Heart of Gold

by Michael Pryor

  The brick from the Faculty of Magic lay on his washstand. Aubrey studied it, humming to himself as he did. Its properties could come in handy, but it was an awkward thing to be carrying around. If challenged, he imagined he could present a plausible excuse – 'I need to mend a wall and I wanted to get the right colour' – but in these suspicious times it could strain even his powers of persuasion.

  Why take a whole brick when a piece will do? he thought. Just as the brick had stood in for the tower, if he could break it up, a fragment could stand for the whole. When they came near the Liberty Gardens he could use small pieces of brick – even brick dust – to determine the exact whereabouts of the Heart of Gold.

  He paused and hefted the brick in both hands. How am I going to shatter a brick in an exclusive Lutetian apartment?

  He scanned the room, hoping he'd simply overlooked a hammer and anvil tucked into the corner. Plenty of delicate, spindly furniture. Lots of subtly patterned wallpaper. Not much in the way of blacksmith's tools.

  He shrugged. Why use muscles when gravity could do the work?

  Balancing the brick under one arm, he knocked on George's door. He entered just as his friend called, 'Come in.'

  George was standing in front of the cheval mirror with two brushes. 'How's my hair?' he asked.

  'Perfect.' Aubrey went to the window. Below was a quiet alley. 'Excellent. Now, I want you to nip down there and tell me if anyone's coming.'

  'Why?'

  'I don't want to drop this brick on someone's head.'

  'I see. And my job is to prevent such a thing?'

  'One step ahead, you are. Good to see.'

  The results were satisfactory. George came back with a palm full of rough brick gravel, as well as a collection of larger fragments. 'There you go, old man. No damage to people or property, although I think we succeeded in scaring a nasty-looking cat.'

  Aubrey held his jacket pockets open and George poured in the pieces. 'Now,' Aubrey said, 'let's see if we can finally track down this Heart of Gold.'

  THE MORNING WAS WARM, BUT FLAT AND DULL. THIN CLOUD, the colour of wallpaper paste, covered the entire sky. The foul odour that Aubrey had noticed while on the Exposition Tower was still present, a faint, underlying smell of rot that unsettled his stomach. It was having the same effect on the Lutetians, too, to judge from the sour faces they passed while walking along Generosity Street.

  Aubrey, however, was in good spirits. He hummed as they marched toward the Hepworths' apartment. Even the growing numbers of doom-laden posters couldn't dampen his spirits.

  He wanted to speak to Inspector Paul, when he could find time. Some judicious sharing of information might be timely. He had the feeling they could be useful to each other.

  'Solved a problem?' George asked him as they crossed Fairness Street. The smell from a bakery was mouthwatering enough to drive off the sickly city stench, and a long line of customers attested that the products of the shop tasted as good as they smelled.

  'A problem?'

  'You're humming again. It seems to help you think, just like a cat's purr helps its digestion.'

  Aubrey stopped dead and stared at his friend. 'Where did you get that piece of information from?'

  'Renaissance man, remember? I aim to accumulate knowledge like an oyster accumulates . . . seaweed?'

  'Be that as it may. A cat's purr helps its digestion? Where did that come from?'

  'Can't recall. But it's an impressive morsel to drop into a conversation, don't you think? Especially with a pretty companion.'

  'Ah, I see. This Renaissance man business is a way to impress females.'

  'Why would you think any differently?'

  THEY ARRIVED AT THE HEPWORTH RESIDENCE TO FIND Caroline on the front stairs, giving a ginger cat a saucer of milk.

  Aubrey waved to her. 'Taking care of strays?'

  Caroline smiled. 'He's hungry.' She bent and stroked the lucky cat. It lapped at the milk and began to purr.

  George opened his mouth, but Aubrey cut him off. 'Not now, George.'

  Caroline looked up, then stared at Aubrey. 'What on earth is that in your jacket?'

  Alarmed, Aubrey looked down to see that that his pocket was moving. 'Oh. That's a brick. Or parts of a brick. Brick dust, too.'

  'I hope magic is involved.'

  'Oh yes.' Aubrey explained about the questing powers of the Faculty of Magic.

