Heart of Gold (16 page)

Aubrey twisted and backed away as Bernard pawed at
him, ending up outside the ring, pressed against the wall.
With a shake of his head, he realised that this time he had
literally backed himself into a corner.

Chalk still in hand, he pushed off the wall and into a
forward roll that evaded Bernard's grasp. He somersaulted
to his feet, dizzily, to see Bernard's vast back, like a cliff,
in front of him. He bent and with a few quick slashes of
chalk he sealed the gap in the ring. He straightened,
panting and feeling sick. Bernard was trapped.

He hoped.

Bernard turned, seeking his prey. He swayed from side
to side, then tottered toward Aubrey, but when he
reached the confines of the ring he jolted to a halt, as if
he'd run into a sheet of glass. He edged sideways, but still
couldn't step over the chalk line. His growl changed to a
desperate moan as he worked his way right around the
ring until he was facing Aubrey again.

Aubrey felt sorry for the mindless Bernard. Or was it
still Bernard, he wondered. If you take enough away from
a person, is it a person any more? He shuddered at the
implications.

He chanted his binding spell again, summoning the
glowing ribbons. Unimpressed with their flimsiness, he
took a rubber band and the glue pot from his pocket.
He improvised a spell which drew on the Law of Transference
and the Law of Essence. He wanted to use the
stickiness of the glue and the elasticity of the rubber band
to improve the effect of the spell, but he faltered. He was
weaker than he had been at the university, when his spell
attempt had failed. Should he be attempting something
so complex while he was exhausted and aching?

Self-belief was matched against self-doubt. Aubrey was
heartened when self-belief won by an innings and a
handful of runs. He launched into the spell, hands curled
into fists of determination.

He sighed with relief when the glowing loops behaved
as he'd hoped. Bernard struggled with the bonds, but
where he'd been able to rip the previous effort apart, this
time the bands stretched then snapped back, frustrating
his attempts. And the more he struggled, the more his
limbs clung to each other as the stickiness went to work.

Soon, Bernard was snared in multiple glowing ribbons,
contorted awkwardly with his arms wrapped around his
body. He wobbled for a moment, then toppled, landing
on his back with a crash that shook the whole workshop.

Aubrey let out a long, thankful breath. His hands
trembled. Dizziness swept through him until he reached
out and steadied himself against the wall. He'd exerted
himself and he knew that this was hastening the deterioration
of his condition. He ran his fingers through his
hair and was stunned when clumps came loose.

He stared at the dull, black strands. He was falling apart.

Wearily, he dropped to his knees. He crawled to
Bernard's side to find that the magician's struggles had
lessened. He lay almost motionless, his blank gaze on the
ceiling.

Aubrey placed an open hand on Bernard's chest and
extended his magical awareness. Then he drew back at
what he found.

It looked like a person, but the creature was a shell. It
explained the violence of Monsieur Jordan and the poor
woman at the university. Only the basest, primeval
instincts were left to animate the body. Defensive and
violent, reacting aggressively to what they dimly
perceived, they lashed out like animals.

Full of pity, Aubrey stared at the old magician.
Bernard's soul was gone – and yet his body survived.

Aubrey shook his head. Without a soul, Bernard
should be dead. His soul, once severed from his body,
should have fled through the portal that led to the true
death. Of all people, Aubrey knew that. Then how was
this thing still alive – if it could be called life?

Pieces came together in Aubrey's mind, falling into
place with inarguable elegance. The photographer. The
magical aura that came when the flash powder erupted.
Monsieur Bernard's state. The Soul Stealer.

The photographer
was
the Soul Stealer. Somehow, he'd
discovered a way to divorce souls from bodies without
incurring the true death. Excited, Aubrey realised that if
he could find out how, he may be able to gain some
insights into the relationship between body and soul that
he could use to help himself.

He sat back on his haunches sifting through the possibilities.
While he hummed, something caught his eye. On
the floor near the chair Bernard had been posing in was
a photographic plate.

Aubrey thought back to the moment he entered the
workshop. He'd cleared his throat, noise, confusion,
bright light, magic flaring, and then the sound of . . .

The Soul Stealer had dropped something. He'd
panicked and then he'd dropped something.

Aubrey rose, wincing at pain in his knees, and limped
to the plate. He studied it where it lay for a moment.
Then, carefully, he picked it up.

It fairly vibrated with magic. Aubrey frowned as the
tips of his fingers hurt. It was a kind of magic he'd never
encountered before. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose.
The gelatin on the plate was imbued with unfamiliar
substances. The smell was harsh and faintly rotten.

