Heart of Gold

by Michael Pryor

  'Understandable,' Caroline said. 'I'm sure you had other things on your mind.'

  Aubrey sat back in his chair, frowning. He crossed his arms on his chest. 'It's not working.'

  'Why not, old man?' George said. 'It worked last time. We found the thing, didn't we?'

  Aubrey leaned forward again. He held his hand over the brick fragments, as if they were coals in a fire. 'Their power has faded. I can't use them any more.'

  'We'll find another way, then,' Caroline said.

  Aubrey was heartened by her confidence. He rubbed his hands together, slowly, and tried to think of a way to impress her with his ingenuity. Before he could, however, a bell-ringing juggernaut thundered past the restaurant. The patrons, stunned for a moment, rushed out and stood in front of the bistro, catcalling and gesticulating.

  Aubrey couldn't sit idly and ignore such a commotion. While George and Caroline were still looking quizzically at the uproar, he was out of his chair. Joining the carters on the pavement, he watched the fire engine as it hurtled away from them, sparks flying from the shoes of the straining horses.

  The carters cheered when another fire engine careered around the corner, nearly flinging off one of the grim, brass-helmeted firemen, and flew up the street after the first.

  Aubrey sniffed the air, thoughtfully. George and Caroline emerged from the restaurant. 'A fire?' she asked.

  'A large one,' Aubrey said. He found the proprietor of the bistro in the crowd and thrust a wad of notes into his hand as payment for their meal. 'I want to see the skyline, to get some idea where it is.'

  'The river,' George suggested. 'The Martyr's Bridge is not far away.'

  Standing in the middle of the Martyr's Bridge gave an unimpeded view of the city to the north and south. They weren't alone, either, as concerned Lutetian citizens had gathered to see the fiery spectacle.

  Aubrey counted four separate fires away to the south. Flames raked the night sky and the smoke, stained red and orange, streamed away to the east, blown by the wind. The breeze brought the smell of char and ash to him, overwhelming the rotten smell that had overlaid the city for the last few days. The bells of fire engines swooped over the city like swallows.

  A dog began to howl. Aubrey shivered. The sound was both forlorn and fierce, a sound from the dawn of time, when Lutetia was a few huts clustered on the banks of a river.

  He straightened, blinking. 'Let's go.'

  Caroline frowned. 'Where?'

  'We need to find whatever's doing that howling.'

  'We want a stray dog?'

  He grinned. 'That was no dog. That was a wolf.'

  Seventeen

  AUBREY HAD HEARD WOLVES BEFORE, WHEN HE FISHED for salmon at Bertie's highland estate. The chorus of howls always began low, almost hiccuping, but when two or three or more wolves joined together, the howls became a reminder of the wild that lurked on the edge of civilisation.

  Aubrey, George and Caroline stood on the Martyr's bridge, listening to the city noises – hooves and wheels on cobblestones, motorcar engines, the bells of far-off fire engines and the faint sounds of angry shouting.

  Curling through these familiar, urban sounds was the cry of the wolf.

  'Why are we looking for a wolf?' Caroline asked. 'Hasn't your meeting with the lion taught you anything about wildlife?'

  'That's the exact point,' Aubrey said. 'Wildlife in the middle of Lutetia? And not just ordinary wildlife – animals that haven't been seen for years. It's not natural.'

  'Agreed, old man,' George said. 'The city certainly isn't the place for beasties like that.'

  'The lion, the bear and the aurochs had something magical about them. It could be the influence of the Heart of Gold, some side effect of its removal, or it might even be something to do with the sort of rogue magic that erupted on the Middle Bridge.' He drummed a fist against his thigh. 'I need more information.'

  'Information is a light in the darkness,' Caroline said. She glanced at Aubrey with a wry smile. 'You're not the only one who has read the Scholar Tan, you know.'

  Before Aubrey could overcome his astonishment and question her, the howling drifted to them again. George cocked his head, listening. 'This way.' He set off.

  'George is a country lad at heart,' Aubrey explained to Caroline as they hurried to keep up with him. 'He's attuned to this sort of thing.'

