Heart of Gold (33 page)

'Do you know that man, von Stralick?' he whispered.

Von Stralick looked out of the window. 'No. He is not
one of ours. And not one of those working for Muller
and Schnagel either. Why?'

'I thought I recognised him. I must have been
mistaken.' Aubrey tried to memorise his face and he filed
it away under 'For Later Consideration', a category that
was bulging.

He moved away from the window. 'I'm going to cast a
spell,' he whispered to the others. 'Afterwards, I need you
to tell me what I look like.'

Both Caroline and George nodded. Von Stralick was
puzzled, but shrugged.

Aubrey summoned the memory of his confrontation
with the Soul Stealer. Keeping the man's face firmly in
mind, he cast the spell.

'Rough-looking fellow,' George whispered.

Von Stralick was impressed. 'So you only saw
Farentino for a moment, but you can adopt his appearance?
You have formidable skills, Fitzwilliam.'

Aubrey would have preferred it if von Stralick had a
low opinion of his powers, but it was too late to worry
about that. Wearing the appearance of the Soul Stealer,
he walked to the door of Farentino's studio and presented
himself.

The defensive meshwork melted away.

Carefully, probing for any secondary spells, he tried the
door and found it was locked. He'd barely turned to
Caroline when she nodded and extracted her hair pins
from her waist band. While von Stralick's eyes widened,
she slipped the pins into the lock and had the door open
in seconds. With George close behind, Aubrey entered
the studio.

The room smelled heavily of chemicals, with the acrid
tang of flash powder cutting through a complex medley
of harsh odours. A small stage was set up at the end of the
room, with folds of white linen drapery hanging from
the ceiling as a neutral backdrop. Standing on the stage,
astonished, was Farentino, the Soul Stealer.

'How did you get in here?' he said. He had a large
brown flask cradled in one arm. 'Have you been sent to
help me in my quest?'

Aubrey could sense Caroline easing along the wall to
his left, while George and von Stralick moved to his
right. He nodded, and smiled. He spread his hands and
did his best to appear harmless. 'And what quest would
that be?'

Farentino glared, his prominent eyebrows thrusting
forward. 'To save the world, of course.'

Keep him talking
, Aubrey told himself.
Keep his attention.
The others were inching themselves into the room,
trying to appear as if they were studying the ceiling.
'Saving the world? And how are you doing that?'

'By saving every single soul from corruption,'
Farentino said. He shook his head, jerkily, as if bothered
by an invisible bee. 'No, it's not the world I'm saving.
That's not right. Much more important, the souls are.'

Aubrey couldn't help but agree about the importance
of souls. 'That's right then. We're here to help you.'

'I was told I'd have help. He promised. It's been difficult,
all alone.'

Aubrey took a step. 'I'm sure it has.'

Farentino blinked, as if seeing Aubrey for the first time.
'You look like me.'

'Ah. Yes. That is –'

The Soul Stealer's head whipped from side to side. He
gaped at George and von Stralick, who'd made their way
halfway along the wall. 'Stop, you two. And you.' He
stabbed a finger at Caroline, who'd made similar progress.

'It's all right,' Aubrey said. 'We want to help.'

'You're here to stop me,' Farentino said, with something
like wonder. He looked at the bottle cradled in the
crook of his arm. 'I can't allow that.'

With a grunt, Farentino heaved the flask. As it tumbled
to the floor, he muttered a series of quick syllables. When
it smashed, a wall of green smoke sprang up, filling the
whole room with a dense cloud.

Aubrey started forward, as did George. Von Stralick
went for the window and flung it open. 'He's vanished!'
George cried.

Caroline reached the stage. She batted away the
curling billows of smoke. 'He's gone. But not vanished.'

Aubrey joined her. When she held apart the folds of
the backdrop, he saw a door, ajar. 'He went through here,'
she said.

Aubrey rushed through the door and found he was in
a dim store room. Through the feeble light from a single
window, he saw that the room was full of wooden filing
cabinets, many with drawers standing open listlessly,
documents spilling to the floor. Rolled-up maps or charts
stood in one corner, festooned with spiders' webs. The
place smelled of dust, mould and neglect.

'The window,' George said over Aubrey's shoulder.

Footprints in the dust showed Farentino's passage
through the maze of cabinets. Aubrey hurried to the
window. A clattering from above made him look up.

'Fire escape,' he shouted. 'He's heading for the roof.'
Aubrey leapt out of the window. He started up the
stairs just as Farentino disappeared onto the roof, three
storeys further up.

Aubrey surged up the fire escape, full of energy. At
each landing, where the stairs switched back the other
way, he saw that George, Caroline and von Stralick were
close behind.

He reached the roof and heaved himself over the low
parapet. Twenty yards away, standing right on the edge of
the building, Farentino was wild-eyed with dismay.