He held the plate up to the light and gasped.

The backdrop, the chair and the vase stand were all
clear and perfectly in focus. As a still life, it was a fine
photograph. Every fold in the cloth was articulated, every
board in the floor was sharp and in focus. But the main
figure in the composition – Bernard – was grey and
translucent. The backrest of the chair was easily seen
through his ghostly form as he sat, with an expression of
pure horror on his face.

Aubrey peered more closely. Cords were attached to the
ghostly Bernard's wrists and ankles. They then stretched
out to the four corners of the photographic plate. It was
as if the ghostly Bernard were an insect, spreadeagled on
a specimen board. His face was contorted with agony.

Aubrey didn't need to see a colour photograph to
know that the cords were golden. He'd seen their like
before. With a chill, he recognised them from the disastrous
experiment with forbidden death magic that had
caused the golden cord uniting Aubrey's own body and
soul to be disrupted.

He stared at the photograph and felt sick. In a hideous
union of magic and technology, Bernard's soul had been
trapped, embedded in the photographic plate Aubrey
held in his hands.

He felt unclean, holding the unnatural thing. He let go
with one hand and wiped his other on his jacket, but the
taint remained.

He looked at the empty vessel that had been Bernard.
His body and soul had been torn apart. Could they be
brought back together?

He steeled himself and gripped the photographic plate
in both hands. He shuddered when he realised that the
agony on Bernard's face was mixed with terror – which
suggested that the poor man, at the last instant, knew that
his soul was being dragged from him.

And here I have it in my hands
, Aubrey thought. He
chewed his lip. He feared that the longer they were apart,
the more difficult it would be to bring them back
together. What were his options? If he freed the trapped
soul from the photographic plate, it would immediately
be drawn to the portal that led to the true death. It would
be lost forever. But was there a way to free the soul and
reunite it with its body? And if he could do that, could it
lead him to something useful for his own state?

He stared at the glass plate, its greys and sharply edged
blacks a sign of the silver-gelatin process, but the Soul
Stealer had enhanced it with – what? He touched it with
a forefinger and felt the telltale tingle of magic. Without
realising it he began to hum as he thought.

He knew that silver was the key ingredient in many
photographic processes, thanks to its light-sensitive
nature when compounded. But silver had other useful
characteristics, and Aubrey seized on one of them: silver
was a very good reflector.

Aubrey had seen early mirrors which were made with
a thin layer of silver behind glass. His mind worked on
this, feverishly, while he scanned the room.

His gaze found the flat metal bowl that had almost
tripped Monsieur Bernard. He lunged for it and used it
to scoop up a handful of fragments from the photographic
plates that had been on the workbench. He had
a plan.

The bowl was dull copper, the size of a large serving
platter. Working quickly, he ground the glass to a powder,
using a brass letter seal that had been kicked under the
bench. Then he swirled the powder around the bowl, as
if he were panning for gold, while chanting a spell he'd
concocted on the spot. His aim was to bond the silvered
glass to the bowl, so he included spell elements that
emphasised affinity (copper and silver were both metals,
both fine conductors of electricity) and also proximity. It
was a hasty spell, rough and imperfect, but Aubrey wasn't
wasting time. He could refine it later – if it helped.

Under his magical urging, the glass swept around
the bowl in a shimmering wave. Soon, Aubrey could
see his own face, distorted by the gentle concavity of
the bowl.

A wave of dizziness struck him. Simple though the
spell had been, it had taxed him. He put a hand to his
forehead and rubbed, sighing, but when he withdrew his
hand he stared with dismay.

The skin on the back of his hand was flaking. As he
watched, great dry patches fell away.

He put the bowl down and studied his other hand. It,
too, had been struck by the rash. No redness, or itchiness,
simply sloughing off of skin as if it were tired and unable
to cling on.

I am not falling apart
, Aubrey thought, denying the
alarm that was uncoiling in his belly.
I refuse to.

He picked up the silvery bowl and spun it over
between his hands. It flashed, silver then copper, then
silver again, and he was happy with the result.

He'd created a magical reflector.

His aim was to smash the soul plate, the disturbing
resting place of Monsieur Bernard's soul. He hoped his
magical reflector would prevent its disappearing into the
true death.

It was bold, it was perhaps rash, and Aubrey wished he
could cross his fingers – but that would make it even
more difficult to hold the bowl just over the photographic
plate.

I'll just have to trust to science
, he thought.

