to be
too many things to too many people. He is weak, and this
is a bad time to be weak.'
George appeared, beaming. 'Delightful crowd you have
here, Duval. Very friendly.'
'We're talking politics here, George,' Aubrey said.
'What? On such a pleasant day with such ravishing
company? Shame, Aubrey, shame.'
'Things can be pleasant while unrest lies underneath.
Isn't that right, Duval?'
Duval shrugged again. His high spirits seemed to have
evaporated.
'Hardly,' George said. 'Lutetia is nigh on perfect, I'd say.'
He waved at one of the girls at the end of the table.
'Not so perfect,' Duval muttered. 'Not when the Soul
Stealer is abroad.'
The words were so theatrically ominous that Aubrey
at first thought Duval was joking. When the Gallian
refused to raise his eyes, Aubrey wasn't so sure. 'What is
the Soul Stealer?'
'Sounds interesting,' George said, and dragged a chair
over from a nearby table.
Duval spread his hands. 'It is not something we talk
about. It is distressing.'
'You should. Aubrey's dashed interested in stuff like
that.'
Aubrey shrugged. 'We are newcomers to your city,
Duval. If there is something we should be aware of,
please tell us.'
Duval put his hands palm down on the table and lifted
his head, a picture of resolution. 'You are our friends. You
deserve to know, for your safety.'
He gulped the last of his coffee and put the glass firmly
on the table. 'When the first victims were found, a few
months ago, nothing was thought of it. Catatonia, the
doctors called it. Catatonia of a strange sort that left
the sufferers shambling along the streets, striking out
blindly at those around them.' He grimaced. 'It happened
to a neighbour of mine, a wine merchant. I saw him
blundering along the street and thought he had imbibed
too deeply from his own stock.'
Duval gazed over the lake. Two rowing boats had
collided, but at such a sedate pace that the couples in
their respective craft were laughing instead of arguing.
'The victims increased,' he went on. 'A few, then a few
more. Dozens by now, all over the city. There is a terror
at work.'
'We saw one,' Aubrey said, and he couldn't help but
notice Caroline's quick glance of concern.
'You did?' Duval said. 'Where?'
Aubrey described the encounter with Monsieur
Jordan, the artist. 'It was like grappling with an animated
corpse,' he finished.
'No,' Duval said. 'They're not dead. They are missing
something.'
'Their soul?'
'Possibly. Rumours are like lightning, facts are like
snails.'
It sounded intriguing, but what really pricked at
Aubrey was the notion of souls being stolen. He hadn't
considered this, even though he knew that potent magic
had been involved in Monsieur Jordan's case. Any magic
that involved souls interested him as there was always the
possibility that it could shed light on his own condition.
Duval thumped the table with a fist, making Aubrey
jump. 'Ha!' the Gallian said. 'It is too beautiful a day to be
so gloomy! And with such beautiful ladies, we should
be singing, not sighing!'
Caroline laughed and Aubrey's heart sank. The
Gallian's continental charm was powerful. What hope did
dull old Aubrey have?
The party eventually left the café as evening was
drawing in. Aubrey claimed tiredness and tried to slip
away, but he was dragged along with the crowd who, true
to Duval's words, sang as they wove along the streets of
Lutetia. The Albion Friendship Society became a sort
of caravan as it made its way from one landmark to
another, stopping at various oases for refreshments as the
need arose. The need seemed to arise with astonishing
frequency.
They had just finished admiring the electric lights illuminating
the Middle Bridge and were about to leave to
see the rebuilt Town Hall when George tugged on
Aubrey's arm. 'Something's heading our way, old man.'
Aubrey peered across the river to see a host of flaming
torches coming toward the bridge.
Duval flapped his arms with some urgency. 'Quick!
Quick! Let them through!'
Aubrey agreed that it was