Heart of Gold (35 page)

Caroline waved a finger. 'A further question. What if
Christian weren't illegitimate?'

'Well, that'd mean that he was robbed of the throne
by his uncle Armand. Gallia was probably better off,
given that Christian wasn't in the best state to lead the
country.'

'True, but look closely.' Caroline took Aubrey's arm in
a fierce grip. 'Prince Albert says he's the direct descendent
of Prince Christian on his mother's side. If Christian was
the rightful king of Gallia, then our Crown Prince is the
heir to the throne of Gallia.'

Aubrey made a strangled noise before he found his
words again. 'What did you say?'

'King Albert,' George said. 'Monarch of Albion and
Gallia. Sounds good, wouldn't you say?'

Aubrey's mind whirled. The political situation on the
Continent was precarious enough without a bombshell
like this. 'No. This can't be true. It would have been raised
before now.'

Caroline shook her head. 'Only if it were known. So
what if the Prince just found some new evidence to
suggest Christian was a truly recognised son of Stephen?'

'Bertie is a deep one,' Aubrey admitted. 'He keeps his
motives to himself, but I don't believe our genealogical
search was just a ruse.'

'I'm not saying that. I'm guessing that he's only come
across this recently, after sending you looking for his
ancestors.'

'Proof.'

They both looked at George. 'Proof,' he repeated. 'All
this is no good without some sort of evidence.'

In the excitement, Aubrey had crumpled Bertie's
letter. He smoothed it on his leg. 'Special features. The
tomb. Special features. The tomb.'

'Aubrey,' Caroline said sternly. 'Gibberish.'

He looked up. 'I think Bertie wants us to bring back
something from the tomb.'

George grimaced. 'He wants us to turn grave-robbers?'

Aubrey read the letter again. He placed a hand on the
marble. 'No, we don't have to open the coffin. I think
Bertie's veiled instructions point somewhere else.'

'Another code, old man?' George asked.

Aubrey studied the tomb. 'No. Just Bertie's execrable
fondness for puns. At the end of the letter, after he asks
me to find Prince Christian's tomb, he adds a post script.
"I want you to look for some support for the family
tree." It's underlined, just in case I was feeling more than
usually obtuse.'

'The Crown Prince enjoys puns?' George's brow
wrinkled as he tried to come to terms with this notion.

'He's an ordinary sort of fellow in lots of ways, George.
He still puts his trousers on right way up, just like you
and me.'

'I see.'

'Did you know that Christian never went to battle in
his life?' Aubrey continued. 'All this armour is a sham for
him. Even this chest at his feet.' He reached out and
tapped it. 'Just the sort of thing a knight would bring
back from a busy time looting and such, full of riches.
Christian, of course, did no such thing.'

'I'm sure this is leading up to something,' George said.

'I think I have it,' Caroline said. 'What's another word
for chest?'

George shrugged. 'I'm happy to play my part. Another
word for chest? What about box, container, trunk –'

'Trunk will do. And how did Prince Albert put it,
Aubrey? "Support for the family tree"?'

'Precisely.'

'So what supports a tree?'

George held up a hand. 'Please, Miss: a trunk!'

'So there you have it.' Caroline put her hand on the
small marble box. 'Perhaps this isn't just ornamentation.'

Aubrey nodded. 'Let's see what we can see.'

Caroline tapped at the base of the chest.

Aubrey joined her, running his hand along its carved
sides, feeling the smooth marble. It had a rolled edge,
semi-circular in profile. Alternating lozenges and
diamond shapes decorated its sides and a large, flowerlike
rosette had a prominent position in the middle of
each face.

Caroline shook her head. 'I can't hear anything.'

'I should hope not,' said George. He shuddered. 'Is
anyone else cold?'

Aubrey peered at one of the rosettes. Was there a crack
around it? 'I think –' He pushed at it – unsuccessfully –
then pushed and twisted. He heard a click. The rosette
depressed, then released, and a drawer slid out of the base
of the chest.

The body of the drawer was made of copper and lying
in it was a sheaf of documents. A dry, spicy smell came
from them, a mixture of dust and cinnamon.

Aubrey lifted the documents. He screwed up his face
at the dust, and gently shook them.