He looked at Bernard's empty body. He looked at the
photographic plate.

He strode over and crouched beside Bernard, apologising
in advance.

Then while he held the magical reflector over
Bernard's forehead with his left hand, he smashed the
photographic plate on Bernard's forehead with his right.

Aubrey was blinded again, but this time the cause
wasn't flash powder. Instead of a dazzling magnesium
flare, this was an uncanny inversion of light, a void that
sucked all illumination toward it. For an instant, Aubrey
was plunged into total darkness. He couldn't see because
there was
nothing
to see.

He held out a hand, but the void disappeared quickly.
Aubrey found he was looking down at Bernard. Shards of
glass lay in the man's hair and on the floor underneath his
head. His forehead was bleeding. He dabbed at it weakly
with a fat hand.

Bernard blinked at him, bewildered. 'You hit me,' he
said in Gallian.

Aubrey smiled. 'I'm glad you're able to tell me that.'
'You have a silver bowl.'

Aubrey glanced at the bowl and put it on the floor. He
helped the massive man sit up. Bernard was weak and
wheezed noisily. 'It's a magical reflector.'

'Ah. I thought so.'

'Duval!' Aubrey called. 'Maurice!'

The two men rushed into the workshop. 'Monsieur
Bernard!' cried Maurice.

'Let's get him to that sofa,' Aubrey said through gritted
teeth. He scuffed the restraining diagram with his shoe.

Aubrey couldn't have done it alone, and it was a near
thing with three of them. By the time they'd arranged
the old magician on the sofa, Aubrey's head was a red
haze of pain. He leaned against the wall, sweating.

'Bernard is not well,' Maurice said. 'His heart. He has
a bad heart.'

'I'll get a doctor.' Duval ran for the door.

Bernard beckoned Aubrey to him. His voice was
hoarse and feeble. Aubrey had to stoop to hear. 'I
remember now,' Bernard said. 'My soul was taken. You
got it back.'

'Rest. The doctor will be here soon.'

'Perhaps. Perhaps not.' The enormous man shrugged,
but the motion sent him wheezing again. When he
stopped, he turned his head to Aubrey. 'I can see you. You
have been touched by magic.'

Aubrey nodded.

'More than that.' Bernard coughed. 'You have experimented
with death magic.'

Aubrey swallowed. 'Yes.'

'You are on the edge. The true death is calling.'

All Aubrey could do was nod again.

'I, too, tested myself against death magic. Just the edges.
It was enough.'

'Did you learn anything? Can you help me?'

'My notebook. In my desk. I've learned things. It is
yours.'

Bernard's eyelids quivered. He sighed and his great
hands trembled. Then he was gone.

M
AURICE HAD SEEN ENOUGH IN THE
F
ACULTY OF
Magic to understand what he had to do next.
Stony-faced after Aubrey's explanation, he nodded.
'I'll call the police. You'll not want to wait for them,
I expect.'

Aubrey felt Bernard's notebook, heavy in the inner
pocket of his jacket. 'I will, if you think it necessary.'

Maurice shook his head. 'I will do what is needed.'
He'd already torn down the drapery and used it to cover
the body of the old magician. 'You'll find that man, the
one who did this?'

'I will.'

Outside the Faculty of Magic, Aubrey ran into Duval,
who was accompanied by a lean, harried-looking man.
He clutched a black bag that announced his profession
better than an illuminated sign. 'Are we too late?' Duval
asked anxiously.

'Bernard has passed away,' Aubrey said.

'Let me see,' the doctor said and he pushed through
the door.

Aubrey stood on the stairs with Duval. He leaned
against the wall of the tower for a moment, shivering in
the sun. The encounter with the Soul Stealer and the
death of Bernard had sapped him. He rubbed the back
of one hand, then the other, and wished for an end to this
frustrating existence.

'You look pale,' Duval said. 'It has been a shock, the
death of the magician?'

'Yes. The photographer, the one who fled, was the
Soul Stealer.'

'No!'

'He was in the process of taking Bernard's soul.'
Aubrey sighed. 'I restored it, but Bernard wasn't
strong.'

'Go and rest, my friend.' Duval clapped Aubrey on he
back. 'You will need your strength for our rehearsal
tonight.'

You have no idea how much I need my strength
, Aubrey
thought. 'Tonight?'

'Of course. And don't forget to bring Miss Hepworth.'

O
UTSIDE THE UNIVERSITY GROUNDS
, A
UBREY STOOD ON
Cooperation Street. Hands in pockets, he watched
the cyclists, carriages and motorcars hurtling past with
cavalier regard for anything approaching road rules.

