Heart of Gold

by Michael Pryor

  They eased out of the temple. Behind them, roaring, shouting and gunshots indicated that the lion and the Holmlanders were coming to closer quarters. Aubrey eyed the trees in the distance. 'Do you think we can get to them before the lion does?'

  'There's one way to find out,' George said.

  Von Stralick didn't say anything. He sheathed his sword stick and started sprinting.

  PERCHED ON THE ACCOMMODATING BOUGH OF AN OAK, Aubrey watched as two Holmlanders scrambled out of the temple. They scattered.

  A few seconds later, the lion burst out, roaring challenges to all. Then it bounded across the grass and crashed into the thicket, disappearing in seconds.

  'Muller and Schnagel haven't come out,' Aubrey noted.

  'Alive or dead?' von Stralick wondered. The Holmlander shared a branch with George. 'And is the Heart of Gold still there?'

  Aubrey reached for his pocket. The fragments were less urgent but seemed to be pointing away from the temple. 'I don't think so.'

  'Let's make sure,' George said. He dropped to the ground and started toward the temple. Aubrey approved of his knees-bent, arms-spread gait. It was the model of caution.

  'Any sign of the lion?' von Stralick called.

  George shook his head.

  Aubrey slid, gripped the bough, then eased himself to the leaf-covered earth. Von Stralick grumbled as he climbed down. 'A lion? What on earth is a lion doing in Lutetia? I thought they lived in Sahelia.'

  Aubrey brushed himself off. 'Lions once lived right across the Continent. Probably they roamed around right here, like bears used to.'

  Bears. Aubrey stopped dead. Bears, elk, aurochs and now lions. All of them former denizens of these parts, now hunted into oblivion. They would have been commonplace to the original settlers in these parts. In the Gallian past.

  He hummed a little. He knew he had a significant point on his hands, but no matter how he turned it, he couldn't quite see its entire shape. It was frustrating, but he had to be content that he'd made some progress in sorting out the many mysteries that had fallen on Lutetia.

  He joined George, who was crouching and scanning the area. 'All quiet,' he reported.

  'No sign of the lion?'

  'No. Nor of anyone else coming from the temple.'

  'Look at the dome,' Aubrey said.

  It was smeared, as if it had been softened and then pushed to one side by a giant thumb. Aubrey was fascinated. Such forces should have cracked the stonework, crumbled the concrete, but the very nature of the materials must have changed while they were being stretched. Most had returned to their original hardness, but the rubbery floor – fortunately – had retained its changed nature.

  When they reached the temple, von Stralick held his sword stick ready and went first. George followed, while Aubrey came last.

  The interior was quiet. They crossed the floor in a series of awkward, bouncing steps. Aubrey went onto his hands and knees and peered into the depths.

  'See anything, old man?' George asked.

  'Not yet.' Aubrey summoned a glow light, a novice's spell. He could make out the iron ladder clinging to the side of a round shaft two or three yards across, and a tunnel opening from it at the bottom. 'No wild beasts, no Holmlanders.'

  He sat back on his haunches. The tunnel led north. The gardens extended for another mile or so in that direction. After that?

  'Is it safe?' von Stralick asked.

  'I've no idea.'

  'The Heart of Gold?' George asked.

  'It's not down there.'

  'Not wanting to state the obvious, but that means it's somewhere else then. Any ideas?'

  Aubrey shrugged. 'Von Stralick?'

  The Holmlander clicked his tongue. 'Let us examine what lies beneath the temple. It may give us some notion of what Muller and Schnagel are up to.'

  Von Stralick climbed down the ladder.

  When Aubrey reached the bottom of the shaft, von Stralick had already entered the tunnel. From the light of Aubrey's glow spell, he could see that the Holmlander was bent nearly double, and he held his sword stick in front of him.

  After about twenty or thirty feet, Aubrey stumbled out of the tunnel to find von Stralick standing upright, studying his surroundings. 'A bunker,' he declared. 'This is the refuge I spoke of. Probably built while the temple above was being constructed. Done secretly, of course.'

