Heart of Gold

'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.'

'Governments 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.'