She smiled, radiantly. 'Quite right, George. We've had any number of Holmlanders through our artistic salons back in Albion. And while I've been here in Lutetia . . . Well. It's enough to say that Holmlanders have been dying for an invitation to our circle.'
It gave Aubrey great pleasure to see von Stralick goggle-eyed. He was pleased he wasn't the only one to be disarmed by a Hepworth female.
'Of course any Holmlander would be eager to be in your presence, Mrs Hepworth,' von Stralick managed, which Aubrey thought quite good going.
'Ophelia, please.'
'Ah. Of course. Ophelia.'
On the other side of the room, sitting in a wicker armchair next to a vase of blue irises, Caroline hid her amusement behind a hand for a moment before becoming serious. 'Now, Aubrey, what did Inspector Paul say when you rang him?'
'He was grateful to know about Farentino's lair, and he promised to take good care of the unfortunates we found.' He shuddered at the memory, and then wondered if he should have told Inspector Paul about how he'd managed to restore Bernard's soul. He shook his head as the old music hall joke came to him: 'The operation was a success, but the patient died.' Aubrey wanted to do some more research before he tried his rough and ready method of soul restoration again.
Caroline studied him carefully. He let her. 'You don't like relying on other people, do you?'
'I don't mind. I just prefer to do things myself. It's more . . .'
'Dependable?'
'Predictable.'
'I see.' She sat back and crossed her arms. 'I have an invitation to the embassy ball, you know.'
The change of subject was so abrupt that Aubrey thought he heard a screeching noise as they switched conversational tracks. 'You do?'
'I thought you should know. Your mother sent me one, knowing how I feel about such matters. Pining away, waiting to be invited? What an antiquated attitude.'
'Of course,' he said, and was pleased at such an innocuous response. He thought he was coping well after such a surprising announcement. 'Terribly old-fashioned, that sort of thing.'
'Good.' Caroline sat back. 'I'm glad you agree.'
Von Stralick caught Aubrey's eye. 'Your police officer friend is apprised now?'
Aubrey dragged his attention back to weightier matters. 'Yes. He's having trouble of his own, though. With factions.'
'So I am not alone? Good.' Von Stralick stood and bowed first to Mrs Hepworth, then to Caroline. 'I must go. I am glad we are united in this affair.'
'Working together, I'd say,' said Aubrey, 'rather than united.'
'It's a practical arrangement,' George added.
Von Stralick stared at George, then nodded. 'It will suffice. Please, I can see myself out.'
Mrs Hepworth watched him go. 'Charming, if a bit stiff. But then again, he is a Holmlander.'
'Mother,' Caroline huffed.
'I know, darling, I'm bandying about a stereotype. Still . . .'
WHEN AUBREY AND GEORGE WOKE FROM A PRECIOUS FEW hours' sleep, Madame Calvert was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. Despite her efforts to disguise it, she looked impressed. 'This came for you, early.'
She handed Aubrey a heavy, cream envelope. It had Prince Albert's seal on it.
'Thank you, Madame,' Aubrey said.
She didn't move away.
'Er. Is there any chance of a late breakfast?' he asked.
'Any of those delicious chocolate whatnots?' George added.
'Do you know Prince Albert?' Madame Calvert asked Aubrey.
Aubrey struggled with a number of possible replies before deciding on the simplest. 'Yes.'
'They're related,' George said, 'and Aubrey saved his life a while ago.'
Madame Calvert tapped her cheek with an elegant finger and studied Aubrey for a moment. 'In Gallia, we have no kings any more. Not since the revolution. It is held to be a good thing.'
I think we have a closet royalist here, Aubrey thought. 'Gallia has thrived as a republic.'
'Despite being a republic,' Madame Calvert said. 'Look at those in charge at the moment. Incompetents, buffoons and criminals.'
'That's a bit harsh,' George said. 'I mean, buffoons?'
'Two ministers resigned yesterday, both exposed as being corrupt. The government is hanging on by a thread.' She sighed. 'No stability. No continuity.'
'I see,' Aubrey said, fascinated. He tapped the envelope with his forefinger. 'Are there many who think like you?'
'Think like me? Clearly, with a notion of history and what it means to be Gallian?'
