,
he felt as if he were considerably lighter and suddenly
immune to the effects of gravity. Caroline in politics?
The prospect made his head fizz.

'Matchmakers,' Caroline murmured, nodding toward
the old women. 'Spotting the eligible bachelors in the
room. No doubt they have a number of clients waiting
for them.'

This was an aspect of continental life that Aubrey was
glad hadn't made its way to Albion. He shuddered at the
prospect and at that moment caught the eye of one of
the dowager women. She studied him, then nodded and
jotted in her notebook. Aubrey moved on, quickly.

They reached the end of the dance floor and emerged
into the area where tables were arranged – large and
round with flamboyant centrepieces made of flowers,
feathers and ribbons. Cigar smoke drifted to the ceiling
and serious-looking older men and women sat talking in
low tones.

Caroline nodded to the right, at the most prominent
table. His mother stood, a vision in white. 'Aubrey!'

Beaming, proud, he led Caroline to the table. The men
stood, smiling at Caroline. His father grasped his hand.
'I'm glad to see you, Aubrey.' He smoothed his moustache
with a forefinger. 'Ah, Miss Hepworth. What a striking
dress. It suits you well. A Dumont creation, isn't it?'

'Yes it is, Sir Darius. Thank you.'

'Marvellous artist, Dumont is, but he can't take all the
credit. You've made his creation something sublime.'

Aubrey sighed. His father had never needed to learn
urbanity. It was second nature.

Sir Darius went on to introduce Caroline to the others
at the table. Aubrey took his turn as well, shaking the
hands of Prime Minister Giraud, the Minister for Defence
and the Minister for the Treasury and greeting their wives.
Mrs Hepworth was there, too. She smiled at Aubrey's
surprise. The man next to her nodded at Aubrey. He was
tall and slender, with fine laugh lines around his eyes.

Aubrey stared. It was the mysterious stranger who'd
been haunting him ever since he'd arrived in Lutetia.

Mrs Hepworth laughed. 'I see you've met?'

'In a way,' Aubrey managed to say. 'Mr . . .?'

He stood and held out a hand. 'Colonel McKenzie.
Magisterium.'

'Ah. I see.'

The Magisterium operative smiled. 'I must say that I've
had easier assignments than following you around, trying
to keep you out of trouble.'

'I actually don't think that's possible,' his father put in.
'I told Craddock as much, but he insisted that the son of
the Prime Minister needed looking after.'

'I can't say I was much help at all,' McKenzie said. 'You
were fiendishly difficult to keep track of, you know.'

'It's been a busy time,' Aubrey ventured.

McKenzie leaned close to Aubrey. 'You pulled off some
impressive magic, in any event. That floating tower?
Innovative stuff, and I've emphasised as much in my
report to Craddock.'

Aubrey wasn't sure how to take this. Compliment or
threat? 'I thought you were an assassin,' he said.

McKenzie smiled. 'No, not this time.' He held out his
arm to Mrs Hepworth. 'Would you care to dance,
Ophelia?'

Aubrey kept a blank face as the Magisterium operative
took Mrs Hepworth to the dance floor. 'Is he really an
assassin?' he asked his father.

'Craddock likes operatives with a sense of humour.'

Aubrey decided his father wasn't going to answer the
question. He gestured at the vacant space at the table.
'The Ambassador?'

'Sir Percy was called away. He wasn't happy about it.'

'I can imagine.' Aubrey hesitated. He had a great deal
to tell his father, but this didn't seem to be the right
place to do it. Caroline had made her way to his
mother's side and the two were discussing something in
earnest tones.
Birds and beasts
, Aubrey guessed.
Foreign
expeditions.

His father noticed his hesitation. He glanced at Prime
Minister Giraud, who was doing his best to appear as if
he wasn't eavesdropping. 'We must talk about your time
here,' he said to Aubrey. 'I'm sure you have much to tell
me.'

'Indeed. Much has happened.'

Sir Darius nodded, then raised an eyebrow. 'Caroline
agreed to accompany you to the ball, I see.'

'Yes, sir.'

'She's come to understand that you are, actually,
genuine after all?'

'She's a very intelligent person.'

'So I understand. And where is George? Off with a
sparkling young woman or two?'

'He's here somewhere. With, as you say, a sparkling
young woman.'

