Heart of Gold

'One at a time,' he whispered, then he slipped under the handrail of the stairs and onto the covered porch. Hidden from view of the hangar, he waited for George and Caroline to join him. When they did – and no alarm went up – he opened the door to the hut and, together, they crept inside.

At first, Aubrey thought it was dim because of the dozens of stuffed birds that were hanging from the ceiling. Then he realised that the windows were draped with gauze.

The hut was one large room. A camp bed took up the left-hand corner, but it looked as if it hadn't been used for a long time. Most of the rest of the room was filled with steamer trunks and packing cases, all of them bearing labels indicating their exotic origins: Nippon, the South Sea Islands, the Arctic, and a number of Oriental nations Aubrey had only heard of as synonyms for 'the ends of the earth'. A long bench took up the wall opposite, under the gauze-swathed windows. A man sat at a desk in the far corner, his back to them, his bald head reflecting the glow of an electrical lamp.

'Close the door,' the man said in clipped Gallian. 'And be quick about it.'

'Sorry,' Aubrey replied in the same language. The man's accent made Aubrey pause, frowning. 'I didn't realise there was a draught.'

The figure at the desk turned and put an elbow on the back of the chair. An enormous black beard jutted from his chin. 'It isn't the draught, it's the light.' He cocked his head on one side. 'You're from Albion, aren't you?' he said in Albionish. 'What are you doing here?'

'You are Dr Romellier?'

The bald-headed man nodded once, sharply. 'Of course.'

'My mother sends you greetings.'

'Your mother?'

'Lady Rose Fitzwilliam. The naturalist.'

'Ah.' Dr Romellier's expression changed from guarded wariness to shrewd calculation. 'So you would be the son of the Prime Minister of Albion, then.'

Dr Romellier stood. He was wearing a white shirt, but no tie. His sleeves were rolled up, showing forearms as brawny as a blacksmith, even though the doctor wouldn't have been much more than four feet tall. Aubrey had never given much consideration to what an ornithologist looked like, and was glad he hadn't gone to the trouble of working up a preconception.

'My mother is an admirer of your work, Dr Romellier,' Aubrey said after he made introductions, to which the ornithologist responded coolly.

'She should be.' He crossed his arms on his broad chest. He stood with his back to his desk, keeping himself between his work and visitors. 'I am a genius.'

No false modesty here, Aubrey thought.

'D'you mind if we have a seat, doctor?' George asked, looking around.

'Yes. I didn't invite you here.'

George was startled, but Aubrey cut in before his friend could argue. 'My mother is keen to get a copy of your monograph on flightless birds of the southern oceans.'

'My monograph?' Dr Romellier cocked his head. 'That's what you're here for?'

Aubrey decided flattery was probably the most useful approach, especially with a self-declared genius. 'Of course. My mother feels your ground-breaking work deserves the widest audience possible.'

Dr Romellier studied Aubrey for some time, in silence. Aubrey felt as if he were being sized up for dissection. 'It is as I thought, then.'

Caroline and George looked at Aubrey. He shrugged, minutely. 'Dr Romellier? On another matter, we need to ask for your help.'

'My help?' Dr Romellier smiled a little, but Aubrey was concerned at the wintriness of that smile. 'What is it you want?'

'We need to get to the airship hangar.'

'The place with all the noise?'

'You haven't been there?'

'Not recently. They said they wanted my help to design ships with more lift.' He scowled. 'The fools. I could have created a profile that would save them money and make their airships the most dynamic in the world. I discard them, now. I will leave, soon, and go where I am appreciated.' He glared at the wall closest the hangar.

Caroline cleared her throat.

'Dr Romellier, if you help us, we can help you.'

'How can you help me?'

'You want to go where you are appreciated. I happen to know that Lady Fitzwilliam is equipping an expedition to the Arctic and is looking for expert colleagues.'

Aubrey stared. This was news to him.

'Lady Fitzwilliam,' Dr Romellier repeated.

'We're seeing her this weekend, you know,' Caroline said.

Aubrey saw where Caroline was leading. He chimed in. 'We could talk to her, if you like, if you're interested in being part of her expedition. Or I could introduce you and you could ask her yourself.'

'So, if I get you into this hangar, you'll introduce me to your mother.'

'Gladly.'

Dr Romellier studied Aubrey again, in the same clinical manner as before. He nodded, once, like an axe chopping. 'I'll take you straightaway.'

'Steady on, old chap,' George said. 'Don't you want to know what's going on?'

'Politics, I imagine,' Dr Romellier said. 'Parlour games for the rich and idle. I have more important things to think about.'

'Hear that, Aubrey?' George said. '"Parlour games for the rich and idle".'

Aubrey ignored this. 'We're grateful, Dr Romellier.'

Dr Romellier took them to the gap between his hut and the next. Wedged there was a dogcart, low, twowheeled, with battered wooden panels.

The ornithologist dragged a tarpaulin out of the cart. 'Here. Lie down. I'll get you in.'

Aubrey eyed the cart, then Dr Romellier. 'Do you often use this?'

'Often enough,' the ornithologist said. 'As you saw, I have many deliveries. Those in charge here say they can't spare anyone to help me, so I help myself. Get in, get in.'

Aubrey climbed into the back of the cart with Caroline and George. With some awkwardness, they managed to arrange themselves.

Dr Romellier inspected them. 'Don't make a sound.' He drew the tarpaulin.

The heavy cloth smelled of paint. Aubrey concentrated on taking shallow breaths as the cart jolted and began to move. It rumbled along easily enough, but he was glad that the journey was only a short one as every stone and every bump seemed to be magnified by the lack of springs. He could hear Dr Romellier's heavy breathing and the noises of the hangar growing louder and louder.

In the dim light under the tarpaulin he gave George and Caroline the thumbs up just as the cart swung around and bumped once, hard. From the smoother rolling, Aubrey guessed that they'd reached the concrete apron in front of the hangar. The noise intensified again, with great whooshing sounds overlapping with the hiss and pungent smell of welding. Chains were rattling in the near distance, with men shouting over the top of loud grinding.

The cart juddered over metal grates and past something that hummed with the relentless sound of an electrical motor. Aubrey heard a door roll shut and then they were in relative quiet.

The tarpaulin was dragged back. Aubrey blinked in the harsh, actinic light. Three men were standing next to Dr Romellier. Two held revolvers. The other was Gabriel, the leader of the Sons of Victor.