Heart of Gold

'Such as?'

George sat back in the chair and put his arms behind his head. 'I understand that the young ladies of Gallia are particularly striking.'

'George, you don't speak a word of Gallian.'

'You're not the only one who enjoys a challenge, old man. I aim to extend myself while I'm over there.'

Aubrey was prevented from investigating this claim further when Tilly, one of the maids, knocked on the door frame. 'Excuse me, Master Aubrey, but Sir Darius would like to see you in the conservatory.'

Aubrey stood. 'About things, no doubt.'

'Excuse me, sir?'

'Never mind, Tilly. George, would you like to go down to lunch? This could take some time.'

'Lunch?' George jumped to his feet. 'Capital idea.'

THE FACT THAT SIR DARIUS WAS IN THE CONSERVATORY was a sign, and not a terribly good one. Aubrey's father ignored the conservatory unless politics were getting too much for him. Then he sought the warm leafiness of the indoor garden as a refuge.

Aubrey found him in one of the huge bow-backed wicker chairs. It was enveloped in the bosom of a spreading fig tree. Sir Darius was sitting, an elegant figure in grey, hands steepled in front of his mouth, frowning in thought.

'Father.'

'Ah, Aubrey. I'm glad you're here. I have a task for you.'

The lines under his father's eyes reminded Aubrey that times were difficult for the Prime Minister of Albion. Despite the best efforts of his political foes, Sir Darius's Progressive Party had been successful at the recent election, but Aubrey had been wondering if this was a poisoned chalice. With the military build-up on the Continent, Albion was in a precarious position.

'What can I do for you, sir?' Aubrey desperately wanted to live up to the example set by his father, but it was difficult. While his father never seemed to judge, Aubrey was conscious that he had expectations – as did society. He knew that many, many people were waiting to see if Aubrey succeeded or failed, with the naysayers currently in the ascendant.

The entire plot to kill the King had never been made public as it had been deemed 'contrary to the national interest'. Aubrey had been dismayed by the efforts of the Special Services, which had spread rumour to the effect that Aubrey and some of his 'young friends' had been rather careless at the shooting weekend the Crown Prince had organised, endangering the royal personage. While Aubrey had to admit it was a clever layer of subterfuge, drawing attention away from the real events, he didn't like being thought of as one of the rich and idle layabouts of the upper class.

Sir Darius considered his answer. 'I need an observer. One who has the sort of skills you showed so recently in the affair with that scoundrel Dr Tremaine.'

With an effort, Aubrey didn't groan aloud. 'You want me to do something in Lutetia?'

His father raised an eyebrow. 'Yes. Since you're going there, I thought your unconventional approaches may be useful.'

Aubrey had a moment of pride at his father's use of the world 'unconventional' – taking it as a compliment – but he was still wary. His long-desired holiday was rapidly coming to resemble a shopping list – and, what's more, a shopping list for other people, which might leave little time to browse for himself.

He winced as his extended metaphor threatened to turn around and strangle him. 'I may be busy in Lutetia.'

His father sat back in his chair and smoothed his moustache. It was not a comforting gesture. 'I see. Would you like to tell me what is going to keep you so busy?'

Aubrey decided that he'd rather have most of his fingernails pulled out than tell his father that he was going to engineer as many chance encounters with Caroline Hepworth as possible. 'On the other hand, I do enjoy a challenge.'

He often found himself in situations like this with his family. Conversations escalated into battles of wits; greetings became opening salvos in longer engagements. In these exchanges, much was said, much was unsaid, and much was hidden behind careful facial expressions and gestures. A false word was all it took to find that a carefully planned goal was denied, or that one found oneself doing the complete opposite of what one intended, with no certain knowledge how things became turned around.

'Splendid,' Sir Darius said. 'Since this role follows from your exploits in saving our Gallian airman, I thought you may be interested.'

'Captain Saltin continues to recover, I hope?'

'Yes. Bruised, with some minor burns, but rather better off than he would have been if you hadn't come to his rescue.' Sir Darius gave a tired smile. 'It's extraordinary, really. For most of our history, Albion and Gallia have been at each other's throats, sworn enemies who've tried to conquer each other with quite impressive regularity. Now, seven hundred years of mistrust and suspicion are put aside and we embrace each other with open arms. At least, that's what we leaders say.'

Aubrey loved his father speaking openly to him, taking him into his confidence and allowing him to see the intricacies of the world. It made him even hungrier to achieve his ambitions. 'What does the Foreign Office say?'

'Ah. We have some internal disputes in the FO, some very different opinions about the level of threat posed by Holmland, and exactly what they're up to.' He ran a thumb along the armrest. 'I must do something about that.'

'And the Magisterium? What does it say?'

'And why would you think that the Magisterium would be involved in this?'

Aubrey shrugged. 'I thought you may have been approaching me because of my skills with magic. If magic was part of the dirigible disaster, then the Magisterium would need to be involved.'

Aubrey was always keen to hear anything about the Magisterium. It was the branch of law enforcement with the responsibility for magical matters throughout Albion. Under the leadership of the enigmatic Craddock, the Magisterium had become a feared force of highly skilled magicians with a reputation for ruthless investigation and action.

'You're right,' Sir Darius said. 'Craddock's operatives found that the explosions on the dirigible were caused by a magical device. Something about temporary elasticity.'

'The Law of Temporal Elasticity,' Aubrey said absently. He was already trying to imagine how such a law could be used. It would have to be a matter of constraining parameters of both time and distance . . .

After studying his son for a moment, Sir Darius continued. 'Craddock's view is that the device had the hallmarks of Holmland magic.'

Aubrey nodded. 'Clever. There are plenty of Gallians who still don't like us. Losing their airship over Albion would let them blame us for its loss. It would give them reason to abandon our alliance, which is just what Holmland wants.'

'Quite. The Gallian airman said that the dirigible left from the St Martin airfield on the north of Lutetia after the usual checks and inspections. He was mortified to hear about the device.'

'And while I'm in Gallia, you'd like me to see what I can find?'

'Unofficially, of course.' Sir Darius tugged at an earlobe, frowning. 'Our overseas Magisterium operatives are investigating, but I fear that their minds are too literal, and their chiefs are too concerned with settling scores within the Special Services overseas branch. I need someone independent.'