  They were in a round area about four yards across. An oil lantern hung from the low ceiling, which was just above von Stralick's head, and another tunnel mouth opened opposite the one George just emerged from. A table and five mismatched chairs stood in the middle of the round space, and piles of bedding were thrown against the walls. Some of the bedding was torn and shredded. Four doors opened onto the area. None were closed, and in the closest Aubrey could see a fourdrawered cabinet and a desk. A map pinned to the wall of the room showed Lutetia and the environs.

  'This belongs to Holmland?' George asked.

  'It looks like one of ours, and we saw Muller and Schnagel enter.'

  'D'you have any like it in Albion?'

  Von Stralick smiled. 'Why would we have any refuges in Albion? And would I tell you if we did?'

  'You've checked the rooms?' Aubrey asked. He cancelled his glow light, not needing it with the oil lantern.

  'I did. We are alone.'

  George kicked at a pile of bedding, then stepped back. 'I say. Blood.'

  Aubrey went to his friend. The blankets were soaked in red. 'Whoever it belonged to would be in a very bad way by now.'

  'We have a trail.' Von Stralick pointed at the floor with his sword stick. He took the oil lantern. 'The blood leads to the other tunnel.'

  THE TUNNEL WAS WELL MADE – LINED WITH RED BRICK that kept it dry and solid. Aubrey found himself admiring the planning that had gone into preparing this hideyhole. Months of work, all of it secret, to construct something for an uncertain future.

  The tunnel was unbranching, and Aubrey soon grew tired of walking hunched over. He knew that George and von Stralick, being taller, must have found it much more uncomfortable, but they didn't complain, shuffling along in silence.

  Aubrey was entranced by the light of the bobbing oil lantern that von Stralick held up. The soft yellow light pushed away the darkness, showing the way through the unknown. He smiled at the image. It appealed to him, and he likened it to the search for knowledge – especially magical knowledge. More light, less darkness. More knowledge, less ignorance.

  After some time, George spoke up. 'I say, von Stralick, where d'you think we are?'

  'In a tunnel, my good friend. Any more than that I cannot say.'

  'That's not very helpful,' George grumbled.

  'I know this sort of tunnel,' von Stralick said with a touch of irritation. 'It's a back-door escape, in case the hideaway was compromised. If we follow it, we may find where Muller and Schnagel went.'

  'Just as long as there are no traps or pits,' George said.

  They walked in silence for some time. Aubrey took the chance to mull over the events of the past days. The events at the Marchmaine printing works were still puzzling him.

  'Von Stralick.'

  The Holmlander didn't turn around. 'Yes, my friend?'

  'Why did Muller and his thugs attack the Marchmaine printing works?'

  Von Stralick chuckled. 'I was wondering when you would ask about that.'

  'Well?'

  'Muller and Schnagel are rogues, out of control, but they are still Holmlanders. I'd say they're still interested in sowing strife between Marchmaine and the Gallian officials, to encourage Marchmaine to break away from the oppressors.'

  It sounded plausible, but Aubrey knew enough not to take von Stralick at face value. 'And that's all?'

  'Who knows? Perhaps they were after you. The son of the Albion Prime Minister, working for Marchmaine independence? What a scandal! The alliance would be under great strain, and with no alliance, do you think it would take long before Holmland was marching on Gallia?'

  Aubrey wen
t cold. He hadn't thought of that, and it gave him much to contemplate as they trudged on in silence.

  By Aubrey's watch, they followed the blood trail for nearly an hour.

  When it finally gave out onto the open, he heaved a great sigh and shaded his eyes from the sun. The fresh air was sweet and invigorating after the dry dustiness of the tunnel.

  They were in a railway cutting, a few yards above a double track that bent away from them to the north and south. Aubrey examined the tunnel exit, which was cleverly concealed by a false signal box.

  George groaned as he stretched and straightened. 'My back.'

  A train screamed past in a cloud of steam, disappearing into the afternoon. 'We're near the Northside Station,' Aubrey said, remembering their arrival in Lutetia. He felt a tremor underfoot, but couldn't tell if it was caused by a nearby train or not. 'The shunting yards are just over there.'

  Von Stralick kicked at the stone-covered ground with frustration. 'Muller and Schnagel will be well away by now.'

  'Muller and Schnagel and one other man,' George said.