'Heavy paper,' George said.

'Not paper, vellum,' Aubrey said. 'Fine animal skin.
Durable and beautiful. Used for the most important
records.'

'Such as a Deed of Recognition?' Caroline suggested,
looking over his shoulder.

Aubrey studied the document that lay on top of the
bundle. It was written in Latin, but the purple splash of
a royal seal at the bottom was unmistakeable, even if
faded. 'I'd say so.' He stared at the tomb. 'Bertie, you are a
deep one.'

He closed the drawer and felt it click shut. Then he
lifted his head. He'd felt a tickle, an insubstantial caress on
his nerves. 'Ah.'

Caroline straightened. 'What is it?'

'Magic.'

George glanced from side to side. 'Where?'

'I'm not sure.' Aubrey could feel it, thick and deep. 'It
seems to be coming from all directions.'

'The church,' Caroline said. 'It's fading.'

Even in the dim light thrown by the lantern, the stones
of the crypt were growing insubstantial enough to show
the earth that lay behind them. It would be madness to be
trapped in the place. 'You're right. We must get out of here.'

Caroline led the way. They hurried through the tombs
and monuments, footsteps echoing. They rushed up the
stairs and almost knocked over the startled priest.

'Father,' Aubrey said, in Gallian. 'Everyone must leave
the church. Immediately.'

'I'm the only one here,' the bewildered cleric replied,
in Albionish. 'I must tend the church.'

Aubrey blinked. For an instant, the whole church
wavered, rippling like a pond in the wind. Then, the walls
began to fade.

George took the priest's arm. 'If you're the only one
here, no-one's going to miss you.' He bundled the
protesting priest toward the door, with Aubrey and
Caroline close behind.

Standing on the courtyard outside the church,
surrounded by the passionless edifice of the Taxation
offices, they stared as the solid stone of the church
continued to grow more ghostly. In the midday sun, such
a thing seemed unlikely, a trick of the light, but when
Aubrey could see through the walls, making out the
shapes of buildings behind it, the reality of the phenomenon
was undeniable.

'The government can't keep this sort of thing secret
forever,' Caroline said.

'I'm surprised they've managed to suppress it this
long,' Aubrey said.

'And what will the people say when they realise their
cherished landmarks are vanishing?' George asked. The
priest, standing next to him, gaped.

'Prime Minister Giraud will be hard pressed to hold
onto power, I'd say. And if the government collapses here,
I know one country that would be very, very pleased.'

Aubrey looked at the fading church, then at the
ancient document in his hands, another item that would
shake the status quo.

If it ever came to light.

'L
OOKS RATHER ODD, OLD MAN
,' G
EORGE SAID OVER A CUP
of coffee, 'your poring over dusty old relics in a place like
this. That sort of thing would be more at home in a
museum, I'd say.'

The café fronted onto the small square between the
Taxation offices and the river. In the centre of the square
was a fountain. A startled-looking goat spouted water
through its mouth while balanced on its back legs.
Aubrey was impressed by the sculptor's skill and puzzled
by his imagination.

Aubrey sighed. Caroline was sitting close, brow
furrowed as she studied the precious text. 'This will do,
George. It's all we have at the moment.'

'Don't mind me, old man.' The large slice of cherry
tart George bit into showed why he was happy with the
venue.

Aubrey was fascinated. For a formal medieval
document, the Deed of Recognition was direct and
simple. Most of it was taken up with the titles of both
Stephen III and Christian, a good two-thirds of the page
detailing exactly which province, district and demesne
belonged to each. The actual recognition was blunt,
direct and inarguable, which, Aubrey decided, is exactly
what the old warrior Stephen must have had in mind.
It made it clear that Stephen had married Christian's
mother after the death of his first wife, Clothilde, and the
document was a binding regal declaration of Christian's
change of status from illegitimacy to legitimacy. Of
course, Aubrey decided, Stephen wasn't to know that
Christian would long outlive his three brothers. The
warrior king probably thought that Christian's legitimising
was simply for show and of no dynastic importance.

The other documents proved to be equally interesting.
One of them detailed the assorted possessions and
responsibilities of the monarch. At the top of the list was
the Heart of Gold.

