Heart of Gold

by Michael Pryor

  Aubrey shook his head as the unsettling sensation receded. A spell had been cast, very close by, a spell of such force that he'd been caught in its poorly limited field of effect. He shook his head, slowly, trying to clear it. He felt as if he'd been picked up by the collar and shaken by a terrier the size of an elephant.

  An angry shout came from the mass of Marchmainers. Aubrey tried to see who it was, as the man kept up a long stream of invective, cursing the police, the government and – most puzzlingly – his bootmaker.

  Aubrey finally spied the shouter as those around him turned, clearly startled by his vehemence. He was stocky, with a bald head and fringe of grey beard. His face was very red, even in the yellow light of the electric lamps on the bridge. As he ranted, he shook both fists in the air. His comrades took steps backward as spittle began to fly.

  Another voice rose from the Marchmainers, equally angry. A tall youth on the far side of the bridge howled bloodthirsty threats at the police. He leapt onto the guard rail of the bridge and danced with rage. After a moment of spiralling, lunatic shouting, he lost his footing and plunged, still shouting, to the river below.

  Men rushed to the railing, but after a mighty splash, the stream of angry abuse floated up to them uninterrupted. Instead of relief, however, this seemed to prompt fury in the rest of the Marchmainers. Anger swept through them and soon the disciplined parade was a mob: hoarsethroated, red-faced, fists shaking.

  Aubrey felt their wrath as something tangible. It reached out and nudged him, rudely. What right do they have? he thought immediately, then he wondered who they were. His sudden temper was unfocused, but urgent and hard to ignore. He glanced at George. His fists were clenched and his nostrils flared. On his left, Duval was muttering under his breath.

  Magic. How could I have forgotten? Aubrey pinched his own cheek and his anger ebbed. He realised he had the lamp post in a death grip. He let go, slowly. 'George, Caroline. It's a spell. Don't let it consume you.'

  The magic had the same characteristics as the spell they'd encountered following the assassination attempt on the Crown Prince and the death of Caroline's father. Then, they'd run into magic that distilled fear into a paralysis-inducing terror – Dr Tremaine's handiwork and part of his plans to bring Albion to war.

  This magic had all the same hallmarks: an emotion, distilled and refined, ready to launch on unsuspecting victims. An emotion bomb.

  He climbed down from the rail. George shook himself then rubbed his face with both hands. 'Nasty stuff, that.' He shuddered.

  'Magic,' Caroline said. She pushed her hair back. 'I can still feel the anger. It crept up on me.'

  Duval stared at them. He had pushed the anger aside, but the effort had left him pale-faced and shaking.

  More shouts rose, this time from the police. Aubrey jerked around and saw that the calm, resigned faces of the constables had gone. They were running, faces contorted with hatred, truncheons held high.

  Aubrey stared. The Marchmainers heaved forward, gibbering in anger, losing their words as they were swept up by their fury. Their hobnails clattered as they hurried to throw themselves at the police.

  The two forces crashed together. More shouting and cries of pain erupted as bodies struck bodies, then it was fist and truncheon work.

  As the brawl quickly spread, Aubrey realised that they could be in danger. Men stood toe to toe, swinging wild punches, roaring their wordless anger. Others wrestled, heaving each other to the ground while crashing into melees where screaming men pummelled each other.

  The sound of the battle was the sound of wild beasts, an entire jungle gone mad.

  'We should leave,' he said to George and Caroline, but just then the mayhem spilled over the bridge and down the grassy bank. In an instant, they were swallowed up in the clash.

  George raised his fists. Aubrey went to stand in front of Caroline, but she stiff-armed a police office who clawed at her. The officer staggered backward and was taken in a clumsy bear hug by a Marchmainer with a torn, bloody ear.

  Aubrey grinned at Caroline. She reached for him. 'Look out!'

  Aubrey was cannoned into from behind. His momentum sent him right over the iron rail on the edge of the embankment. He somersaulted through the air, struck the greasy river, half-winded, and sank.

