Heart of Gold by Michael Pryor Read Free Book Online

seen, then he, too,
reeled back at the sight of what emerged. Almost of their
own accord, his hands rose to ward it off.
    It had once been a man. Late fifties, to judge from the
sprinkling of grey in his wiry hair and beard. He was
short and thickset, his rounded frame showing the signs
of good living. He wore a fine dark-grey suit, but
the dove-grey gloves on his hands were in tatters.
Bloodied fingers protruded from the shreds. His face
was lined and pale, but his eyes were completely vacant.
No intelligence, no awareness at all lay behind them.
He gazed directly ahead with an emptiness that was
terrifying. A thin line of drool ran from the corner of
his mouth.
    The appalling figure groaned, hoarsely. His hands
dangled, as if they were too heavy to lift. He staggered,
dragging his feet, until he faced Aubrey. Then he groaned
again.
    Aubrey badly wanted to turn and run; his muscles
trembled in readiness, but he steeled himself and put out
a hand. 'Sir?' His heart hammered. 'What can we do
for you?'
    'In Gallian, old man,' George said. 'He can't understand
you.'
    Aubrey had grave doubts whether this was merely a
language difficulty. He tried again in Gallian, but the man
simply stood there, swaying.
    'He's not blinking,' George pointed out.
    Before Aubrey could respond, the groaning man
lurched at them in a stiff-legged shamble. The groaning
turned into a deep, chesty growl.
    A cry came from the stairs. 'What is this?' Madame
Calvert put a hand to her mouth. 'Monsieur Jordan, what
are you doing?'
    A shout wrenched Aubrey's attention back to see
Monsieur Jordan lunge clumsily at George, who fended
him off with a straight-armed push to the chest.
    The groaning man's feet went out from under him. He
fell back and hit his head on the tiled floor with a crack.
    Aubrey hurried and crouched by his side. 'He's still
breathing. Madame Calvert, can you fetch medical help?
And the police?'
    Madame Calvert didn't argue. She rushed off.
    George knelt, his face anxious. 'Never had that happen
before. A good push to the chest usually gives time to
work out what to do next. He just toppled like a tree.'
    'He had poor balance. And coordination.' Aubrey
wondered what the symptoms for rabies were. Didn't
they include groaning and twitching? 'Don't let him
bite you.'
    George shuddered. 'Last thing I'd want, old man.'
    Aubrey looked over his shoulder through the open
door. 'Let's take him into his apartment.'
    Aubrey took Monsieur Jordan's feet while George
hefted the other end. They shuffled into the apartment
and lay the still-unconscious Gallian on a blue velvet
chaise longue.
    Aubrey straightened and took in the apartment.
Monsieur Jordan was an artist, without doubt. A large
north-facing window – curtainless – took up one wall,
while carpet had been rolled back. The wooden floor was
a riot of colourful streaks and splashes. One end of the
room was a combined kitchen and sleeping area. The
other was an arrangement of shelves, easels, two mismatched
tables and a small dais. After assuring himself
that Monsieur Jordan was comfortable and still breathing,
Aubrey wandered over to the dais and the single chair on
it. Behind the chair, the wall was draped with white cloth
in quite deliberate folds.
    Aubrey studied the length of the room. It didn't take
much imagination to see Monsieur Jordan at an easel,
studying his –
    'Model,' Aubrey breathed and sat on the chair that he
was sure had been used by an artist's model. But not
recently. Monsieur Jordan was dressed in a good suit and
tie, unsuitable wear for painting. And yet Aubrey had the
impression that someone had been here recently,
someone other than Monsieur Jordan. Above the warm,
green bite of turpentine, he smelled an acrid chemical
odour that was familiar. He concentrated, holding out his
hands, palms down, and focusing his magical awareness.
    His eyes opened wide. What have we here? he thought.
The room had been the site of intense magic. Whatever
the spell had been, it was powerful,