Heart of Gold (4 page)

Aubrey must have looked unimpressed. 'It may not
sound momentous to you, Aubrey, but Dr Romellier has
been working on this for forty years. It's his life's work and
I want to show support for him.' She paused and chose
her words carefully. 'He's somewhat of a recluse, you see.'

'Recluse.'

'While I've never met him, I know people who have.
Some have called him difficult, some say he's just eccentric.
Others have called him unpredictable.'

'And you want me to visit him.'

'You'll need to find him first. He's quite secretive about
where he lives, but one of his letters, some time ago, let
slip that he's close to the university. He complained, you
see, about being woken every morning by the clock over
the Theology Building when it starts ringing at six.'

'How important is this?'

'How important is your trip to Lutetia?' His mother
smiled sweetly. 'I've been wondering, you see, about
where I'm going to find a replacement assistant. I'd need
someone young, someone who's currently at leisure,
someone I can trust.'

'Dr Romellier.' Aubrey stood. 'Monograph. I'd be
delighted to fetch it for you.'

'I'm glad, my dear. You always were a considerate one.'
She studied him for a moment. 'And keep that heroic
impulse in check while you're in Lutetia, won't you?'

'I'll do what I can. You know how it is.'

'I do.' She sighed. 'I married your father, didn't I?'

A
UBREY HAD BARELY REACHED HIS ROOM WHEN
G
EORGE
rushed in. 'I say, old man, Mother and Father have said
I can go with you to Gallia.' He stopped dead in his
tracks. 'What's wrong with you? You look as if you found
five pounds but lost ten.'

'It was meant to be a holiday,' Aubrey said, throwing
himself onto the red velvet settee. He covered his eyes
with his hands. 'I
need
a holiday.'

George dropped into one of the armchairs. Absently,
he prodded a large set of brass scales for weighing horses.
'Holidays are always good. Can't get enough of 'em,
personally.'

'But this one's turning into a chore. Both Mother and
Grandmother want me to spend time chasing up things
for them. And Bertie wants me to find something for
him, too.'

'What sort of things?'

'Oh.' Aubrey waved a hand. 'Things.'

'I see. Dashed inconsiderate of them. Things, eh?
Can't be easy to find things in Lutetia, it being foreign
and all.'

Aubrey opened an eye. 'Am I being precious, George?'

'Just a little.' George grinned. 'We're in Lutetia for a
month. I'm sure you'll have time for your errands and
after that we'll be able to devote ourselves to other
pursuits.'

'Such as?'

George sat back in the chair and put his arms behind
his head. 'I understand that the young ladies of Gallia are
particularly striking.'

'George, you don't speak a word of Gallian.'

'You're not the only one who enjoys a challenge, old
man. I aim to extend myself while I'm over there.'

Aubrey was prevented from investigating this claim
further when Tilly, one of the maids, knocked on the
door frame. 'Excuse me, Master Aubrey, but Sir Darius
would like to see you in the conservatory.'

Aubrey stood. 'About things, no doubt.'

'Excuse me, sir?'

'Never mind, Tilly. George, would you like to go down
to lunch? This could take some time.'

'Lunch?' George jumped to his feet. 'Capital idea.'

T
HE FACT THAT
S
IR
D
ARIUS WAS IN THE CONSERVATORY
was a sign, and not a terribly good one. Aubrey's father
ignored the conservatory unless politics were getting too
much for him. Then he sought the warm leafiness of the
indoor garden as a refuge.

Aubrey found him in one of the huge bow-backed
wicker chairs. It was enveloped in the bosom of a spreading
fig tree. Sir Darius was sitting, an elegant figure in
grey, hands steepled in front of his mouth, frowning
in thought.

'Father.'

'Ah, Aubrey. I'm glad you're here. I have a task for you.'

The lines under his father's eyes reminded Aubrey that
times were difficult for the Prime Minister of Albion.
Despite the best efforts of his political foes, Sir Darius's
Progressive Party had been successful at the recent
election, but Aubrey had been wondering if this was a
poisoned chalice. With the military build-up on the
Continent, Albion was in a precarious position.

'What can I do for you, sir?' Aubrey desperately
wanted to live up to the example set by his father, but it
was difficult. While his father never seemed to judge,
Aubrey was conscious that he had expectations – as did
society. He knew that many, many people were waiting
to see if Aubrey succeeded or failed, with the naysayers
currently in the ascendant.

The entire plot to kill the King had never been made
public as it had been deemed 'contrary to the national
interest'. Aubrey had been dismayed by the efforts of the
Special Services, which had spread rumour to the effect
that Aubrey and some of his 'young friends' had been
rather careless at the shooting weekend the Crown
Prince had organised, endangering the royal personage.
While Aubrey had to admit it was a clever layer of
subterfuge, drawing attention away from the real events,
he didn't like being thought of as one of the rich and idle
layabouts of the upper class.

Sir Darius considered his answer. 'I need an
observer. One who has the sort of skills you showed
so recently in the affair with that scoundrel Dr Tremaine.'

With an effort, Aubrey didn't groan aloud. 'You want
me to do something in Lutetia?'

His father raised an eyebrow. 'Yes. Since you're going
there, I thought your unconventional approaches may
be useful.'

