Heart of Gold

by Michael Pryor

  'What's going on?' Caroline demanded over the uproar.

  Aubrey didn't answer. He was being bombarded with waves of magic. They rolled over him, twisting at his magical awareness and leaving him gasping. His heart thudded in his chest as he tried to make sense of the mighty enchantment that was transforming the Academy of Sciences.

  At the same time, he was not happy about being trapped in a mob. He knew that a panicked crowd was a dangerous beast, likely to behave unpredictably. There was no point trying to appeal to logic or better nature when fear was on the rampage.

  The crowd had almost come to a standstill, caught in the bottleneck of the doors. He saw elbows being used, and punches started flying as those desperate to be out of the fading building tried to assert their claim for early exit. Women were flung aside, old men knocked over, umbrellas and walking sticks became weapons.

  'We have to get out!' George shouted. His eyes darted from side to side, looking for imminent danger as the mob surged one way and then the other, seeking the exits. A number of the more panicked audience members were pushing at the unseen wall and struggled as if they were caught in thick glue.

  Aubrey passed a hand over his face. He didn't need a physical challenge, not in his state. And he couldn't contemplate a magical solution either, especially given the magnitude of the enchantment that was on the loose.

  He straightened. Dully, he noted that von Stralick had disappeared. Typical.

  Over the tumult of the crowd, Aubrey heard the splintering of wood, then exclamations of surprise. Then came angry shouting and police whistles. The riot they anticipated may well have started, but through fear, not anger, he thought.

  'Time to find a rear exit,' George shouted, pointing toward the stage that had faded unevenly, leaving enough to distinguish a possible way out.

  George took the lead, acting as a battering ram. Aubrey followed gratefully in his path, and they managed to worm along a wall that was patchy in its solidity – partly ghostly, but stretches seeming almost unaffected. They stumbled onto the vacant stage, which was one of the more concrete-looking parts of the hall. A few others had the same idea and a ragged line of people staggered up the stairs, and into the wings, away from the tide of humanity that was still trying to crush through the remains of the main doors.

  Aubrey followed George's broad back through the backstage darkness. A door loomed, with blessed fresh air gusting to them. George disappeared through it and Aubrey hurried after.

  As soon as he was through, Aubrey was grabbed by rough hands. Before he could protest, he was pushed onto the flat bed of a wagon to join an angry-looking George. He scrambled, and saw Caroline tumbling to join them. She rolled neatly and came to a crouch, alert and ready to move. Aubrey felt like applauding, but he was shoved to one side, so that his back was to the sideboards. Caroline moved to a similar position nearby.

  Out of the frying pan? Aubrey thought. But they didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, and he decided that demands for information may not be the best course of action in such a tense situation. He caught Caroline's eye, then nodded at George, who was sitting on Caroline's right. Wait, he mouthed.

  He studied the others in the cart. They were the same motley assortment as had been in the lecture hall, except for one that made Aubrey very interested indeed: Gabriel, the red-haired firebrand from the Sons of Victor.

  A voice shouted, a whip cracked and the wagon lurched off down the narrow alley. Behind them, the Academy building had become an apparition, a ghostly replica of itself that faded as he watched. It hung against the night sky, misty and grey, as if it were made of smoke.

  When the wagon swung out onto the Boulevard of Industry, the gas street light showed that Gabriel was staring at them ferociously.

  'You are not Marchmainers.' He pulled out a knife.

  Time slowed. Aubrey could see the knife had a leather handle. He could see that it had a nick on the back of the blade. He could see that Gabriel's knuckles were torn and bloody.

  Time for a plausible story, he thought. Very plausible, very fast.

  'No, sir,' he said in his best Gallian. He felt it was best to be polite to a man who was brandishing a big knife. 'We're from Albion.' There, that should buy me some time to come up with something.

  'So? I thought as much,' said Gabriel in Albionish. Aubrey tried to place his accent. It was Marchmainer, but with an odd inflection, slightly emphasising each t. 'It doesn't mean I shouldn't kill you.'

  'Ah.'

  Aubrey felt both Caroline and George tensing, ready to tackle Gabriel. He shook his head and they subsided.