'Stop!' Aubrey called, but Farentino shook his head.
Before Aubrey could move, the Soul Stealer barked a spell,
a torrent of syllables that were bitter and flat, hurtful to the
ear. Frantically, he reached up, as if he were seizing a
dangling rope. Then, with a jerk of his shoulders, he pulled.

Aubrey stared. Overhead, the sky was a mass of low
cloud. As Farentino pulled, a dark-grey mass detached
itself. It drifted lower, then part of its substance began to
stretch. Quickly, it became a tendril, extending toward
Farentino's desperate movements, a rope of cloud stuff.

Aubrey sprinted toward the Soul Stealer, but it was too
late. The cloud rope reached Farentino's outstretched,
imploring hand. He grabbed hold, then seized more
cloud stuff with his other hand. With a wordless cry, he
swung off the roof, kicking and spinning.

Aubrey reached the parapet. He heard voices and footsteps
behind him, but he had eyes only for Farentino. The
Soul Stealer swung like a pendulum, dangling under the
cloud that sagged with his weight, even as it drifted
toward the river. Back and forth he went, his initial
clumsiness sending him spinning through each arc.

'Extraordinary,' von Stralick said, panting. He leaned
against the stone.

'I think he's in trouble,' Aubrey said softly.

Farentino's swinging motion had diminished. He
bobbed underneath the cloud as it wafted away from
them. It was almost halfway across the river, but it was
thinning and losing its volume with each second.

Aubrey gripped the parapet so hard it hurt. Farentino
was panicking. His legs were jerking as if he were trying
to drag himself up the cloud rope. He was at least a
hundred feet above the river and Aubrey tensed with
each shudder of the cloud.

I'm cheering for him
, Aubrey thought. He didn't know if
it was the simple audacity of the magic Farentino had
wrought with the cloud, or plain soft-heartedness, but
Aubrey didn't want the man to plunge to his death.

When the cloud rope snapped, it was all Aubrey could
do not to look away.

Farentino fell without a sound. He crossed his arms
over his chest, dropping feet first to the unnatural
embrace of the gelid river below.

He struck with a horrible, wet sound and disappeared
immediately, the river rolling slowly inwards to cover the
hole he made. Soon, the surface was whole again, with
no sign of Farentino's demise.

'He is ended,' von Stralick said. 'I'm glad.'

Aubrey couldn't bring himself to feel any satisfaction.
'Let's see what he left in his studio.'

A
NOTHER DOOR OPENED OFF THE STUDIO, A FEW YARDS
away from the one hidden behind the drapery. Standing
in front of it, Aubrey realised he was still wearing the
appearance of Farentino. He shivered, and quickly cast
the reversal spell.

'Another store room?' George suggested.

'We shall find out,' von Stralick said.

Aubrey detected an undertone of magic coming from
behind the door. It was harsh, grating magic, familiar and
unsettling; it set Aubrey's teeth on edge. 'Stop. Let me go
first.'

No-one argued.

It was a long, narrow room, dimly lit from a few
narrow windows. It took Aubrey's eyes a moment to
adjust, but what he finally saw made him feel sick.

Ceiling to floor racks lined both sides of the room.
They were full of people.

'Good Lord,' George breathed as he stared over
Aubrey's shoulder. 'There must be dozens here.'

'Are they still alive?' von Stralick asked.

'Yes,' Aubrey said through a constricted throat. 'He's
managed to find a way to make them immobile.'

Numb, Aubrey moved through the narrow space
between the racks. Men, women, children. Old and
young. All in their best clothes, some richer, some
poorer. Farentino had been even-handed in his harvesting
of victims. Barely breathing, they were caught in a
hell of a madman's devising. Aubrey had to reach out and
steady himself against one of the racks, so appalled was he
by the enormity of Farentino's deed.

At the end of the room, he paused before turning. Just
inside the door, Caroline stood, her face pale. 'The poor,
poor people,' she whispered. 'Can't we do anything for
them?'

Aubrey shook his head. He needed more time to
refine the crude method he'd used on Bernard. 'They're
not lost. Not yet.'

'But they're not here, either.' She shuddered. 'What a
nightmare.'

Aubrey could hardly look at them. 'We'll do what we
can for them.'

Caroline's face hardened. 'We must stop this man.'

'Yes.' Their eyes met. He saw her rage, her determination
and he was united in purpose with her. 'We will.'

M
RS
H
EPWORTH STRETCHED OUT ON THE DIVAN.
'So you're a Holmland spy?' she said to von
Stralick, who was perched on the edge of one of the
armchairs. He had a cup of tea in his lap and he was
stirring it vigorously, despite not taking any sugar. 'Tell
me more. I haven't met a Holmland spy before.'

'That you know about,' George pointed out. 'Clever
chaps, spies. Some of them.'

