Heart of Gold

'The correspondence, Monsieur Caron,' Aubrey said. 'How much were the Marchmainers going to pay you?'

Monsieur Caron glared for a moment, then his face collapsed. He tottered a few paces and then sat on the stairs. He put his head in his hands. 'A small fortune. Every time I refused, they came back with a higher price.'

'And you still think the letters were unimportant?'

'I'm a businessman. I'm interested in obtaining the best price for my goods.'

'You had no suspicions?'

Monsieur Caron was silent. He dropped his gaze and studied his hands. 'I cannot afford to have suspicions. These letters are harmless.'

'You don't believe that.'

He looked away. 'They threatened me. They burnt down my shop.'

We aren't dealing with amateurs here, Aubrey thought. 'So you went into hiding,' Aubrey said. Caroline's mother was obviously fond of Monsieur Caron, but Aubrey was sure the man knew more than he was telling. He glanced at George, who was gazing ahead, unconcerned, even though the glass in the window shook. 'Whatever price they offered you, I will better it.'

Monsieur Caron brightened. 'It would be good for the letters to return to their owner.'

'At a price,' Caroline said.

Monsieur Caron looked hurt. 'I have overheads to consider.'

Mrs Hepworth sighed. 'Alphonse. Your greed will be the death of you.'

He spread his hands. 'What can I do? I have commitments.'

'Tell me more about the Marchmainers,' Aubrey said. 'Did they discuss plans with you? Where were they going next?'

'I do not know. They were customers, that was all. They did not discuss anything with me other than price. And the possibility of physical harm.'

'Their leader was a red-headed man?'

Monsieur Caron grimaced. 'Yes. Cold eyes.'

Gabriel. 'I think you were wise to offer the letters. And to agree to meet him.'

'But Aubrey,' Mrs Hepworth said, 'the letters are between your grandmother and your grandfather, are they not? How could they possibly be of any use to anyone else?'

'Well, they certainly seem to be of great interest to Marchmainers.' Aubrey's brain, already whirring at high speed, began to churn even faster. The letters were written around the time of the Treaty of St Anne, which brought Albion and Gallia together as allies. He shook his head. Such an event wouldn't be of interest to Marchmainers. Except if someone else was in the capital at the same time . . .

'Grandmother is an expert at meeting important people,' he said slowly. 'Even more, she has perfected the art of being remembered by them. She has vast networks of friends, acquaintances and correspondents and she never forgets a name.' He stared at Monsieur Caron. 'I'm guessing that her letters talk about someone important to the Marchmaine movement. Someone very, very important.'

'Martin Victor,' Monsieur Caron confirmed. 'Apparently he was a good friend of your grandfather. The letters mentioned that they regularly played cards together.' Monsieur Caron gave a small smile. 'Your grandfather lost, most often.'

Caroline raised an eyebrow. 'The Steel Duke playing cards with the founder of the Sons of Victor?'

'Useful, but not of earth-shattering importance. Was there anything else?'

'Ah. Then perhaps you mean the fact that your grandfather paid substantial sums of money to Martin Victor to help fund his struggle for a Marchmaine homeland?'

'Ah,' Aubrey said, distantly. 'Yes. I think that would do it.' He squeezed his hands together, hard, while he thought through the implications of this. 'It's perfect, really. Gabriel would love to have letters confirming a link between Marchmaine and Albion, especially a link of a monetary kind. In a stroke it would give some legitimacy to the independence cause and also destabilise the Albion–Gallian alliance.'

Caroline glanced at Monsieur Caron. 'Of course. Albion could be seen to be supporting a breakaway province.'

Aubrey sighed. 'Naturally, if the alliance fails, the Gallian government would be in great trouble. With it already teetering, it could be just the push to send it over the brink. Gallia in chaos would be the perfect time for Marchmaine to declare its sovereignty.'

'A single letter could cause all that?' Mrs Hepworth said. 'Alphonse, for shame.'

'How was I to know?' he pleaded.

'Don't be disingenuous,' Mrs Hepworth said. 'You can't pretend to be ignorant. Your best sales come where delicate political matters are concerned.'

'You have the letters, I presume,' Aubrey said, 'since you were about to hand them over to the Marchmainers.'

Monsieur Caron reached inside his jacket and took out a small packet of letters. The envelopes were crisp and white. They were tied together with a mauve ribbon. 'I have a price in mind,' he said.

'So do I,' Aubrey said and he held out his hand. 'It will be fair.'

Monsieur Caron looked pained, but surrendered the bundle. 'I look forward to your payment.'

'No doubt.' Aubrey held the letters and was mildly surprised that such important documents didn't weigh more. They looked fresh and new, as if they had been written yesterday. 'Mrs Hepworth, would you take care of these for me?'

'Or course, dear boy. Your grandmother will be grateful for your efforts.'

The tower shook, violently this time. George gave a shout. 'Aubrey, look!'

Aubrey hurried to the window. Pylons, mooring masts, airships. 'It's the St Martin airfield.' His mind buzzed. Gabriel and Saltin had admitted that the Gallian Dirigible Corps was full of Marchmainers. Von Stralick had warned that the Marchmainers were after the Heart of Gold.

It all fell into place. He stood, staring at nothing at all. 'I have it,' he said softly.

'Well, would you mind sharing it?' Caroline said.

'Remember when Gabriel took us to this airfield, on Thursday? Saltin was waiting for him, airship ready.'

'Ready for what?' George asked.

'To take the Heart of Gold to Marchmaine, where the Sons of Victor would restore it to its supposed rightful place.'

'But Gabriel didn't have it,' George protested.

'He's spent the last few days getting it, I think.' Aubrey pointed at the airfield ahead. 'From the way this tower is heading, it looks as if he's been successful.'

Aubrey let his explanation sink in. George pursed his lips thoughtfully, while Caroline seemed about to argue, but then nodded, as if she'd checked his logic and been convinced. Mrs Hepworth smiled, excited, but Monsieur Caron simply looked as if he'd rather be somewhere else.

'Since we're heading towards a nest of fanatical murderers,' Caroline said, 'do you think we could be a little more circumspect in our approach?'

'Ah. Are you suggesting that it's difficult to creep up on anyone in a five-storey tower?'

'Yes, that's just what I was suggesting.'

'Good point.' Aubrey remembered the woods that bordered the airfield. 'Hold on to something. We need to descend quickly.'

While he peered out of the window, he put a hand on the brickwork of the ancient tower. His skin tingled where it touched brick and mortar. It felt as if the old tower was singing, alive with the thrill of magic. He moved with the rhythm of power that was pulsing through the structure, summoning the spell he'd used to raise it from its slumber. Carefully, he inverted the inversion, adding an element which would return the tower's weight in a controlled fashion.