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.
Eight
MAURICE HAD SEEN ENOUGH IN THE FACULTY 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 pas
sed 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.'
OUTSIDE THE UNIVERSITY GROUNDS, AUBREY 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.'
THE PROPRIETOR OF THE CAFÉ ON THE TINY THINKERS' 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.
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