Heart of Gold

by Michael Pryor

  'Out of the ordinary, that,' George observed.

  The low level of magic emanating from the river prickled on Aubrey's skin. He stared at the water and rubbed his hands together, as if this could ease his foreboding.' The river's been affected by the loss of the Heart of Gold.'

  George picked up a pebble and tossed it at the river. It struck the surface and stayed there for a second or two before slowly sinking. 'Then we'd better restore it. Can't have a solid river in a city like this. Dashed unattractive.'

  'It's more serious than that. Tons of goods come into the city via the river. If no food comes from the countryside, Lutetia will become very hungry, very soon.'

  George was startled and eyed the river with serious distaste. 'What are we dawdling for, old man? Let's go.'

  Aubrey had wrapped his brick in newspaper to avoid stares and he cradled it in both hands as they made their way across the city. At times, he felt a faint stirring as the brick tried to orient itself toward the Heart of Gold, but the movements were too faint to be trusted. Aubrey knew he would have to amplify them before he could be certain of its direction-finding ability.

  He led them to Autumn Park, on the other side of the Plaza of Democracy. George smiled, took off his new boater and scratched his head. 'Good thinking, old man. Fine view from there.'

  'The Exposition Tower has the best view in Lutetia.'

  The Exposition Tower was by far the tallest structure in the city. In its short lifetime it had already changed from an object of controversy to a symbol of the city itself. A complex meshwork of thousands of interlocking girders held together by millions of rivets, it had been called a monstrosity, a ironmonger's nightmare, a modern miracle and a dream in steel. Of late, it had been used as a marvellous antenna for the new radio machines. At night, the most advanced electric lights made the Exposition Tower shine, a beacon in the darkness that could be seen for miles.

  'Good thing they decided not to tear it down after the Exposition,' George said.

  'How could they? It is Lutetia, now.'

  Aubrey and George joined the crowds of people who were after a view of the city. The lift took them in a stately glide up to the first observation level. Even though it was the lowest of the three public areas, it was still high above the surrounding rooftops. Aubrey could see over parks, mausoleums, churches and the banks of the strangely gelid river, where people were gathering, attracted by the phenomenon.

  A thin, uninviting haze hung over the city. The sun was warm, and a breeze had sprung up. It, too, was warm, but it carried a stink, a smell of rot that made Aubrey wrinkle his nose.

  'Not a wonderful advertisement for the city.' George shook his head as if he could dislodge the smell from his nostrils. 'I wonder where it's coming from?'

  'All around, I'd say.'

  'Sorry, old man?'

  'I think Lutetia is decaying without the Heart of Gold in its rightful place. The earth tremors, the thickening of the river, the smell . . . And look at the people around you. They look as if they've suffered a death in the family. The loss is infecting everyone.'

  A few sightseers were out, gazing over the city, but their faces were morose and discomfited. Aubrey would have expected chatter and joking as they tried to spy landmarks, their own homes or places of work, but instead they looked as if they were merely going through the motions.

  'I suppose it could have something to do with the brouhaha in the Assembly, too,' George said.

  Aubrey shrugged. 'Possibly, although the Giraud government has been unpopular for some time. The Marchmaine issue hasn't helped, of course.'

  'What about your brick, old man? Any chance of giving it a go?'

  Aubrey had been waiting for some privacy. He felt it wouldn't be a very good idea to brandish a brick about when one was so high off the ground. While he was sure he'd been labelled a troublemaker by the police department, he didn't want to confirm it.

  A couple with a small child drifted away toward the lift. Aubrey and George were left alone on the northern side of the observation deck. He unwrapped the brick and held it in both hands. 'The brick remembers what it was like to be part of the tower,' he explained to George. 'That's the basis of the Law of Constituent Parts. But its properties are diminished, being so much smaller than the original. I need to enhance its yearning quality.'

  It was a straightforward spell, one that Aubrey had learned years ago. It wasn't often useful, however, because of the fractionating that occurred when the whole was divided into parts. What gave him hope, however, was that the brick had absorbed magic over its hundreds of years as part of a building that housed magicians. That magic should add its own power to the spell and he hoped he'd be able to amplify the yearning quality now inherent in the brick.