  'What?' von Stralick said.

  George pointed at the ground. It was soft and covered with boot prints. 'Definitely three pairs of boots here. Two of the men are able-bodied, one is limping. And bleeding.'

  'Ah,' Aubrey said. 'Lion-induced injury?'

  George shrugged. 'Probably.'

  Aubrey studied the curved roofs of the station. 'The blockade won't let them get beyond the city limits.'

  Von Stralick snorted. 'These men are professionals. They have a whole city to hide in.'

  'I don't aim to search the whole city,' Aubrey said. 'Just the parts where they are.'

  Sixteen

  AT FIVE O'CLOCK, CAROLINE WAS WAITING FOR THEM in front of Tontine Hall. Music came through the open windows, the piano once more banging out one of Ivey and Wetherall's finest.

  Caroline scrutinised them as they drew closer. 'Aubrey. George. I'm glad to see that you're both in one piece.'

  George looked down and patted his chest. 'Why wouldn't we be?'

  'Whenever I leave you to your own resources, you seem to come back damaged. I was worried about you all afternoon.'

  'You were worried about us?' Aubrey raised an eyebrow.

  'Concerned. Troubled, in a broad and general way.'

  'We had a tough time of it, when's all said and done,' George put in. 'We were attacked by a lion.'

  'A lion?'

  'We'll tell you later,' Aubrey said. 'What were you saying about being worried about us?'

  'Never mind that. Don't you want to know what I've managed to find out today?'

  'Of course,' he said. 'Did you find Dr Romellier?'

  'I've found where he is, but I doubt if you'll believe me.'

  Aubrey had had much experience with the unbelievable. People would never believe what I'm prepared to believe, he thought. 'Where is he?'

  'The airfield.'

  'What?' George said. 'The military field? St Martin?'

  'The same.'

  Aubrey rubbed his forehead. 'But what would an ornithologist be doing at a facility for building dirigibles? And why didn't we see him there?'

  Caroline looked smug. 'Dr Romellier has been seconded by the Gallian government. With his expertise in wing structures, he's been asked to explore new airship design, living at the base so he can oversee any construction.'

  'Would he willingly work for the government on something like this?' Aubrey said. 'It sounds a bit farfetched.'

  'He apparently made his participation conditional. He extracted a guarantee from the government to modify an airship with a special observation platform and send it on a bird-spotting expedition in Sahelia.'

  'Crafty devil,' George said. 'Sounds a trifle obsessed, though.'

  'Birds are all he thinks about, apparently. That's how I managed to find his whereabouts.'

  'Birds?' Aubrey said.

  'You told me about the pigeon loft on top of Dr Romellier's last known residence. I wondered if the keeper may still be in touch with the good doctor via pigeon post.'

  'You spoke to Moir without being abused?' George asked.

  'I found him to be a charming man. A little abrupt, but perfectly polite when approached properly.'

  Aubrey couldn't help but feel that being a startlingly attractive young woman was a useful advantage in approaching any Gallian. 'He volunteered all this information about Dr Romellier? He said he didn't know where Dr Romellier was.'

  'I managed to convince him of my scientific credentials by telling him about my studies on the taxonomy of nudibranchs. He probed me about some niceties of classification and, satisfied, he answered some questions. Guardedly, after telling me his responsibility was to keep busybodies away from Dr Romellier.'

  It was George's turn to express disbelief. 'He talked about science? He was just a crazy old man.'

  'Professor Moir is the Emeritus Professor of Zoology at the University of Lutetia.'

  'I told you there was more to that crazy old man than met the eye,' George said to Aubrey.

  'Clever and eccentric,' Aubrey mused. 'I've never heard of that before.'

  Caroline favoured him with a mildly scathing look that he quite enjoyed. She went on. 'He told me that he had some pigeons from the airfield and could communicate with Dr Romellier – and vice versa. Dr Romellier is full of suggestions about the care and feeding of the birds. Monsieur Moir ignores these, of course. They seem to have a testy relationship.'

  Aubrey considered this titbit. 'Did Professor Moir mention when he had his last communication from Dr Romellier?'

  'I managed to prise that piece of information out of him. Really, Aubrey, you seem to think you're the only one with any brains at all.'