  'Ingenious,' Caroline said when he'd finished.

  Aubrey couldn't believe it as his face began to glow. He thought he had better control than that. He crouched and stroked the cat to hide his blush.

  'Good Lord,' George said. 'I thought you hated cats.'

  'They're useful, sometimes.'

  THE AREA THAT LED TO INSPECTOR PAUL'S OFFICE WAS partly a waiting room, partly a clearing house. Police entered by one of five doors, consulted with the sergeant at the raised desk, then hurried out again, usually by a completely different door. The desk was in the middle of the room and loomed like a pulpit over the benches against the walls. The red-faced sergeant behind the desk was as bald as an egg. He'd apparently decided to make up for this deficiency by growing an immense black beard that draped over his chest like a wall hanging. 'Inspector Paul is conducting an investigation,' he told Aubrey after glaring at the ledger in front of him.

  'Where?' Aubrey replied in Gallian.

  The sergeant drew himself up. 'I cannot tell you that.'

  'We have important information for him.'

  'Such as?'

  Aubrey mentally shuffled his list of important items, guessing which would be the most urgent to the police. 'About the Sons of Victor.'

  It was enough. The sergeant squinted. 'The Bureau of Exceptional Investigations called him to the Middle Bridge.'

  WHILE THEY CROSSED THE CITY, AUBREY TOOK THE CHANCE to tell Caroline about their encounter with the Sons of Victor and about the brick from the Faculty of Magic. Her questions were incisive and made Aubrey carefully consider the events.

  They arrived at the Middle Bridge in time to see the operatives from the Bureau of Exceptional Investigations conduct a revelation spell.

  Aubrey stood behind the barriers that the police had erected near the Middle Bridge and watched with a professional eye, closely following the technique of the Gallian magicians.

  They worked as a team, creating a large circle – ten yards or more across – on the embankment, just below where the Middle Bridge gave out onto Charity Avenue. Some of the cobblestones had been dislodged in the flood and made stable footing difficult, but eventually one of the five green-uniformed operatives cast a handful of powder into the middle of the circle.

  'What are they doing?' Caroline asked.

  'It's a way of seeing what happened in a location. It's difficult. There are many temporal parameters to work with, and spatial drift is a problem.'

  'Aubrey's done it before,' George put in. 'When someone was trying to shoot Prince Albert.'

  Caroline glanced at Aubrey curiously. Aubrey did his best not to notice her regard, instead concentrating on the unfolding scene in front of them.

  A bubble appeared, as high as a lamp post and ten yards or so across. Dim, blurry figures flitted inside it. The vision shifted and wobbled, however, with two of the operatives moving their arms in agitated fashion. Suddenly, sharp, rainbow-coloured streaks slashed across the surface of the bubble. They writhed, jagged and disturbing, twisting the surface of the bubble and distorting the figures inside. Despite the efforts of the operatives, the bubble tore itself apart and disappeared in shreds.

  Aubrey caught sight of a familiar figure standing, hands behind his back, smiling at the Bureau magicians as they began to argue. 'Inspector! Inspector Paul!' he called.

  Inspector Paul recognised Aubrey's voice. He strode to the barricades, waving away an anxious constable. 'Miss Hepworth. Fitzwilliam, Doyle,' he said in his accented Albionish. 'What do you think of our experts?'

  Inspector Paul had difficulty keeping the satisfaction from hi
s voice. 'They seemed competent enough,' Aubrey answered carefully. 'I thought they were going about it the right way.'

  'You could have done better,' George muttered.

  'They failed,' Inspector Paul said. 'The Bureau said they sent their best, yet they failed.' He rubbed his hands together, then seemed to realise what he was doing and clasped them behind his back again. 'They say they can't determine the origin of the anger spell.'

  'Not enough residue?' Aubrey asked. 'Or was it of an unknown type?'

  Inspector Paul was impressed. 'You know something of forensic magic?'

  'A little.'

  'It was, indeed, an unknown type of residue. They say they want to investigate it back at their headquarters.'

  'I don't suppose there's a chance I could examine it?'

  Inspector Paul snorted. 'I doubt it. The Bureau is very protective of what it sees as its jurisdiction. When it deigns to work with police, it is always as if it is doing us a great favour.'