  Gabriel had three compatriots. They were big, thicknecked, and Aubrey decided that all of them had been destined to work as bodyguards from the time they could walk.

  'We're Marchmaine supporters,' Aubrey said quickly. 'Many Albionites admire the struggle for Marchmaine independence and want to help. And we see Martin Victor as one of the great political figures of the nineteenth century.'

  'Of course you'd say that. I have a knife.'

  'What can I do to prove it, then?'

  Gabriel spat over the side. 'You can't. But you can tell me why I shouldn't kill you now.'

  Before Aubrey could say anything, Caroline spoke. 'Ransom.'

  Gabriel's knife didn't move, but he flicked a glance at her. 'Go on.'

  'My mother is a wealthy woman. She has many influential friends. I'm sure she'd be happy to make a large donation to the Marchmaine cause – as long as we're unharmed.'

  Gabriel's knife disappeared. He smiled, but Aubrey found it as disconcerting as his menacing expression. 'I'm glad we were able to rescue three Marchmaine supporters from the Lutetian authorities. They are probably assaulting the others as we speak.'

  Gabriel banged on the driver's seat and growled a few words. The driver whistled and urged his horse ahead.

  'All right,' Gabriel said. 'I think it best if we leave the vicinity for a while. The police may be after us.'

  'Why?' Aubrey asked. 'Surely it can't be illegal to hold a political rally in the capital of Gallia?'

  Gabriel snorted. 'That shows how little you know of Gallian politics. The police will find some excuse to arrest many of our people, my friend.'

  Aubrey didn't feel as if he wanted to be Gabriel's friend, but he did want to learn more about Gallian politics. 'Tell us more.'

  For the next hour, as they wound their way north-west through the city, Gabriel spoke at length about the Marchmaine cause and how just it was. He was particularly strident about how weak the leaders of the Marchmaine Independence League had become, and how it was time for the Sons of Victor – as the true upholders of Marchmaine independence – to assume control of the struggle.

  'Through proper democratic processes,' he said, grinning with cold eyes. 'Of course.'

  'Of course,' Aubrey echoed.

  Eventually, the surroundings became less residential and more industrial, with street lights much less frequent. A large complex with the heady tang of a brewery stood on the edge of what appeared to be open fields and Aubrey realised they were on the edge of the city, where it gave way to countryside. The air was cleaner, fresher, altogether more wholesome.

  They turned left off the main road, travelling for another fifteen minutes through dark and flat lands with few signs of habitation. Then they rejoined the main road where the countryside became more thickly wooded, with a dense forest of conifers bordering the road. Ahead, Aubrey could see lights.

  'Blockade ahead,' Gabriel said, noticing Aubrey's interest. 'Not to worry. We turn off before it.'

  True to his word, the cart almost immediately turned left, through a gate. A well-laid road led to a tall fence, another gate and a guard house. Beyond the fence lay a flat, cleared expanse, surrounded by forest, with buildings in the distance. A number of them showed lights. On the other side of the buildings, enormous cigar shapes bobbed in the light breeze.

  Aubrey stared. They were at an airfield.

  Gabriel grunted to
his colleagues. 'Saltin has scored himself a fine job here. His promotion has made him chief of the engineers.'

  'You know Captain Saltin?' Aubrey said.

  'Why?'

  'He was in Albion recently. George and I saved his life.' Caroline raised an eyebrow. 'You didn't tell me about this.'

  'Err. I meant to.'

  'Enough,' Gabriel said. 'We'll see if Saltin remembers you.'

  They were marched to the guard house. George leaned close. 'Are we safe enough?'

  'For the time being.' Aubrey rubbed his hands together. Slipping away from these ruffians would seem to be the best course of action, but this was an opportunity to gather information – and he couldn't ignore that. 'Be ready. We may have to move quickly.'

  George gave a surreptitious wink. Then he leaned against the fence and did his best to look like a harmless Albionish buffoon, smiling cheerfully and gazing about with benign interest. It was a guise he sometimes used, and Aubrey knew that it made people take him too lightly – often to their detriment.

  Gabriel spent some time with the guards, finally leaving them with laughter and encouraging slaps on the back.

  He rejoined Aubrey and the others. 'We go to the main hangar. Saltin is there.'

