Heart of Gold

Aubrey didn't know which alternative was worse. Either way, it meant that matters within the police force were very difficult. If it wasn't the police, then who was it? he thought. It would make sense if it was the same party responsible for the magical mayhem on the Middle Bridge. Someone with a grudge against the Marchmaine cause?

'I cannot accept this,' Inspector Paul said.

'It is true.'

Aubrey saw that, like most honest men, Inspector Paul had great difficulty in coming to terms with corruption. He worked his jaw and clenched his fists. 'I will make some enquiries.'

'Be discreet. If your force has been compromised, simply asking questions could be dangerous.'

Inspector Paul chewed on this. 'Factions have always been present within the force. We all know that. But I do not like to think that it has come to this.'

'Be careful.'

'Do not worry. I have resources of my own.'

'One more thing,' Aubrey said. 'The missing object. The valuable missing object.'

'Ah. No concrete progress there, but we're sure that it is still within the environs of the city. The blockade has been strengthened. Nothing can get out.'

'A suggestion: treat any reports of strange animals very seriously.'

Inspector Paul began to smile, but then studied Aubrey and nodded. 'If you say so. Now, I have much work to do.'

The Inspector tipped his cap to Caroline and then he marched toward the Bureau operatives.

Aubrey felt that he had either thrown a cat among the pigeons or set a tiger loose. He wasn't sure which.

'Well,' Caroline said. 'Did you learn much?'

'Enough to know that things are even murkier than I thought.' Aubrey set off. Caroline and George fell in beside him as they strolled along the river.

The beeches were in full greenery, tall and slender. The wrought-iron park benches were vacant, however, and the pigeons were surly because of the absence of their usual meal providers.

'Let's hope things get clearer before your parents arrive on Saturday,' George said.

Caroline glanced sharply at Aubrey. 'Your mother is coming to Lutetia? You didn't tell me that.'

Aubrey could have kicked George. 'It's an official visit, a hasty one at that.'

'I'd like to see her. She might be able to do something to get me back into the taxonomy course.'

Aubrey's stomach sank to his shoes and crawled around in his socks for a while. 'Yes, well, I'm sure she'd be pleased to do what she can.'

'And Dr Romellier. She'll be keen to hear from him. You haven't forgotten about him, have you?'

Aubrey winced. 'No. Not forgotten. More important things have come up.'

'A good leader always knows when to delegate, Aubrey. I have some avenues to pursue. Let me find Dr Romellier for you.'

But that's not what I'd planned, he thought. I want you with me.

Guilt jabbed at Aubrey. He felt guilty for not considering what Caroline wanted to do. Guilty for treating people as if they were automatons to be moved around as he wished.

No, he thought, it's more than guilt. It's shame.

He realised he'd been carried away, seduced by the grand adventure, absorbed with plans and strategies. And all the while, he'd overlooked that his schemes involved people. He wasn't unaware of the fact that people had their own desires, wants and dreams – sometimes he just forgot about it.

For a moment, in a desperate rear-guard action, he tried to convince himself that the ends justified the means, but the cliché was empty in his hands.

I've been a cad, he thought. An insensitive, big-headed cad.

He was about to blurt out everything to her when he stopped dead, the words frozen in his mouth.

I can't tell her, he thought. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, all by itself.

'Are you all right, Aubrey?' Caroline asked. 'You have the oddest expression on your face.'

If I tell her what I've done, he thought with dismay, she won't have anything to do with me. Faced with that outcome, he opted to put it off and hoped he could discover a way to organise things so all would be well.

The contradictory nature of this resolution didn't escape him – manipulating things so he'd be forgiven for manipulating things – but it was all he could think of. He'd mired himself in a mess of his own making.

'I'm fine,' he managed to say. He cleared his throat and pressed ahead, putting his sense of guilt aside for later contemplation. 'My mother would be pleased if you could find Dr Romellier.'

'Settled, then.'

'Don't go back to the university,' he hurried to add. He didn't want her questioning the faculty about the decision to ban her. In fact, he didn't want her near the Science Faculty until he'd been able to restore her position. He smiled. She'd be grateful, of course, which would be delightful. He could confess and they'd laugh about it together, because everything had turned out for the best . . .

'I have my own resources,' Caroline said and Aubrey's daydream vanished.

'Like Inspector Paul does,' George said. 'Good show.'

'If we're going separate ways,' Aubrey said in an attempt to regain control of a conversation that had run away from him, 'we must make arrangements to meet again. To share our findings.'

'Very well.' She paused and tapped the bag she held. Aubrey thought she carried it like a weapon. 'But tracking down Dr Romellier shouldn't take all day.'

'It won't?'

'I doubt it. What else can I do to help?'

'What about the letters, old man?' George suggested.

'Letters?' Caroline asked.

'Some correspondence between my grandmother and my grandfather.'

'Your grandfather? The Steel Duke? The man who put down the Timlitz Uprising?'

Aubrey had few memories of his grandfather. Mostly, the old man was just a gigantic, prickly moustache, but Aubrey did remember wild piggyback rides through the long corridors at Maidstone, his grandfather hallooing and scaring the servants, young Aubrey clinging and laughing as they galloped.

None of which matched the description in the history books: the Duke of Brayshire, Albion's most ruthless commander in the nineteenth century, a tireless prosecutor of Albion's interests on the Continent, always well connected to members of the government. Incorruptible, but much feared by his enemies – especially after the Timlitz Uprising.

'The letters have fallen into the hands of collectors,' Aubrey said, 'and she'd like them back.' He explained about Monsieur Caron. 'If I get time, I'll look into it. Again, I'm sure I can sort this out.' Then she glanced at Aubrey with what he could have sworn was an expression of mischief. He blinked and it was gone. 'Now,' she said, 'there is something I want in return for this assistance.'