Heart of Gold

by Michael Pryor

That was something Aubrey was unaware of. He mentally underlined it. 'Are you saying that you're not sure about your superior?'

  'I receive orders from a number of people. Sometimes they conflict. Thus far, I have been able to play them off against each other, maintaining my reputation by getting important jobs done. But now I am finding this more difficult. The appearance of Muller and Schnagel surprised me and has emphasised that different factions have different agendas.' Von Stralick stopped. 'Follow me.'

  He took them through the foyer of a shabby office building. He ignored the lift and instead led them to the stairs at the rear.

  On the first-floor landing he paused, scanning the corridor in both directions before beckoning them on. He used a key to open the last door on the right, at the front of the building overlooking the street. He entered first and quickly ushered them inside.

  It was a single room. Tattered wallpaper was the only feature apart from a wooden chair near the window and a telephone on the floor next to it. A thin young man with blond hair was sitting in the chair with a pair of binoculars in his hands. He stared at them, mouth open.

  Von Stralick strode over and took him to the far corner of the room. They muttered together for a few minutes in Holmlandish, then the young man pushed past Aubrey and the others, out of the door, his head down, face averted.

  Von Stralick was troubled.

  'Observation post?' Caroline asked him.

  He bowed again. 'You are perspicacious as well as beautiful.'

  She rolled her eyes. 'And what is there to see around here?'

  'Opposite is the photographic studio of one Monsieur Farentino. We have reason to believe he is the photographer who has stumbled on magical methods to steal people's souls.'

  'Farentino?' George said. 'Not Gallian, then?'

  'Farentino is what he calls himself at the moment. We have managed to trace his movements back for the last ten years or so, and he has resided in a number of countries, even spending some time in the Orient.'

  The windows of the studio opposite were covered by wooden slat blinds except for one bare window, which opened onto the corridor outside the studio. 'Is he in there?'

  'He met a businessman half an hour ago – a banker or accountant, from the description. No-one has come or gone since then.'

  Aubrey felt a chill when he thought of the businessman's probable fate. A simple portrait sitting, it would begin as, but the horror that was waiting . . .

  'We have him then.'

  'We must hurry,' von Stralick said. 'Muller and Schnagel are on their way.'

  'They are?' Caroline said. 'Your awareness of developments in Lutetia has certainly become more comprehensive.'

  'Recent events took me unawares,' von Stralick said. 'I do not like being in such a way, so I have endeavoured to find out more.'

  'By way of the Holmland agents in Lutetia,' Caroline said.

  'Perhaps.' Von Stralick studied her for a moment. 'You are showing sudden interest in the workings of intelligence gathering.'

  She smiled. 'It's a new hobby.'

  'Farentino?' Aubrey prompted, intrigued as he was by Caroline's questioning. 'Muller and Schnagel?'

  'I have made some discreet enquiries since our incident with the lion, and I have found out that, despite what I had been told, someone did give Muller and Schnagel orders to steal the Heart of Gold and bring it to Holmland. Communications were intercepted, between them and an unknown party.'

  'Ah. So they weren't acting on their own.' Aubrey was sure that his father, the Foreign Office, the Magisterium, the Special Services, all would be extremely keen to hear that someone high up in Holmland was actively trying to bring on war – and that there were others who were opposed to such action.

  'Precisely. Their plans are in jeopardy, however, because the Gallians have been unusually efficient in their blockade of the city. They are in hiding, but the waiting has proved too much for them. Impatient as they are, they have embarked on a new mission, to fill in time, as it were. Probably Muller, but perhaps Schnagel, has decided that the methods of this Soul Stealer would be a useful weapon in war. They have organised their cadre to find this madman and take him and his methods back to Holmland. They began by abducting photographers at random, but they've come into some information that has led them here. Now, this action was apparently not sanctioned by anyone in Holmland.'

  George harrumphed. 'We thought you wanted this Soul Stealer.'

  Von Stralick was pained. 'Please give Holmland some credit. Not all of us are fools, despite what your popular press says.' He sighed. 'Some things are not to be countenanced. Stealing souls as a method of warfare? No. It would not be right.'

  'Whereas blowing millions of people to pieces with bombs would be acceptable?' Caroline asked.