Aubrey had a moment of pride at his father's use of the
world 'unconventional' – taking it as a compliment – but
he was still wary. His long-desired holiday was rapidly
coming to resemble a shopping list – and, what's more, a
shopping list for other people, which might leave little
time to browse for himself.

He winced as his extended metaphor threatened to
turn around and strangle him. 'I may be busy in Lutetia.'

His father sat back in his chair and smoothed his
moustache. It was not a comforting gesture. 'I see. Would
you like to tell me what is going to keep you so busy?'

Aubrey decided that he'd rather have most of his
fingernails pulled out than tell his father that he was
going to engineer as many chance encounters with
Caroline Hepworth as possible. 'On the other hand, I do
enjoy a challenge.'

He often found himself in situations like this with
his family. Conversations escalated into battles of wits;
greetings became opening salvos in longer engagements.
In these exchanges, much was said, much was unsaid,
and much was hidden behind careful facial expressions
and gestures. A false word was all it took to find that a
carefully planned goal was denied, or that one found
oneself doing the complete opposite of what one
intended, with no certain knowledge how things became
turned around.

'Splendid,' Sir Darius said. 'Since this role follows from
your exploits in saving our Gallian airman, I thought you
may be interested.'

'Captain Saltin continues to recover, I hope?'

'Yes. Bruised, with some minor burns, but rather better
off than he would have been if you hadn't come to his
rescue.' Sir Darius gave a tired smile. 'It's extraordinary,
really. For most of our history, Albion and Gallia have
been at each other's throats, sworn enemies who've tried
to conquer each other with quite impressive regularity.
Now, seven hundred years of mistrust and suspicion are
put aside and we embrace each other with open arms. At
least, that's what we leaders say.'

Aubrey loved his father speaking openly to him, taking
him into his confidence and allowing him to see the
intricacies of the world. It made him even hungrier to
achieve his ambitions. 'What does the Foreign Office say?'

'Ah. We have some internal disputes in the FO, some
very different opinions about the level of threat posed by
Holmland, and exactly what they're up to.' He ran a thumb
along the armrest. 'I must do something about that.'

'And the Magisterium? What does it say?'

'And why would you think that the Magisterium
would be involved in this?'

Aubrey shrugged. 'I thought you may have been
approaching me because of my skills with magic. If
magic was part of the dirigible disaster, then the
Magisterium would need to be involved.'

Aubrey was always keen to hear anything about the
Magisterium. It was the branch of law enforcement with
the responsibility for magical matters throughout Albion.
Under the leadership of the enigmatic Craddock, the
Magisterium had become a feared force of highly skilled
magicians with a reputation for ruthless investigation
and action.

'You're right,' Sir Darius said. 'Craddock's operatives
found that the explosions on the dirigible were caused by
a magical device. Something about temporary elasticity.'

'The Law of Temporal Elasticity,' Aubrey said absently.
He was already trying to imagine how such a law could
be used. It would have to be a matter of constraining
parameters of both time and distance . . .

After studying his son for a moment, Sir Darius
continued. 'Craddock's view is that the device had the
hallmarks of Holmland magic.'

Aubrey nodded. 'Clever. There are plenty of Gallians
who still don't like us. Losing their airship over Albion
would let them blame us for its loss. It would give them
reason to abandon our alliance, which is just what
Holmland wants.'

'Quite. The Gallian airman said that the dirigible left
from the St Martin airfield on the north of Lutetia after
the usual checks and inspections. He was mortified to
hear about the device.'

'And while I'm in Gallia, you'd like me to see what
I can find?'

'Unofficially, of course.' Sir Darius tugged at an earlobe,
frowning. 'Our overseas Magisterium operatives are
investigating, but I fear that their minds are too literal,
and their chiefs are too concerned with settling scores
within the Special Services overseas branch. I need someone
independent.'

'I'd be happy to do it.' This was more to Aubrey's liking.
His father was trusting him, explicitly, with a mission.

'Don't be so hasty. I've only told you part of the issue.'
Sir Darius rubbed his hands together. 'Despite our public
pronouncements, Gallia is in some turmoil. The alliance
with Albion is being questioned within the Giraud
government, fears about Holmland aggression are
growing, and – just to make matters worse – there is a
movement afoot in the Gallian province of Marchmaine
to secede and form its own nation.' He scowled. 'They
could have chosen a better time for such a thing.'

Aubrey pictured the map of the Continent.
Marchmaine was directly across the channel from Albion.
Rich and fertile, it stretched across the entire north of
Gallia, sitting like a flat cap on top of the country. A fit
hiker could land a boat on the shore of the channel and
walk right across the gently rolling countryside until he
reached the border of –

'Holmland,' Aubrey said. 'You think it's encouraging
this movement.'

'Indeed. If Marchmaine becomes independent, it
would have no alliance with Albion. And if one were
particularly suspicious, one could imagine that the entire
secessionist movement was a plot by Holmland to install
pro-Holmland leaders in this new state, with the effect of
providing Holmland with direct access to the channel.'

'And an easy crossing point for invading Albion. If it
comes to war.'

'Quite.'

Aubrey and his father shared a look that said they both
knew war was inevitable, that they wished it weren't so,
and that they didn't want to mention it out loud just in
case this made it happen – even though they both knew
such superstitions were childish.