Suddenly, a hand fell on his shoulder. He stiffened. 'Be
easy,' a voice hissed in his ear. 'Pretend all is well.'

'Hello, von Stralick. Have you been watching me?'

The Holmland spy didn't answer. His eyes darted
from side to side, at the traffic, the buildings opposite, and
the sky.

'If I didn't know better,' Aubrey said, 'I'd think you
were nervous.'

'Not nervous. Terrified.'

'Ah.' Aubrey wasn't sure he liked that any better. He
was deeply tired, and he needed to examine the state
of his skin, but he wanted to make the most of von
Stralick's presence. 'Any particular reason I should know
about?'

'Much is at stake.'

'I know that.'

'I've learned things that shed new light on the situation
in Lutetia.'

Aubrey remembered Craddock's terse but urgent
command to do what he could to find the Heart of
Gold. 'What do you know?'

'What do
you
know?'

'We're not going to get anywhere like this. You're
going to have to be rather more explicit.'

Von Stralick smiled briefly. 'Speaking explicitly is
something I'm not accustomed to, either as a diplomat or
an intelligence operative.'

'Spy.'

Von Stralick shrugged. 'Very well then. If we're
speaking explicitly, "spy" is a reasonable enough term.'

Aubrey surveyed the Lutetian streetscape. The grey,
pinched faces of the pedestrians hurrying past had a
haunted look about them. 'Something is ill here.'

'Exactly. Now, will you come with me?'

Aubrey preferred marching into danger rather than
being dragged toward it. 'Of course.'

T
HE PROPRIETOR OF THE CAF
É
ON THE TINY
T
HINKERS
'
Square obviously knew von Stralick. The Holmlander
nodded at the aproned Gallian behind the counter and
immediately ushered Aubrey to a booth in the rear of
the smoky establishment. Aubrey noted how von Stralick
used the mirrors on the walls to watch the entrance.

The proprietor brought mineral water and coffee. Von
Stralick downed the coffee and asked for another. Aubrey
waited and sipped mineral water that had no taste at all,
only to find that he had trouble swallowing. With a
sinking heart, he added it to the list of symptoms of his
deterioration.

When the second coffee arrived, von Stralick stared at
it for a moment before speaking again. 'You know of the
Marchmaine independence movement?'

Interesting beginning
, Aubrey thought. 'We were caught
in the altercation between them and the police at the
Middle Bridge.'

'Precipitous lot,' von Stralick said. 'They don't realise
what they're interfering with.'

'Tell me.'

'You know of their plans for an independent state in
the north of Gallia?'

'Of course.'

'What you may not know is that some members of
their movement are prepared to take desperate measures
to achieve this.'

Aubrey digested this. 'Are you suggesting that the
Marchmainers stole the Heart of Gold?'

Von Stralick licked his lips and didn't look at Aubrey
for a moment. 'No, we stole it, but they are after it.'

A thousand questions sprang into Aubrey's mind, but
he took the opportunity to probe von Stralick's sources.
'How do you know this?'

'When the police let me go, I contacted my superiors.
They were dismayed at what has happened in Lutetia.
The theft was an unauthorised action and has caused
uproar in the highest circles. To make matters worse,
I was told that a cell of fanatics within the Marchmaine
movement is plotting to steal the object from our
rogue operatives. They call themselves "The Sons of
Victor".'

'"The Sons of Victor"? Rather a gaudy title.'

'Named after their founder, Martin Victor. A very
powerful man, last century. Chrétien, the capital of
Marchmaine province, was virtually his fiefdom.' Von
Stralick stared at his cup of coffee. 'He was a skilled
politician and he made powerful connections all over the
Continent, hoping to find support for a free Marchmaine.'
Von Stralick looked sour. 'It never happened, of
course. The Gallian government did its best to discredit
him. It said his overseas support was a delusion and that
he was a crank. He died a broken man.'

'But he left a legacy. He had followers.'

'Indeed he did. The Sons of Victor are fanatics, you
know, dedicated to a Marchmaine homeland, at whatever
cost.'

'And they want to steal this object from your
colleagues, who stole it in the first place.'

'You don't understand,' von Stralick said, urgently. 'The
consequences are dire if the object is not returned.'
He wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief. 'The
only positive thing is that the thieves are trapped in
Lutetia. The blockade around the city has been remarkably
effective.'