  Shocked by the coldness of the water, he tried to get his breath back, which was a bad idea as he was now well beneath the surface. He choked, thrashed, then shot to the surface. He wiped water from his eyes and saw that the battle was now raging along the bridge and up and down the embankment. He couldn't see George or Caroline.

  Aubrey's clothes weighed him down and he swallowed oily water. His boots filled and felt like lead weights. He gasped, heart pounding, fearing he'd be dragged to the bottom and drowned, and he had a fleeting moment of embarrassment at the prospect of such an undignified end. The newspapers would love it, he thought.

  Soon, however, he realised that he could keep afloat as long as he churned and thrashed like a whirligig. He felt like an idiot, trying to keep himself upright, but this prompted an idea. Sound consisted of waves, and he'd had some experience applying the Law of Amplification to sounds. Using some of the same principles, could he cast a spell that would work on waves in water?

  He swept his arm. A puny swell spread toward the riverbank. Aubrey chanted the amplification spell, looking to adjust the variables for intensity and distance to account for the different medium through which the waves would travel. Bobbing in the water, he coughed the spell out, syllable by syllable.

  The wave grew. Slowly at first, it was nearly a foot high when it reached the embankment. It smacked against the stone blocks, then rolled back on itself, mounting as it came. It picked Aubrey up like a cork, raising him a full yard, then it was past and making its way toward the far bank.

  Aubrey wallowed around, trying to trace its progress. In the darkness, lights from the far bank stretched out toward him, long fingers rippling on the water. He thought he could make out a shadowy line moving away. He glanced behind him to see the brawl was still raging.

  A roar dragged him back to stare at the far bank. His eyes widened when he saw the shadow line strike. Spray leapt into the air with a hollow boom and then the wave was racing back toward him, climbing higher with each second.

  He'd been more successful than he'd thought.

  He sucked in a lungful of air and dived, aiming for the river bottom. He felt the wave pass overhead, tugging at his water-logged clothes, and he was tossed about by its passage. He clawed for the surface in time to see the wave, now fifteen feet or more tall, crash against the embankment. The mass of water crested, then toppled onto the unsuspecting brawlers.

  Foam crashed on stone. The wave rolled part-way up the bank, then receded, dragging stunned Marchmainers and police back to the river with it. Some managed to cling to the railing, but many ended up in the water.

  A voice came through the darkness. 'Aubrey! Take my hand!'

  Caroline. He floundered toward the embankment. She was leaning far out, her other hand gripped by George who, in turn, had his arm wrapped around the lamp post. Aubrey found muddy stone underfoot and she gripped his wrist. She helped him clamber up.

  He rested on his knees, head bowed, panting.

  'You're shaking like a leaf,' she said.

  THE WAVE HAD DONE WHAT AUBREY HAD HOPED FOR, dousing the passion of both the police and the Marchmainers. The two soggy groups separated, limping away from each other, the unhurt helping the wounded, while dozens were being pulled from the river. Sullen bewilderment had replaced the spell-induced anger, with the Marchmainers disappearing back over the bridge before the police could rally enough to make any arrests. Aubrey watched, wet and shivering. Caroline was barely damp and had avoided being thrown into the river. George was wet to his waist and had a bruised shoulder, but was more concerned with Aubrey's wellbeing than his own.

  Aubrey sat with his back to a lamp post. He was exhausted. A gulf yawned inside him, an emptiness that wa
s frightening. He shuddered, recoiling from its implications.' Duval?' he asked. 'The others?'

  George had his hands jammed in the pockets of his jacket. He'd lost his boater. From his sour expression, he wasn't about to go and look for it. 'No-one's too badly hurt. They've gone, didn't seem to want to linger around here at all.'

  An oil lantern loomed out of the darkness. 'Mr Fitzwilliam. I see you are here.'

  Aubrey stood. All his muscles were sore; he felt as if he'd been beaten and wrung like dirty washing. 'Inspector Paul. Are you in charge here?'

