Heart of Gold (31 page)

'We should come here more often,' Caroline said.

'Really?' George said. 'The food's good, but I wouldn't
say it's outstanding.'

'It's not the food. These carters are a wealth of information.
One of them just mentioned that a lion was
killed in the city today.'

Aubrey had a strong desire to turn around in his seat
so he could better hear the gossip, but resisted. 'Where?'

Caroline pushed a wisp of hair back behind her ear.
'Near the military hospital. It was shot by the police.'

'The military hospital is near the Liberty Gardens,
isn't it?'

'They're not a mile apart.'

Aubrey was seized by an idea. He patted the pockets of
his jacket. 'I need a platter, or a large bowl.'

Caroline straightened and looked toward the front of
the restaurant. In an instant, three waiters were hurrying
to their table. After Caroline explained what she needed,
they vied in fetching it for her.

'They appreciate it when foreigners speak Gallian,'
Caroline said when the waiters left, pushing their way
toward the kitchen. 'It must be exasperating, being brayed
at all day in Albionish by people who think that the way
to good understanding is to speak louder.'

The tallest of the waiters wove through the tables. He
had a large, oval platter in his hands. With a flourish and a
broad smile, he presented the white dish to Caroline, then
backed away to crow over his disconsolate colleagues.

Aubrey took some of the magically impregnated brick
fragments from his pocket. He placed them on the
platter, very carefully, then he sprinkled on some of
the brick dust.

The fragments quivered and shifted. 'It's faint,' Aubrey
said. 'The Heart of Gold could be a long way away.'
He shook his head in frustration. 'We'll have to do the
triangulation again, George.'

'Ah. The map.'

'Yes?'

'I think I lost it at the Liberty Gardens. When the lion
attacked, you know.'

'Understandable,' Caroline said. 'I'm sure you had
other things on your mind.'

Aubrey sat back in his chair, frowning. He crossed his
arms on his chest. 'It's not working.'

'Why not, old man?' George said. 'It worked last time.
We found the thing, didn't we?'

Aubrey leaned forward again. He held his hand over
the brick fragments, as if they were coals in a fire. 'Their
power has faded. I can't use them any more.'

'We'll find another way, then,' Caroline said.

Aubrey was heartened by her confidence. He rubbed
his hands together, slowly, and tried to think of a way to
impress her with his ingenuity. Before he could, however,
a bell-ringing juggernaut thundered past the restaurant.
The patrons, stunned for a moment, rushed out and
stood in front of the bistro, catcalling and gesticulating.

Aubrey couldn't sit idly and ignore such a commotion.
While George and Caroline were still looking quizzically
at the uproar, he was out of his chair. Joining the carters
on the pavement, he watched the fire engine as it hurtled
away from them, sparks flying from the shoes of the
straining horses.

The carters cheered when another fire engine careered
around the corner, nearly flinging off one of the grim,
brass-helmeted firemen, and flew up the street after the
first.

Aubrey sniffed the air, thoughtfully. George and
Caroline emerged from the restaurant. 'A fire?' she asked.

'A large one,' Aubrey said. He found the proprietor of
the bistro in the crowd and thrust a wad of notes into his
hand as payment for their meal. 'I want to see the skyline,
to get some idea where it is.'

'The river,' George suggested. 'The Martyr's Bridge is
not far away.'

Standing in the middle of the Martyr's Bridge gave an
unimpeded view of the city to the north and south. They
weren't alone, either, as concerned Lutetian citizens had
gathered to see the fiery spectacle.

Aubrey counted four separate fires away to the south.
Flames raked the night sky and the smoke, stained red
and orange, streamed away to the east, blown by the
wind. The breeze brought the smell of char and ash to
him, overwhelming the rotten smell that had overlaid the
city for the last few days. The bells of fire engines
swooped over the city like swallows.

A dog began to howl. Aubrey shivered. The sound was
both forlorn and fierce, a sound from the dawn of time,
when Lutetia was a few huts clustered on the banks of a
river.

He straightened, blinking. 'Let's go.'

Caroline frowned. 'Where?'

'We need to find whatever's doing that howling.'

'We want a stray dog?'

He grinned. 'That was no dog. That was a wolf.'

A
UBREY HAD HEARD WOLVES BEFORE, WHEN HE FISHED
for salmon at Bertie's highland estate. The chorus
of howls always began low, almost hiccuping, but when
two or three or more wolves joined together, the howls
became a reminder of the wild that lurked on the edge
of civilisation.

Aubrey, George and Caroline stood on the Martyr's
bridge, listening to the city noises – hooves and wheels
on cobblestones, motorcar engines, the bells of far-off fire
engines and the faint sounds of angry shouting.

Curling through these familiar, urban sounds was the
cry of the wolf.

'Why are we looking for a wolf?' Caroline asked.
'Hasn't your meeting with the lion taught you anything
about wildlife?'

'That's the exact point,' Aubrey said. 'Wildlife in the
middle of Lutetia? And not just ordinary wildlife –
animals that haven't been seen for years. It's not natural.'

'Agreed, old man,' George said. 'The city certainly isn't
the place for beasties like that.'

