Heart of Gold (26 page)

'Why?'

'I don't want to drop this brick on someone's head.'

'I see. And my job is to prevent such a thing?'

'One step ahead, you are. Good to see.'

The results were satisfactory. George came back with a
palm full of rough brick gravel, as well as a collection of
larger fragments. 'There you go, old man. No damage to
people or property, although I think we succeeded in
scaring a nasty-looking cat.'

Aubrey held his jacket pockets open and George
poured in the pieces. 'Now,' Aubrey said, 'let's see if we
can finally track down this Heart of Gold.'

T
HE MORNING WAS WARM, BUT FLAT AND DULL
. T
HIN CLOUD
,
the colour of wallpaper paste, covered the entire sky.
The foul odour that Aubrey had noticed while on the
Exposition Tower was still present, a faint, underlying
smell of rot that unsettled his stomach. It was having
the same effect on the Lutetians, too, to judge from the
sour faces they passed while walking along Generosity
Street.

Aubrey, however, was in good spirits. He hummed as
they marched toward the Hepworths' apartment. Even
the growing numbers of doom-laden posters couldn't
dampen his spirits.

He wanted to speak to Inspector Paul, when he could
find time. Some judicious sharing of information might
be timely. He had the feeling they could be useful to each
other.

'Solved a problem?' George asked him as they crossed
Fairness Street. The smell from a bakery was mouthwatering
enough to drive off the sickly city stench, and
a long line of customers attested that the products of the
shop tasted as good as they smelled.

'A problem?'

'You're humming again. It seems to help you think,
just like a cat's purr helps its digestion.'

Aubrey stopped dead and stared at his friend. 'Where
did you get that piece of information from?'

'Renaissance man, remember? I aim to accumulate
knowledge like an oyster accumulates . . . seaweed?'

'Be that as it may. A cat's purr helps its digestion?
Where did that come from?'

'Can't recall. But it's an impressive morsel to drop into
a conversation, don't you think? Especially with a pretty
companion.'

'Ah, I see. This Renaissance man business is a way to
impress females.'

'Why would you think any differently?'

T
HEY ARRIVED AT THE
H
EPWORTH RESIDENCE TO FIND
Caroline on the front stairs, giving a ginger cat a saucer
of milk.

Aubrey waved to her. 'Taking care of strays?'

Caroline smiled. 'He's hungry.' She bent and stroked
the lucky cat. It lapped at the milk and began to purr.

George opened his mouth, but Aubrey cut him off.
'Not now, George.'

Caroline looked up, then stared at Aubrey. 'What on
earth is that in your jacket?'

Alarmed, Aubrey looked down to see that that his
pocket was moving. 'Oh. That's a brick. Or parts of a
brick. Brick dust, too.'

'I hope magic is involved.'

'Oh yes.' Aubrey explained about the questing powers
of the Faculty of Magic.

'Ingenious,' Caroline said when he'd finished.

Aubrey couldn't believe it as his face began to glow. He
thought he had better control than that. He crouched
and stroked the cat to hide his blush.

'Good Lord,' George said. 'I thought you hated cats.'

'They're useful, sometimes.'

T
HE AREA THAT LED TO
I
NSPECTOR
P
AUL'S OFFICE WAS
partly a waiting room, partly a clearing house. Police
entered by one of five doors, consulted with the
sergeant at the raised desk, then hurried out again,
usually by a completely different door. The desk was in
the middle of the room and loomed like a pulpit over
the benches against the walls. The red-faced sergeant
behind the desk was as bald as an egg. He'd apparently
decided to make up for this deficiency by growing an
immense black beard that draped over his chest like a
wall hanging. 'Inspector Paul is conducting an investigation,'
he told Aubrey after glaring at the ledger in
front of him.

'Where?' Aubrey replied in Gallian.

The sergeant drew himself up. 'I cannot tell you
that.'

'We have important information for him.'

'Such as?'

Aubrey mentally shuffled his list of important items,
guessing which would be the most urgent to the police.
'About the Sons of Victor.'

It was enough. The sergeant squinted. 'The Bureau of
Exceptional Investigations called him to the Middle
Bridge.'

W
HILE THEY CROSSED THE CITY
, A
UBREY TOOK THE CHANCE
to tell Caroline about their encounter with the Sons of
Victor and about the brick from the Faculty of Magic.
Her questions were incisive and made Aubrey carefully
consider the events.

They arrived at the Middle Bridge in time to see the
operatives from the Bureau of Exceptional Investigations
conduct a revelation spell.

