Heart of Gold

'Allergic to glue, old man. You know that.'

Aubrey was silent for a time and watched the discoloured water rise up the windows. Then the ornithopter bumped and stopped sinking. Nearby, frogs started croaking.

'George?'

'Mmm?'

'You remember that holiday I said we should take after the examinations?'

'Of course.'

'I think now could be a good time to take it.'

Two

IN THE CHARTER ROOM OF THE PALACE, SIR ARTHUR Ross, head of the Albion airship fleet, sat near the head of the long table and scowled. In the seat opposite, Melville Taylor – the new Minister for Defence – fumbled with his glasses and gazed mildly at the ceiling. Both men had a brace of functionaries with them to hold papers and to remind everyone how important they were.

Crown Prince Albert sat alone in the middle of the table. He had a small leather notebook open in front of him. He held a pencil, ready to write.

Aubrey was near the far end of the table. Still exhausted from his magical exertions, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and did his best to appear as if he belonged there.

The Minister for Defence, a gnarled old man with remarkably blue eyes, cleared his throat and began to read from the Special Services official account of the Gallian airship disaster.

Ten minutes later, Prince Albert rapped on the table. 'Mr Taylor?'

The Minister raised his head. 'Your highness?'

'We have all read the report. I don't think there is any need to read it to us again.'

Sir Arthur nodded, and jutted forward his magnificently whiskered chin. 'I fully agree.'

'Is there anything else that you wish the King to know?' Prince Albert said.

Sir Arthur and Mr Taylor frowned at each other. 'It was no accident,' Sir Arthur finally said. Mr Taylor harrumphed, but didn't contradict him. 'The Gallian dirigible was brought down by sabotage.'

'I see,' Prince Albert said.

Aubrey straightened at this news. Interesting, he thought, and only realised that he'd made some sort of noise when Prince Albert glanced at him. They shared a look that Aubrey knew meant that the prince would want to discuss this matter with him later.

Extremely interesting, Aubrey thought, and settled back in his chair.

'The dirigible was a special experimental model. The Gallians sent it on a goodwill flight,' Sir Arthur added.

'To cement Albion–Gallian relations,' Mr Taylor put in. 'A show of support for the treaty, as it were.'

'Ah. Is Prime Minister Giraud feeling political pressure?' Prince Albert asked.

'The Gallian government is not in a strong position,' Mr Taylor said. 'There is considerable unrest across the country.'

'We must do what we can. Gallia is important to Albion.' The Prince stood, signalling the end of the meeting.

After the Minister, Sir Arthur and the horde of functionaries filed out – with a minor standoff over precedence through the door – Aubrey shrugged. 'What do you make of it, Bertie?'

'Hmm? 'The Prince blinked. 'Sorry, Aubrey, I was miles away.' He rubbed his hands together slowly. 'Thanks for coming at such short notice, by the way. Defence said His Majesty needed to be informed about this dirigible incident. That's when I decided I needed you here. Second opinion and all that.'

Aubrey smiled and nodded. He was accustomed to acting as a royal sounding board, having grown up close to the Prince. His cousin Bertie had few people he could be frank with, and Aubrey felt privileged to be one of them.

'Ah. And how is the King?' he asked.

The Prince sighed. 'Father has had another turn, I'm afraid. He's quite unwell.'

'So you're standing in for him. Again.' Aubrey chose his words carefully. 'Are you enjoying this role?'

Bertie looked thoughtful. 'It's not a matter of enjoyment. It must be done, that's all.'

'But wouldn't you rather be doing something else?'

'That doesn't enter into it, I'm afraid.'

Aubrey knew that his old friend was prepared to put duty above his personal desires. Aubrey had no doubt that Bertie was going to be a good king, but he often wondered what else he could have been. He was only a year older than Aubrey's seventeen, but in some ways he seemed to have skipped young adulthood and gone straight to serious middle age.

'The dirigible incident,' Aubrey prompted.

'Mmm. What can you tell me?'

Aubrey shrugged. 'I'm assuming you read the report that Special Services made me write. I don't know what else to add.'

'You didn't leave anything out? I've known you to be careful when recounting your adventures.'

'Careful. I don't mind that as a description. It's so much better than "outrageously choosy".' Aubrey shook his head. 'No. I didn't hold anything back, this time.'

The Prince nodded. 'The situation on the Continent is a worry.'

'Do you think Holmland was responsible for the sabotage?'

'It's the obvious conclusion. They would have the most to gain.' Prince Albert glanced at Aubrey. 'Do you have a moment, Aubrey? I have something else I'd like to discuss with you.'

The Prince took Aubrey to a study. The south-facing room was light and airy; large windows overlooked a small garden, where a bed of hyacinths and jonquils grew against the red brick wall that was the rear end of the palace motorcar stable.

Prince Albert sat in a plush velvet chair, put his chin on his fist and studied this scene for a while. Comfortable on a sofa, Aubrey waited patiently.

'Genealogy, Aubrey,' the Prince said after some time. 'It's an obsession in our family. It's an obsession in all royal families.'

'I suppose it would be. Lineage, lines of succession and all that.'

'Exactly. In many ways, it defines who we are. My father is king because his father was king before him. I will become king for the same reason.'

Aubrey didn't say anything. He knew Bertie well enough to understand that this statement of the obvious was leading up to something.

'My father is unwell,' the Prince said. 'And his condition is getting worse.'

Aubrey had some sympathy for the King's worsening madness, given his own trouble with a deteriorating condition. 'The doctors?'

'They do what they can. Unfortunately, his body is declining as well as his mind.'

'Ah. That's news.'

'We try to keep it to ourselves. It's bad enough when the King becomes an object of derision. I don't want him to become an object of scorn.'

'Not so,' Aubrey countered. 'He may have been mocked in the past, but now the public is sympathetic, toward both him and you. There's an enormous amount of affection for the royal family.'

A smile touched the habitually serious features of the Crown Prince. 'You know the mood of the people so well, Aubrey? The world of politics is beckoning, it would seem.'