Heart of Gold

'Good thing they decided not to tear it down after the Exposition,' George said.

'How could they? It is Lutetia, now.'

Aubrey and George joined the crowds of people who were after a view of the city. The lift took them in a stately glide up to the first observation level. Even though it was the lowest of the three public areas, it was still high above the surrounding rooftops. Aubrey could see over parks, mausoleums, churches and the banks of the strangely gelid river, where people were gathering, attracted by the phenomenon.

A thin, uninviting haze hung over the city. The sun was warm, and a breeze had sprung up. It, too, was warm, but it carried a stink, a smell of rot that made Aubrey wrinkle his nose.

'Not a wonderful advertisement for the city.' George shook his head as if he could dislodge the smell from his nostrils. 'I wonder where it's coming from?'

'All around, I'd say.'

'Sorry, old man?'

'I think Lutetia is decaying without the Heart of Gold in its rightful place. The earth tremors, the thickening of the river, the smell . . . And look at the people around you. They look as if they've suffered a death in the family. The loss is infecting everyone.'

A few sightseers were out, gazing over the city, but their faces were morose and discomfited. Aubrey would have expected chatter and joking as they tried to spy landmarks, their own homes or places of work, but instead they looked as if they were merely going through the motions.

'I suppose it could have something to do with the brouhaha in the Assembly, too,' George said.

Aubrey shrugged. 'Possibly, although the Giraud government has been unpopular for some time. The Marchmaine issue hasn't helped, of course.'

'What about your brick, old man? Any chance of giving it a go?'

Aubrey had been waiting for some privacy. He felt it wouldn't be a very good idea to brandish a brick about when one was so high off the ground. While he was sure he'd been labelled a troublemaker by the police department, he didn't want to confirm it.

A couple with a small child drifted away toward the lift. Aubrey and George were left alone on the northern side of the observation deck. He unwrapped the brick and held it in both hands. 'The brick remembers what it was like to be part of the tower,' he explained to George. 'That's the basis of the Law of Constituent Parts. But its properties are diminished, being so much smaller than the original. I need to enhance its yearning quality.'

It was a straightforward spell, one that Aubrey had learned years ago. It wasn't often useful, however, because of the fractionating that occurred when the whole was divided into parts. What gave him hope, however, was that the brick had absorbed magic over its hundreds of years as part of a building that housed magicians. That magic should add its own power to the spell and he hoped he'd be able to amplify the yearning quality now inherent in the brick.

He remembered the spell easily because, when he learned it the first time, he was amused by the rhyming syllables, even though he didn't – back then – know what they meant. The Sumerian language was prone to rhymes, another thing he hadn't known at the time, and instead he'd simply thought of the spell as a nursery song.

He chanted it softly while holding the brick in front of him. The spell was short and when he finished, the brick quivered.

George eyed it suspiciously. Aubrey clamped his hands around it. 'Unroll the map and we'll see what we have.'

He loosened his grip. The brick shifted and tugged, pointing like a compass needle. 'What direction is that?'

'Steady on, old man, I haven't got the map up the right way.' George frowned, lifted his head and gazed over the city. Then he turned the map until he was happy. 'There.'

'It's pointing past the Winter Bridge and the Church of St Sebastian.'

George grunted and marked these two points on the map. 'So, if I extend this line from the Exposition Tower, it should cross the line we drew from the university.'

He fell silent.

'Well?' Aubrey urged.

'The Liberty Gardens,' George said slowly. 'That's where the lines intersect.'

Aubrey studied the map. The Liberty Gardens was a large park to the north of the river, a few miles from their apartment. 'That's where the Heart of Gold is.'

He could already feel the yearning fading in the brick. He wrapped it up again and tucked it under his arm. No-one appeared to have noticed their antics.

Aubrey and George ambled home through the fading afternoon. Soon the sun was setting over the city. Shadows began to extend over the streetscapes like long, black fingers.

They crossed Rationality Street and went around the theatre district. Aubrey stopped dead. On the corner of Tolerance Street, in front of a statue of the spirit of the revolution, two young men were having their photograph taken.

He couldn't help himself. He started toward the photographer, who was bent over, peering through the lens of the bulky camera.

George grasped his arm. 'I don't think so, old man.'

The photographer straightened and laughed. The two young men laughed as well, then the photographer folded his tripod and three of them set off together.

'It wasn't the Soul Stealer,' Aubrey said.

'No.'

'But he's out there somewhere.' Despite his new internal armour, Aubrey wanted to find this fiend. Not just for his own purposes, but because he couldn't stand the thought of soulless bodies, so many of them, lost with no hope of redemption.

Ahead, a motorcar screeched around the corner, barely avoiding a flower barrow. The flower seller screamed curses, but the motorcar didn't stop. It hurtled through the light traffic, swerving around an omnibus. With chilling deliberation, it crossed to the wrong side of the road and ran up onto the pavement right in front of the photographer and his two subjects.

Aubrey started running, drawn by an overwhelming sense of disaster.

The motorcar's doors burst open and three well-dressed men leapt out. Two of them pushed the two young men aside, and struck one in the stomach when he bridled at his treatment. The other man grabbed the photographer and his equipment and shoved them into the back seat of the car. Instantly, the three men piled into their vehicle. It screeched off, roaring down the street, horn blaring, demanding passage and leaving behind a trail of frightened horses, cursing cabbies and dented fenders.

Aubrey reached the two young men. One was on the pavement, gasping for breath. The other was helping as best he could.

'What was that about?' Aubrey asked in Gallian. A small crowd began to gather. No-one offered to help. They stood watching, sullenly.

One of the young men, moustached and pale, shook his head. 'I do not know. They took Charles.'

'Charles?'

'Our friend. He is a photographer. He asked us to test a new lens he'd purchased. We'd taken a dozen or more photographs and we were going for a drink.'

The breathless young man groaned. The other shook his head. 'I think he may have broken a rib. I must get him to the doctor.'