Heart of Gold (13 page)

A
UBREY HISSED WHEN HE ENTERED THE TINY CHAPEL, JUST
after George. Lying on the floor, like a rag doll flung aside
by an angry toddler, was Sister Anne. He rushed to her
and knelt. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing.
Aubrey sagged with relief. A large bruise was already
appearing on the almost translucent skin of her forehead,
and she had torn nails on both hands. She'd been
attacked, but had defended herself until she'd been rendered
unconscious. He touched her neck, and was
reassured by the steady pulse.

'Sister Anne!' Sister Claire cried. Then she moaned.
'The Heart of Gold. It is gone.'

Aubrey jerked around and saw the niche was empty. He
rose and took a hesitant step towards it but then stopped
himself.
They couldn't have gone far
, he thought. He pushed
past George and out of the tiny chapel. A priest was
hurrying along the corridor, grey-headed and serious.
'Did anyone pass you, Father?' Aubrey asked, in Gallian.

The priest stepped back, startled. Aubrey grabbed his
arm. 'I need to know, Father.'

Aubrey's urgency made an impression on the priest.
'Three men. That way. Into the cathedral.'

George and Caroline emerged from the chapel. 'In
there, Father,' Aubrey said. 'A sister needs your help.' He
gathered his friends. 'This way.'

In the cathedral, all was quiet and solemn, apart from
three figures moving with deliberate haste toward the
nave. One was stooped, as if under a heavy weight, and
the other two were helping him along.

Aubrey did his best to hurry while still appearing
reverential. Outright running didn't seem to be polite in
a cathedral, but he was willing to risk it if necessary.

The men they were following reached the elaborate
tomb of the composer St Pierre, then, just before they
rounded the corner into the main body of the church,
one of them glanced over his shoulder. He had a close,
dark beard, a remarkably broad face and wore an expensive-looking suit. He shook his stooped partner and then
let the other two disappear around the outflung hand of
the spirit of music.

He rounded and waited for Aubrey and his friends to
draw closer.

Aubrey slowed. 'Magic!' he said, and pushed George
and Caroline toward the rows of pews before lunging for
them himself.

He hit the floor and grimaced as skin was torn from
his palm. In the narrow space between the pews, he
rolled in time to see a searing violet globe spatter against
the tomb of an obscure aristocrat. Instantly, the marble
of the tomb twisted and stretched, as if caught in an
updraft.

Screams filled the cathedral. The sound of running feet
echoed as every sightseer decided that they'd seen
enough. Aubrey scrambled along the row, bruising his
hands and knees. 'George, get to the aisle. Keep low and
see if you can flank him.'

'And me?' Caroline demanded.

Aubrey knew that Caroline was a formidable opponent
in hand-to-hand combat. Her father had insisted
that she learn from the best. 'You don't have a pistol, do
you?' She was also a crack shot.

'Not at the moment.'

'Pity. Go with George. I'll try to get him to focus on
me. Take your chance if you get one.'

George was already crawling toward the end of the
pew. Caroline nodded and followed.

Aubrey prepared himself. He needed something offensive,
but something that wouldn't damage the cathedral.
He was both heartened and dismayed by his adversary's
first salvo. It was powerful, redolent with wild magic, but
it was also loose and sloppy. It was the work of someone
who didn't care about such niceties as limiting the range
of effect or of using restrictions on duration. This was the
heedless magic of someone who had power, but had been
taught little wisdom or restraint.

Aubrey ducked and peered under the seats of the
pews. Someone wearing heavy boots was walking toward
him.

Aubrey bit his lip. He had to try some magic, but his
failure back at the university had unnerved him. For
someone who had always been able to wrestle with the
most complex spells, such a stumble upset his understanding
of who he was. His confidence had been shaken,
and that was something he was unaccustomed to.

Nothing extravagant, then
, he thought. He launched a
schoolboy spell, merely to keep his opponent occupied.
It was so simple that only the most dullard of spell-casters
messed it up and he ran through its elements, giving the
final variable of intensity an extra twist.

He grunted as it required more effort than he
expected, but his concern was overtaken by a guttural
shout. He peeped over the backrest of the pew. The
black-suited man was wrapped in a stinking cloud, a
putrid miasma that clung to him no matter how much
he flailed and cursed.

I know I'm going to regret this later
, he thought, but by
then he'd already sprung to his feet, then onto the seat of
the pew. He barked the three syllables that cancelled the
spell and launched himself at the man.