It confirmed Aubrey's impression that this fabulous
artefact was of ancient origin, for it was noted as being
old when Stephen came to the throne. The document
described the golden heart as being the soul of the
nation, irreplaceable in every way. It also spoke of terrible
consequences if it were moved.

'What does that word mean?' Caroline asked. She
pointed right where Aubrey was reading.

'Unravelling, I think.'

Aubrey paused and stared at the smoke-stained ceiling.
Unravelling. That was a good way of describing what was
happening to Lutetia and Gallia. Just as an intricate carpet
could fray and lose its pattern, the country was falling to
pieces. And a dangerous time for Albion would ensue if
it continued.

'I'll feel happier after we leave these documents at the
embassy,' he said, and he wondered what Bertie's reaction
would be when he read them.

A
UBREY HELD THE BANKNOTES JUST OUT OF REACH OF
the cabby. 'Are you sure this is the right place?' he
asked in Gallian.

'This is where you asked to come.' The cabby was
unshaven. He wore a monocle, which made him look
rather more academic than the rest of his clothes
indicated.

Aubrey nodded to Caroline and George. 'He says this
is the place where von Stralick asked us to meet him.'

'Looks like a wasteland to me,' George said. The sun
shone hard and brassy over the factories with yards full
of discarded timber, iron and rope. A disused canal,
overgrown with willows and rubbish, ran behind the
factories. The entire area was abandoned, an industrial
wilderness. Aubrey found it difficult to believe that the
Chalbord district was less than six miles from the centre
of the city.

'What's that?' Aubrey asked the cabby. He pointed at a
mound of concrete on the nearest corner. Ten feet or
more in height, it looked as if a bunker had been
knocked over by a steamroller and then used as a dump
for unwanted pieces of cast iron.

'Metro station, used to be. The St Louis spur runs right
underneath us here. Not been used since they built the
Central line.'

Aubrey handed him the money. 'Excellent.'

The cab rolled off with little haste, despite the unlikelihood
of picking up any fares in a neighbourhood that
seemed devoid of people. Aubrey watched until it turned
the corner into Kellerman Street and headed back
toward the centre of the city.

Caroline inspected the rubble from a distance. 'Do you
think we're looking at another Holmland hiding place?'

'We'll find out soon enough,' Aubrey said. 'But they do
seem to have a penchant for underground refuges.'

George clapped his hands together. 'Right. Let's see
just what part of this rubbish is a disguised entrance.'

He strode across the desolate intersection. Aubrey
caught Caroline's attention. 'Good man, is George.'

'Indeed.' She smiled. 'Shall we follow him?'

'After you.'

Just before George reached the rubble, the mound
groaned and shook. He jumped backward as a rough
rectangle detached itself and slammed back with a
ringing crash. With nowhere to hide, Aubrey groped for
a useful spell, absently noting that the rectangle of
rubbish was a door, cunningly disguised and set into the
debris. It had been covered with broken concrete and a
rusty iron grille.

Hugo von Stralick stumbled out, wild-eyed and
panting. Aubrey sighed with relief, and he hurried to the
Holmlander.

Von Stralick stood on the edge of the mound and
gazed with horror at the gaping hole he'd sprung from.
Then he saw he wasn't alone. He wiped his brow with
one hand. 'The Heart of Gold. It is gone. Muller and
Schnagel are dead.'

'Steady, von Stralick,' Aubrey said. 'What's going on?'

Von Stralick's clothing was in disarray. His grey tweed
jacket was streaked with cobwebs. His tie was awry. He'd
lost his hat and he dragged at his hair with his fingers,
trying to get it into some sort of order. His eyes were not
steady; his gaze roamed around, not settling long on
anything.

It was most unlike the self-possessed Holmland spy
that Aubrey had come to know.

Von Stralick cleared his throat, then closed his eyes for
a moment. When he reopened them, his breathing was
slower, his voice less hoarse. 'I received a communication,
telling me of this place.' He jabbed a finger at the rubble.
'Another refuge that Muller and Schnagel had access to.
I had orders for them.'

'Ah,' Aubrey said. 'The machinations among your
factions must have come to a head.'

Von Stralick shrugged. Slowly, he was beginning to
resemble the fashionable diplomat again. 'When I return
to Fisherberg I expect I will hear that some general or
other has taken extended leave, or died unexpectedly or
suchlike.'