  'Sorry.' He had a feeling he should get used to using that word with Caroline. 'So Dr Romellier is still at the airfield.'

  'As of yesterday. That's when Professor Moir had a message with a recommendation for adding malt to the pigeon's feed if the weather starts to turn cold.'

  'Not much chance of that,' George said. 'Sticky sweltering, that's the way the weather's headed.'

  'Are Renaissance men experts in Lutetian weather, too?' Aubrey asked.

  'Of course,' George said, beaming.

  Aubrey hummed a little. It would be a relief to be able to cross Dr Romellier off his list of things to do, and even better if he could do it before his mother arrived. While she was understanding, she also had high expectations.

  He rolled his eyes. High expectations. He was surrounded by people with high expectations, including himself. One of his main challenges was finding a way to deal with all these expectations without going mad.

  'Thank you,' he said to Caroline. 'You've made more progress in one day than I have in a week. I'm very appreciative.'

  Her face coloured, which took Aubrey by surprise. He watched the process with fascination. 'It wasn't that difficult,' she said.

  'And the letters? I know it's much to ask, but were you able to find anything regarding them?'

  'Oh. The letters. Nothing there, I'm afraid. Not yet.'

  Is she flustered? Aubrey thought. I thought that was my role. 'Never mind.'

  'The shop was closed, you see, and Monsieur Caron hasn't been seen for days, according to a usefully nosy neighbour. When I told Mother, she tried ringing a few numbers she had, but no-one has seen him since Monday. Mother was worried.'

  Monday. That was when Aubrey had visited the document shop. Monsieur Caron had promised to fetch his letters concerning the Treaty of St Anne. A mysterious disappearance, letters concerning Albion and Marchmaine – Aubrey was intrigued and wished he'd pressed Monsieur Caron for the letters. He was sure that the document merchant would have responded quickly if he was offered a good enough price.

  No, he ordered himself, knowing that if his curiosity was roused he'd find himself wasting time on this wild goose chase. No. It's not important. We have more vital things to do.

  George saw Aubrey's preoccupied
expression and took the opportunity to tell Caroline of their escapade with the lion.

  'So you're both heroes?' Caroline said when George finished. 'Tackling a lion with bare hands?'

  Aubrey winced. 'Well, I wouldn't say "tackling". Running away in terror would be more accurate.'

  'While planning a way to trap the beast in a pit, inventing a new spell for animal charming and coming up with a novel way to use ancient Sanskrit in magic casting, I'm sure.'

  'Is that a compliment?' Aubrey asked.

  'Take it how you will.' Caroline smiled and held Aubrey's gaze for a moment. 'I think I've learned enough about you to call that a reasonable description of your usual method of operating.'

  'She's spot-on there, old man,' George added. 'Summed you up perfectly.'

  Caroline covered her mouth with her hand, but her eyes were merry. She coughed, delicately, then inclined her head toward the hall. 'Claude is waiting for us.'

  THE ALBION FRIENDSHIP SOCIETY'S RANKS HAD GROWN since Aubrey had last joined them. He wondered if the unrest was sparking interest in supporting Gallia's ally of the moment. He supposed, if one couldn't fight, then singing jolly songs of Albion was a reasonable alternative.

  The hall was lit by gaslights. The temporary seating was stacked against walls that were covered with posters, several layers deep in some places. The cast was assembled on the stage with the piano front and centre. While a new pianist flailed away, Claude Duval stood, arms crossed and frowning. With Gallian enthusiasm, the chorus members clutched song sheets and tackled 'The Shanty of a Salty Sailor'.

  The song ended with reasonable proficiency. Duval clapped his hands and congratulated his team. Then he saw the newcomers.

  'Caroline!' he cried. He leapt off the stage and ran to them, eventually realising he should acknowledge the others. 'Fitzwilliam. Doyle. Good to see you.'

  He clasped Caroline's shoulders. 'Where have you been? Your presence has been much missed.'

  'Short on backstage crew, are you?' Aubrey asked.

  Duval frowned, puzzled. 'What do you mean?'

  'Never mind. It'd just explain why you're so pleased to see Caroline.'