The cloud had begun to evaporate, but when Aubrey
collided with the figure inside, he caught a lungful of
the rotten, sickening stench and instantly wished he was
somewhere else. He tangled with the black-suited man
and fell to the floor, trying to get in a few uppercuts
along the way.

Eyes streaming, Aubrey rolled over as his stomach tried
to rush up his throat. He managed to get to all fours, a
part of his brain readying for the kick he assumed would
be delivered to his ribs.

When it didn't come, he looked up and saw George
grappling with their foe. Caroline slipped into Aubrey's
watery vision as the bearded man roared and knocked
George aside. George struck a marble pillar and sagged,
winded. Their foe's eyes widened when he saw Caroline,
then he sneered.

She darted closer, then shot out a fist. It struck him just
under the breastbone. His eyes rolled back in his head
and he crumpled.

Caroline rubbed her knuckles, then helped Aubrey to
his feet. 'Are you all right?'

He wiped his eyes. 'I'll never think that stink bombs
are harmless pranks. Not any more.'

'I imagine not.'

George limped over. 'The other two. I think they've
got away.'

Whistles sounded from outside. Aubrey had a premonition
and was not disappointed when Inspector Paul
rounded the corner, supported by a squad of burly
constables. He studied Aubrey sourly.

'I should have locked you away,' he said, in Albionish.

Aubrey pointed at the unconscious bearded man at
their feet. 'His cronies stole the Heart of Gold. If you're
quick, you may be able to catch them.'

'Do not attempt to teach me my business. I have
matters in hand.' Inspector Paul motioned to the constables.
'Put them all in the wagon,' he said in Gallian.

He bowed to Caroline. 'Except you, Miss Hepworth.
You will come with me.'

Aubrey sighed. 'What about this man? He's a magician,
you know.'

'The Bureau of Exceptional Investigations has been
called and will take him into their custody.'

The Bureau of Exceptional Investigations. Aubrey was
intrigued, despite his discomfort. He wanted to see this
equivalent of Albion's Magisterium.

The constables were abrupt, but not rough as they
marched Aubrey and George through the cathedral and
out into the open air. A crowd had gathered and they
were escorted through it to the waiting police wagons.
With no ceremony, Aubrey and George were bundled
into the nearest.

Inside was a solitary figure, handcuffed and looking
most displeased, stooped over and glowering.

Aubrey grinned. 'Well, hello, Hugo! Fancy meeting
you here!'

Hugo von Stralick winced, then straightened with a
smile. 'Ah, Fitzwilliam, Doyle. I see you've fallen foul of
this misunderstanding, too.'

'What have you been up to?' Aubrey asked.

Von Stralick tried to shrug, but the manacles made the
gesture awkward. 'I was simply trying to stop them,
that's all.'

'Stop who?' George asked.

'The Holmlanders who stole the Heart of Gold.'

I
T WAS THE
A
LBION AMBASSADOR HIMSELF
, S
IR
P
ERCY
Derringford, who was waiting with Inspector Paul
when Aubrey and George were brought from the cells.
A broad, silver-haired man, he scowled as if he'd been
disturbed from a very fine dinner.

'They are yours, Ambassador,' Inspector Paul said.
'From what the nun told us, it seems clear that they are
not the perpetrators of the theft.'

'Good of you, Inspector.'

'Not at all.' Inspector Paul smoothed back his hair, even
though it didn't need any adjustment. 'I do not say that
these people are entirely innocent. Especially that one.'
He gestured at Aubrey. 'But we feel it best to let them go
– as long as they agree not to make this affair public. The
authorities have decided that it would be unhelpful if
the incident were widely known.'

The Ambassador glared at Aubrey. 'I'll take them in hand.'

Aubrey did his best to appear compliant. 'But before
you do, sir, I have a question for the Inspector.' He hurried
on before the Ambassador had a chance to deny this
request. 'You've found the Heart of Gold? The thieves?'

Inspector Paul stiffened. 'We are doing what we can.
We have blocked all exits from the city to ensure the
artefact doesn't leave.'

'What's happening to von Stralick?'

Sir Percy grunted. 'The Holmland spy? He's mixed up
in this?'

Inspector Paul glanced at Sir Percy, shrugged, then
answered Aubrey 'We have questions for him, on a
number of matters. Especially since the other
Holmlander has died.'

'The magician's dead?'

'He took his own life. By sorcerous means.'

A
T THE EMBASSY
, S
IR
P
ERCY ORDERED
A
UBREY AND
George to his office. After arriving at the conclusion that
Caroline was a helpless party to the events, she'd been
whisked off by maids before she could express her
displeasure at the notion that she was helpless about
anything.