'What were you going to do?' Caroline asked.

'Muller and Schnagel were ordered back to base. I was
to take the Heart of Gold and restore it to its rightful
place. Discreetly, of course.'

'But who killed them?' George asked.

'That I do not know, but whoever it was has taken
the Heart of Gold. It makes matters most uncertain.'

'Uncertain,' Aubrey said. 'Nothing's changed then.' He
went to the doorway and peered into the darkness.

'Where are you going?' Caroline demanded.

'The Heart of Gold has gone, but the scene of the
crime remains. Let's see what we can learn.'

'Don't even think of telling me to wait outside,'
Caroline warned.

'Wouldn't dream of it.'

'Nor me, old man,' George said.

Von Stralick straightened his jacket and sighed. 'I must
accompany you, then. Honour insists.'

A short flight of concrete stairs took them to a
concourse littered with building debris. As they went
deeper, von Stralick produced a bullseye lantern. When
he lit it, the light jittered over the pale green wall tiles.
Shreds of old posters advertising absinthe, cigarettes
and once-fashionable holiday destinations hung forlornly,
reminders of busier times.

Von Stralick took them through rusty turnstiles to the
platform. The tunnels were black voids swallowing the
tracks. Aubrey felt a faint breeze on his face as they
walked to the end of the platform, where Von Stralick
stopped. The lantern light wobbled on an iron door. A
sign announced it was for staff only.

The Holmland spy visibly steeled himself, then put his
shoulder to the door. It screeched on rusty hinges and
opened onto a narrow corridor. Von Stralick led them to
a workshop where tools hung from racks and caught the
lantern light. The smell of oil and metal was thick, along
with a more unpleasant smell. Aubrey paused on the
threshold of the workshop, sensing magic; it had the
unique flavour of the Heart of Gold.

Von Stralick, his face grim, put the lantern on a bench,
then reached out and pulled a chain. The room was
flooded with harsh light. A ghastly scene was revealed,
stark and horrible: two men, a bear, all dead, amid a great
deal of blood.

Aubrey closed his eyes for a moment in an instinctive
desire for the awfulness to go away. He felt as if he'd been
punched, very hard, in the stomach.

'Good Lord,' George breathed. He took two ragged
steps and leaned against a wall. He covered his mouth
with both hands. He didn't take his eyes from the
carnage.

Caroline visibly blanched and Aubrey moved to her
side, ready to catch her if she fainted, but she took a deep
breath and straightened her shoulders. 'I'm sorry,' she
said. 'It's the blood.'

'Me too,' Aubrey said and he was rewarded with a
grateful glance.

Aubrey did his best to study the scene dispassionately,
alert to any clues, but he found it hard. Even though
Muller and Schnagel were – by von Stralick's accounts –
ruthless spies, he wouldn't wish their fate on anyone.
Their faces told the story: their deaths had been violent,
full of pain and terror.

'They were like this when you found them?' Aubrey
asked von Stralick.

'Yes. No. I checked to see if they were alive. That was
all.' Von Stralick took a deep breath. 'You'll notice it's a
different bear from the one that was at St Martin airfield.
This is black. The other was brown.'

Aubrey moved closer to the bodies. One of them was
half-underneath the bear, his face horribly torn, the eye
patch hanging on his cheek. 'That's Schnagel,' von
Stralick said. 'It's Muller over there.'

Schnagel had been killed by the bear. His massive
wounds had clearly been inflicted by the claws of the
brute.

He examined the bear. It had been shot, several times,
but not at close range – no telltale powder burns on
its fur.

He looked at Muller. He was lying a few yards away,
on his front, with his back to the door. A revolver was still
in his hand, but his body had no claw marks, no bites.
Instead, he had a gunshot wound – in the middle of
his back.

Aubrey tried to reconstruct the scene in his mind. A
roaring wild beast, shouting, screams, gunfire. Confusion
– much confusion. Would the presence of the Heart of
Gold have added to the chaos?

He stood and wiped his hands together. 'It's clear that
the bear killed Schnagel. Muller shot the bear, most likely
in an attempt to save his comrade.'