  He remembered the spell easily because, when he learned it the first time, he was amused by the rhyming syllables, even though he didn't – back then – know what they meant. The Sumerian language was prone to rhymes, another thing he hadn't known at the time, and instead he'd simply thought of the spell as a nursery song.

  He chanted it softly while holding the brick in front of him. The spell was short and when he finished, the brick quivered.

  George eyed it suspiciously. Aubrey clamped his hands around it. 'Unroll the map and we'll see what we have.'

  He loosened his grip. The brick shifted and tugged, pointing like a compass needle. 'What direction is that?'

  'Steady on, old man, I haven't got the map up the right way.' George frowned, lifted his head and gazed over the city. Then he turned the map until he was happy. 'There.'

  'It's pointing past the Winter Bridge and the Church of St Sebastian.'

  George grunted and marked these two points on the map. 'So, if I extend this line from the Exposition Tower, it should cross the line we drew from the university.'

  He fell silent.

  'Well?' Aubrey urged.

  'The Liberty Gardens,' George said slowly. 'That's where the lines intersect.'

  Aubrey studied the map. The Liberty Gardens was a large park to the north of the river, a few miles from their apartment. 'That's where the Heart of Gold is.'

  He could already feel the yearning fading in the brick. He wrapped it up again and tucked it under his arm. No-one appeared to have noticed their antics.

  Aubrey and George ambled home through the fading afternoon. Soon the sun was setting over the city. Shadows began to extend over the streetscapes like long, black fingers.

  They crossed Rationality Street and went around the theatre district. Aubrey stopped dead. On the corner of Tolerance Street, in front of a statue of the spirit of the revolution, two young men were having their photograph taken.

  He couldn't help himself. He started toward the photographer, who was bent over, peering through the lens of the bulky camera.

  George grasped his arm. 'I don't think so, old man.'

  The photographer straightened and laughed. The two young men laughed as well, then the photographer folded his tripod and three of them set off together.

  'It wasn't the Soul Stealer,' Aubrey said.

  'No.'

  'But he's out there somewhere.' Despite his new internal armour, Aubrey wanted to find this fiend. Not just for his own purposes, but because he couldn't stand the thought of soulless bodies, so many of them, lost with no hope of redemption.

  Ahead, a motorcar screeched around the corner, barely avoiding a flower barrow. The flower seller screamed curses, but the motorcar didn't stop. It hurtled through the light traffic, swerving around an omnibus. With chilling deliberation, it crossed to the wrong side of the road and ran up onto the pavement right in front of the photographer and his two subjects.

  Aubrey started running, drawn by an overwhelming sense of disaster.

  The motorcar's doors burst open and three well-dressed men leapt out. Two of them pushed the two young men aside, and struck one in the stomach when he bridled at his treatment. The other man grabbed the photographer and his equipment and shoved them i
nto the back seat of the car. Instantly, the three men piled into their vehicle. It screeched off, roaring down the street, horn blaring, demanding passage and leaving behind a trail of frightened horses, cursing cabbies and dented fenders.

  Aubrey reached the two young men. One was on the pavement, gasping for breath. The other was helping as best he could.

  'What was that about?' Aubrey asked in Gallian. A small crowd began to gather. No-one offered to help. They stood watching, sullenly.

  One of the young men, moustached and pale, shook his head. 'I do not know. They took Charles.'

  'Charles?'

  'Our friend. He is a photographer. He asked us to test a new lens he'd purchased. We'd taken a dozen or more photographs and we were going for a drink.'

  The breathless young man groaned. The other shook his head. 'I think he may have broken a rib. I must get him to the doctor.'

  George helped the injured young man to his feet. The two of them limped off. Aubrey chewed his lip. 'It looks as if we're not the only ones looking for photographers.'

  'Who else?'

  'I recognised one of the kidnappers. He was one of the men who stole the Heart of Gold.'

