‘I’m guessing,’ he said, ‘that one of these old tomes pointed you toward the possibility of the Gallian Crown Jewels.’
‘Very mysteriously,’ Prince Albert said. ‘You would have loved these books, Aubrey. Full of magical stuff.’
‘I was wondering about that.’
‘It became a sort of leapfrogging that would have been vastly enjoyable if it weren’t for the war. This book pointed to another book, which led to another document and so on. Eventually I found a chest right at the back of a shabby strongroom up north, in Reesdale Castle.’
‘The Gallian Crown Jewels?’
‘The Gallian Crown Jewels,’ Prince Albert affirmed. ‘Apparently they were whisked away during the Gallian Revolution, for safety’s sake, and ended up there.’
‘Whisked away a bit more successfully than the Gallian king was,’ George said.
‘Quite.’
Aubrey had, of course, seen the Albion Crown Jewels many times and accepted that kings, by and large, were very serious about their treasures. A substantial collection was a concrete display of how great and powerful they were. Whenever it was hauled out, for one ceremony or other, it was a very deliberate reminder to the population that the holder of such whopping great lumps of gold and gemstones wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
‘The usual assortment, Bertie?’ he asked. ‘Crown, sceptre, that sort of thing?’
Prince Albert essayed a small laugh. ‘The Gallian Crown Jewels indeed includes a crown. A modest one, compared to the great heavy thing that’s in the Albionite collection, but the star sapphire it sports is quite immense. There’s also an orb, a mace, a few rings and a rather ancient jewelled seal. The whole collection was in a bad way, but the crown confirmed what it was.’ He glanced at Aubrey. ‘I would have appreciated your being around, Aubrey, after I found it. Magical whatnot and all.’
‘Ah.’
‘I had to approach Commander Craddock, there being a marked shortage of experienced, trustworthy magicians at the moment. After some consultation with his research department, Craddock confirmed that the collection was imbued with magic that was slumbering.’
‘Slumbering?’
‘That’s how he put it. When I mentioned the Gallian Heart of Gold, he became very excited.’
‘I’ve never seen Commander Craddock excited,’ Caroline said. ‘How did he show this?’
‘His nostrils flared.’
‘Very excited,’ Aubrey said. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t collapse after that.’
‘He consulted some of his magical theoreticians again and confirmed my suspicions that reuniting the Crown Jewels with the Heart of Gold could be very useful for Gallia.’
‘This reunification, Bertie,’ Aubrey said urgently. ‘It worked?’
‘I have no idea. The sisters who take care of the Heart of Gold weren’t surprised when I arrived with the jewels, which is really quite startling in itself. When they lay the items on a ledge in the back of the niche where they guard the heart, I’m sure it began to glow more brightly, but I could be imagining things.’
‘I doubt it.’ Aubrey looked around. ‘Is that a wardrobe? And, if so, is my uniform in it?’
The cabinet he was indicating was decorated in high Gallian mode, pale blue, with gilt curlicues surrounding enough mirrors to make Aubrey fear for his life if the sun caught them directly. An elaborate panorama of a unicorn frolicking with a bevy of milkmaids stretched across the top. The unicorn looked decidedly nervous about whatever the milkmaids had in mind.
While Caroline was taking some time to distinguish the actual door knob from the countless silver buttons, handles and projections doubtless designed to suspend periwigs or recalcitrant servants from, Sophie turned to the prince. ‘Do you think it will help, this magical bringing together?’
‘Commander Craddock was anxious that it take place, which I take as a sign of its importance.’
Aubrey grimaced. ‘I don’t think, however, we should be looking for an army of spectral warriors to suddenly start charging across the sky, wiping the Holmlanders from the map. The Heart of Gold’s magic is more of a preserving kind, building on what’s already there. When it was stolen, Lutetia literally began falling apart.’
Sophie shook her head. ‘I remember. Earthquakes, buildings falling down.’
‘That sort of thing was the effect of its loss,’ Aubrey said. ‘I think that we can look to these artefacts to help once the war is over.’ There it goes again. ‘Some of the hurts may be healed. The nation might right itself more quickly, that sort of thing.’
A discreet, but insistent, knock sounded on the door. Aubrey was interested to see Bertie’s reaction: it was both irritated and understanding, a blend that Aubrey didn’t think was possible – but perhaps it came with being the heir to the throne. ‘Enter,’ Prince Albert said.
An aide in the same uniform as the prince hurried into the room. He tried to bow and salute at the same time and made a mess of the whole lot. His urgency made Aubrey uneasy. ‘Your highness! Sir! It’s
…’ He worked his mouth for a moment, then snatched a leather satchel from under his arm and thrust it at the prince. ‘Sir!’
Prince Albert studied the satchel for some time before opening it and Aubrey’s unease grew. A muffled commotion came from the open doorway, where wagonloads of brass glinted from the shoulders of officers who were gathering at the door the aide had neglected to close behind him. The officers were muttering ominously. In the distance Aubrey was sure he could hear shouting.
He glanced at his friends to see that they, too, were alarmed. Caroline, holding his jacket on a coat hanger, looked out of the window then turned, open-mouthed, toward him.
I really don’t want to be lounging around right now, Aubrey thought, but decided that it would be poor timing to fling back his bedclothes while Bertie was reading a letter that made him frown so deeply.
The prince folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. For a moment, he looked into the middle distance, then he glanced at the envelope again before slipping it into the satchel, which he gave back to the aide, who was quivering at attention.
The prince stood. Carefully, he shook out the creases in his trousers and straightened his jacket. He placed his cap on his head and spent a moment making sure that it was neatly settled. He cleared his throat. ‘I regret to have to tell you, but His Majesty passed away this morning.’
Inevitably, one of the generals at the door said it: ‘The King is dead!’
The response came loud and clear from the others. ‘Long live the King!’
They took this as permission to pour into the room, a horde of brass-laden officers, all wanting to get close to the new monarch.
The prince took this calmly. He nodded, then saluted. A score of arms snapped back a salute. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘We have much to do. Albion has lost a great king.’
Aubrey saw it all. It was an impressive display of self-control from someone who had been taught, ever since he was old enough to understand, about the importance of duty. Bertie had known that this day would come, the day where an ancient tradition would swing into action and sweep him away, turning him from what he was into something else. The prince was thoughtful, grave, but very much in command. A young man, but one who was ready for this moment.
Despite this, Aubrey wanted to reach out to his friend, to acknowledge that there was something personal in this moment, something that was being lost in the overwhelmingly public ritual.
We may have lost a king, Aubrey thought, but you’ve lost a father.
58
Aubrey darted behind a screen to change as the prince was whisked away by the generals, colonels and other nabobs who had congregated, aware of the significance of the moment.
Aubrey’s head popped up and down as he grappled with trousers and boots, providing a series of glimpses of the hullaballoo as he bent and straightened, so that Bertie’s progress stuttered along, shuffling across the room only to become bogged at the door by a crowd that was managing the difficult task of cheering solemnly.