  The Holmlander spread his hands. 'Can one fight a war and still be civilised? I don't know. But I do not feel that putting soul stealing into the hands of generals is a good idea, when they have so much already, as you point out.'

  More to keep von Stralick off balance than anything else, Aubrey asked, 'And what do you hope to gain by frustrating the efforts of your countrymen?'

  'Ah, motive. You Albionites are always interested in delving behind actions to find what lies beneath.' Von Stralick chuckled. 'Would you be surprised if I told you that self-interest is my motive here?'

  'Hardly. Self-interest is the primary motivation for most actions.'

  'You see?' von Stralick grinned. 'I am so obvious, not devious at all. If Muller and Schnagel's superior suffers a setback, then my superiors are advanced. When their fortunes rise, mine do too. Simple.'

  If you're that straightforward, I'll walk backwards to the North Pole. 'And you need my magic to help you?' Aubrey said.

  'Farentino has powerful sorcery, while I have access to none.'

  'And once we have him,' Caroline said, 'he'll be handed to the Gallian authorities?'

  'Of course.'

  AS HE APPROACHED THE DOOR TO FARENTINO'S STUDIO, Aubrey felt the drone of magic. It was a mixture of raw, unfocused power and sharply organised spells; to a magician, it was like feeling the hum of heavy machinery under the ground.

  Von Stralick nodded at the door, keeping his silence. Aubrey motioned the others back behind him.

  He worked quickly. He crouched and carefully placed a hand on the surface of the door. His magical awareness told him that Farentino had done a good job. Magical wards were not just present on the door to the studio, but the walls, ceiling and floor were also reinforced. A veritable magical meshwork enveloped the studio, dormant but ready to react if the place was in danger of being breached. The whole lattice was overlaid with a recognition spell: the door would recognise Farentino and admit him, but anyone else attempting to enter would be in for a surprise.

  Aubrey probed gently, then drew back and stood. He wiped his hands together.

  The meshwork sizzled with energy, a crude but powerful adaptation of the Law of Reaction. For every magical action there would be an opposite – but unequal – reaction. Farentino had managed to increase the reaction factor by two, so that any assault would rebound, doubled.

  Of course, any competent magician would know this and make allowances, probably using an inertial deadening spell to catch and neutralise the reaction. Aubrey hummed a little, and glanced at von Stralick. The Holmlander took out his pocket watch and tapped it meaningfully.

  Something simple, then, Aubrey thought.

  He remembered when he last was faced with a magically guarded door. At Banford Park, Albion's magical research facility taken over by the renegade magician Dr Tremaine, Aubrey had to gain access through doors which the Sorcerer Royal had warded with complex spells – but he'd also overlaid them with a recognition spell, for convenience.

  He led the others to the far end of the corridor, by the window overlooking the street. A butcher's cart rumbled past, but Aubrey's attention was taken by a grey-suited man standing in front of a shoe shop opposite. He was reading a guidebook, wh
ich shouldn't have been unusual in Lutetia, except that they were in a decidedly uninteresting part of the city.

  'Do you know that man, von Stralick?' he whispered.

  Von Stralick looked out of the window. 'No. He is not one of ours. And not one of those working for Muller and Schnagel either. Why?'

  'I thought I recognised him. I must have been mistaken.' Aubrey tried to memorise his face and he filed it away under 'For Later Consideration', a category that was bulging.

  He moved away from the window. 'I'm going to cast a spell,' he whispered to the others. 'Afterwards, I need you to tell me what I look like.'

  Both Caroline and George nodded. Von Stralick was puzzled, but shrugged.

  Aubrey summoned the memory of his confrontation with the Soul Stealer. Keeping the man's face firmly in mind, he cast the spell.

  'Rough-looking fellow,' George whispered.

  Von Stralick was impressed. 'So you only saw Farentino for a moment, but you can adopt his appearance? You have formidable skills, Fitzwilliam.'

  Aubrey would have preferred it if von Stralick had a low opinion of his powers, but it was too late to worry about that. Wearing the appearance of the Soul Stealer, he walked to the door of Farentino's studio and presented himself.

  The defensive meshwork melted away.