Prime Minister Giraud stood and touched a napkin to
his lips. He was a small man with a long nose and
receding hair, but he managed to project an air of utter
stylishness. Aubrey decided his impeccable clothes played
a good part in this, but he noted the man's steady gaze
and neat, precise gestures. 'Young Fitzwilliam,' he said
in good Albionish. 'Mine may be the only official
congratulations you receive for your efforts in returning
our most valuable treasure, but please accept them
nonetheless.'

'I'm glad I could help,' Aubrey murmured. He was
pleased that his father heard this, and only wished
Caroline had as well.

'Gallia is restored now?' Sir Darius said.

The Prime Minister smiled wryly. 'This crisis is over,
thanks to your extraordinary son, but we have others on
the horizon.'

'As do we all,' Sir Darius said.

Aubrey felt a tap on his elbow. It was a uniformed
embassy functionary. 'Mr Fitzwilliam, sir? The
Ambassador would like to see you.'

Aubrey rolled his eyes. He apologised to his father and
Prime Minister Giraud. 'Sir Percy probably wants to
chastise me for some of the goings on over the last
few weeks.'

'Would you like me to come?' Sir Darius asked.

'No. Thank you.'

Sir Darius nodded, a wry smile on his face. 'I forget
myself sometimes. I'm sure you can handle Sir Percy.'

'Thank you, sir.' Aubrey felt a small measure of selfsatisfaction.
Perhaps his successes were making an
impression.

He crossed to where his mother and Caroline were
still talking. He kissed his mother and made his excuses
before following the functionary through the throng,
which, if anything, had grown louder and more jolly.
Aubrey found that he was humming along with the
orchestra in a surprisingly tuneful manner. He caught
George's eye and waved just before he edged through
the doorway. George was still at Sophie's side and
looked as if heavy machinery would be required to
remove him.

The functionary took Aubrey up the grand staircase
and along a wood-panelled corridor. Brass light fittings
with muted glass shades clung to the walls. He stopped
outside a door that was identical to a dozen others they
had passed. 'Here, sir. Sir Percy said to enter as soon as
you arrived.'

The functionary bowed and hurried back along the
corridor, leaving Aubrey alone.

Music floated up from the ballroom, making Aubrey
eager to get back to join the celebration. He chewed his
lip and stared at the door, feeling uncomfortable standing
there. It wasn't the prospect of fronting Sir Percy that
unsettled him, it was something else, something skittering
around the edge of his magical awareness. Bowing his
head, he concentrated and grimaced when he found a
tingling presence, diffuse and hard to isolate. It itched
deep in his ears, where he couldn't scratch. For a
moment, he was worried, then he shrugged. It would be
odd not to find magic in a place such as this. Over the
years, both high-level and low-level magic would have
been performed in the service of Albion.

He rubbed his ears, but it didn't help the itching. He
shook himself and sniffed – then his eyes widened. Even
though the embassy was a potpourri of smells of leather,
wood polish, perfume and cigar smoke, another, more
pungent smell hovered in the air. When he realised what
it was, he stepped back from the door and stared.

Flash powder. The distinctive, burnt metal smell of
flash powder was coming from the room, reminding him
of the horror of the Soul Stealer. He hesitated. He'd seen
at least one photographer in the ballroom. Perhaps
another had been in this part of the embassy?

He didn't want to contemplate the alternative.

He paused and his suspicions took the opportunity to
break loose and jab him with sharp sticks. Why hadn't Sir
Percy summoned him to his office? Why this obscure
room toward the rear of the embassy?

He flexed his fingers, trying to decide what to do.
Then a notion occurred to him and he smiled. He
brought a simple light spell to mind and changed its
intensity variable. He rehearsed it until it was on the tip
of his tongue. Once pronounced, it would create a burst
of light many times brighter than a photographer's flash
powder. It would temporarily stun and blind. A useful
weapon.

He grasped the door knob and pushed the door open.

When it swung back, he faced a room cluttered with
crates and boxes. The end of the room was marked by
lush, crimson floor-to-ceiling curtains. Half a dozen
high-backed wooden chairs stood against the curtains.
His magical senses alert, he took one step inside. A tiny
creak and a swish made him turn, but he was too late. His
skull rang like a bell the size of the world and everything
went away.