'The lion, the bear and the aurochs had something
magical about them. It could be the influence of the
Heart of Gold, some side effect of its removal, or it might
even be something to do with the sort of rogue magic
that erupted on the Middle Bridge.' He drummed a fist
against his thigh. 'I need more information.'

'
Information is a light in the darkness
,' Caroline said. She
glanced at Aubrey with a wry smile. 'You're not the only
one who has read the Scholar Tan, you know.'

Before Aubrey could overcome his astonishment and
question her, the howling drifted to them again. George
cocked his head, listening. 'This way.' He set off.

'George is a country lad at heart,' Aubrey explained
to Caroline as they hurried to keep up with him. 'He's
attuned to this sort of thing.'

George snorted. 'There hasn't been a wolf in our parts
for centuries. Foxes, on the other hand . . .'

They crossed the bridge to the north bank and paused.
'We go that way,' George said, pointing. 'North-west.'

This took them through the financial district, with the
forbidding façades of banks opposite the equally grim
frontage of the stock exchange. The elegance and good
taste of much of the city had barely touched this quarter,
as if ornamentation would be frivolous.

With George leading, Aubrey walked next to Caroline
– an arrangement he appreciated. At times, however, he
had the impression that someone was following them.
The stifled echoes of footsteps came to him, but when
he glanced back, he could see nothing.

George stood at the intersection of three streets,
frowning. The gaslight at the corner shed yellow radiance
over a tobacconist's shop. 'Which way?' Aubrey asked.

'No idea. The wolf has stopped its howling. Weren't
you paying attention?'

'I left it to you, George. Your sort of thing.'

'Urban wolf-hunting? I suppose it's the sort of thing a
Renaissance man would be good at.'

Aubrey stood with his hands in his pockets. 'Where
are we?'

'The Revolutionary Monument is just over there,'
Caroline said.

In a gap between two official-looking buildings, a
bronze globe poked its head up over the surrounding
roofs. 'Well,' Aubrey said, 'if George has lost our
quarry, I wouldn't mind seeing the shrine of modern
Gallia.'

Whistling, he strolled toward the monument. Caroline
sighed and went with him. So too did George, frowning
and scanning the rooftops.

When they drew closer they saw that the monument
was enclosed in a ramshackle structure made of boards
and scaffolding. A sign announced that the landmark was
in a dangerous condition and was being repaired.

Aubrey tilted back his head. The bronze globe
protruded from the enclosure. In the sky, clouds were
streaming past and they made the globe look as if it
were moving.

'This is what I was talking about,' Caroline said. 'I
kept coming across this sort of thing all over the place.
It's as if the landmarks of the city are all being hidden
away.'

'Really?' Aubrey gazed up at the monument. 'Perhaps
the authorities are worried about sabotage.'

'I saw this sort of thing, too,' George said, 'when I was
doing that genealogy business. I couldn't get into one
church because of a gas leak. Or at least I think that's
what the police officer said.'

Aubrey approached the hoarding. An enterprising
local business owner had taken the opportunity to plaster
them with posters for a revue. The stylised pictures of
performers were unsettling in the shadowy light, as if
they were terrified instead of cheery. 'George, you didn't
bring that pry bar along, did you?'

'Pry bar? No.'

'Pity. I don't know how we're going to get a look
inside otherwise.'

'Not again,' Caroline said.

'I beg your pardon?'

'You have that look on your face. The one that says
you're about to do something dangerous, or illegal.'

'Or both?' George suggested.

'Or both,' Caroline agreed, nodding sympathetically at
George's understanding.

Aubrey thought about this for a moment. 'I can't let
my face down, then, can I?'

He walked slowly around the hoarding, humming. It
totally surrounded the monument – a wooden hoarding,
supported by scaffolding, right up to the level of the brass
globe. At the rear, away from the street, he came across a
door. A heavy chain and padlock reinforced the bolt.

The cry of the wolf echoed down the street. Aubrey
straightened and George caught his eye. 'Are we going?
Or has something else caught your attention?'

'Never be afraid to interrupt a plan,' Aubrey said. He
bent to examine the lock again. 'Otherwise you may miss
an opportunity.'

Caroline came closer. 'Are you trying to think of some
magical way of opening that?'

'The thought had occurred to me.'

'Why waste magical effort like that?' She reached up
and plucked two hairpins from her hair. 'Stand back.'

She bent both hairpins, one into a wriggly shape, the
other at a ninety degree bend, then she inserted them
into the key slot. 'Now. Shouldn't be a moment.'

'Wouldn't you like some light? I can conjure up something.'

'Father made me practise in the dark. Said it was good
for co-ordination. Nearly . . . There.'

The lock dangled from her hand, unclasped. The two
bent hair pins disappeared into her belt.

'Your father made you learn to pick locks.' Aubrey
shook his head.

She shrugged. 'You'd be surprised what he insisted on
being in my education. He had very modern ideas.'

'Evidently.'

George pushed open the door and peered inside.
'Where's the monument?'

'What?' Aubrey shouldered his way past his friend.
Inside the wooden hoarding it was thick with shadows,
and Aubrey felt the prickling of deep magic, in his
cheekbones this time. He rubbed them, paused and – this
time – summoned a light. When its soft radiance filled
the space, he nodded.