  Fourteen

  MADAME CALVERT WAS WAITING FOR AUBREY AND George when they arrived back at the apartment building after snatching a late bite to eat. 'We have had a run on the banks today,' she announced.

  Aubrey considered this and decided that it was something he couldn't be held responsible for. 'That's bad news. Are you inconvenienced?'

  'The Prime Minister acted and closed them before too much damage was done. I'm sure it will right itself, but the government was nearly defeated in a motion of no confidence this afternoon.'

  Again, Aubrey felt that he was free of blame here. 'Strange times, Madame Calvert, strange times.'

  'There was a riot at the flower market, the river has stopped running and the earth itself is shaking.'

  The disruption to the city was spreading. Aubrey had grave fears as to what would happen if the Heart of Gold were not returned. 'Why are you telling me this, Madame Calvert?'

  She pursed her lips. 'I'm unhappy because Lutetia isn't at its best to host your father.'

  Aubrey raised an eyebrow. 'Have you been reading my correspondence?'

  'Of course not. I received a letter from him myself.'

  George almost dropped his hat. 'Sir Darius sent a letter to you?'

  Madame Calvert softened at this. 'We knew each other many years ago, when we were much younger, before he found his wife. We have kept in touch.'

  Ah, so that's why Father suggested we should stay here, Aubrey thought. 'Father's letter said that this is an official visit, to show support and goodwill toward the Gallian government. Prime Minister Giraud is especially eager for him to come.'

  'Should show the Holmlanders that the Albion–Gallia alliance is still strong,' George said.

  'The Holmlanders and everyone else who is watching,' Aubrey said, then he glanced at George. 'That was a remarkably astute observation. You always swore that politics was a bore.'

  George grinned. 'I'm undertaking a program to become a Renaissance man. Politics first, then painting, then I'll turn my hand to falconry. Or astronomy.'

  'Should keep you busy.'

  'A person needs a hobby.'

  Madame Calvert tapped her foot on the tiled floor. 'Your parents will be staying at the embassy. Will you be joining them? Do I have to advertise your rooms?'

  'No, no, we're comfortable here, aren't we, George?'

  'Extremely.'

  Madame Calvert frowned, sceptical. Aubrey decided that this was as positive as she would get this evening, so he excused himself. He and George hurried up the stairs to their rooms.

  Fatigue descended on Aubrey as George unlocked the door to their suite. He leaned against the wall, but was pleased to find that the exhaustion seemed natural, the result of his exertions during the day. His soul seemed well content, snugly enclosed by the magical barrier of Monsieur Bernard's spell.

  He yawned. 'George, I have to go to bed.'

  George held the door open. 'I understand, old man.'

  'Don't worry. I'm well, in no danger. I'm simply tired, that's all.'

  'The spell's working?'

  'I think so. I had planned to go out tonight, to see if we could do a spot of work on Bertie's family.' He yawned again. 'But I don't think I'm capable of it. Not now.'

  'Sleep, that's the ticket. Get a good night's rest and we'll track down this Heart of Gold tomorrow.'

  Aubrey lay on his bed and felt good, healthy sleep taking him up. He resisted it, revelling in the sensation, and thought about his father's imminent arrival.

  Aubrey had a number of items to report. The mysterious attack at the airfield, von Stralick's revelation about rogue Holmland agents at large . . .

  I'll put it in writing, he thought, just before he fell asleep. When I get a moment.

  AUBREY OPENED HIS EYES AND NOTICED, STRAIGHTAWAY, that they weren't gritty from lack of sleep. He grinned and threw back the bedclothes.

  Dancing with eagerness to go downstairs and tackle the day, he dressed, then splashed water on a face that didn't look wan in the mirror; when he brushed his hair, it shone with a lustre that he hadn't seen for days – and it all stayed on his head instead of being snagged in his brush.

  Smiling, he almost floated down the stairs. He burst into the breakfast room, where he nearly tripped over at the aroma of coffee and fresh pastries. His mouth watered.

  'Morning, Aubrey,' George said from a table by the streetside window. He flapped a newspaper. 'Give me a hand with this, will you, old man?'