'Something like that.'
'Some. Quite a few.'
'Thank you, Madame. You've been most helpful.'
Aubrey swept toward the breakfast room with George in tow.
'What was that all about?' George muttered once they were seated. He spread a perfectly starched napkin on his lap.
'Royalists, George. Even though it's been two hundred years since they cut off the head of their last king, there are still quite a few in Gallia who would like to see a return to a monarchy.'
'How can they when they dispatched their last one so irretrievably?' George took a roll from the basket on the table.
'Relatives, George, line of succession. Given half a chance, they'll dig out some long-lost cousin, Count of this or that, Baron someone-or-other, pop a fancy hat on him and shove him on the throne.'
'Solemn stuff, this kingship business.' George broke the roll in half and devoured it in two bites.
'That's what Bertie says too.' Aubrey slit open the envelope.
Aubrey read the letter carefully, then sat back. He studied George, who was enjoying a pastry. 'Aren't you going to ask me what the letter says?'
'No need, old man. You'll tell me when you're ready.'
'Hmm.' Aubrey took a roll from the basket. He buttered it and then added some strawberry jam. 'Have you ever been nagged by an heir to the throne of a major country, George?'
'I'll take that as a rather obvious rhetorical question.' George poured himself a hot chocolate. 'The Prince is looking for some results of our investigations?'
Aubrey folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. 'In the politest way. After hoping that I'm enjoying my holiday, and telling me of the extra work he's had to take on since the King's latest bad turn.'
'Ah. Which would made him even more conscious of his family's . . . indisposition.'
'Precisely.'
Aubrey applied himself to his breakfast with an appetite that he found most satisfying.
As he was finishing, Madame Calvert entered the room. She stood with her hands clasped. 'A young lady has called for you. Unchaperoned.'
Aubrey leapt to his feet. 'Miss Hepworth?'
'She's waiting in the parlour.' Madame Calvert paused. 'She seems a self-possessed young lady.'
'Yes. Well. She's Ophelia Hepworth's daughter.'
Madame Calvert looked impressed. 'Oh. Of course.' She smiled and her disapproval vanished. 'I didn't realise the Hepworths were in Lutetia.'
'Just Mrs Hepworth and her daughter. Professor Hepworth passed away recently.'
'I'm sorry to hear that.' She studied her hands for a moment. 'I was fortunate to be at Ophelia Hepworth's last exhibition. Tell me, is she painting at the moment?'
'I believe so. She's accompanying her daughter while she studies at the university.' As soon as I can sort that one out, Aubrey added to himself.
'Young Miss Hepworth is studying art, I presume?'
'Taxonomy.'
Madame Calvert shook her head, but she was smiling as she did. 'An unconventional family. In the best sense.'
'She's in the parlour?'
CAROLINE WAS SITTING ON A BENCH IN THE WINDOW. Aubrey paused a moment in the doorway, admiring the way the morning sun illuminated the hair that escaped her no doubt stylish bonnet.
She saw him. 'Aubrey.'
'Caroline. Good morning.' He decided to try gallantry. 'I like the colour of your jacket. Peach. Or apricot. Something fruity. Melon?'
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She glanced down. 'I'd call it pink.'
'That was my next guess.' He sat in a high-backed cane chair opposite the window seat. 'What can I do for you?'
She shook her head. 'I want to know what I can do for you.'
'That's rather an open question . . .' he began, but she dismissed such frivolity with a glance. 'I'm not sure what you mean.'
'The Heart of Gold. We must find it.'
He studied her for a moment, which was an exercise he found extremely pleasing. 'You're enjoying this, aren't you?'
She made a quick flipping gesture that wasn't quite a denial. 'Lives are at stake.'
'True, but it's exhilarating, isn't it? The danger, the risk, daring to do great deeds.'
'That's how you feel, is it?'
He smiled wryly. 'My mother warned me about being a hero. She says it becomes addictive.'
Caroline stood. Aubrey was immediately on his feet. 'I understand what she means,' she said. 'But I simply came to offer my help. I feel you and George have a greater chance of success if I'm with you.'
Aubrey noted her evasions and decided that she did enjoy the thrill. She was an adventurer at heart, which meant she appealed to him even more.