  Aubrey considered this for a moment. 'Have you made any progress on the sabotage at the dirigible works?'

  Inspector Paul looked to either side. 'Come this way.'

  He moved the wooden barrier to allow Aubrey, Caroline and George through. He took them to a place halfway between the barricades and the Bureau operatives, who were discussing matters in low voices with furtive, accusatory gestures.

  'A special force is dealing with the matter at the dirigible works,' Inspector Paul told Aubrey and his friends. 'It has representatives from the military and the police force. Some very senior men are involved.'

  'They think it's too important for the regular police?'

  Inspector Paul shrugged. 'It is the way of things.' He regarded Aubrey. 'Can you tell me any more? Do you have sources?'

  'I've learned nothing new about the dirigible sabotage.' Aubrey was aware that this may not be the whole truth, but he didn't want to reveal everything he'd learned. In times like these, information was currency – and he didn't want to spend it all at once. 'But I have another matter I wish to ask you about.'

  Aubrey was aware that involving Inspector Paul was a risk. But the Inspector had shown his basic honesty. Besides, Aubrey needed an ally, a Gallian ally, if he was to make progress with his enquiries. Without Gallian support, he was an outsider no matter how well he spoke the language.

  'I was with the Sons of Victor yesterday,' he said. 'There was a raid. A police raid.'

  Inspector Paul frowned. 'I was not aware of this. On what grounds? The Marchmaine movement is not an illegal organisation. It may be inconvenient to the government, but every Gallian assumes that it is his duty to be inconvenient to the government.' He paused and held up a hand. 'Forgive me, Miss Hepworth. Or her duty.'

  Caroline nodded, acknowledging Inspector Paul's apology.

  Aubrey grimaced. 'The Marchmainers did seem surprised when the police arrived.'

  'I would have heard about any raid,' Inspector Paul said. 'I should have been told. Who was in charge?'

  'We didn't linger and exchange names. He was a captain, grey-haired. He had a patch over one eye.'

  Inspector Paul shook his head. 'There is no-one of that description on the force.'

  'Then someone has access to police uniforms and police vans. Or very good facsimiles thereof.'

  Aubrey didn't know which alternative was worse. Either way, it meant that matters within the police force were very difficult. If it wasn't the police, then who was it? he thought. It would make sense if it was the same party responsible for the magical mayhem on the Middle Bridge. Someone with a grudge against the Marchmaine cause?

  'I cannot accept this,' Inspector Paul said.

  'It is true.'

  Aubrey saw that, like most honest men, Inspector Paul had great difficulty in coming to terms with corruption. He worked his jaw and clenched his fists. 'I will make some enquiries.'

  'Be discreet. If your force has been compromised, simply asking questions could be dangerous.'

  Inspector Paul chewed on this. 'Factions have always been present within the force. We all know that. But I do not like to think that it has come to this.'

  'Be careful.'

  'Do not worry. I have resources of my own.'

  'One more thing,' Aubrey said. 'The missing object. The valuable missing object.'

  'Ah. No concrete progress there, but we're sure that it is still within the environs of the city. The blockade has been strengthened. Nothing can get out.'

  'A suggestion: treat any reports of strange animals very seriously.'

  Inspector Paul began to smile, but then studied Aubrey and nodded. 'If you say so. Now, I have much work to do.'

  The Inspector tipped his cap to Caroline and then he marched toward the Bureau operatives.

  Aubrey felt that he had either thrown a cat among the pigeons or set a tiger loose. He wasn't sure which.

  'Well,' Caroline said. 'Did you learn much?'

  'Enough to know that things are even murkier than I thought.' Aubrey set off. Caroline and George fell in beside him as they strolled along the river.

  The beeches were in full greenery, tall and slender. The wrought-iron park benches were vacant, however, and the pigeons were surly because of the absence of their usual meal providers.

  'Let's hope things get clearer before your parents arrive on Saturday,' George said.

  Caroline glanced sharply at Aubrey. 'Your mother is coming to Lutetia? You didn't tell me that.'

  Aubrey could have kicked George. 'It's an official visit, a hasty one at that.'