  Inspector Paul bowed to Caroline. He was well groomed and dry. 'I am Inspector Paul of the Lutetian constabulary. And you are?'

  Aubrey waved a hand wearily. 'Miss Caroline Hepworth, this is Inspector Paul. Inspector Paul, Miss Hepworth.'

  'She's with us,' George said.

  'Of course. But what are you doing here?' Inspector Paul gestured at the last of the retreating Marchmainers. 'They are bad men. You should not be with them.'

  'The Marchmaine League? We weren't with them. We were sightseeing with the Albion Friendship Society and happened upon the Marchmainer parade.'

  'They were going to the Town Hall,' Inspector Paul said. 'They were very angry. Very dangerous.'

  'They didn't look angry. Determined, if anything. Quite disciplined, too.'

  'Then why did they attack the police?'

  'What?' George said. 'It looked to me as if the police attacked them.'

  'Magic,' Aubrey said. 'It was magically inspired anger, setting both groups against each other.'

  'You know magic?' Inspector Paul said. He frowned.

  'A little.'

  Inspector Paul pursed his lips. 'I see.'

  Aubrey watched Inspector Paul's attitude change in front of his eyes. Concern was replaced with mistrust, and Aubrey stifled a sigh. It was something he'd seen before. Regular law enforcement officers were almost automatically wary of magic and magical investigation. This was why Tallis, head of Albion Special Services, and Craddock, the head of the Magisterium, had a strained relationship.

  'Then who would cast such a spell?'

  'Good question.' Aubrey had suspicions, but he wanted to examine them for himself before making them public.

  Inspector Paul fixed Aubrey with his gaze, as if imagining him behind bars. 'Do not concern yourself with such matters. You are a guest in our city.'

  He stalked off.

  'Come on, old man,' George said, taking Aubrey's shoulders. 'We should go.'

  'Caroline? We'll walk you home. It's on our way.'

  'How do you know that?'

  Aubrey opened his mouth and hoped that a plausible answer would come out, but Caroline waved it away. 'Oh, never mind.'

  She led the way along the river, away from the police who were assembling and trying to reinstate some order in their ranks.

  Aubrey dragged his weary, wet body after his friends. A ragged headache gnawed at his skull. He felt flat and drawn, but he tried to marshal his thoughts.

  Setting the authorities against the Marchmainers could ignite a political crisis for Gallia. It was exactly the sort of thing his father had asked him to watch out for. He'd now seen it with his own eyes and could report that the tension was real, that the Marchmaine Independence League was an active force.

  But who was using such potent magic to pit the Marchmainers against the authorities? What could they hope to gain?

  Aubrey had answers, but he hoped he wasn't correct – for they all pointed toward war.

  Five

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, AUBREY AND GEORGE decided to take breakfast at one of the open-air cafés in their neighbourhood. Brightly chequered tablecloths and bustling, white-aproned waiters made the place inviting. Aubrey automatically sat so that he could study passers-by.

  George fretted over his pastries, playing with the pot of strawberry jam. 'You should have kept up your Gallian,' Aubrey said to him. He'd buttered a roll but when he lifted it to his mouth, he couldn't face it. He sipped his coffee, instead, and rubbed eyes that were gritty from a fitful sleep. 'Then you'd be able to read the newspapers.'

  'Not sure I'm in the mood for light diversion,' George said. 'Last night's events have me on edge, rather.'

  'You're not the only one.' Aubrey gestured at the quartet of police officers on the opposite side of the street and winced as pain rolled around inside his skull. 'Notice how they're not strolling, hands behind their back, as is the wont of the Lutetian police? They're much more businesslike.'

  'Quite right, too. Ghastly affair.'

  Aubrey put a hand to his temple.

  'Not well, old man?' George asked.

  Aubrey shrugged. Then, while George turned his attention to his breakfast, he used his magical senses to take stock of his condition.