  George snorted. 'There hasn't been a wolf in our parts for centuries. Foxes, on the other hand . . .'

  They crossed the bridge to the north bank and paused. 'We go that way,' George said, pointing. 'North-west.'

  This took them through the financial district, with the forbidding façades of banks opposite the equally grim frontage of the stock exchange. The elegance and good taste of much of the city had barely touched this quarter, as if ornamentation would be frivolous.

  With George leading, Aubrey walked next to Caroline – an arrangement he appreciated. At times, however, he had the impression that someone was following them. The stifled echoes of footsteps came to him, but when he glanced back, he could see nothing.

  George stood at the intersection of three streets, frowning. The gaslight at the corner shed yellow radiance over a tobacconist's shop. 'Which way?' Aubrey asked.

  'No idea. The wolf has stopped its howling. Weren't you paying attention?'

  'I left it to you, George. Your sort of thing.'

  'Urban wolf-hunting? I suppose it's the sort of thing a Renaissance man would be good at.'

  Aubrey stood with his hands in his pockets. 'Where are we?'

  'The Revolutionary Monument is just over there,' Caroline said.

  In a gap between two official-looking buildings, a bronze globe poked its head up over the surrounding roofs. 'Well,' Aubrey said, 'if George has lost our quarry, I wouldn't mind seeing the shrine of modern Gallia.'

  Whistling, he strolled toward the monument. Caroline sighed and went with him. So too did George, frowning and scanning the rooftops.

  When they drew closer they saw that the monument was enclosed in a ramshackle structure made of boards and scaffolding. A sign announced that the landmark was in a dangerous condition and was being repaired.

  Aubrey tilted back his head. The bronze globe protruded from the enclosure. In the sky, clouds were streaming past and they made the globe look as if it were moving.

  'This is what I was talking about,' Caroline said. 'I kept coming across this sort of thing all over the place. It's as if the landmarks of the city are all being hidden away.'

  'Really?' Aubrey gazed up at the monument. 'Perhaps the authorities are worried about sabotage.'

  'I saw this sort of thing, too,' George said, 'when I was doing that genealogy business. I couldn't get into one church because of a gas leak. Or at least I think that's what the police officer said.'

  Aubrey approached the hoarding. An enterprising local business owner had taken the opportunity to plaster them with posters for a revue. The stylised pictures of performers were unsettling in the shadowy light, as if they were terrified instead of cheery. 'George, you didn't bring that pry bar along, did you?'

  'Pry bar? No.'

  'Pity. I don't know how we're going to get a look inside otherwise.'

  'Not again,' Caroline said.

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'You have that look on your face. The one that says you're about to do something dangerous, or illegal.'

  'Or both?' George suggested.

  'Or both,' Caroline agreed, nodding sympathetically at George's understanding.

  Aubrey thought about this for a moment. 'I can't let my face down, then, can I?'

  He walked slowly around the hoarding, humming. It totally surrounded the monument – a wooden hoarding, supported by scaffolding, right up to the level of the brass globe. At the rear, away from the street, he came across a door. A heavy chain and padlock reinforced the bolt.

  The cry of the wolf echoed down the street. Aubrey straightened and George caught his eye. 'Are we going? Or has something else caught
your attention?'

  'Never be afraid to interrupt a plan,' Aubrey said. He bent to examine the lock again. 'Otherwise you may miss an opportunity.'

  Caroline came closer. 'Are you trying to think of some magical way of opening that?'

  'The thought had occurred to me.'

  'Why waste magical effort like that?' She reached up and plucked two hairpins from her hair. 'Stand back.'

  She bent both hairpins, one into a wriggly shape, the other at a ninety degree bend, then she inserted them into the key slot. 'Now. Shouldn't be a moment.'

  'Wouldn't you like some light? I can conjure up something.'

  'Father made me practise in the dark. Said it was good for co-ordination. Nearly . . . There.'

  The lock dangled from her hand, unclasped. The two bent hair pins disappeared into her belt.

  'Your father made you learn to pick locks.' Aubrey shook his head.

  She shrugged. 'You'd be surprised what he insisted on being in my education. He had very modern ideas.'

