Heart of Gold

Duval threw his hands in the air. 'That is what I want to talk to you about. You missed a rehearsal last night. We went on without you, but it's difficult without the male lead.'

Aubrey set off, guiltily. Duval fell in beside him. 'I'm sorry, Duval, but I've been busy.'

'Of course, of course. You have recovered from your near-drowning?'

'Mostly.'

'Excellent.' Duval pursed his lips for a moment. 'You have business at the university?'

'I'm looking for the Faculty of Magic.'

'So you are not meeting Miss Hepworth?'

Aubrey glanced at Duval. 'Not right now.'

The Gallian looked relieved. 'A fine young woman. Independent. Attractive.'

Aubrey looked sidelong at Duval. 'Yes.'

'The Faculty of Magic?' Duval said, veering wildly across the conversation. 'Surely you are joking. There has been no Faculty of Magic at the university for many years.'

'I heard there may be remnants of its presence, a few things to look at.'

'What is left of the old Magic Building is being used for storage.'

'You know where it is?'

'Of course. We keep some backdrops and props there. Old Maurice takes good care of them. 'Duval brightened. 'He is someone you should talk to, if you're interested in the old faculty. He's the caretaker, and has been there forever.'

'I'd like that very much.'

'Come, then. I will find him and introduce you.'

As they rounded the Botany Building and strode along the shady walk that divided the Chemistry laboratories from the Geology Department, Aubrey had the disquieting impression that he was being followed. He did his best to glance over his shoulder and to use the reflection in windows to look behind him, but he saw nothing suspicious. I'm jumping at shadows, he thought. Perhaps I'm not suited to this intelligence work after all. He hoped Craddock had other operatives in Lutetia. Aubrey didn't want to be the only one trying to find the missing Heart of Gold.

They reached the western edge of the campus. The Library was a long, forbidding four-storey building with a peaked slate roof and many windows. Aubrey thought it may have once been a monastery. The Medicine Building next to it was taller, but just as dour. Aubrey had never seen a more rectangular building. It was as if the architects had been mortally afraid of curves.

Duval took Aubrey through an arched walkway that divided the two buildings. 'This leads to the street,' he said, 'but just before we get there . . .Ah, here.'

Behind the Library, hidden from the rest of the university, was an ancient, round tower. The walls were heavy, dark stone, quite different from the dirty sandstone of the Library. When Aubrey looked closely he could see signs of the hand-wielded tools that had carved the stone blocks. The uppermost part of the tower projected defiantly above both the Library and the Medicine Building, a copper-roofed turret that reminded Aubrey of an ancient warrior wearily surveying a battlefield.

Duval didn't hesitate. He pushed open the door and marched into the dark interior.

Inside, Aubrey's magical senses were assaulted by the centuries of built-up magical residue. He turned in a full circle, and it was like rolling the frequency adjuster on a radio as he felt shadowy ghost fragments of spells that had become embedded in the very walls. His nose wrinkled at the ancient chemical smells from experiments ages ago.

The circular space was ten yards or so across. Seven doors opened onto it, while a spiral staircase stood in the middle. It led to an iron walkway that marked the first floor. Above that was another iron walkway for the second floor. Beyond that, all detail was lost in the shadows.

The nearest door opened. A creaky, Gallian voice sawed through the air. 'Who is it?'

Duval held up a hand and replied in the same language. 'Maurice, it is I, Duval. I have brought a friend.'

Maurice had once been tall, but age had bent him so that his head was actually lower than his shoulders. His lank grey hair fringed a bald dome. He wore narrow trousers and an ancient, black frock coat. He peered at Aubrey. 'You want to store something here?'

'No,' Aubrey replied in Gallian. 'I want to learn about the Faculty of Magic.'

Maurice's eyebrows shot up. Duval shrugged. 'He's from Albion.'

Maurice bobbed his head. 'Albion. That's where the magicians went when the faculty started to crumble,' he said in passable Albionish. 'A long time ago.'

'Are there none left?'

'Just Bernard.'

Duval snorted. 'Bernard? He's no magician. He's a hopeless drunkard. The university lets him stay because he was once apprenticed to the great Professor Lorraine.'

'Does he still work here?' Aubrey asked Maurice.

'He tinkers with magic still. He is old. He doesn't want to die.'

'Oh?'

'He is sure he can find a way to preserve his soul, to keep it from leaving this existence.'

Aubrey's eyes widened at this. He looked toward the upper floors. 'Where is he?'

'In his rooms. Fifth floor.'

While Duval engaged Maurice in discussion about his storage plans, Aubrey took the opportunity to climb the stairs and look for Bernard.

As he climbed, his magical awareness began to nag at him. He rubbed the back of his neck, then he felt pins and needles in his fingers. He supposed his reaction could simply be from the centuries of experimentation that had taken place in the building, but after his recent brushes with magic, he felt uneasy.

After he passed the third-floor landing, cobwebs began to festoon the staircase, hanging from the balustrades in baroque displays of lacework. When he reached the fourth floor, he thought he could hear noises coming from above. He paused, listening, and gripped the iron handrail. A bright light flared, leaking from around one of the doors on the fifth floor. Aubrey was heartened. He had a destination.

He reached the landing on the fifth floor. The staircase still went upwards. He wondered if it opened onto a rooftop observatory, a favoured relaxation place for magicians everywhere.

Aubrey stopped, frowning. He smelled a sharp, chemical odour. And was that smoke in the air? Perhaps Monsieur Bernard still had enough skill to tinker with interesting magic.

The light flared again from behind the door three places to his left. Aubrey started for it, but paused when the bright light seeped through the crack around the door again.

He reached the door and eased it open, finding himself in a vestibule. It was crowded with boxes and Aubrey had to pick his way through them before he reached the door to the main room. With care, he opened it and stepped into a decidedly old-fashioned magician's workshop.

The room was long with three tall, narrow windows on the southern side, one of which was bricked over. In the middle of the room were four benches. One was covered with glassware that Aubrey was sure would make an antique dealer very interested. Another had small slabs of timber, woodworking tools and a collection of copper bowls. The third and fourth were laden with alchemical material and diverse spell-making paraphernalia – chalk, flasks of mercury, powdered charcoal, ink, hammers and tongs. An elaborate light fitting hung from the centre of the ceiling, plates of silvered glass reflecting light about the room. Racks of shelves lined the walls, some containing books, others holding bottles and jars. Wherever there were no shelves, boxes were piled high. At the right side of the room, the racks were covered with a tattered piece of canvas. It was a traditional, conservative working place with no concession to modern magic at all.