  He closed his eyes and probed. It didn't take long before he realised that things were not good. The balance he'd painstakingly achieved over the months since the experiment was no more. His soul had been jolted loose.

  With growing pessimism, he tested himself by leaning back in his chair and stretching. Sharp pain in his shoulders and elbows made him clench his jaw. The joint pain and the excessive weariness were further signs.

  He opened his eyes. 'The anger spell.'

  'What?'

  'Last night. The spell. I've been knocked around by it.'

  'I didn't see you get angry.'

  'No, it's affected me at a deeper level. My soul's coming loose again.'

  'I see.' George made a face. 'That would mean you're not sleeping well, then. And it would explain why you've gone off your food.' He gestured at the untouched roll on Aubrey's plate.

  Aubrey gave a wry smile. George noticed much more than people gave him credit for. 'It means I may have to reconsider my priorities. Locating the Faculty of Magic at the university is rather more important than it was.'

  'How so?'

  'I was hoping to find some help there for my condition.' He drummed his fingers on the table. 'It's difficult, George, trying to do the right thing for so many people.'

  'I know, old man. Duty and all that.' He pointed his butter knife at Aubrey. 'Perhaps this is a time to be selfish. You won't be much good to others if you're . . . well . . . severely inconvenienced, as it were.'

  '"Severely inconvenienced". I like that. Makes it sound eminently manageable. Like a bout of indigestion. Thank you, George.'

  'Any time, old man. Now, you told me about the errands you've been asked to run, but I didn't catch the details. Care to share them now?'

  Aubrey glanced around. The only other diner was an old man with a startling amount of grey hair sticking out from under a flat, black cap. He was reading a book and absently feeding pieces of bread to a small dog in his lap.

  Aubrey doubted that the old man was making an effort to overhear their conversation, but he felt particularly cautious. He took a spell he'd prepared earlier, an application of the Law of Entanglement, and confined it to aural phenomena. It was a well-tested and refined spell and he rolled out the short series of Akkadian syllables under his breath.

  He was taken aback, however, by how drained he was after casting the simple spell. He felt as if he'd run a serious cross-country race.

  'Aubrey? What have you done?'

  He gathered himself. 'I've just muffled our conversation. If anyone is more than a foot or so away, they won't be able to make out anything at all.'

  'Good,' George said, but his expression was sceptical. 'I've checked under our table so we should be safe.'

  'It seems as if much is happening in Gallian politics. The fiasco last night would suggest that there are forces arranged against the Marchmaine Independence League.'

  'Well, the government would be, for a start.'

  'But the government wouldn't set off a spell like that. The only reason to use such a thing would be so the authorities would blame the Marchmainers for the violence, while the Marchmainers would be certain it was the police who started it all.'

  'Gover
nments have done worse in the past,' George said darkly.

  'When did you develop such a cynical streak, George? What happened to the sunny, open-faced country lad I used to know?'

  'I started associating with you, I suppose. Since you dragged me into this politics business, helping your father win the election and all, I think I've begun to understand how far people can stoop in order to achieve their ends.'

  Aubrey had to agree. When the prize was power, there seemed to be little that some people wouldn't do.

  'George, I have a problem. A number of problems. But my main problem is which problem to worry about first.'

  'You know, old man, Lady Rose would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you. It's my duty to keep an eye on you.'

  George's devotion to Aubrey's mother was one of the few things left unsaid between the two friends. Aubrey was quite happy to let George mask it under the pretence of 'duty'.

  'I need to find out more about the Marchmaine situation before I can make any meaningful enquiries. But I have those other tasks – for my grandmother, my mother, and myself.'

  'And the Crown Prince. Don't forget him.'

  Aubrey chewed his lip for a moment. 'What if we find this Dr Romellier for my mother, and while we're at the university I can look for the Faculty of Magic? After lunch we can make our way to the Cathedral of Our Lady. Bertie suggested I start there on this quest for his ancestors.'

  'A full and fine day,' George said. He brushed crumbs off his chest. 'What about Caroline?'