  'Evidently.'

  George pushed open the door and peered inside. 'Where's the monument?'

  'What?' Aubrey shouldered his way past his friend. Inside the wooden hoarding it was thick with shadows, and Aubrey felt the prickling of deep magic, in his cheekbones this time. He rubbed them, paused and – this time – summoned a light. When its soft radiance filled the space, he nodded.

  The Revolutionary Monument wasn't there.

  Aubrey felt Caroline's presence. 'That's an impressive feat of thievery,' she said softly.

  'I don't think anything's been stolen,' he said, pointing up. 'The globe is still there.'

  The golden orb glowed softly in the light that Aubrey had conjured, but it looked as if it was resting on empty air.

  Aubrey squinted and revised his first reaction. The concrete base was there, and above it – where the marble pillar should be – was a faint, smoky presence.

  Aubrey stepped up to the base. He reached out. When his hand touched the ghostly pillar it met some resistance, but it gradually passed right through with the tingling of magic.

  He stepped back and wiped his hands together. 'The monument is still here, but it may not be for long. It's losing its substance.'

  George stared. 'What's going on?'

  'It's just like at the Academy of Sciences.'

  'The city is losing its memories,' Caroline said softly.

  'What did you say?' Aubrey asked.

  'These monuments and landmarks are important,' she said. 'They're important because they have played a part in Lutetian history. Or they are memorials to important events. Take them away, and the city loses its past.'

  'That's right,' Aubrey said. He nearly had it. It was so close he could feel it. 'Tell me, the other buildings you saw boarded up like this, what were they?'

  'Landmarks. St Basil's church, for instance.'

  'Where the kings of Gallia were baptised. What else?'

  'I saw a fountain swathed in canvas,' George said.

  'Near Victory Street and Thriftiness Terrace?'

  'Right in the middle of the intersection.'

  'That was where the revolutionary council had its first meeting, before anyone knew who they were.'

  Caroline and George listed the places they'd seen that had been closed off. Each site, they worked out together, had played an important part in Gallian history, from the foundation of the city of Lutetia, to the homes of great thinkers, to the churches where important marriages were celebrated.

  'The city is losing its memories, as Caroline puts it,' Aubrey said, 'and it seems to be decaying from under the ground, and the river has stopped flowing.'

  'It's as if a plug has been pulled and the whole city is draining away,' George said.

  'Inelegant, George, but accurate. So we must do something.' He rubbed his cheekbones again. 'Any chance of finding that wolf now, George?'

  'Unlikely, old man, but let's see what we can see.'

  THE WOLF HAD FALLEN SILENT. AUBREY, GEORGE AND Caroline wandered the smoky streets, moving in what George hoped was the right direction, but city sounds were all they heard – the rattle of wheels on cobblestones, the sound of fire-engine bells, police whistles. While they went, Aubrey noticed how many of the gas street lights weren't working. It seemed as if the dead lamps were casting pools of darkness that the other lamps were having trouble defeating. He shivered, even though the night was mild.

  Aubrey found himself peering at shadowed alleys as they passed, alert for footpads and brigands. Lutetia had changed. The night wasn't carefree, with songs and music drifting over benign rooftops. Buildings glowered down at them as they went, watchful and disapproving. It was no longer the City of Lights.

  Rounding a corner near the Norman Hotel, they were confronted by a huge bonfire. When they came closer, Aubrey saw it was a fountain, waterless, where furniture had been piled and set alight. The sculptures of fish and sea horses were black with soot and spouting flames instead of water. It was a hellish inversion of the natural state.

  They hurried past, giving the blaze a wide berth.

  Finally, Aubrey called off the wolf hunt. George was relieved and weary, but Caroline was disappointed.

  The night was giving way to the day as they walked across the bridge to the Isle of the Crown and Caroline's apartment. The blackness overhead was tinged with grey, suggesting dawn was close.

  Aubrey jumped when a figure detached itself from the shadows of the apartment building, but the ominous shape resolved itself quickly. 'Von Stralick. Excellent. You've saved us having to find you.'

