He tapped the Beccaria Cage under his shirt. ‘That’s my understanding, too.’
Fromm peered at him. ‘Fromm was right. You aren’t stupid.’ He huffed for a moment, then he groped in a hidden pocket. Aubrey tensed, and felt George stir at his side, but relaxed when Fromm merely took out the hundred-mark coin, the reward Aubrey had already given to him. He turned it over and over in his hands. It sparkled, golden. ‘Ghosts aren’t souls. Not whole souls.’
At this confirmation of his suppositions, Aubrey clenched his fists. ‘Explain.’
‘Ghosts are pieces of souls.’ Fromm tossed the gold coin in the air and caught it again. ‘Sometimes, it happens. Souls get shivered apart. The splinters get scattered. Sometimes, the biggest piece clings to the body, hard. The rest wander off, but they’re not quite right.’
‘Missing something?’ Kiefer asked.
‘Missing more than a few somethings. If ghost hunters can smell them, we can round them up and...’ He shrugged. ‘After that, it’s not up to us.’
Aubrey could imagine the grateful relatives receiving the fragmented souls and then having to find a way to reunite the pieces. This was a branch of magic he’d never heard of, never suspected. Was it just a Holmland specialty, a way of looking at things that was peculiar to this country, or was it the sort of backwoods thing that existed in Albion but had never been thought worth serious study?
He knew one university that would soon be pursuing this area, as soon as he got back to Greythorn. ‘And you can find a particular ghost? Splinter?’
‘Fromm can. If Fromm can sniff something that the person owned.’
Aubrey felt in his pocket. ‘I have just the thing.’
He held out the Tremaine pearl. He’d expected Fromm to snatch at it, but instead the ghost hunter sat back and regarded the pearl with narrowed eyes. He licked his lips nervously and held out a hand. ‘Here.’
With some reluctance, Aubrey placed the pearl in Fromm’s grubby palm. The ghost hunter grimaced, then cocked his head to one side and squinted at it. Then he surprised Aubrey by growling deep in his throat.
Slowly, the ghost hunter raised his hand. He brought the pearl up to his prominent nose and sniffed, like a man taking snuff. The pearl actually rolled closer to his cavernous nostrils before rocking back to the middle of his palm.
Fromm hissed and closed his fist on the pearl. ‘There are ghosts in here, already.’
Aubrey was both impressed and relieved at this confirmation of the ghost hunter’s power. ‘Sorry. I forgot to tell you about that.’
‘This ghost you want Fromm to find. It’s another one like these? Part of the same soul?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Ah.’ Fromm rolled the pearl between his thumb and forefinger. ‘If you want to make her whole again, you’ll need her body as well as the pieces.’
Aubrey glanced at George and von Stralick. ‘And what makes you think we want to do that?’
‘It’s what people do. Not easy, though.’
‘Let us worry about that,’ von Stralick said. ‘Can you find the ghost out there using this?’
‘Plenty to work with, here. She’s in the city, for sure, and Fromm will find her.’
‘He will?’ George said. ‘I mean, you will?’
‘Of course. Meet here tomorrow, noon.’
Aubrey had more than a few misgivings, and not the least was seeing Fromm tuck the Tremaine pearl into a pocket. ‘Do you need to keep that?’
‘How can Fromm do his work without it?’
‘It’s magic, you know.’
‘Fromm knows. That is why Fromm doesn’t want to keep it. As soon as all is done, you can have it.’
Aubrey settled for that.
They made arrangements to meet the next day. He gave the ghost hunter a twenty-mark piece as a token of good faith. The ghost hunter gave him a clap on the back as a token of his.
Fromm left, vowing to find his cousins and treat them to a meal.
They followed, after paying their bill. The sun was getting low, barely above the rooftops. A wind was coming from the river. It was fitful, but decidedly chilly.
Kiefer stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘I must go. I have important preparation for the symposium.’
‘You’re helping at the symposium?’ Aubrey said.
‘Helping?’ He smiled. ‘This morning I heard that I have won the inaugural Chancellor’s Prize. I will be presenting an important paper.’
‘Congratulations,’ Aubrey said and he had the explanation for Kiefer’s distraction. ‘I didn’t know they were giving prizes for catalytic magic.’
Kiefer was dismissive. ‘Nothing as straightforward as that. Much more interesting, but I still need to meet someone who is helping me work through some documents.’
‘Good, good.’ Mention of the symposium made Aubrey think of Caroline. Where would she be staying? In Lutetia, her mother had a flat. Would she have one here?
‘I should go as well,’ von Stralick said. ‘I have things to do.’
‘A ghost hunter’s reputation to check?’ George said.
‘Among other things. I will be in touch.’
Aubrey watched the Holmlanders march off, deep in conversation. ‘Do you trust him?’
‘Von Stralick? Not really. He bears watching.’
‘Agreed.’
Aubrey always enjoyed getting to know a new city, and he and George took the opportunity to walk to the embassy rather than catch a cab. He looked back at the centre of the city a mile or so away, toward the Assembly Building, where the Chancellor was no doubt holding sway at this very moment, and the bulk of the Freestein Arch, the monument to Holmland’s military past. The Academy, the site for the symposium, was north of the centre of the city, only a short tram ride away. The streets were busy and if it weren’t for the Holmlandish signs he could have believed he was in Trinovant. Tobacconists, shoeshops, bookshops all tended to emphasise how similar the folk of Holmland were to the folk of Albion. Aubrey took some heart at this, but shuddered at the thought of war coming to these bustling, ordinary streets.
Clean streets, too. The pavements were well swept and the glass in the shop fronts sparkled. After they bought pies from a roaming vendor as a quick lunch, they wandered through more streets full of shops. After a time, Aubrey had an itchy feeling. He stopped and peered at a collection of hats. ‘I think we’re being followed,’ he said to George.
‘How can you tell?’ George put his face closer to the glass. ‘I think Sophie would like that yellow one.’
‘Reflection,’ Aubrey said. ‘That man. The one inspecting flowers at the barrow. That’s the third time I’ve seen him.’
‘I see. What do we do?’
‘We could evade him easily enough.’
‘Which sounds like a good idea.’
‘Or we could see what he wants.’
‘Which sounds like a potentially dangerous idea.’
‘But productive.’ Aubrey frowned at the shop display. ‘Do you really think Sophie would like that yellow one?’
‘Certain of it, old man.’
Aubrey shook his head at George’s confidence. ‘Let’s see how much it is, then.’
‘Excellent.’
‘We’ll go in. You engage the shop assistant, talking hat talk and whatnot. I’ll take up a position just inside the doorway and accost this stranger, not allowing him to leave.’
‘First-class plan, that. Apart from one thing you’ve forgotten.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I don’t speak Holmlandish.’
Aubrey winced. How could he forget? George approached foreign languages in the same way a bull approached a china shop – plenty of energy, unfortunate results.