Heart of Gold

George closed Bernard's journal. He scowled. 'No.'

'No?'

'You can't, old man. Not after what happened last time.' He looked distressed. 'It's wrong, Aubrey. Death magic is wrong.'

'I don't have much choice,' he said in a small voice, moved by his friend's concern. 'I know, I know,' George said. He sighed. 'I simply thought that someone should tell you that this is a very bad idea. You need to be reminded, every now and then, that you're not infallible.' George gave Aubrey a sharp glance. 'Especially since you're going to go ahead, regardless.'

Aubrey started to object, but George held up a hand. 'I want you to get well again, old man. If this is the only way to do it, let's meet it head on.'

'Tally-ho,' Aubrey murmured.

George shook his head and gave Bernard's journal back to Aubrey. 'What does it say?'

'There's a lot here. I'll need time to read it.'

It took nearly an hour and Aubrey's head was spinning when he finished. Bernard had done more than skirt the edges of death magic. His experiments had probed some of the darkest areas of the deadly art. His notes were concise and well ordered, recording the effects of spells in accurate, clear terms, but a sense of horror lay underneath every word he wrote.

Aubrey felt sorry for the man. Working alone, forgotten, doing his best to keep alive the traditions of his faculty, it must have been a hard life. Based on his journal, Aubrey thought that Bernard could have been a feted savant if he lived in Albion. Universities would have clamoured for his services. Other magicians would have been eager to work with him. Yet here, in Lutetia, he had died a solitary death, unknown and unheralded.

Aubrey hoped that he could honour Bernard by using his work to good effect. It was a practical, useful homage.

He straightened and massaged the back of his neck. Near the window, George had stretched out on the bare floor, his new straw boater on his chest, his hands behind his head, sleeping the sleep of the untroubled. With some regret, he nudged his friend awake with his toe.

George shook himself and yawned. 'Dashed rude of you, old man. I was having a splendid dream. I was with this very charming –'

Aubrey gave a half-hearted smile. 'Enough. Keep your dreams to yourself.'

'Happy to.' George stood and brushed himself off. 'Are you ready?'

'Accoutrements, George. I need your help to find some spell paraphernalia.'

'Is that the sort of stuff you sneer at and call claptrap?'

'I don't sneer, do I?'

'Not often. Occasionally.'

Aubrey made a mental note to avoid sneering; he'd never liked it. He took a deep breath. 'Bernard was keen on using candles, braziers and the like. My feeling is that they're just scene setting and don't really contribute to a spell's effects, but Bernard felt more comfortable using them. Perhaps they helped focus his attention.'

'Sounds like they can't hurt, anyway.'

'Consider it a touch of theatre.'

It was a measure of Aubrey's nervousness that he was willing to contemplate using such ornaments. If he'd felt more confident, he would have jettisoned such stuff as superstitious nonsense.

George peered into the box they'd already opened. 'What exactly are we looking for?'

'We need four green candles. Twisted ones, preferably, but even Bernard admitted that was a nicety.'

George grunted. 'You're in luck. This box is full of 'em. Give me a minute and I see if I can find four twisted green candles.'

Aubrey took the pry bar to the vestibule and levered up the top of another box. When he examined the contents, his admiration for Bernard grew. The Lutetian magician may have been a recluse and an eccentric, but he had been a careful craftsman. Every casket, jar and bottle in the crate was clearly marked in Bernard's distinctive, spiky handwriting. They showed that his intellect roamed not just across magical fields, but also into natural history and science. Aubrey sorted through fossils, geological specimens and magical curios from the past. He was surprised to see a slim case marked 'unicorn horn', but then saw Bernard's wry note: 'actually carved ivory'. He smiled to see that Bernard had an interest in collecting such fakes. He found two Philosopher's Stones, a Phoenix feather, three magic wands, two sacks with 'magic beans' written on them (one empty) and a stringless harp.

At the bottom of the crate he found what he was looking for: a tripod and brass brazier plus a roll of shimmering, golden cloth.

Aubrey couldn't imagine how the penniless magician had come by such a thing. He ran his hand over the fabric, feeling its cool, supple resilience, and he knew it was true cloth of gold, made entirely of fibres of the precious metal. It was worth a fortune, and the fact that Bernard had not sold it suggested something about its importance.

George loomed in the doorway. 'Found what you need?'

'Here.' Aubrey thrust the brazier on him. 'You have the candles?'

'Four: green and twisted as a corkscrew.'

'Excellent.' Aubrey hefted the cloth of gold and tried to quell his rising nervousness. 'Now, to work.'

Aubrey hunted for the restraining diagram he'd used to trap the mindless Bernard, but couldn't find it thanks to Maurice's careful scrubbing. This did mean, however, that he had a clear field to work with.

On hands and knees, he used white chalk to inscribe the simple ring that Bernard's notes had suggested. Aubrey was careful with the dimensions, so that the result was more oval than round. When he finished, he lay on his back. 'I'm not poking out, am I?'

'No, but you don't have much room. The line's about an inch away from the top of your head.' George craned his neck. 'The same gap's between your feet and the line – about an inch.'

'I don't need much room. I won't be moving around.'

The narrow confines were an intentional refinement on Aubrey's part. Bernard's notes hadn't specified dimensions of the restraining diagram, but Aubrey thought it might help to limit the extent of the spell, and thus intensify it.

Aubrey stood, careful not to smudge the chalk line. 'Now. Candles. Two on my left side, two on my right. Outside the ring.' He heard how clipped his voice was and tried to relax.

'Shall do. The brazier?'

'About half a yard away from my feet. Outside the ring.'

'Of course.' George tapped his chin. 'You'll be wanting something burning in the brazier?'

Aubrey groaned. 'Bernard's notes said he always had charcoal smouldering while he experimented with death magic. He said it helped soothe his soul.'

'Probably helped to warm his toes.' George shook his head. 'I didn't see any charcoal lying around. I'll ask Maurice if he has some.'

While waiting for George, Aubrey inspected the diagram, flexing his hands in an effort to keep them from trembling.

Aubrey was afraid. This wasn't the stealthy, tiptoe pickpocket fear, the fear that crept up from behind and stroked with ice-cold fingers; it was the fear that overwhelmed in a frontal assault – crushing, teeth-chattering, bowel-loosening fear.

He bit his lip, hard, and the sharp pain – added to the many discomforts that he endured – was like a dash of cold water in his face. He threw off the fear, took a deep breath and examined the cloth of gold.