She smiled, radiantly. 'Quite right, George. We've had
any number of Holmlanders through our artistic salons
back in Albion. And while I've been here in Lutetia . . .
Well. It's enough to say that Holmlanders have been
dying for an invitation to our circle.'

It gave Aubrey great pleasure to see von Stralick
goggle-eyed. He was pleased he wasn't the only one to be
disarmed by a Hepworth female.

'Of course any Holmlander would be eager to be in
your presence, Mrs Hepworth,' von Stralick managed,
which Aubrey thought quite good going.

'Ophelia, please.'

'Ah. Of course. Ophelia.'

On the other side of the room, sitting in a wicker
armchair next to a vase of blue irises, Caroline hid her
amusement behind a hand for a moment before
becoming serious. 'Now, Aubrey, what did Inspector Paul
say when you rang him?'

'He was grateful to know about Farentino's lair, and he
promised to take good care of the unfortunates we
found.' He shuddered at the memory, and then wondered
if he should have told Inspector Paul about how he'd
managed to restore Bernard's soul. He shook his head as
the old music hall joke came to him: 'The operation was
a success, but the patient died.' Aubrey wanted to do
some more research before he tried his rough and ready
method of soul restoration again.

Caroline studied him carefully. He let her. 'You don't
like relying on other people, do you?'

'I don't mind. I just prefer to do things myself. It's
more . . .'

'Dependable?'

'Predictable.'

'I see.' She sat back and crossed her arms. 'I have an
invitation to the embassy ball, you know.'

The change of subject was so abrupt that Aubrey
thought he heard a screeching noise as they switched
conversational tracks. 'You do?'

'I thought you should know. Your mother sent me
one, knowing how I feel about such matters. Pining
away, waiting to be invited? What an antiquated attitude.'

'Of course,' he said, and was pleased at such an innocuous
response. He thought he was coping well after such
a surprising announcement. 'Terribly old-fashioned, that
sort of thing.'

'Good.' Caroline sat back. 'I'm glad you agree.'

Von Stralick caught Aubrey's eye. 'Your police officer
friend is apprised now?'

Aubrey dragged his attention back to weightier
matters. 'Yes. He's having trouble of his own, though.
With factions.'

'So I am not alone? Good.' Von Stralick stood and
bowed first to Mrs Hepworth, then to Caroline. 'I must
go. I am glad we are united in this affair.'

'Working together, I'd say,' said Aubrey, 'rather than
united.'

'It's a practical arrangement,' George added.

Von Stralick stared at George, then nodded. 'It will
suffice. Please, I can see myself out.'

Mrs Hepworth watched him go. 'Charming, if a bit
stiff. But then again, he is a Holmlander.'

'Mother,' Caroline huffed.

'I know, darling, I'm bandying about a stereotype.
Still . . .'

W
HEN
A
UBREY AND
G
EORGE WOKE FROM A PRECIOUS FEW
hours' sleep, Madame Calvert was waiting for them at the
foot of the stairs. Despite her efforts to disguise it, she
looked impressed. 'This came for you, early.'

She handed Aubrey a heavy, cream envelope. It had
Prince Albert's seal on it.

'Thank you, Madame,' Aubrey said.

She didn't move away.

'Er. Is there any chance of a late breakfast?' he asked.

'Any of those delicious chocolate whatnots?' George
added.

'Do you know Prince Albert?' Madame Calvert asked
Aubrey.

Aubrey struggled with a number of possible replies
before deciding on the simplest. 'Yes.'

'They're related,' George said, 'and Aubrey saved his
life a while ago.'

Madame Calvert tapped her cheek with an elegant
finger and studied Aubrey for a moment. 'In Gallia, we
have no kings any more. Not since the revolution. It is
held to be a good thing.'

I think we have a closet royalist here
, Aubrey thought.
'Gallia has thrived as a republic.'

'
Despite
being a republic,' Madame Calvert said. 'Look
at those in charge at the moment. Incompetents,
buffoons and criminals.'

'That's a bit harsh,' George said. 'I mean,
buffoons
?'

'Two ministers resigned yesterday, both exposed as
being corrupt. The government is hanging on by a
thread.' She sighed. 'No stability. No continuity.'

'I see,' Aubrey said, fascinated. He tapped the envelope
with his forefinger. 'Are there many who think like
you?'

'Think like me? Clearly, with a notion of history and
what it means to be Gallian?'

'Something like that.'

'Some. Quite a few.'

'Thank you, Madame. You've been most helpful.'

Aubrey swept toward the breakfast room with George
in tow.

'What was that all about?' George muttered once they
were seated. He spread a perfectly starched napkin on
his lap.

'Royalists, George. Even though it's been two hundred
years since they cut off the head of their last king, there
are still quite a few in Gallia who would like to see a
return to a monarchy.'