Aubrey and George, however, were castigated in the
Ambassador's domain, a room full of such heavy, dark
furniture that Aubrey guessed its maker had a fear that
one day it might try to float away.

Sir Percy's reprimand drew on his military background.
It was pointed, forceful and colourful. It raised
points about duty and responsibility and also dwelled on
various character deficiencies that the Ambassador found
personally repugnant. Standing next to George, in front
of the monolithic desk, Aubrey was concerned at first,
then grew irritated, then finally drifted into a state of
admiration for Sir Percy's dogged inventiveness.

The Ambassador didn't end with a flourish. He ended
by fixing them with a grim eye. 'If I were your father, I
wouldn't have you gallivanting about foreign parts like
this.'

Aubrey stiffened. He'd been prepared to endure the
Ambassador's tirade, but he wasn't about to ignore this
criticism of his father.

'Sir Percy, I am here with the consent of both my
father and my mother. They trust me – and George – to
do the right thing. They are aware that I may make
mistakes.'
How could they not be?
'But they know that I will
shirk neither my responsibility nor my duty.'

'Now listen here, young Fitzwilliam –'

Aubrey held up a hand. 'Not once have you asked
what happened. Not once have you sought to find out
the truth of the matter. That is your right, I suppose, but
do not attempt to sully the reputation of my family for
matters that concern me only. And my friends.'
Damn
, he
thought.
I was doing well until that lame ending.

Sir Percy glared. 'Letters have arrived for you. Collect
them from the Under-Consul on your way out.' He
smiled coldly. 'A message from the Magisterium has
arrived for you too.'

Clattering down the stairs to the entrance of the
embassy, George gave a low whistle. 'What was that
about?'

'Sir Percy was appointed by the previous PM.'

'Ah. One of Rollo's old boys?'

'Which makes him automatically suspicious of my
father.'

Caroline was waiting for them. She was still smouldering.
'Helpless?' she said as soon as she saw Aubrey and
George. 'Helpless? That's the sort of attitude that's
keeping women oppressed.'

Aubrey nodded. 'We tried to tell him that you were
just as guilty as we were, but he wouldn't listen.'

'Up to your neck in criminality,' George added.

Caroline nodded. 'Good. I'm glad you stood up for
me.' Then she laughed. 'I was furious. The maids were so
frightened they called for the sergeant-at-arms.'

Aubrey would have liked to have seen that. 'Good
for you.'

A harried-looking functionary scuttled out from a
nearby door. 'Your letters.' He thrust a string-tied bundle
into Aubrey's hands.

He groaned. 'More jobs to do, no doubt.'

'Let's eat, then,' George said. 'Looks as if you'll need all
your strength.'

T
HE RESTAURANT WAS BUSY, TWO STREETS FROM THE RIVER
and crowded with students and artists, half-hidden by
swirls of pungent cigarette smoke. They found a table in
a corner under an ornate gilt mirror. Once food had
been ordered and served, Aubrey took the chance to cast
a discreet muffling spell so the three friends could talk
without being overheard.

He was absurdly grateful when it worked flawlessly. It
wasn't that he took his skill for granted, it was more that
he was afraid of what he'd be if he had no magic. He
liked being a talented magic worker. It set him apart,
made him special, and he enjoyed that.

Am I that shallow then?
he wondered, but he reprimanded
himself. Despondency was a trap and he aimed to avoid it.

Nonetheless, his hands shook after casting the spell and
he hid them under the table.
I just need some rest
, he told
himself,
that's all.

Caroline crossed her arms. 'Now, I'd like to know why
you're really in Lutetia.'

For you.
Aubrey's eyes went wide. For an instant,
he thought he'd blurted his thoughts aloud. Hastily, he
waved a hand in an effort at nonchalance. He nearly
slapped a waiter, who sniffed at him but didn't stop. 'Ah.
You could say that it's more than just a simple holiday.'

'I gathered that. Nothing is simple where you're
concerned.'

'True,' George said as he tucked into a plate of mussels.
He gazed forlornly at the empty bread basket. From a
table nearby, a pretty red-haired girl noticed and threw
George a roll. He caught it and grinned at her. 'I learned
that long ago.'

Aubrey knew he had a salad on the table in front of
him, but he had no appetite. In fact, the smell of food
made him queasy, and he did his best to avoid looking
at it. He leaned back in his chair and started when he
bumped into a vase full of ostrich feathers. 'I have many
things to do here.'