  'I'd like to see her. She might be able to do something to get me back into the taxonomy course.'

  Aubrey's stomach sank to his shoes and crawled around in his socks for a while. 'Yes, well, I'm sure she'd be pleased to do what she can.'

  'And Dr Romellier. She'll be keen to hear from him. You haven't forgotten about him, have you?'

  Aubrey winced. 'No. Not forgotten. More important things have come up.'

  'A good leader always knows when to delegate, Aubrey. I have some avenues to pursue. Let me find Dr Romellier for you.'

  But that's not what I'd planned, he thought. I want you with me.

  Guilt jabbed at Aubrey. He felt guilty for not considering what Caroline wanted to do. Guilty for treating people as if they were automatons to be moved around as he wished.

  No, he thought, it's more than guilt. It's shame.

  He realised he'd been carried away, seduced by the grand adventure, absorbed with plans and strategies. And all the while, he'd overlooked that his schemes involved people. He wasn't unaware of the fact that people had their own desires, wants and dreams – sometimes he just forgot about it.

  For a moment, in a desperate rear-guard action, he tried to convince himself that the ends justified the means, but the cliché was empty in his hands.

  I've been a cad, he thought. An insensitive, big-headed cad.

  He was about to blurt out everything to her when he stopped dead, the words frozen in his mouth.

  I can't tell her, he thought. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, all by itself.

  'Are you all right, Aubrey?' Caroline asked. 'You have the oddest expression on your face.'

  If I tell her what I've done, he thought with dismay, she won't have anything to do with me. Faced with that outcome, he opted to put it off and hoped he could discover a way to organise things so all would be well.

  The contradictory nature of this resolution didn't escape him – manipulating things so he'd be forgiven for manipulating things – but it was all he could think of. He'd mired himself in a mess of his own making.

  'I'm fine,' he managed to say. He cleared his throat and pressed ahead, putting his sense of guilt aside for later contemplation. 'My mother would be pleased if you could find Dr Romellier.'

  'Settled, then.'

  'Don't go back to the university,' he hurried to add. He didn't want her questioning the faculty about the decision to ban her. In fact, he didn't want her near the Sci
ence Faculty until he'd been able to restore her position. He smiled. She'd be grateful, of course, which would be delightful. He could confess and they'd laugh about it together, because everything had turned out for the best . . .

  'I have my own resources,' Caroline said and Aubrey's daydream vanished.

  'Like Inspector Paul does,' George said. 'Good show.'

  'If we're going separate ways,' Aubrey said in an attempt to regain control of a conversation that had run away from him, 'we must make arrangements to meet again. To share our findings.'

  'Very well.' She paused and tapped the bag she held. Aubrey thought she carried it like a weapon. 'But tracking down Dr Romellier shouldn't take all day.'

  'It won't?'

  'I doubt it. What else can I do to help?'

  'What about the letters, old man?' George suggested.

  'Letters?' Caroline asked.

  'Some correspondence between my grandmother and my grandfather.'

  'Your grandfather? The Steel Duke? The man who put down the Timlitz Uprising?'

  Aubrey had few memories of his grandfather. Mostly, the old man was just a gigantic, prickly moustache, but Aubrey did remember wild piggyback rides through the long corridors at Maidstone, his grandfather hallooing and scaring the servants, young Aubrey clinging and laughing as they galloped.

  None of which matched the description in the history books: the Duke of Brayshire, Albion's most ruthless commander in the nineteenth century, a tireless prosecutor of Albion's interests on the Continent, always well connected to members of the government. Incorruptible, but much feared by his enemies – especially after the Timlitz Uprising.

  'The letters have fallen into the hands of collectors,' Aubrey said, 'and she'd like them back.' He explained about Monsieur Caron. 'If I get time, I'll look into it. Again, I'm sure I can sort this out.' Then she glanced at Aubrey with what he could have sworn was an expression of mischief. He blinked and it was gone. 'Now,' she said, 'there is something I want in return for this assistance.'

  Aubrey was on the verge of saying 'Anything', but he managed to bite his tongue. 'Yes?'

  'Your presence tonight.'