Heart of Gold

'Loose end. Hmm.'

'It could give me some time to help Claude with his production.'

Aubrey nearly tripped on the smooth stone of the pavement, but gathered himself. 'Perhaps you'd like to come with George and me while we try to take care of those matters we discussed?'

They'd reached the street that led to the Hepworths' apartment. Caroline stopped and watched the traffic go by. 'I suppose I could find some time to help decide the fate of nations.' She lifted her eyes to the sky for a moment. 'It might give me a chance to see if I'm suited to this intelligence-gathering business.'

'Good. I'd feel better if you would. You're very . . .' He groped for something that wouldn't make him sound like a complete dolt. 'Capable.'

As soon as he said it, he felt the mantle of complete and utter dolthood settle on his shoulders. He accepted it.

'Thank you, Aubrey.' She set off along the pavement. 'Every young woman strives to be capable.'

'I –'

'Never mind. I'm sure you meant it as a compliment.'

As they walked, Aubrey explained about von Stralick and the meeting of the Marchmainers.

'That sounds a sensible place to start. What should I wear?'

'Dowdy would be good,' he suggested.

'We have a laundress who visits. I'll see if I can borrow something from her.'

Aubrey walked Caroline to her apartment, where Mrs Hepworth opened the door. She kissed her daughter on the cheek. 'Darling.'

'Mother. I have to go to a meeting tonight. With Aubrey.'

Mrs Hepworth considered this. 'A meeting. Why not a night at the ballet?'

'It's a political meeting, Mrs Hepworth,' Aubrey said.

She laughed. 'You are indeed your father's son, Aubrey.'

Before he could query this, Caroline cut in. 'You must be busy, Aubrey. We shouldn't keep you waiting.'

'Yes, but –'

'And what are you up to this afternoon?' Mars Hepworth asked.

From his list of urgent, pressing things to do, Aubrey plucked the first that came to mind. 'I have to find Alphonse Caron.'

'The document merchant? He's an old friend of mine.'

Sometimes things fall neatly, Aubrey thought. 'Do you know where he is?'

'I haven't actually seen Alphonse for years, but the last I heard he had a shop near the Meron Bridge. Let me look in my address book.'

She went into the apartment, leaving Caroline and Aubrey on the threshold.

Caroline fidgeted with her bag. 'Mother knows many people in Lutetia.'

'So I see. She's an intelligence operative of an altogether different kind.'

'If you need to find an artist or a writer, ask her.' Caroline paused. 'She knows many politicians, too. And generals.'

'I'm sure her address book is a veritable Who's Who.'

Mrs Hepworth appeared and held out a scrap of lavender paper. 'Here, I've written down his address.' She held it out. 'Now, Caroline darling, you promised that you'd model for me after lunch. I do want to finish that painting.'

Caroline sighed. 'Of course, Mother.'

They made their farewells. Aubrey stood transfixed on the doorstep.

Caroline? Modelling? He had difficulty in banishing some intriguing images from his mind.

He made his way down to the street without really knowing how. He cleared his throat, straightened his hat and made himself shipshape. A good, solid task was what he needed, even though he was bone-weary. He convinced himself that his skin and his aching joints were minor discomforts, and he read the scrap of paper that was still in his hand.

Always in favour of intelligence gathering before a frontal assault – or any assault, really – Aubrey saw that the address was only a few streets away. He resolved to investigate the address, then retire to the apartment to see what Bernard's notebook contained. And not forgetting the Heart of Gold, he thought, but he didn't even know where to start there.

The address was in one of the side streets that guidebooks would normally describe as 'quaint' or 'charming'. Aubrey found it depressing, but it could simply have been the unseasonably chilly breeze that was whipping down the cobblestones. It made the striped awnings over the shops snap in an unsettling fashion. The streetside tables were empty, patrons having been driven inside by the weather. They huddled, casting furtive glances at the day.

As he went, Aubrey was alert for more signs that the city was affected by the loss of the Heart of Gold. Apart from the weather, he did come across a number of backed-up drains and angry sewerage workers arguing over the cause. A natural explanation could be behind it, but the bafflement on the faces of the workers indicated that this was no ordinary occurrence.

When he took a shortcut through an alley that promised to take him from Providence Street to Lower Hospitality Street, he came across a sight that gave him pause. A mangy cat was backed against a wall, hissing, back arched. On the other side of the alley the cobblestones had collapsed and filthy water was flowing sluggishly from it.

The water was choked with dead rats.

Aubrey put a hand over his mouth, but forced himself to examine the rodents. Thin, with weeping sores, it was no wonder the cat didn't want anything to do with them.

All is not well, under the streets, Aubrey thought as he hurried from the alley. The possibilities made him cold.

Aubrey's destination proved to be an antique shop with a window display that suggested it specialised in documents. The window was lettered with discreet and expensive gold. Behind it lay an arrangement of calling cards, photographs and letters, all artfully ordered to highlight the signatures. His eyes widened when he recognised the name of at least one former king.

A voice from behind spoke in Gallian. 'Are you interested in our wares?'

Aubrey straightened. A dapper, middle-aged man with a pointed beard was smiling at him. His teeth were small and white. 'I have a modest collection,' Aubrey said.

'Ah, you are from Albion! If you would like to come inside, I have a number of items that you may find intriguing.'

The man took out a key, removed his grey homburg and unlocked the door. 'You are just opening?' Aubrey asked.

The man tapped the 'A. Caron' on the window. 'It is my shop. I open when I wish.' He stood on the threshold and smiled. 'Like you, I have a collection. This shop is merely an extension of it. I sometimes find it hard to part with particular items, but it finances my purchase of others.'

He stood back and gestured Aubrey inside.

'I understand.' Aubrey entered the shop. 'A collection is an addiction.'

'Worse.' Monsieur Caron removed his leather gloves and placed them with his hat on a glass-topped counter. 'A collection costs money in so many ways. It must be housed, for example.'

He waved an arm around the shop. Aubrey saw the walls were lined with drawers of many different sizes, a ladder on wheels allowing access to those closest the ceiling. Flat, glass-topped cabinets took up most of the floor space. Monsieur Caron pulled a cord and the room was flooded with electric light. He clucked his tongue. 'I fear the electricity may be bad for my documents, but what can be done? I keep most in the dark, but there is no joy in that. I must be able to see my treasures.' He cocked his head at Aubrey. 'If you will forgive me, it is not usual to find a young person interested in such items as these.'