Heart of Gold (41 page)

George consulted his pocket watch. 'Just after seven. In
the morning.'

Aubrey was glad for George's addendum. It saved him
having to ask. 'I don't suppose there's a chance of some
breakfast?'

George's face split in a wide grin. 'I'm sure Madame
Calvert will whip up a lovely tray for you.'

George fairly bounded for the door and galloped
down the stairs.

Caroline sat and studied him for some time while he
fidgeted. 'He was very worried about you,' she said,
finally.

Aubrey ran his hands along the coverlet. It really was
fine work. He wondered if Madame Calvert could
purchase one for him to take back to Albion. 'He does
get like that. Good man.'

'Yes. You're lucky to have him.'

Caroline looked towards the window. The light
surrounded her with a glow that Aubrey thought was
beautiful, but unnecessary, like a gold frame on a masterpiece.

He touched his chest as he felt pain again, but instantly
he realised this was different. It was desire's touch to the
heart, a pain both piercing and delicate. Caroline was so
extravagantly beautiful, so formidable in intellect and
so dismissive of all of it. She humbled him. How could
he ever think that he could attract someone so exquisite?

'Lucky?' he said. 'I should say so. Without George, I would
have been in very serious trouble any number of times.'

She looked thoughtful. 'You seem to inspire loyalty.'

'I do?' Aubrey was taken aback, but flattered as well.
His spirits rose. 'Well, my father, Sir Darius, his troops
were tremendously loyal to him, you know. And in
politics, his supporters are steadfast, despite his setbacks,
of which he's had a few.' He paused. 'You know, I don't
do that with anyone but you.'

'What?'

'Babble.'

'You'd best learn not to, then.' She stood. 'Your parents
will be here in a few days.'

Aubrey was still wondering at the first half of her statement.'
Parents?'

'Yes. You know, Lady Rose and Sir Darius.'

He did his best to banter in Aubrey fashion. 'Oh,
those
parents. Sorry, you caught me on the hop. I was going
through my list of parents one by one. I would have got
to those two eventually.' He frowned. 'They haven't come
to see me?'

Caroline studied him for a moment. 'You told us not
to let them know about what happened to you.'

'I did?'

'Just after we brought you back here. You don't
remember?'

'I'm afraid not.' Aubrey didn't remember, but he could
believe it. Was it a streak of stubbbornness or a determination
to be independent that made him do things like that?

'George and I argued about it, back and forth,
changing our minds and arguing again.'

'While I lay here?'

'We whispered.'

'Ah.'

They shared a smile. 'I'm glad to see you're well again,'
she said.

Aubrey sought for something to say that wasn't trite.
Before he could, George bustled in. He carried an invalid
tray laden with enough mouth-watering delicacies to
feed an army of valetudinarians. 'Breakfast!'

They shared the platters of pastries, breads and fruits
that Madame Calvert had prepared. Aubrey learned that
Inspector Paul had visited several times to check on his
state of health. He'd reported that the river had begun
flowing again, and that all the landmarks had regained
their solidity. The earth tremors had ceased, as well.

'Gallia is itself once more?' Aubrey asked. He sipped a
cup of good coffee. It tasted like heaven.

'More or less,' George answered. 'Political shenanigans
all over the place, according to the papers.'

'The government has strengthened its position,'
Caroline said. 'After the incident at the airfield, the press
has rallied behind the Prime Minister Giraud and the
alliance with Albion.'

George nodded. 'The Holmland government has
repudiated the actions of the saboteurs. The Elektor
claims that they were acting without orders, renegades of
the worst sort.'

'Does anyone believe that?'

Caroline snorted, beautifully. 'Officially? Yes. In reality,
of course not.'

'What about the Marchmainers?'

'Nothing in the papers. And no sign of Dr Romellier
either. He's vanished.'

Aubrey had a strong suspicion that Dr Romellier
would be on his way by now to join Dr Tremaine,
although Aubrey had no idea what the renegade
magician would want with an ornithologist.
Wheels
within wheels, Dr Tremaine. Wheels within wheels.

George pointed at Aubrey with a jam spoon. 'You'd be
proud of me, old man. I've been practising my Gallian,
with Caroline's help.'

She inclined her head toward Aubrey. 'It filled in the
time, although I despair of George's accent.'

'Don't care about my accent. At least I can talk and
read it rather better. Don't feel so much of a duffer.'

'Marchmainers?' Aubrey prompted.

'Ah, yes. The independence movement has distanced
itself from the Sons of Victor, wouldn't you say,
Caroline?'

'As fast as they could. Once it became clear exactly
who had the Heart of Gold, it was the only thing they
could do to salvage something from the wreck.'

Aubrey put down a cup that suddenly seemed very
heavy. He was tired. 'They've lost their chance. They
won't be able to regroup for some time, and by then war
will have broken out.'

George frowned. 'D'you still think it's coming?'

'It's more and more certain every day. Holmland's
machinations here in Lutetia show that it's not giving up
on its plans to dominate the Continent.' He shuddered.

'Are you all right, Aubrey?' Caroline asked.

'I was just thinking about the war. And wondering if
we can do anything to stop it.'

'It may be inevitable,' she said slowly. 'Nations are
notoriously stupid. But it wouldn't be right to throw our
hands up and say that to resist would be futile.'

'Agreed,' Aubrey said. 'We must do what we can.'

'That means going to the embassy ball on Saturday,'
George said.

Aubrey groaned. 'Do we have to?'

'Solidarity with our good ally, old man. It's important.'

Aubrey appealed to Caroline for help. She looked back
at him, evenly, and smiled. 'I agree with George.'

Aubrey blinked. Was that an opportunity? 'You've
convinced me. And since you have, will you do me the
honour of accompanying me?'

