The moment was his. Every moment was his, he realised, every instant of his life, but this one was momentous, with the fate of nations hinging on it.
And it was up to him. Why not? he thought. I can mess things up as well as anybody can.
Aubrey went to Saltin's shuddering form on the stool. Hoping he wasn't too late, he took the Heart of Gold from the airman.
Aubrey had expected a struggle, but the artefact came easily from Saltin's grasp. As soon as it left his hands, the airman slumped to one side and fell off the stool.
'See to him,' Aubrey croaked, then he staggered. The world blurred, and the floor beneath his feet seemed to tilt. He tripped and stumbled until he collided with the the strongroom wall. Sagging, his breath came in ragged, painful gasps.
The Heart of Gold was a storm of magical power in his hands.
Aubrey had hoped his magical talents and training would help him endure the power of the artefact. If this were true, he pitied all of the untrained unfortunates who'd held it, for it was as if he were being taken apart.
His throat felt as if it were being crushed by a giant hand. He hunched over as a hundred minute spasms ran through his body. His teeth and bones ached while redhot needles pricked every inch of his skin. He shook, convinced that he was about to be turned inside out.
But his hands, where they held the softly glowing golden heart, did not suffer at all.
A desperate core of rationality struggled to make sense of what was happening to him, cataloguing the sensations so he could ponder them later. Then, with despair, he realised that it wasn't just his body that was being punished, it was his soul.
As soon as he'd taken the precious object from Saltin, Bernard's protection spell shattered into a million pieces. His soul was wrenched about by the torrent of magical power that was coursing through his body. It flapped in the wind like a loose sail, threatening at any moment to detach itself and be whirled away.
Aubrey choked, then coughed and snatched a breath of air. He trembled, and he groped, blinded, scrabbling to hold himself together.
'Aubrey! What have you done?'
Caroline's hands were on his shoulders, but the sensation was distant and muffled. 'The chapel,' he said with a tongue like a block of wood. 'We must get to the chapel.'
She dug her fingers into his shoulders. He lolled helplessly in her hands and flashes of agony burst like fireworks in front of his eyes. 'You fool,' she growled. 'This is no time to be a hero.'
Even though he was concentrating on holding on to his soul, Aubrey found an instant to be offended by her remark. 'If not now, when?' he managed to slur, then he decided he was better off with his eyes closed. It was too much effort to keep them open.
Irregular waves of magic marched through his body, each bringing a new taste of agony. He hadn't realised that pain had various flavours, but he was rapidly being introduced to the variety of ways a body could hurt: burning, stinging, aching, hammering, searing, cutting. Each overlapped with the last, melding and then separating into fresh ordeals.
He tried to remember a spell, something to help, but he found it difficult to organise any sort of coherent thought. Everything he tried to piece together splintered and was blown away by the magical inferno that consumed him.
A different voice. 'I'll take him.' A strong arm under his shoulders. George.
Aubrey opened his eyes. 'Thank you.'
George studied him. 'You're in trouble?'
'Yes. Very much so.' He jerked, hissed, then ground his teeth together. 'The chapel,' he whispered. 'And contact Inspector Paul.'
'You can drive him in one of those lorries,' Caroline said. 'What's it like outside?'
'A pitched battle. Marchmainers against Holmlanders would be my guess. Oh, and that dinosaur is rampaging about, too.'
'It sounds as if we have a diversion.'
The world swooped and Aubrey realised, dimly, that he'd been picked up and slung over George's shoulder. Every step was an explosion of pain echoing through his skull. He focused on his soul, clinging to it more with stubbornness than art.
Aubrey slumped on the long bench seat of the lorry. He could hear George and Caroline arguing but couldn't make out their words over the throbbing of the engine. Or was it the engine? He opened his eyes. George then disappeared into the strongroom. He came back carrying Saltin. He loaded the airman into the back of the lorry before leaping into the driver's seat.
'Didn't we start this way?' Aubrey mumbled. 'Except it was an ornithopter. And I was driving. Flying.'
'Easy, old man,' George said. 'Don't talk. Save your strength.'
'Caroline,' Aubrey croaked.
George ground the gears and the lorry started to move. 'She's gone to get her mother away from here.'
'Shouldn't've let her leave.'
George was silent for a minute, his brow furrowed with concentration as he manoeuvred the lorry through the doorway. It emerged into the smoke billowing from the hangar. Through tear-filled eyes, Aubrey saw that half the hangar had collapsed, while fire was raging through the rest. The gunfire of a sizeable skirmish hammered through the smoke.
George stamped on the accelerator and the lorry spat gravel behind it. It surged through the smoke, away from the tumult and toward the gate.
'I didn't let her leave,' George shouted over the scream of the motor. 'You know perfectly well that you can't get Caroline to do anything she doesn't want to do.'
Aubrey realised he was nodding, not in agreement with George, but in time to the magical pulse coming from the Heart of Gold. It rolled through him, ancient and majestic, a power from a time long gone.
His mouth was difficult to work. 'Not you. Me. I shouldn't have let her leave.'
The gatehouse was empty. The lorry rocketed past and George threw it into a screeching right-hand turn. Lutetia lay ahead.
'No, old man.' The engine was like a saw on Aubrey's skull. 'Caroline is someone you shouldn't ever let leave.'
Twenty-
Two
THE TRIP BACK TO THE CITY WAS A NIGHTMARE. Aubrey would have been flung around like a rag doll if it weren't for the restraining arm George dropped across his chest whenever they shrieked around corners. The little space of the lorry's cabin became Aubrey's world, a noisy cocoon smelling of hot oil and sweat.
The Heart of Gold was fat and heavy in his lap, a reef he'd foundered on. Helpless, he lapsed into an internal world of struggle and torment.
'Nearly there, old man.' George sounded as if he were speaking through a mask. Aubrey couldn't answer. All that was stopping his soul being drawn to the true death was his refusal to let go.
Thoughts flitted around the edges of his mind, splinters of arguments he'd had with himself, remains of desires, dreams, ambitions. Distracted, his attention staggered from one to the other, never settling on one for long.