Heart of Gold

The functionary took Aubrey up the grand staircase and along a wood-panelled corridor. Brass light fittings with muted glass shades clung to the walls. He stopped outside a door that was identical to a dozen others they had passed. 'Here, sir. Sir Percy said to enter as soon as you arrived.'

The functionary bowed and hurried back along the corridor, leaving Aubrey alone.

Music floated up from the ballroom, making Aubrey eager to get back to join the celebration. He chewed his lip and stared at the door, feeling uncomfortable standing there. It wasn't the prospect of fronting Sir Percy that unsettled him, it was something else, something skittering around the edge of his magical awareness. Bowing his head, he concentrated and grimaced when he found a tingling presence, diffuse and hard to isolate. It itched deep in his ears, where he couldn't scratch. For a moment, he was worried, then he shrugged. It would be odd not to find magic in a place such as this. Over the years, both high-level and low-level magic would have been performed in the service of Albion.

He rubbed his ears, but it didn't help the itching. He shook himself and sniffed – then his eyes widened. Even though the embassy was a potpourri of smells of leather, wood polish, perfume and cigar smoke, another, more pungent smell hovered in the air. When he realised what it was, he stepped back from the door and stared.

Flash powder. The distinctive, burnt metal smell of flash powder was coming from the room, reminding him of the horror of the Soul Stealer. He hesitated. He'd seen at least one photographer in the ballroom. Perhaps another had been in this part of the embassy?

He didn't want to contemplate the alternative.

He paused and his suspicions took the opportunity to break loose and jab him with sharp sticks. Why hadn't Sir Percy summoned him to his office? Why this obscure room toward the rear of the embassy?

He flexed his fingers, trying to decide what to do. Then a notion occurred to him and he smiled. He brought a simple light spell to mind and changed its intensity variable. He rehearsed it until it was on the tip of his tongue. Once pronounced, it would create a burst of light many times brighter than a photographer's flash powder. It would temporarily stun and blind. A useful weapon.

He grasped the door knob and pushed the door open.

When it swung back, he faced a room cluttered with crates and boxes. The end of the room was marked by lush, crimson floor-to-ceiling curtains. Half a dozen high-backed wooden chairs stood against the curtains. His magical senses alert, he took one step inside. A tiny creak and a swish made him turn, but he was too late. His skull rang like a bell the size of the world and everything went away.

WHEN AUBREY REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS, HE WAS TIED TO A chair. I deserve it, he thought and he cursed himself for preparing magically, but ignoring the possibility of a simple blow to the back of the head.

He was still in the same room. In front of him were the curtains and the high-backed chairs. To either side were boxes of a number of sizes, two tin troughs and three or four large books. A trunk lay open, revealing bottles of reagents.

'I am glad you are awake.'

Aubrey had never expected to hear Farentino, the Soul Stealer, again. Incredulous, he jerked his head around but couldn't swivel far enough.

'Very clever,' he said, his heart hammering. 'Stand behind me and I can't see you. Keep talking and I'll be bound to panic. In a few minutes I'll break down and be putty in your hands.'

'Make your japes while you can. You will soon be free.'

'Free? Excellent. These ropes are chafing. I'm sure I'm getting a rash on my wrists.'

'Free from this earthly existence, this dull travail where we plod day after day until we dwindle, diminished, and are gone.'

'Ah. That sort of freedom.' Aubrey gave up on the ropes. Farentino may have had a depressing view of human existence, but he was a dab hand at knots. Aubrey's stomach flipped over and back again. He realised that his best chance lay in their being discovered, so drawing out the conversation was his best tactic. 'I don't think you should kill me.'

'You will not be killed.'

'Don't you want to know why you shouldn't kill me? If you'd been going to kill me, that is?'

'You will join the others who have been freed. Your soul will be separated from your body and will survive, untouched and unchanging, in an existence beyond the grubby mundanity of this so-called life.'

Aubrey stiffened at Farentino's mention of souls surviving apart from the body, but before he could respond, the photographer stepped into view. He glowered, bending, hands behind his back, so he could look his captive in the face.

Aubrey recognised the bristling black eyebrows, the full black beard, but most of all he remembered the fanatic's eyes. 'Not wanting to be too personal,' he said. 'But you're meant to be dead.'

The Soul Stealer wore a long black coat and a rounded black hat with a wide brim. 'I cannot die. Not before I complete my mission – a mission you seem keen to thwart.'

'Tell me about your mission.' Keep talking, Farentino. Someone will wonder where I am. And when you ramble on, do mention the soul and body thing again. Details this time.

'It is a duty, given to me.' Farentino stretched out a long arm and dragged a chair close. He sat on it and placed his hands on his knees. He stared at Aubrey.

'Given to you? By God?'

Farentino shook his head and his whole body swayed. 'I do not presume to know the mind of God.'

'But someone must have given this mission to you.'

'If the Almighty has deigned to communicate his will to me, who am I to refuse?'

Aubrey thought it wise not to point out the way Farentino had contradicted himself. He had a feeling that consistency wasn't the Soul Stealer's strong point. 'Indeed. After all, he spared you for your work. An ordinary person would have been killed by that plunge.'

'I was taken into the bosom of the waters and borne to safety.' Farentino looked away, distracted. 'I cannot die. I have a destiny to fulfil.'

He stood and walked to the curtains. With a grunt, he drew them back.

Lying on the floor in a haphazard jumble were a dozen bodies, men and women. All of them were wearing evening finery. Propped up in one corner, Aubrey saw Sir Percy Derringford in his bright-red regimental uniform. All of them had the staring, vacant eyes of the dispossessed. Aubrey clenched his fists with horror and frustration.

Farentino walked among them, studying them with a chilling mixture of tenderness and detachment. 'I've realised that I must work more swiftly. Why labour with the masses when I can save the souls of the most important members of society? If I can liberate the leaders, then surely the rest will follow.' He nodded, as if reassuring himself that this had been a good idea.

Aubrey seethed and felt sick in the pit of this stomach. Gallia had been brought back from the precipice by the return of the Heart of Gold, but this madman's actions could throw everything into chaos again.