He felt a twinge at his manipulation of her time in Lutetia, but he assured himself it would be all right in the end and everyone would understand. Or they may not even know about it, he thought, if I can do some very quick manoeuvring . . .
'George and I will meet you here in ten minutes,' he said. He wanted to make sure he was prepared. He decided a jacket with many pockets would be best.
'Where are we going?'
'On an adventure.'
THEY STOOD IN CONSCIENTIOUSNESS STREET, JUST OUTSIDE the university. The sky was brooding, as if it were about to rain but were holding off for the most inconvenient time possible.
Aubrey pointed. 'The Faculty of Magic. We can use the tower to track the Heart of Gold.' He told Caroline about the sensitivity of the old building.
'You'll need another brick,' George pointed out. 'And a map.'
'Let's go and see Maurice.'
Maurice took some time to answer their banging at the door. When he did, he listened to their request uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other. 'No,' he said when Aubrey finished. 'I cannot allow it.'
'Come now, old chap,' George said. 'Just one brick. It won't hurt.'
'You don't know this place like I do.' He beat at his chest with the flat of one hand, to emphasise his point. 'There's been strange smells and sounds coming from Professor Castillon's rooms after I took that last brick. I had to board up the door, but that didn't stop the whimpering.' He looked over his shoulder. 'The place wasn't happy.'
'We understand,' Aubrey said. 'But this is important.'
'So you say. But so is this place, for me, even if most people have forgotten it.' He shook his head. 'I wish you luck.'
He closed the heavy door. The sound of a bolt sliding home confirmed that he wasn't interested in further discussion.
Aubrey shrugged. 'A dead end, I fear.'
'Surely not, old man,' George protested. 'A bit of magic, get this door unbolted, then we can tie him up and choose a brick. Simple.'
'I think not. Apart from the rights and wrongs of such action, I'm not sure old Maurice is as helpless as he looks.' He slapped the wall. 'He's been in this place for a long time. If magic soaked into the bricks, I wonder what Maurice has absorbed?'
'Then how are we going to find the Heart of Gold?' Caroline asked.
Aubrey patted his pocket. 'These fragments have lost most of their potency, but if we can get somewhere close to the Heart, they might show us exactly where it is.'
George brightened. 'Don't forget the wolf. If we hear it again tonight, I'm sure we can track it down, which might bring us near enough.'
'Good idea.' Aubrey hummed a little. 'Until then, let's do some work for Bertie. He's asked me to look at the Church of the Innocents.'
'Really?' Caroline tilted her head. 'Are you sure that's the most pressing item on your list?'
'Hardly. But it will give us an excuse to move through the city. Lacking any better method, we might simply be fortunate and blunder close to the Heart of Gold. I'll feel the brick fragments stirring if we do.'
LUTETIA WAS DOING ITS BEST TO APPEAR NORMAL, BUT ITS efforts seemed tired and desultory. Even the colours on the striped awnings of the cafés were muted and dull. Aubrey thought the scent of corruption was stronger, rising from the stones beneath their feet. As they went, he noted more blocked drains and eruptions of rubbish, almost as if the city were trying to purge itself.
The doomsayers had grown beyond print. While the crude posters still proliferated, street corners were now hosting wild-eyed speechmakers. From atop wooden fruit boxes, each harangued wide-eyed passers-by with a different horror waiting in store for Lutetia: plague, rains of blood, famine, flood and – Aubrey's worst nightmare – hosts of serpents.
They crossed the Meron Bridge, heading toward the Bankside district. Nothing was moving on the river. Boats, large and small, were mired in the thick, grey slop that it had become.
Aubrey stepped back from craning over the bridge, trying to get a better view of the expanse of the river. A bicycle bell rang. 'Look out, old man!' George cried and grabbed his arm, saving him from being run over.
The bicycle rattled to a stop. It was an ancient machine with a cloth-covered basket hanging from the handlebars. It was ridden by a small boy, barely large enough to reach the pedals and certainly too small to remain on the seat. He was dirty-faced and wore a sock hat that had once been red.
He frowned at Aubrey, studying his every feature, then – obviously satisfied he had the right person – dug in the pocket of his ragged trousers. Aubrey noticed he wore wooden shoes.