'How can they when they dispatched their last one
so irretrievably?' George took a roll from the basket on
the table.

'Relatives, George, line of succession. Given half a
chance, they'll dig out some long-lost cousin, Count of
this or that, Baron someone-or-other, pop a fancy hat on
him and shove him on the throne.'

'Solemn stuff, this kingship business.' George broke the
roll in half and devoured it in two bites.

'That's what Bertie says too.' Aubrey slit open the
envelope.

Aubrey read the letter carefully, then sat back. He
studied George, who was enjoying a pastry. 'Aren't you
going to ask me what the letter says?'

'No need, old man. You'll tell me when you're ready.'

'Hmm.' Aubrey took a roll from the basket. He
buttered it and then added some strawberry jam. 'Have
you ever been nagged by an heir to the throne of a major
country, George?'

'I'll take that as a rather obvious rhetorical question.'
George poured himself a hot chocolate. 'The Prince is
looking for some results of our investigations?'

Aubrey folded the letter and slipped it back in the
envelope. 'In the politest way. After hoping that I'm
enjoying my holiday, and telling me of the extra work
he's had to take on since the King's latest bad turn.'

'Ah. Which would made him even more conscious of
his family's . . . indisposition.'

'Precisely.'

Aubrey applied himself to his breakfast with an
appetite that he found most satisfying.

As he was finishing, Madame Calvert entered the
room. She stood with her hands clasped. 'A young lady
has called for you. Unchaperoned.'

Aubrey leapt to his feet. 'Miss Hepworth?'

'She's waiting in the parlour.' Madame Calvert paused.
'She seems a self-possessed young lady.'

'Yes. Well. She's Ophelia Hepworth's daughter.'

Madame Calvert looked impressed. 'Oh. Of course.'
She smiled and her disapproval vanished. 'I didn't realise
the Hepworths were in Lutetia.'

'Just Mrs Hepworth and her daughter. Professor
Hepworth passed away recently.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.' She studied her hands for a
moment. 'I was fortunate to be at Ophelia Hepworth's
last exhibition. Tell me, is she painting at the moment?'

'I believe so. She's accompanying her daughter while
she studies at the university.'
As soon as I can sort that one
out
, Aubrey added to himself.

'Young Miss Hepworth is studying art, I presume?'

'Taxonomy.'

Madame Calvert shook her head, but she was smiling
as she did. 'An unconventional family. In the best sense.'

'She's in the parlour?'

C
AROLINE WAS SITTING ON A BENCH IN THE WINDOW.
Aubrey paused a moment in the doorway, admiring the
way the morning sun illuminated the hair that escaped
her no doubt stylish bonnet.

She saw him. 'Aubrey.'

'Caroline. Good morning.' He decided to try gallantry.
'I like the colour of your jacket. Peach. Or apricot.
Something fruity. Melon?'

She glanced down. 'I'd call it pink.'

'That was my next guess.' He sat in a high-backed cane
chair opposite the window seat. 'What can I do for you?'

She shook her head. 'I want to know what I can do for
you.'

'That's rather an open question . . .' he began, but she
dismissed such frivolity with a glance. 'I'm not sure what
you mean.'

'The Heart of Gold. We must find it.'

He studied her for a moment, which was an exercise he
found extremely pleasing. 'You're enjoying this, aren't you?'

She made a quick flipping gesture that wasn't quite a
denial. 'Lives are at stake.'

'True, but it's exhilarating, isn't it? The danger, the risk,
daring to do great deeds.'

'That's how you feel, is it?'

He smiled wryly. 'My mother warned me about being
a hero. She says it becomes addictive.'

Caroline stood. Aubrey was immediately on his feet. 'I
understand what she means,' she said. 'But I simply came
to offer my help. I feel you and George have a greater
chance of success if I'm with you.'

Aubrey noted her evasions and decided that she did
enjoy the thrill. She was an adventurer at heart, which
meant she appealed to him even more.

He felt a twinge at his manipulation of her time in
Lutetia, but he assured himself it would be all right
in the end and everyone would understand.
Or they may
not even know about it
, he thought,
if I can do some very
quick manoeuvring . . .

'George and I will meet you here in ten minutes,' he
said. He wanted to make sure he was prepared. He
decided a jacket with many pockets would be best.

'Where are we going?'

'On an adventure.'

T
HEY STOOD IN
C
ONSCIENTIOUSNESS
S
TREET, JUST OUTSIDE
the university. The sky was brooding, as if it were about
to rain but were holding off for the most inconvenient
time possible.

Aubrey pointed. 'The Faculty of Magic. We can use
the tower to track the Heart of Gold.' He told Caroline
about the sensitivity of the old building.

'You'll need another brick,' George pointed out. 'And
a map.'