  They left the wagon at the gate. The Sons of Victor fell in around Aubrey and his friends. Aubrey had the impression that while they weren't exactly being guarded, the Marchmainers didn't fully trust them, either.

  Aubrey counted six dirigibles on the far side of the airfield, moored to their masts. Five were the regular VT model, and showed no running lights, but one was different. It had a distinctively shaped gondola, while the tail array was one he'd never seen before.

  They skirted a cluster of smaller buildings and rounded a number of large, domed fuel stores. Gabriel led them to the third of four enormous buildings, both ends of which were made up entirely of immense doors. The doors were closed, so Gabriel took them to a smaller, humansized entrance. It rolled back with a screech of metal.

  Inside, the space was gargantuan, large enough to build mountains. It was lit by huge electric lights dangling from the far-off ceiling like upside-down mushrooms. The place was still, tense with the thunderstorm tang of ozone.

  Gabriel herded them toward a workbench, but Aubrey had no eyes for it. In the middle of the hangar, surrounded by an immense scaffold, was the beginnings of an airship.

  He'd never seen a partially constructed dirigible before. It looked like the skeleton of a creature from the dawn of time. Giant ribs that would one day be covered by a skin of aluminium were evenly spaced along the central keel. The supports for the enormous gasbags that would give the ship its lift were in place. Nothing had been done on the control car or the motors.

  Aubrey was in awe of the grace of the thing. While some people found airships ponderous, he always thought of them as stately, unhurried in a time where speed was a god.

  Gabriel condescended to notice Aubrey's admiration. 'You like our dirigibles?'

  'I do. The Gallian service has come up with some remarkable advances.'

  'Gallian? It is Marchmainers who are the core of the Dirigible Corps. We are the best pilots, the best navigators, the best engineers. And here is the best of the best.'

  A uniformed figure strode toward them.

  'Ah, Saltin!' Gabriel called.

  Aubrey saw that Saltin's left hand was still bandaged, but his eyebrows and hair were well on the way to growing back. He gripped Gabriel's hand. 'My friend!' he said to Gabriel. 'I have an airship ready for your departure as you requested. One hour and you will be in Marchmaine.'

  Gabriel glowered. 'We cannot go. We do not have the treasure yet.'

  Saltin opened his mouth to speak, but then he saw Aubrey. His eyes widened. 'No, this cannot be!'

  'What is it?' Gabriel asked.

  'This is my saviour! Gabriel, I would not be here today without him.' He took a pace and embraced Aubrey, then kissed him on both cheeks. 'Fitzwilliam, I'm glad you're finally here,' he said in Albionish. 'Have you come to see our revolutionary new 200 design?' He saw George. 'And your friend!' This led to another bout of embracing and cheek kissing.

  Saltin was a Marchmainer, but he was still a Gallian. When he saw Caroline, he was overcome. 'And who is this wondrous creature? Another friend of yours, Fitzwilliam? If so, you are fortunate indeed.'

  Aubrey made the introductions. Saltin bowed. 'I am delighted to meet you, Miss Hepworth.'

  'I am not a creature,' she said.

  'I beg your pardon?' Saltin wrinkled his brow.

  'I am a human being, as much as anyone. Not a creature.'

  'Ah, please excuse my boorishness! I do not know what I am saying.' Saltin put his hand on Aubrey's shoulder. 'I am glad you are here. I did not have the chance to thank you in true fashion, with a toast. I have a bottle or two from the family cellars in my office.'

  'No time for that now,' Gabriel said sourly. 'Is he who he says he is? An Albionite?'

  'Of course he is. How could the son of their Prime Minister be anything but?'

  While Aubrey watched Gabriel's expression change from suspicion to astonishment, he tried to think how he could turn this revelation to his advantage.

  'Sir Darius's son?' Gabriel said with tones that suggested that this was a synonym for 'a useful political lever'.

  'I have that honour.'

  George wandered to a nearby workbench and reached for a spanner. 'Don't touch that,' Gabriel snapped.

  George raised an eyebrow at Aubrey, who translated for him. 'He doesn't speak much Gallian,' he explained to Gabriel, then he frowned and rubbed his hands together. Magic was stirring, somewhere nearby. 'What's that noise?'