  'I'm glad you're pleased to see me, Fitzwilliam.' He bowed. 'Good morning, Miss Hepworth. Doyle.'

  How did he know to wait here? Aubrey wondered. He glanced at the blank faces of the houses opposite. Light shone in one third-floor window and Aubrey guessed that the Hepworths were under surveillance – which meant that von Stralick was not a solo agent; he had others he was working with. He smiled. If he could find out just how extensive the Holmland network was, it would be a nice titbit for the Albion security agencies.

  'I don't suppose this is a social call,' George said tersely. Aubrey glanced at his friend. His shoulders were sagging as he leaned against the lamp post at the bottom of the stairs. He was tired, Aubrey realised, and felt a degree of pleasure that it was he who was worrying about George instead of the other way around.

  'No,' von Stralick replied. 'It's rather more urgent than that. I have information about your Soul Stealer, and I wish to share it.'

  So the expedition to the chemical supplier did turn up something useful. 'In your world, von Stralick, sharing comes at a cost,' Aubrey said. 'What is it you want in return?'

  'I want you to come with me. I think we can capture this madman, but I need your magic to do so.'

  'Why don't you call on a Holmland magician for assistance? Surely your country has a number hidden away here in Lutetia, ready to help their spies?'

  Von Stralick grimaced. 'You need an explanation for everything, don't you, Fitzwilliam?'

  'Oh yes,' Caroline said. 'Aubrey without an explanation is like a dog without a bone.'

  Aubrey nodded. 'You're operating under difficulty here, von Stralick, aren't you? You're under-resourced.'

  Aubrey could have sworn that the Holmlander actually squirmed. 'There is much I cannot tell you.'

  'Granted.'

  'But I must tell you something.'

  'Are you arguing with us or with yourself?'

  Von Stralick glanced at the building opposite. 'Not here. And we have no time to spare. We must hurry.'

  VON STRALICK LED THEM THROUGH STREETS WHERE THE city was beginning to wake and stretch. With the morning light, Lutetia was less sinister, more like its old self, but Aubrey saw the dispirited way that waiters set tables outside bistros. Window cleaners smeared glass and shrugged, moving on with long faces. Two police officers stood on a street corner, arguing. Even the dogs being taken for early morning walks were affected, whining
and moping, reluctant to cross roads or romp in the parks.

  Lutetia, the City of Troubles, Aubrey thought.

  Von Stralick marched at a pace that made them weave between pedestrians on pavements that were growing more and more busy. Aubrey walked beside him, Caroline and George behind.

  'Factions, Fitzwilliam,' von Stralick said as he skirted a market boy with a basket of artichokes and onions. 'I am much chagrined to tell you that the Holmland intelligence agencies are plagued by factions.'

  'Go on.'

  Aubrey watched as von Stralick weighed his words carefully. 'I am not the only operative at work here.'

  'Holmland would be foolish to have only one agent in Lutetia.'

  'True, much the same as Albion has multiple agents here.'

  Aubrey kept his face impassive, but it was something he hadn't considered for some time. The Magisterium and the Special Service must have agents on the ground, but no-one had contacted him. Why not?

  'A network. You have a network.'

  'Yes.' He glanced at Aubrey. 'We have low level agents for surveillance and communication, and speciality agents for . . . other matters.'

  Magicians, Aubrey thought, filling in the gap. Blackmailers. Assassins and saboteurs?

  'For good security reasons,' von Stralick continued, 'I don't know the details. Names, numbers and so on.'

  That was something Aubrey wasn't willing to accept immediately. 'Of course. What you don't know can't be prised out of you.'

  'That is the theory my masters subscribe to.' Von Stralick scowled. 'And that is the root of my problem. Masters. In Holmland, our intelligence agencies attract a particular sort of person.'

  'I understand. It's the same in Albion. In agencies where suspicion is the business, the most suspicious tend to rise to the top.' It was quite a challenge, keeping a conversation going while not saying anything significant. Aubrey thought he was doing well, but it was like tightrope-walking over the Pit of Doom. One false step . . .

  'Just so. In Holmland, it has resulted in factions within our agencies. It is not helped by the fact that our government is also riven by factions.'