Aubrey stood behind the barriers that the police had
erected near the Middle Bridge and watched with a
professional eye, closely following the technique of the
Gallian magicians.

They worked as a team, creating a large circle – ten
yards or more across – on the embankment, just below
where the Middle Bridge gave out onto Charity Avenue.
Some of the cobblestones had been dislodged in the
flood and made stable footing difficult, but eventually
one of the five green-uniformed operatives cast a handful
of powder into the middle of the circle.

'What are they doing?' Caroline asked.

'It's a way of seeing what happened in a location. It's
difficult. There are many temporal parameters to work
with, and spatial drift is a problem.'

'Aubrey's done it before,' George put in. 'When
someone was trying to shoot Prince Albert.'

Caroline glanced at Aubrey curiously. Aubrey did his
best not to notice her regard, instead concentrating on
the unfolding scene in front of them.

A bubble appeared, as high as a lamp post and ten yards
or so across. Dim, blurry figures flitted inside it. The
vision shifted and wobbled, however, with two of
the operatives moving their arms in agitated fashion.
Suddenly, sharp, rainbow-coloured streaks slashed across
the surface of the bubble. They writhed, jagged and
disturbing, twisting the surface of the bubble and distorting
the figures inside. Despite the efforts of the
operatives, the bubble tore itself apart and disappeared
in shreds.

Aubrey caught sight of a familiar figure standing, hands
behind his back, smiling at the Bureau magicians as they
began to argue. 'Inspector! Inspector Paul!' he called.

Inspector Paul recognised Aubrey's voice. He strode to
the barricades, waving away an anxious constable. 'Miss
Hepworth. Fitzwilliam, Doyle,' he said in his accented
Albionish. 'What do you think of our experts?'

Inspector Paul had difficulty keeping the satisfaction
from his voice. 'They seemed competent enough,'
Aubrey answered carefully. 'I thought they were going
about it the right way.'

'You could have done better,' George muttered.

'They failed,' Inspector Paul said. 'The Bureau said
they sent their best, yet they failed.' He rubbed his hands
together, then seemed to realise what he was doing and
clasped them behind his back again. 'They say they can't
determine the origin of the anger spell.'

'Not enough residue?' Aubrey asked. 'Or was it of an
unknown type?'

Inspector Paul was impressed. 'You know something of
forensic magic?'

'A little.'

'It was, indeed, an unknown type of residue. They say
they want to investigate it back at their headquarters.'

'I don't suppose there's a chance I could examine it?'

Inspector Paul snorted. 'I doubt it. The Bureau is very
protective of what it sees as its jurisdiction. When it
deigns to work with police, it is always as if it is doing us
a great favour.'

Aubrey considered this for a moment. 'Have you made
any progress on the sabotage at the dirigible works?'

Inspector Paul looked to either side. 'Come this way.'

He moved the wooden barrier to allow Aubrey,
Caroline and George through. He took them to a place
halfway between the barricades and the Bureau operatives,
who were discussing matters in low voices with
furtive, accusatory gestures.

'A special force is dealing with the matter at the dirigible
works,' Inspector Paul told Aubrey and his friends. 'It
has representatives from the military and the police force.
Some very senior men are involved.'

'They think it's too important for the regular police?'

Inspector Paul shrugged. 'It is the way of things.' He
regarded Aubrey. 'Can you tell me any more? Do you
have sources?'

'I've learned nothing new about the dirigible
sabotage.' Aubrey was aware that this may not be the
whole truth, but he didn't want to reveal everything he'd
learned. In times like these, information was currency –
and he didn't want to spend it all at once. 'But I have
another matter I wish to ask you about.'

Aubrey was aware that involving Inspector Paul was a
risk. But the Inspector had shown his basic honesty.
Besides, Aubrey needed an ally, a Gallian ally, if he was to
make progress with his enquiries. Without Gallian
support, he was an outsider no matter how well he spoke
the language.

'I was with the Sons of Victor yesterday,' he said. 'There
was a raid. A police raid.'

Inspector Paul frowned. 'I was not aware of this.
On what grounds? The Marchmaine movement is not
an illegal organisation. It may be inconvenient to the
government, but every Gallian assumes that it is his duty
to be inconvenient to the government.' He paused and
held up a hand. 'Forgive me, Miss Hepworth. Or
her
duty.'

Caroline nodded, acknowledging Inspector Paul's
apology.

Aubrey grimaced. 'The Marchmainers did seem
surprised when the police arrived.'