The urchin thrust a scrap of paper into Aubrey's hand and then mounted the bicycle. He wobbled off, picking up speed and disappearing into the streets of Bankside.
'It's from von Stralick,' Aubrey said after he'd scanned the paper. 'He says to meet him at the intersection of Kellerman Street and the road to Amelie at noon.'
'As if we're at his beck and call,' George muttered.
'He says he may have news of the artefact we're seeking.'
IT TOOK SOME TIME TO FIND THE CHURCH OF THE Innocents. They'd twice circled the massive collection of Gothic buildings that was the Ministry for Taxation before George called a stop. 'You said it was around here, old man. Where?'
'Bertie said it was near the Ministry of Taxation, that was all. I think he assumed I'd visited it.'
'I hope it hasn't disappeared like the Revolutionary Monument.'
'If it had, we'd see it boarded up, wouldn't we?'
Caroline reached into her bag with a look of exasperation.' I thought you knew where you were going. Here.'
She handed him a slim, green-bound book. 'The Green Guide to Lutetia for Visitors,' he read.
'Mother helped to write some of the sections. It's very good.'
'Naturally.'
Aubrey leafed to the appropriate page after finding the Church of the Innocents in the index. He lifted his head and stared at the Ministry of Taxation. 'It's in there.'
George snorted. 'A church in a government complex?'
'It says that this conglomeration began as a palace. King Pepin built the church as part of it. The complex grew over the years and swallowed the church.'
'Is it open to the public?' Caroline asked.
'It's supposed to be.' Aubrey eyed the guards standing at the iron gate leading into the depths of the bureaucracy.' But with the unrest . . . Let's see.'
The guards were surly when Aubrey and George approached, but brightened when they realised there was a beautiful young woman with them. Then they made a great show of allowing them in and even had a heated argument over who was going to accompany them through the maze of buildings.
The Church of the Innocents was dwarfed by the surrounding offices. It was a blocky, solid stone construc
tion, more modest than Aubrey would have expected for a king's private place of worship. When he drew near he saw its age – thick walls, narrow windows, and a squat belltower. It was small, but it still had the traditional cross-shaped layout. When they entered the still, cool interior, they found they were alone, apart from a young priest. He pointed the way to the crypt.
Aubrey stood under a lantern that hung from the low ceiling. The crypt stretched into the shadowy distance, full not just with the tombs of kings, but the families of the monarchs – sons, daughters, wives, brothers, sisters, cousins.
The crypt was well-tended, with no cobwebs or dust. It had a dry, almost herbal smell, quite unlike the damp mustiness Aubrey usually associated with underground chambers.
The tombs were simple marble boxes, with lids carved into effigies of the deceased. The men were all clad in armour, with a sword resting on their chests, often with a shield bearing the owner's coat of arms. The women were dressed in robes of richness that even the years could not obscure.
Aubrey was struck by the simplicity of the tombs. These weren't gaudy monuments to the pride of the living. They were dignified, solemn resting places. No statues, pillars, angels or prophets to watch over the dead. They were not needed.
It was a serene place and Aubrey felt at ease. Here, death was undeniable, thus unremarkable. It was the natural closing of a life – a world away from the horror that the Soul Stealer wrought.
'What are we looking for, old man?' George asked in a low voice.
Aubrey held Bertie's letter up to the light. 'Prince Christian's tomb, if it exists. He was some sort of cousin to Stephen III. I remember reading about him.'
'Cousin,' Caroline murmured. 'Isn't that a euphemism for "illegitimate child"?'
'Ah, Bertie hasn't made that clear,' Aubrey said. 'But he's asked us to look for special features on the tomb.'
'Special features,' George said. 'That's a bit mysterious, isn't it?'
'The letter was rather guarded.' Which probably means Bertie thinks this matter is important, Aubrey thought.
They separated. Aubrey moved along the left-hand wall. In places, tombs had been set into the stone, hollowed-out cavities holding the coffins. Names were inscribed on brass plaques or carved on the sides of the tombs. The plaques were bright and free of verdigris, a further sign of the care that had been taken by the guardian priests.
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