  From outside the hangar, shouts and cries of fear competed with a deep, growling sound. He turned in time to see two Marchmainers running through a door. One of them had blood streaming from his forehead. Aubrey stared. They were being chased by a bear.

  Aubrey had seen bears in the zoo – fat, lazy creatures who looked as if they'd enjoyed a bun too many. This beast was recognisably related, but only in the same way that a pug and a wolf were cousins.

  It was huge, the size of a bull. Great muscles moved underneath its fur, driving massive limbs toward its prey. As it came through the doorway, its flank crashed against the metal, bending it out of shape. It paused, then reared onto its back legs, roaring and slashing at the air with wicked claws.

  The roar echoed around the hangar, and slipped straight past the usually competent filter of Aubrey's brain. Instead, it went directly to some small, hidden gland that seemed to have the responsibility for inducing marrow-freezing terror when confronted by a bear. The gland may have been a busy worker in the early days of humanity, but with the dearth of bears in the last few centuries it had been quite idle for a long time. Judging by the effects the roar was having, Aubrey guessed the gland was making up for lost time.

  He broke out in a cold sweat. His legs trembled and his feet were moving, ready to help him run for his life. His heart thundered, and his mouth went dry.

  Then the bear dropped to all fours and charged at the fleeing Marchmainers, moving from its sitting position to motion in one, smooth action. The nearest Marchmainer made a lucky decision and darted sideways. The bear tried to change direction but skidded on the concrete floor and crashed into a barrel of scrap iron. It sprawled for a moment, then it rolled and sat up, shaking itself just like a wet dog.

  The clangour seemed to waken the onlookers from a dream. Gabriel whipped out his knife, then stared at it and the bear. He jammed it back in its sheath with a curse.

  Caroline shook her sleeve and a length of iron bar fell into her hand. Before Aubrey could wonder where she'd got it from, she threw it at the bear. It struck the animal in the chest, but, apart from drawing its attention, had no other effect. The bear dropped to all fours and shook its muzzle, which was, Aubrey noted with misgiving, bloody.

  Then he realised that the magic he'd felt was coming from the bear.


  He backed up a step, heart racing in his chest, and bumped into the workbench. He felt behind him, without taking his eyes from the very unhappy bear.

  'Don't move suddenly,' Saltin said. 'He may not be interested in us.'

  'I don't care,' Aubrey said. 'I'm sure being attacked by an uninterested bear hurts just as much as being attacked by an interested bear.'

  'No doubt you are right.'

  Aubrey locked eyes with Caroline. 'Bears can climb.'

  'Trees,' she said, 'but it may not know much about scaffolding.'

  'Neither do I,' said George, 'but I'm willing to learn, and very quickly.'

  The two Marchmainers who had been the bear's original prey had managed to scramble over the scrap heap and to put a flat-bed lorry between them and the brute. One had armed himself with a length of chain while the other had a sheet of galvanised iron.

  With slow, deliberate movements, Caroline took off her bonnet and kicked off her shoes to stand in bare feet. Then, to the amazement of the Marchmainers, whose attention was torn between her and the bear, she discarded her dress to stand, poised, in what she'd called her fighting uniform.

  It was black silk, a two-piece outfit – jacket and trousers, tied with a cloth belt about her waist. Aubrey had seen her in it before, but familiarity had not dulled the experience.

  Caroline caught him staring and rolled her eyes. He held up a hand in mute apology, but he felt inspired enough to try some magic. He was sure he could conjure up something, even given his diminished reserves of strength.

  After all, he thought, it's only a bear.

  His binding spell wouldn't be strong enough to hold the massive creature. He'd used the stinking cloud recently enough to feel confident in rolling it out again, but the notion chafed at him. It would be like telling a joke twice. Not good showmanship.

  A spell suggested itself. The Law of Thermal Impermanence said that the longer the duration of magically conjured heat, the more difficult the spell. But if he could cast a number of tightly focussed, short-lasting spots of heat on the floor, he may be able to herd the bear back outside. Neat, harmless, but it should prove to be quite dramatic. The spell was undemanding, and he was sure he could handle it.