  Carefully, probing for any secondary spells, he tried the door and found it was locked. He'd barely turned to Caroline when she nodded and extracted her hair pins from her waist band. While von Stralick's eyes widened, she slipped the pins into the lock and had the door open in seconds. With George close behind, Aubrey entered the studio.

  The room smelled heavily of chemicals, with the acrid tang of flash powder cutting through a complex medley of harsh odours. A small stage was set up at the end of the room, with folds of white linen drapery hanging from the ceiling as a neutral backdrop. Standing on the stage, astonished, was Farentino, the Soul Stealer.

  'How did you get in here?' he said. He had a large brown flask cradled in one arm. 'Have you been sent to help me in my quest?'

  Aubrey could sense Caroline easing along the wall to his left, while George and von Stralick moved to his right. He nodded, and smiled. He spread his hands and did his best to appear harmless. 'And what quest would that be?'

  Farentino glared, his prominent eyebrows thrusting forward. 'To save the world, of course.'

  Keep him talking, Aubrey told himself. Keep his attention. The others were inching themselves into the room, trying to appear as if they were studying the ceiling. 'Saving the world? And how are you doing that?'

  'By saving every single soul from corruption,' Farentino said. He shook his head, jerkily, as if bothered by an invisible bee. 'No, it's not the world I'm saving. That's not right. Much more important, the souls are.'

  Aubrey couldn't help but agree about the importance of souls. 'That's right then. We're here to help you.'

  'I was told I'd have help. He promised. It's been difficult, all alone.'

  Aubrey took a step. 'I'm sure it has.'

  Farentino blinked, as if seeing Aubrey for the first time. 'You look like me.'

  'Ah. Yes. That is –'

  The Soul Stealer's head whipped from side to side. He gaped at George and von Stralick, who'd made their way halfway along the wall. 'Stop, you two. And you.' He stabbed a finger at Caroline, who'd made similar progress.

  'It's all right,' Aubrey said. 'We want to help.'

  'You're here to stop me,' Farentino said, with something like wonder. He looked at the bottle cradled in the crook of his arm. 'I can't allow that.'

  With a grunt, Farentino heaved the flask. As it tumbled to the floor, he muttered a series of quick syllables. When it smashed, a wall of green smoke sprang up, filling the whole room with a dense cloud.

  Aubrey started forward, as did George. Von Stralick went for the window and flung it open. 'He's vanished!' George cried.

  Caroline reached the stage. She batted away the curling billows of smoke. 'He's gone. But not vanished.'

  Aubrey joined her. When she held apart the folds of the backdrop, he saw a door, ajar. 'He went through here,' she said.

  Aubrey rushed through the door and found he was in a dim store room. Through the feeble light from a single window, he saw that the room was full of wooden filing cabinets, many with drawers standing open listlessly, documents spilling to the floor. Rolled-up maps or charts stood in one corner, festooned with spiders' webs. The place smelled of dust, mould and neglect.

  'The window,' George said over Aubrey's shoulder.

  Footprints in the dust showed Farentino's passage through the maze of cabinets. Aubrey hurried to the window. A clattering from above made him look up.

  'Fire escape,' he shouted. 'He's heading for the roof.' Aubrey leapt out of the window. He started up the stairs just as Farentino disappeared onto the roof, three storeys further up.

  Aubrey surged up the fire escape, full of energy. At each landing, where the stairs switched back the other way, he saw that George, Caroline and von Stralick were close behind.

  He reached the roof and heaved himself over the low parapet. Twenty yards away, standing right on the edge of the building, Farentino was wild-eyed with dismay.

  'Stop!' Aubrey called, but Farentino shook his head. Before Aubrey could move, the Soul Stealer barked a spell, a torrent of syllables that were bitter and flat, hurtful to the ear. Frantically, he reached up, as if he were seizing a dangling rope. Then, with a jerk of his shoulders, he pulled.

  Aubrey stared. Overhead, the sky was a mass of low cloud. As Farentino pulled, a dark-grey mass detached itself. It drifted lower, then part of its substance began to stretch. Quickly, it became a tendril, extending toward Farentino's desperate movements, a rope of cloud stuff.

