Heart of Gold

'He's probably well away already,' Aubrey said. 'I'll wager he had a boat waiting for him on the other side of the market, where it banks on the river.'

'And where are we going?' she asked.

'Well, we should take you home,' George said. 'It's late.'

'It may be late, but what have we achieved? Isn't there anything more we can do?'

Aubrey considered this. 'George, let's drive by the Academy of Sciences. I'd like to see what's happening there.'

THE STREET WAS BLOCKED A GOOD FIFTY YARDS FROM THE Academy of Sciences. And, in a miracle of efficiency, the whole building had been fenced off. Scaffolding enclosed the place, while dozens of large tarpaulins were being draped from gables. It was difficult to see whether the Academy had faded any more or had regained its solidity. Scores of police were present, despite the early hour, but they appeared aimless and uncertain in the face of the phenomenon. Lamp posts on the other side of the street were the gathering point for many of them, and they dedicated themselves to smoking.

Aubrey was very interested to see a number of people who were clearly not police. Their uniforms were different – flat, shapeless caps, no trimmings on the shoulders of their dark-green jackets – but they didn't look like army personnel. They moved around the site in pairs, pausing often to crouch and touch the ground.

Inspector Paul was just outside the hastily constructed wooden hoardings. His harried expression was illuminated by gaslight. Two burly constables were with him, standing either side of a nervous-looking man.

A wild bellowing jerked Aubrey's attention away from the Academy of Sciences. He stared, astonished, along Fortitude Street. For a moment he wondered if he had fallen asleep and were dreaming.

An enormous bull was galloping toward them. It was at least six feet tall at the shoulder, with a dark, shaggy hide and huge, forward-pointing horns. It thundered past the lorry and then, without slowing, it charged the police officers who were strung across the road.

'Good Lord,' George said. 'A bull in the middle of Lutetia.'

'Aurochs,' Aubrey said. He was pleased at how calm his voice was. 'It's not a bull, it's an aurochs.'

'Aurochs,' Caroline repeated. Police were scattering, throwing themselves out of the path of the furious creature. It swung its wicked horns from side to side, bellowing, and the way opened in front of it.

'The ancestor of modern cattle. Huge, wild, dangerous. Extinct now, of course. Last one died in West Faldenland about five hundred years ago.'

'Five hundred years ago?' George said. 'Then what's one doing here, throwing Lutetian police around like chaff?'

'You ask that as if you expect me to have an answer.'

'You usually do, old man.'

Caroline tapped her cheek with a finger. 'Bears, aurochs, buildings disappearing. I don't recall the guidebooks mentioning this sort of thing as a feature of Lutetia.'

'No. This is out of the ordinary, I feel confident we can say that.'

'Magic, then?' Caroline said.

Aubrey was slow in replying. Much was going on here, but none of it was clear. 'I'd say so, but it's a kind I'm not familiar with.' A disturbing, unsettled magic, he thought, and potentially very dangerous.

The aurochs finally burst through the last of the police cordon. Blue uniforms stumbled aside, then it made off down the road with police chasing at a respectable, and safe, distance.

'Are you saying that's a magical bull?' George said.

'An aurochs.' Aubrey opened the door of the lorry. 'As it went past, I definitely felt magic at work.'

'Where are you off to?' George asked, his door already half-open.

'Intelligence gathering.' He struck a pose – hand on his chest, shoulders back, head up. 'When the fog of war is at its worst, information is the beacon to light your way.'

'Another gem of wisdom from the Scholar Tan?' George asked as he joined Aubrey on the pavement.

'Naturally.'

Caroline slid from the lorry and joined them. 'You're not leaving me behind.'

Aubrey didn't argue. He thought she looked exotic and formidable in her fighting outfit. If there were any city in which she could openly wear such a garment, it was Lutetia, with its thespians, artists and assorted savants, entertainers and dignitaries from far-flung lands. Lutetian citizens were notoriously blasé about costumes that would shock the good folk in Albion.

'Now, at four o'clock in the morning, after surviving a riot at a political rally, a bear attack and being shot at in a dirigible hangar, shall we take a stroll to see what we can find out from a suspicious police inspector?'

When Caroline took the arm he offered, he was delighted. 'Thank you,' she said gravely, nodding, as if he'd asked her to accompany him on a promenade in the park.

Together, they set off, with George chuckling behind them.

'Constable,' Aubrey said in his best Gallian to the officer behind the remains of the barricade. 'I need to see Inspector Paul.'

Aubrey decided that the constable had long ago chosen the police force because he thought he'd look good in a uniform. Then he'd spent the next forty years regretting his decision. He eyed Aubrey. 'Yes? And why would he be bothered talking to you?'

'Because I am the son of Sir Darius Fitzwilliam, the Prime Minister of Albion.'

The constable blinked, then looked Aubrey up and down. Aubrey could read his thoughts on his unshaven face and it came as no surprise when he finally decided that it would be safest to pass the Albionish troublemaker on to someone more senior. 'Follow me.'

It grated on Aubrey, having to use his father's name and position. As they made their way through the police, he promised himself that one day, Sir Darius would be known as the father of the famous Aubrey Fitzwilliam, rather than the other way around.

By the time they reached Inspector Paul another suspect was being questioned – a whey-faced young man with bulging eyes.

Aubrey greeted the Inspector in Gallian. 'Inspector. Are you busy?'

'Fitzwilliam. What are you doing here?' Inspector Paul gathered himself and bowed. 'Miss Hepworth.' He stared at, but didn't remark on, her outfit. As an afterthought, he nodded at George. 'Doyle.'

Aubrey saw dark circles under Inspector Paul's eyes. 'You've been working hard.'

Inspector Paul straightened his cap. He twirled his pencil, then flipped it upside down and tapped the blunt end on his notebook. 'The entire police force is busy,' he allowed. 'Much is happening. Now, what do you want?'

Aubrey eased into his work. He enjoyed this sort of sparring, seeing it as something like fencing – advancing, deflecting, feinting, thrusting where appropriate. 'I thought you might like some news, something that your colleagues might not know yet.'

Aubrey had guessed that Inspector Paul's ambitions were being thwarted by the eternal politicking of the Inspectorate, where commissions and advancement depended more on connections and patronage than on ability. He saw Paul's frustrations and sympathised. The Inspector was a competent man. If Aubrey could help him while helping himself, then he was happy to do it. 'There is an airfield to the north-west of the city,' he said.