'You look as if you don't believe all of this. Don't you
trust your superiors?'

Von Stralick snorted. 'My superiors told me, long ago,
to trust no-one. So I trust them least of all. I am a good
student.'

It was simple enough for Aubrey to see why a band of
Holmlanders would steal the Heart of Gold. If Gallia
collapsed, Holmland would be the undisputed power
on the Continent. But the Sons of Victor were another
thing altogether.

'These fanatics are hoping to destabilise the Giraud
government, to make their breakaway easier?' he
suggested.

'Or to bargain. An independent Marchmaine in return
for the object. 'Von Stralick sighed. 'But they are not just
political fanatics, they are religious fanatics. They think
that the object belongs in Chrétien, not in Lutetia. They
believe that once it's returned to its rightful place, its
magic will ensure that Marchmaine will become an
independent, magical state.'

'Save us from zealots,' Aubrey muttered. 'This doesn't
make sense to me. Why wouldn't Holmland be happy
about a pro-Holmland state in the north of Gallia?'

'An unstable state with irrational leaders is not what
we need.'

'
Another
unstable state.'

'One too many, let us say. 'Von Stralick grinned, but it
seemed forced. 'Holmland can deal with a few unstable
states, but not so many at once.'

'Too busy with the Goltans, are we?'

'I couldn't say.'

Aubrey tapped his water glass and watched the ripples.
'So Holmland doesn't want the Sons of Victor to get
their hands on this object, as you call it.'

Von Stralick leaned across the table and gripped
Aubrey's arm. 'We want the Heart of Gold returned.
That is the position of the most important members of
the Holmland government.'

Aubrey didn't trust von Stralick. He also understood
that the Holmlander knew he wasn't trusted, which gave
an odd sort of reliability to his responses.

Everything he said hinted at divisions in the upper
ranks of Holmland. No doubt opinion was divided on
the best way to prepare for war. Rogue elements at work,
especially those with power, were very, very dangerous.

Aubrey detached his arm from von Stralick's grasp. 'It
seems as if this object is more interesting than I thought.
What is it, von Stralick? Why has it thrown the high and
mighty into such a spin?'

Von Stralick rubbed his hands together, slowly, then
answered. 'The Heart of Gold is, in many ways, Gallia.'
He glanced at Aubrey. 'You must understand that I'm
speaking literally here. The Heart of Gold is the essence
of Gallia – it defines Gallia, it is what makes Gallia Gallia.'

'But what does it
do
?'

'It doesn't
do
anything. It simply is – and here I am
going to be figurative, not literal. Like the fixed point of
a compass, it remains still while the rest of the compass
revolves around it. It is a foundation for the nation to
base itself on. It is an anchor, a steadying point, a . . .' He
scowled. 'Problems come about if Gallia is without its
heart. The nation will start to sicken, and in its decline it
may suffer in ways that are not clear.'

Aubrey shook his head. 'If this object is so important,
why wasn't it guarded?'

Von Stralick shrugged. 'Who knows? Innocence,
naïveté? Perhaps a theft was simply unthinkable to the
Gallians. I imagine it will be very secure in future, if it
is returned.'

Aubrey sat back in his chair and studied the ceiling for
a moment, thinking. 'If we imagine the nation of Gallia
as a person, then removing its heart would have a drastic
effect indeed. Mortal effects.'

'The exact nature of these effects, my superiors were
unwilling to divulge. If they know them.'

'They were afraid.'

Von Stralick nodded. 'If encrypted messages can carry
the taint of fear, then the orders I received last night
certainly were scared.'

'Orders?'

'Find the Heart of Gold. Return it to its rightful place.
Do so quickly.'

Aubrey nodded. 'It seems as if the interests of Holmland
and Albion are coinciding. Which I find amusing.'

'Healthy belligerence and espionage are well and
good. But this matter is something else. It is a threat
beyond the mortal.'

Aubrey now understood the insistence in the Magisterium's
message. He imagined every available operative,
agent and contact that the Magisterium had in Lutetia
would have received similar orders.
And a brigade of
operatives is probably on its way across the channel as we speak
,
he thought. This gave him pause.

It was a challenge. Aubrey could feel excitement rising.
If he could find the Heart of Gold before anyone else, it
would be a coup. Such an achievement would impress
important people.

A sober voice inside him pointed out that he didn't
need to prove anything, that his worth was known, that
he was appreciated for what he was, and other dreary
platitudes, but he managed to put the voice aside in that
corner of his mind reserved for such solemn, careful and
mature impulses.