Heart of Gold

'You have that look on your face. The one that says you're about to do something dangerous, or illegal.'

'Or both?' George suggested.

'Or both,' Caroline agreed, nodding sympathetically at George's understanding.

Aubrey thought about this for a moment. 'I can't let my face down, then, can I?'

He walked slowly around the hoarding, humming. It totally surrounded the monument – a wooden hoarding, supported by scaffolding, right up to the level of the brass globe. At the rear, away from the street, he came across a door. A heavy chain and padlock reinforced the bolt.

The cry of the wolf echoed down the street. Aubrey straightened and George caught his eye. 'Are we going? Or has something else caught your attention?'

'Never be afraid to interrupt a plan,' Aubrey said. He bent to examine the lock again. 'Otherwise you may miss an opportunity.'

Caroline came closer. 'Are you trying to think of some magical way of opening that?'

'The thought had occurred to me.'

'Why waste magical effort like that?' She reached up and plucked two hairpins from her hair. 'Stand back.'

She bent both hairpins, one into a wriggly shape, the other at a ninety degree bend, then she inserted them into the key slot. 'Now. Shouldn't be a moment.'

'Wouldn't you like some light? I can conjure up something.'

'Father made me practise in the dark. Said it was good for co-ordination. Nearly . . . There.'

The lock dangled from her hand, unclasped. The two bent hair pins disappeared into her belt.

'Your father made you learn to pick locks.' Aubrey shook his head.

She shrugged. 'You'd be surprised what he insisted on being in my education. He had very modern ideas.'

'Evidently.'

George pushed open the door and peered inside. 'Where's the monument?'

'What?' Aubrey shouldered his way past his friend. Inside the wooden hoarding it was thick with shadows, and Aubrey felt the prickling of deep magic, in his cheekbones this time. He rubbed them, paused and – this time – summoned a light. When its soft radiance filled the space, he nodded.

The Revolutionary Monument wasn't there.

Aubrey felt Caroline's presence. 'That's an impressive feat of thievery,' she said softly.

'I don't think anything's been stolen,' he said, pointing up. 'The globe is still there.'

The golden orb glowed softly in the light that Aubrey had conjured, but it looked as if it was resting on empty air.

Aubrey squinted and revised his first reaction. The concrete base was there, and above it – where the marble pillar should be – was a faint, smoky presence.

Aubrey stepped up to the base. He reached out. When his hand touched the ghostly pillar it met some resistance, but it gradually passed right through with the tingling of magic.

He stepped back and wiped his hands together. 'The monument is still here, but it may not be for long. It's losing its substance.'

George stared. 'What's going on?'

'It's just like at the Academy of Sciences.'

'The city is losing its memories,' Caroline said softly.

'What did you say?' Aubrey asked.

'These monuments and landmarks are important,' she said. 'They're important because they have played a part in Lutetian history. Or they are memorials to important events. Take them away, and the city loses its past.'

'That's right,' Aubrey said. He nearly had it. It was so close he could feel it. 'Tell me, the other buildings you saw boarded up like this, what were they?'

'Landmarks. St Basil's church, for instance.'

'Where the kings of Gallia were baptised. What else?'

'I saw a fountain swathed in canvas,' George said.

'Near Victory Street and Thriftiness Terrace?'

'Right in the middle of the intersection.'

'That was where the revolutionary council had its first meeting, before anyone knew who they were.'

Caroline and George listed the places they'd seen that had been closed off. Each site, they worked out together, had played an important part in Gallian history, from the foundation of the city of Lutetia, to the homes of great thinkers, to the churches where important marriages were celebrated.

'The city is losing its memories, as Caroline puts it,' Aubrey said, 'and it seems to be decaying from under the ground, and the river has stopped flowing.'

'It's as if a plug has been pulled and the whole city is draining away,' George said.

'Inelegant, George, but accurate. So we must do something.' He rubbed his cheekbones again. 'Any chance of finding that wolf now, George?'

'Unlikely, old man, but let's see what we can see.'

THE WOLF HAD FALLEN SILENT. AUBREY, GEORGE AND Caroline wandered the smoky streets, moving in what George hoped was the right direction, but city sounds were all they heard – the rattle of wheels on cobblestones, the sound of fire-engine bells, police whistles. While they went, Aubrey noticed how many of the gas street lights weren't working. It seemed as if the dead lamps were casting pools of darkness that the other lamps were having trouble defeating. He shivered, even though the night was mild.

Aubrey found himself peering at shadowed alleys as they passed, alert for footpads and brigands. Lutetia had changed. The night wasn't carefree, with songs and music drifting over benign rooftops. Buildings glowered down at them as they went, watchful and disapproving. It was no longer the City of Lights.

Rounding a corner near the Norman Hotel, they were confronted by a huge bonfire. When they came closer, Aubrey saw it was a fountain, waterless, where furniture had been piled and set alight. The sculptures of fish and sea horses were black with soot and spouting flames instead of water. It was a hellish inversion of the natural state.

They hurried past, giving the blaze a wide berth.

Finally, Aubrey called off the wolf hunt. George was relieved and weary, but Caroline was disappointed.

The night was giving way to the day as they walked across the bridge to the Isle of the Crown and Caroline's apartment. The blackness overhead was tinged with grey, suggesting dawn was close.

Aubrey jumped when a figure detached itself from the shadows of the apartment building, but the ominous shape resolved itself quickly. 'Von Stralick. Excellent. You've saved us having to find you.'

'I'm glad you're pleased to see me, Fitzwilliam.' He bowed. 'Good morning, Miss Hepworth. Doyle.'

How did he know to wait here? Aubrey wondered. He glanced at the blank faces of the houses opposite. Light shone in one third-floor window and Aubrey guessed that the Hepworths were under surveillance – which meant that von Stralick was not a solo agent; he had others he was working with. He smiled. If he could find out just how extensive the Holmland network was, it would be a nice titbit for the Albion security agencies.

'I don't suppose this is a social call,' George said tersely. Aubrey glanced at his friend. His shoulders were sagging as he leaned against the lamp post at the bottom of the stairs. He was tired, Aubrey realised, and felt a degree of pleasure that it was he who was worrying about George instead of the other way around.