He decided to take her into his confidence. It wasn't
entirely a ploy to become closer to her, he told himself.
It was a practical step. She was very . . . useful.

He outlined his father's task, Bertie's request, his
grandmother's mission and, finally, his mother's wish to
find Dr Romellier.

Caroline patted her lips with a napkin. 'Why didn't
you simply ask me for help?'

'Because he never asks anyone for help,' George said.
'Goes against his nature. Independent beast is our
Aubrey.'

'And with so much to do,' Caroline said, 'why didn't
you divide the tasks between you? You'd get more done
more quickly that way.'

Aubrey realised he'd never thought of it. 'George
doesn't know any Gallian.'

'Give me some credit, old man. I get by. And I'm not
afraid of asking for help, especially from some of these
cheery Lutetian girls.' He waved at a quartet at a nearby
table and won laughter and smiles in return.

Caroline continued. From the gleam in her eye,
Aubrey decided that she was enjoying his discomfort.
'What if I told you that I'd recently heard about this
mysterious Dr Romellier?'

'Dr Romellier?' Aubrey said. 'You?'

'He's been working with some of the researchers in
the same department as I am. He never appears himself,
simply sends letters and crates of specimens. I've seen
them lying around.'

'Does his correspondence have a return address?'

'No idea. It's not really relevant to my work.'

'But you could find out.'

'Yes. I could. We're all very friendly in the department.
Charming, polite people.'

George nudged Aubrey. 'Go on, old man, ask her.'

Aubrey sighed, then leaned forward and fixed
Caroline's gaze with his. 'Miss Caroline Hepworth, please
grant me this boon: find Dr Romellier's return address
and convey it to me. My gratitude will be immediate and
long-lasting. In fact, I thank you for even considering my
request, unworthy wretch that I am.'

She smiled. Aubrey smiled back and felt like he'd won
a substantial prize. 'Very prettily put,' she said. 'I'd love to.'

'But?'

Caroline tilted her head on one side. 'I am busy, you
know. I can't just drop everything and go gadding about
on errands.'

'Of course, of course,' Aubrey said. It took an almighty
effort, but he stilled his tongue and said nothing more.
He had an inkling that Caroline actually wanted to help,
and if he let her she'd find a way to do it.

'But I suppose I could squeeze in some time,' she said
and Aubrey thanked the stars. 'A little. Here and there.
If I can.'

Aubrey sat back in his chair. 'I would appreciate it
greatly, you know. I'd love to scratch one task from my list.'

'Well,' George said, 'I'm not one to be left out. What if
I do some of that ancestor hunting for the Prince
tomorrow? I can tramp around a few churches and take
notes, if that's all it is. I might learn a thing or two,
broaden the mind and all that.'

'Judging from Bertie's notes,' Aubrey said, 'that should
cover it.'

'Well then.' George beamed. 'What about you?'

'I still have plenty left to do.'

'What about the message from the Magisterium?'
Caroline asked.

Aubrey had forgotten all about it. He'd hung his jacket
on a coat stand next to the table. He fumbled inside it
until he found the sealed message.

The restaurant had, if anything, grown more crowded.
No-one seemed to be paying them any attention. He
held up the message gingerly. 'It must be important.
This is an etheric message.' Caroline and George were
puzzled. 'The Magisterium can send encrypted messages
via a magic cylinder. It's highly technical, though – they
only use it in extraordinary circumstances.'

After he'd scanned the terse lines of text, he knew why
Craddock had been so keen to get a message to him. He
frowned and tested the integrity of his muffling spell.
Satisfied, he passed the message to Caroline. 'Large-scale
magic creates disturbances that magicians can detect.
The Magisterium has operatives whose sole job is to
monitor for these, so they can dispatch response squads.
Whole rooms of them, in Darnleigh House, just waiting,
sensing . . .' He rubbed his eyes and wished he were
feeling more robust. 'Apparently, when the Heart of Gold
was stolen, it was like a major earthquake. Several of the
most sensitive operatives were hospitalised.'
If I've timed
this correctly
, he thought,
Caroline should have reached the last
part of the message.
'Read it out,' he said. 'The last sentence.'

'"Do everything to find and return the Heart of
Gold."' She looked up. 'It's true then? Gallia will collapse
without it?'

'I don't know. Perhaps the Magisterium is simply
concerned about the effect on Gallian morale, but I don't
think so. I think they're afraid Gallia will crumble.'