Aubrey saw Caroline trying to follow that twisted logic
and becoming more and more suspicious. 'I –' he began.

'No. Don't say anything more. Don't mess it up.' She
pointed at him. 'Yes. I will go with you to the ball. Pick
me up at eight.'

Caroline bent. When she straightened she had a
bundle in her hands. 'Your grandmother's letters. Mother
kept them safe for you.'

'She's unharmed?'

'Safe and well. When I reached the tower, they were
on the verge of leaving, after hearing the explosions at
the airfield. I guided them through the woods until we
reached a small village. We negotiated a wagon ride with
a farmer. Monsieur Caron left us at St Charles Station,
saying he had urgent business out of the country. I took
Mother home.' She looked at him evenly, as if daring him
to challenge her recount as anything more than a stroll
through the countryside.

'The tower?'

'Still there in the woods near the airfield. Maurice has
taken up residence there and fancies himself as a country
gentleman, I think.'

She left. Aubrey heard her chatting with Madame
Calvert, then the door closing behind her.

'Success, old man,' George said. He was eating a peach.
'A well-planned campaign, a few false starts, lost battle or
two, but ultimately you were triumphant.'

'Caroline isn't a military campaign, George.'

'Well, it's taken you a while to realise that.'

'Yes, I know, not everything in life can be reduced to
tactics and strategy.'

'Bad form, that. People are people, not pieces to be
moved around at your will.'

Aubrey squirmed.

'Are you all right?' George asked.

'I just remembered something I have to do. Very soon,
too.' As soon as he regained some strength, he'd see about
getting Caroline back into the university. Perhaps after
the ball? He'd appreciate having her near until then. To
help his recovery, he assured himself.

George stood. 'I'll let you have some time by yourself.
You look as if you need it.'

'Thank you, George.' Aubrey nodded. 'And thank you,
George. For everything.'

'Don't mention it. Just don't scare me like that again.'

'I'd like to guarantee that, but . . .'

'I understand. Just do what you can.' George took the
breakfast tray and went to the door. Then he stopped and
stared at the ceiling. 'This embassy ball. I'm not sure if
I can be there.'

'Really?' Aubrey brightened. This was better: something
trifling, something commonplace. He sat up
straighter in the bed. 'You've been summoned to an
audience with the King of Oronoko? You've developed a
sudden knee injury that will prevent you dancing?'

'No, although I could work on the latter.' George
sighed. 'It's Madame Calvert's niece.'

'Ah. You've met her.'

'That's the point. I haven't.' He glanced at Aubrey.
'Been rather busy lately, old man.'

Aubrey laced his fingers on his flannel-clad chest. 'And
the problem is?'

'Madame Calvert has been talking about her niece for
days. Dropping hints about how clever she is, how good
she is at languages and whatnot.'

'And you see this as a bad thing?'

'It strikes me as a bit overdone, as it were. It's as if her
niece needs to be promoted, like a new beverage.'

'I see. And you think the reality may be different?'

George shrugged, which made the crockery on the
breakfast tray clatter. 'There is that, I suppose. But I'm
more worried about what Madame Calvert is saying to
her niece about me. I don't want to disappoint the girl.'

Aubrey started to laugh, but stifled it when he saw the
misery on his friend's face. 'George, you don't have to
worry. You'll be impressive, as always.' He rubbed his
forehead. 'Besides, I'd appreciate it if you were there
with me.'

'Ah. Of course, old man.' He smiled. 'Well, meeting
young women and such is why we came to Lutetia in the
first place, isn't it?'

'It's why
you
came to Lutetia in the first place, George.
I had other things to do.'

'Quite.' George cocked an eyebrow. 'I prefer my
reason.'

After George closed the door behind him, Aubrey
stretched out. He needed to examine his condition.

It didn't take long before his suspicions were
confirmed and his good mood evaporated. The psychic
battering he'd received from the Heart of Gold had
destroyed Monsieur Bernard's shield. Once again, he was
balanced between life and death, a limbo land where his
hold on his soul could evaporate at any minute.

Aubrey lay on the bed, hands behind his head, and felt
sorry for himself. For a time, it was good to feel so bad.

With the cold comfort of hindsight he itemised all the
things he should and shouldn't have done, beginning
with the ill-starred experiment with death magic.

Gloomy thoughts took up residence. The only future
he could see was a depressing one, clinging to a half-life,
weak and pained, unable to do magic for fear of making
things worse. Caroline would judge him as a shallow,
manipulative failure. George would grow tired of his
erratic ways. He would be alone.

Inevitably, he moved on to 'It isn't fair', but even as he
went through the motions he started to become irritated
with himself. He couldn't keep repeating 'Why me?' with
any conviction because he knew that his situation was his
fault. If he was willing to accept the kudos for his own
actions, then he had to be prepared to accept the responsibility
when things went poorly.

Self-pity is a warm and comforting blanket
, he thought,
but
I do find it itchy after a while
.

He ran through a few spells that had provided a
modicum of stability in the past. They helped, somewhat,
but Aubrey knew they held no prospect of lasting
success. He was back on the treadmill again, researching
and experimenting to find a permanent cure for his selfinduced
condition.

A
UBREY RESTED THAT DAY, AND ALSO ON
T
HURSDAY AND
Friday, gathering his strength for the festivities and – after
a letter arrived from Duval reminding him of his
commitment – for the production of
The Buccaneers
.
George helped him run through his lines, again and again.

In between these sessions, Aubrey wrote a long letter
to Prince Albert, detailing their successful finding of
Prince Christian's tomb, and giving some indication
of the state of affairs in Lutetia. Aubrey decided to leave
the other, much more interesting, information until he
could discuss it with Bertie, face to face.