  Aubrey sprinted toward the Soul Stealer, but it was too late. The cloud rope reached Farentino's outstretched, imploring hand. He grabbed hold, then seized more cloud stuff with his other hand. With a wordless cry, he swung off the roof, kicking and spinning.

  Aubrey reached the parapet. He heard voices and footsteps behind him, but he had eyes only for Farentino. The Soul Stealer swung like a pendulum, dangling under the cloud that sagged with his weight, even as it drifted toward the river. Back and forth he went, his initial clumsiness sending him spinning through each arc.

  'Extraordinary,' von Stralick said, panting. He leaned against the stone.

  'I think he's in trouble,' Aubrey said softly.

  Farentino's swinging motion had diminished. He bobbed underneath the cloud as it wafted away from them. It was almost halfway across the river, but it was thinning and losing its volume with each second.

  Aubrey gripped the parapet so hard it hurt. Farentino was panicking. His legs were jerking as if he were trying to drag himself up the cloud rope. He was at least a hundred feet above the river and Aubrey tensed with each shudder of the cloud.

  I'm cheering for him, Aubrey thought. He didn't know if it was the simple audacity of the magic Farentino had wrought with the cloud, or plain soft-heartedness, but Aubrey didn't want the man to plunge to his death.

  When the cloud rope snapped, it was all Aubrey could do not to look away.

  Farentino fell without a sound. He crossed his arms over his chest, dropping feet first to the unnatural embrace of the gelid river below.

  He struck with a horrible, wet sound and disappeared immediately, the river rolling slowly inwards to cover the hole he made. Soon, the surface was whole again, with no sign of Farentino's demise.

  'He is ended,' von Stralick said. 'I'm glad.'

  Aubrey couldn't bring himself to feel any satisfaction. 'Let's see what he left in his studio.'

  ANOTHER DOOR OPENED OFF THE STUDIO, A FEW YARDS away from the one hidden behind the drapery. Standing in front of it, Aubrey realised he was still wearing the appearance of Farentino. He shivered, and quickly cast the reversal spell.

  'Another store room?' George suggested.

  'We shall find out,' von Stralick said.r />
  Aubrey detected an undertone of magic coming from behind the door. It was harsh, grating magic, familiar and unsettling; it set Aubrey's teeth on edge. 'Stop. Let me go first.'

  No-one argued.

  It was a long, narrow room, dimly lit from a few narrow windows. It took Aubrey's eyes a moment to adjust, but what he finally saw made him feel sick.

  Ceiling to floor racks lined both sides of the room. They were full of people.

  'Good Lord,' George breathed as he stared over Aubrey's shoulder. 'There must be dozens here.'

  'Are they still alive?' von Stralick asked.

  'Yes,' Aubrey said through a constricted throat. 'He's managed to find a way to make them immobile.'

  Numb, Aubrey moved through the narrow space between the racks. Men, women, children. Old and young. All in their best clothes, some richer, some poorer. Farentino had been even-handed in his harvesting of victims. Barely breathing, they were caught in a hell of a madman's devising. Aubrey had to reach out and steady himself against one of the racks, so appalled was he by the enormity of Farentino's deed.

  At the end of the room, he paused before turning. Just inside the door, Caroline stood, her face pale. 'The poor, poor people,' she whispered. 'Can't we do anything for them?'

  Aubrey shook his head. He needed more time to refine the crude method he'd used on Bernard. 'They're not lost. Not yet.'

  'But they're not here, either.' She shuddered. 'What a nightmare.'

  Aubrey could hardly look at them. 'We'll do what we can for them.'

  Caroline's face hardened. 'We must stop this man.'

  'Yes.' Their eyes met. He saw her rage, her determination and he was united in purpose with her. 'We will.'

  Eighteen

  MRS HEPWORTH STRETCHED OUT ON THE DIVAN. 'So you're a Holmland spy?' she said to von Stralick, who was perched on the edge of one of the armchairs. He had a cup of tea in his lap and he was stirring it vigorously, despite not taking any sugar. 'Tell me more. I haven't met a Holmland spy before.'

  'That you know about,' George pointed out. 'Clever chaps, spies. Some of them.'