'Then someone shot him in the back,' von Stralick
muttered.

'From the doorway, I'd say,' Aubrey said. 'Then he stole
the Heart of Gold, whoever he was.'

'Or she,' Caroline added. Aubrey shrugged.

'It was here?' von Stralick asked.

'Definitely. Its magical presence still lingers.' He could
feel it. It left its mark on the surroundings the same way
a heavy weight would on wet sand.

'Well, old man,' George said, 'can't you do that vision
thing? The one where you find out what happened?'

He shook his head. 'The Heart of Gold. Magic will be
extremely difficult in this area for some time.'

'Then who did this?' von Stralick said.

'When magic is insufficient, we must use our brains.'

Von Stralick gave a shaky grin. 'Baron Verulam?'

'I'm impressed, von Stralick.'
You have hidden depths,
Hugo.
Aubrey was sure that knowledge of Baron Verulam,
the seventeenth-century magician and natural philosopher,
wasn't required knowledge for a Holmland spy. Had
von Stralick studied the man who began modern magic
because he knew he was one of Aubrey's heroes? And if
so, what did that imply?

'It is good to impress,' von Stralick said. 'Please go on.'

'To start an investigation,' Aubrey continued, 'we need
to know what questions to ask first.' He spread his hands.
'Well?'

Caroline nodded. 'Who would benefit from the deaths
of Muller and Schnagel?'

'Good.'

'Who knew they were here?' George volunteered.

'Excellent.'

'Where is the Heart of Gold?' von Stralick added.

'Important, but if we knew that, everything else would
be irrelevant.' Aubrey grimaced. 'But there is one other
question that I'm very, very interested in.'

George knew his role. 'And what's that, old man?'

Aubrey pointed. 'Where did the bear come from?'

O
UTSIDE THE STATION
, A
UBREY STOOD WITH HIS HANDS ON
his hips, looking back at the city. Smoke rose in a number
of places and he thought he could hear shots. In the
distance, alarm bells rang. Angry voices drifted across
the rooftops and he hoped it didn't signal more riots.

'The bear, old man,' George said. 'Don't taunt us like
this. Where d'you think it came from?'

Aubrey brought his hands together and studied them.
For days, he'd been trying to sort out the manifold events
in Lutetia. Riots, sabotage, politics, with the flavour of
magic weaving in and about every single incident. He'd
pored over the happenings, analysed them, picked them
apart and then – when other events were more pressing
– let his mind work, making the intuitive leaps in the
dark that often produced startling results.

Now, with Lutetia decaying on the skyline, he had it.

'It's the Heart of Gold,' he said. 'I think it made the bear.'

'Made the bear?' Caroline said. 'Out of what?'

'A man.' The sun had taken on an odd, red tinge.
It made the streaky clouds look bloody. 'The Heart of
Gold is transforming people into ancient Lutetian
animals.'

Von Stralick frowned. George scratched his cheek.

'Ah,' Caroline said, 'I see. Wolves, bears, aurochs, even
lions. They once roamed this very spot.'

'The Heart of Gold is the pivot around which all of
this is happening. All the disruptions to the city are
because it has been ripped from its resting place. It's like
removing a keystone and watching an arch crumble.'

'And the animals?' George asked, his brow furrowed.
'It's just randomly turning people into beasts?'

Aubrey rubbed his hands together, slowly. The more
he explained, putting his suspicions into words, the more
certain he felt of his conclusions. 'Remember the order
of nuns devoted to cradling the Heart of Gold? I'd say
that it's more than a ritual. My guess is that the Heart
must remain in contact with a human.' Aubrey thought
of the unfortunate Sister Anne. He hoped she had recovered.
'When all is good and proper, it nestles, almost
dormant, in the lap of its custodian, in the heart of the
country. Its presence binds Gallia together.'

'It belongs in the Chapel of the Heart,' Caroline
murmured.

'Exactly. Removed from its rightful place, the Heart of
Gold is unbalanced, dangerous.' Recalling the nuns in the
Chapel of the Heart led him to think of the connection
between humanity and magic. Some savants believed that
it was the way that humanity intersected with the
universe that gave rise to magic. 'It must be cradled by a
human,' he said, slowly. 'Held close. Embraced.'