  Aubrey translated for George, while devouring a breakfast that tasted like heaven. The Saturday newspapers were full of reports on the riots, the earth tremors, the crisis with the banks, the strange condition of the river and the abduction of several photographers. None of them mentioned the Heart of Gold.

  The bank crisis, apparently, had come from nowhere. In response, the Minister for Finance had conducted a long conference where he attributed it to rumours about dock-worker action, the failure of the grape crop, a rise in taxation and a rebellion in one of the tropical Gallian colonies, all of which he declared untrue.

  The river phenomenon also took up much space, with ferrymen, bargees and those who dwelt near the river up in arms. Blame was apportioned to many, with the government the first choice, but manufacturers, farmers and minority groups – religious, cultural and foreign – also had the finger pointed at them.

  Aubrey lingered over a small piece on page five. 'Listen to this, George. "A giant elk was seen on Truth Avenue yesterday. After charging at and scattering a pack of dogs, it escaped into the Talroy Gardens and has not been seen since. The creature's antlers were reported as gargantuan. It is said that the creature had been captured in the country and false antler extensions attached as a prank."'

  'A prank? Not a terribly funny one. Especially for the dogs.'

  'Do you know the nearest place you could get an elk? In this day and age?'

  'Ooh, you might be able to find one in Senpathia. Lots of mountains there.'

  'Can you imagine someone finding an elk there and transporting it hundreds of miles only to let it go in the middle of Lutetia as a prank?'

  Aubrey rubbed his chin. Weren't the Talroy Gardens near the Liberty Gardens? Was this bizarre appearance another effect of the Heart of Gold?

  'Doesn't make much sense to me,' George said. 'But Lutetians are such wild, romantic fools.'

  'Too many strange things are happening in one place, George.'

  George sipped his coffee. 'Sounds as if the whole city is breaking down.'

  'And if Lutetia breaks down, I know which neighbouring country will be ready to move in.' Aubrey sighed and folded the newspaper. 'The Heart of Gold must be restored.'

  'It'd be pleasing if we could manage this before your parents get here.'

  'I'd thought of that.' Aubrey sipped at this third cup of
coffee and closed his eyes in appreciation of its richness. It's the little things that remind us we're human, he thought, and how enjoyable it can be. 'Oh, did I mention that the embassy is going to hold a ball this weekend, in honour of the alliance?'

  'A ball? Well. Are we invited?'

  'I'm expected to be there. And so are you.'

  'Splendid.'

  Aubrey dusted some crumbs from the front of his jacket. 'I thought I might ask Caroline.'

  George nodded, with a completely straight face. 'I thought you might, too.'

  'She may enjoy that sort of thing. Music, a chance to get dressed up.'

  'You're just thinking of her. I know how unselfish you are.'

  Aubrey grinned. 'You know me too well.' He stood. 'And who'll you partner? I'm sure Caroline's mother is free.'

  George opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Madame Calvert appeared at their table. 'The embassy ball? I have a niece who would be delighted to accompany you.'

  George spluttered. 'I . . .Well, I'm sure that . . .'

  'Excellent. I'll make the arrangements.'

  'WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING, OLD MAN?' GEORGE SAID as they mounted the stairs to their rooms.

  'I thought you were handling the situation beautifully. I tend to be overawed when you adopt your smooth, suave persona like that.'

  George jammed his hands into his pockets. 'I was thinking of asking that waitress from the café in the gardens. Or I'm sure one of the girls from that acting troupe would be interested. Fun-loving types, they seemed.'

  'I'm sure Madame Calvert's niece will be very presentable.'

  'Presentable,' George repeated. He coughed and held a hand to his forehead. 'I feel a cold coming on. I don't think I'll be well enough to go.'

  'Don't worry, George, we have much to do before then.'

  'I'll never make it. I'm fading fast.'

  BEFORE THEY SET OUT FOR THE DAY, AUBREY PREPARED himself as best as he could. He stowed some of his useful items in his jacket: chalk, a pocket knife, some clay, three glass marbles, a brass door knob and – on a whim – a feather.