The Revolutionary Monument wasn't there.

Aubrey felt Caroline's presence. 'That's an impressive
feat of thievery,' she said softly.

'I don't think anything's been stolen,' he said, pointing
up. 'The globe is still there.'

The golden orb glowed softly in the light that Aubrey
had conjured, but it looked as if it was resting on empty
air.

Aubrey squinted and revised his first reaction. The
concrete base was there, and above it – where the marble
pillar should be – was a faint, smoky presence.

Aubrey stepped up to the base. He reached out. When
his hand touched the ghostly pillar it met some resistance,
but it gradually passed right through with the
tingling of magic.

He stepped back and wiped his hands together. 'The
monument is still here, but it may not be for long. It's
losing its substance.'

George stared. 'What's going on?'

'It's just like at the Academy of Sciences.'

'The city is losing its memories,' Caroline said softly.

'What did you say?' Aubrey asked.

'These monuments and landmarks are important,' she
said. 'They're important because they have played a part
in Lutetian history. Or they are memorials to important
events. Take them away, and the city loses its past.'

'That's right,' Aubrey said. He nearly had it. It was so
close he could feel it. 'Tell me, the other buildings you
saw boarded up like this, what were they?'

'Landmarks. St Basil's church, for instance.'

'Where the kings of Gallia were baptised. What else?'

'I saw a fountain swathed in canvas,' George said.

'Near Victory Street and Thriftiness Terrace?'

'Right in the middle of the intersection.'

'That was where the revolutionary council had its first
meeting, before anyone knew who they were.'

Caroline and George listed the places they'd seen that
had been closed off. Each site, they worked out together,
had played an important part in Gallian history, from the
foundation of the city of Lutetia, to the homes of great
thinkers, to the churches where important marriages
were celebrated.

'The city is losing its memories, as Caroline puts it,'
Aubrey said, 'and it seems to be decaying from under the
ground, and the river has stopped flowing.'

'It's as if a plug has been pulled and the whole city is
draining away,' George said.

'Inelegant, George, but accurate. So we must do something.'
He rubbed his cheekbones again. 'Any chance of
finding that wolf now, George?'

'Unlikely, old man, but let's see what we can see.'

T
HE WOLF HAD FALLEN SILENT
. A
UBREY
, G
EORGE AND
Caroline wandered the smoky streets, moving in what
George hoped was the right direction, but city sounds
were all they heard – the rattle of wheels on cobblestones,
the sound of fire-engine bells, police whistles.
While they went, Aubrey noticed how many of the gas
street lights weren't working. It seemed as if the dead
lamps were casting pools of darkness that the other lamps
were having trouble defeating. He shivered, even though
the night was mild.

Aubrey found himself peering at shadowed alleys as
they passed, alert for footpads and brigands. Lutetia had
changed. The night wasn't carefree, with songs and music
drifting over benign rooftops. Buildings glowered down
at them as they went, watchful and disapproving. It was
no longer the City of Lights.

Rounding a corner near the Norman Hotel, they were
confronted by a huge bonfire. When they came closer,
Aubrey saw it was a fountain, waterless, where furniture
had been piled and set alight. The sculptures of fish and
sea horses were black with soot and spouting flames
instead of water. It was a hellish inversion of the natural
state.

They hurried past, giving the blaze a wide berth.

Finally, Aubrey called off the wolf hunt. George was
relieved and weary, but Caroline was disappointed.

The night was giving way to the day as they walked
across the bridge to the Isle of the Crown and Caroline's
apartment. The blackness overhead was tinged with grey,
suggesting dawn was close.

Aubrey jumped when a figure detached itself from the
shadows of the apartment building, but the ominous
shape resolved itself quickly. 'Von Stralick. Excellent.
You've saved us having to find you.'

'I'm glad you're pleased to see me, Fitzwilliam.' He
bowed. 'Good morning, Miss Hepworth. Doyle.'

How did he know to wait here?
Aubrey wondered. He
glanced at the blank faces of the houses opposite. Light
shone in one third-floor window and Aubrey guessed
that the Hepworths were under surveillance – which
meant that von Stralick was not a solo agent; he had
others he was working with. He smiled. If he could find
out just how extensive the Holmland network was, it
would be a nice titbit for the Albion security agencies.

'I don't suppose this is a social call,' George said tersely.
Aubrey glanced at his friend. His shoulders were sagging
as he leaned against the lamp post at the bottom of the
stairs. He was tired, Aubrey realised, and felt a degree of
pleasure that it was he who was worrying about George
instead of the other way around.

'No,' von Stralick replied. 'It's rather more urgent than
that. I have information about your Soul Stealer, and
I wish to share it.'

So the expedition to the chemical supplier did turn up something
useful.
'In your world, von Stralick, sharing comes at
a cost,' Aubrey said. 'What is it you want in return?'

'I want you to come with me. I think we can capture
this madman, but I need your magic to do so.'

'Why don't you call on a Holmland magician for assistance?
Surely your country has a number hidden away
here in Lutetia, ready to help their spies?'