The Alchemist of Paris

by M C Dulac

  His words and tone surprised me. Price showed no trace of malice toward Pierre.

  “Do not concern yourself with my work,” Price added.

  “I know little of your work, sir.”

  “That is for the best. To be a servant can be a difficult thing,” he fixed with me again with his smoky brown eyes.

  Taking Flamel’s book with him, he strode out of the room.

  I ran to the window. Price emerged from the house by the servants’ door a few seconds later and walked over to the garden house. Seeing him in the shadows of the overcast day, I realised he was the same figure I had watched for nights now.

  I rubbed my temples as my world shifted around me. Price was nothing like what I had imagined. He was no reptilian monster, so it seemed, and there was no unpleasantness in his manner. Instead he spoke calmly and steadily, as though there was another story, which I had not heard.

  I had to meet Champillon that afternoon.

  The women in the café looked at me slyly when Champillon arrived in his fine cloak. I ignored their jealous stares as I thought through my encounter with Price.

  As Champillon sat down, arrogantly tossing his hat on the table, I looked at him closely. His face was full and smooth, with the softness that came from a life of wealth. His features were more pleasing than many men’s. But there were slight wrinkles around his eyes and his blond hair was flecked with grey. He was far from being a young man. It was twenty years since he and Price had been in Egypt. Champillon had said he was sixteen then. He must be thirty-six now. From his descriptions, I had assumed Price was much older than Champillon. In twenty years, Champillon had aged, but the boy I had encountered in the study was barely older than me.

  “Elise?” Champillon growled, as I continued to stare at him.

  I told Champillon I had come face to face with Price at last.

  Champillon’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared, “You saw him face to face? In daylight? How does he look?”

  I paused, “Youthful.”

  Champillon raised an eyebrow, “Youthful?”

  “Very.”

  Champillon stroked his chin.

  “He is a handsome man,” I added.

  Champillon’s eyes narrowed more. Perhaps I had offended his vanity, “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  I told Champillon how Price had come out of the staircase into the study.

  “So he takes the servants’ stairs. Did he expect you to be there, I wonder?” Champillon murmured.

  “He greeted me by name. He was polite, almost friendly.”

  “He is a cunning actor.”

  “He did not seem to be acting.”

  “Price is as slippery as mercury. He survives on his charm. What else have you seen this week?” Champillon asked.

  I told him some bowls and mortars had been delivered to the kitchen and Price had carried them across the courtyard one night.

  “The men at the Academy were talking about Price again last night. He had promised to reveal some discoveries to us, but he hasn’t been seen for weeks. Instead, rumour has it, Price has been meeting prominent banking families.”

  “Banking families?”

  “Price has been appearing at their houses late at night, with an offer of his services. What services, none will disclose, although the bids get higher and higher.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Gold, Elise. That is what he is offering the bankers.”

  “You mean forged gold?”

  “If it comes from his own laboratory, yes.”

  My head throbbed. Could this Price be the same handsome young man whom I had met that day?

  “The list, Elise?” Champillon said.

  I handed it to him reluctantly. These were the first lists which I had altered, so that Champillon could not replicate Price’s experiments.

  “What is this ingredient?” he was staring at a Latin word which I had carefully changed. Champillon was too smart to outwit, “Is this your handwriting, Elise?”

  “I changed it so it was easier to pronounce,” I lied.

  Champillon stared at me with a look more chilling than Sister Agatha in a bad mood, “Do not make any changes to these lists, Elise. I want to see them, with no markings.”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “I will be away in the Loire for several days. Be here Monday week and tell me everything that has happened. And be careful, Elise. I do not know why Price has chosen now to come out of the shadows.”

  Champillon pulled on his hat and strode out of the café.

  Huge grey clouds sat over the city, as I made my way home. The vastness of the clouds reminded me of the rolling forests beyond Reveille. I wished I was back home with the fields and forests around me, so I could go for a long walk and clear my head and think.

  Why had Price come out of the shadows? Had Price intended to speak to me in the study at all that morning? Was he really acting, as Champillon said? Or maybe it was mere coincidence? Price knew nothing of my spying game. He did not even know that Champillon was his landlord. Since he suspected nothing, perhaps he had merely greeted me as any normal master would. But Price was far from a normal master.

  I had a strange feeling as I crossed the cobblestones of the Rue Belle. I had convinced myself that Price was a monster, who avoided daylight and locked himself indoors. Now I had seen him in person. I was aware I was not alone in the house, but that he was nearby.

  I watched from the window that night. Price emerged from the garden house and went to the kitchen. He carried the powders across the courtyard. The door to the garden house closed behind him. I lay down and tried to sleep. The moon was bright that night, finding a passage through the wandering clouds. When a beam landed on my pillow, I rose and went to the window to close the shutter.

  Price was sitting on the bench below. For the first time he was not facing the moon, but had turned his face to my window. The moonlight had illuminated my whole room. I stepped back, but it was too late, for Price had seen me.

  Price nodded a greeting. The colour rose to my cheeks. I nodded to him, then quickly reached for the shutter. Price smiled, stood up and returned to the garden house.

  I was more curious than ever. But nothing had changed in my routine. The next morning I found a note for herbs from a shop in Le Marais.

  I went on my errand, and returned home, dusting and cleaning the empty house. The dusk settled, darker than usual under the heavy clouds that had again rolled over the city. I sat by myself that evening and had my meal alone as always.

  As I put away my plate and bowl, I saw a shadow in the hall. I peered around the corner, just as the shadow disappeared.

  I had only lit several candles in the passage and their meagre flames cast more shadow than light. Someone was out there, hiding in the darkness. Deciding to outwit him, I returned to the kitchen, making as much noise as I could. Then I crept silently into the hall.

  Sure enough, Price was standing with his back to the wall, head bowed, as though he was deciding something. He moved and I slid along the passage, taking a seat at the table.

  My heart beat quickly as I realised he was coming toward the kitchen. I took a deep breath as he entered the room. Why had he hesitated in the hallway? Why was he here now?

  “Good evening, Elise,” Price said, as though he had done so many times before. He picked up the bottle I had bought that day, “The equisetum arvense. Excellent.”

  He sat down at the table and took some bread. I could see him clearly in the light of the candles. He looked no older than twenty. I knew it could not be, but the effect was uncanny.

  There was so much I wanted to say, but instead our conversation was as slow as a cart stuck in mud.

  “Do you find all you need in the market?” he said.

  “The produce is fresh.”

  “That is good,” he put the bread on a plate. I noticed he did not eat it.

  A moment later he said, “Let me know if you need money for your food
.”

  “Madame Bourget gives me an allowance,” I said.

  “Madame Bourget?”

  “The housekeeper.”

  “Ah yes. I remember.”

  An awkward silence descended. I found it hard to drag my eyes away from his handsome face. When I did, my eyes fell on his broad shoulders. When I looked away again, my eyes drifted to his strong arms. I decided to concentrate on the kitchen tabletop.

  Surprisingly, Price seemed as nervous as I was.

  “I suppose I must get back to work,” he said, “There is always so much to do.”

  He stood up and ran his hand through his luxuriant hair, “One more thing, Elise. Do you have my list from last Tuesday?”

  I turned my face away from the light of the candle, so he would not see the guilt in my eyes. I had given the list to Champillon.

  “For the items from the Rue St Honoré apothecary?” he added.

  “I remember it!” I said relieved. I recited the list by heart, down to the quantities.

  Price nodded, “That sounds right. Well done for remembering such detail.”

  “I hope I am of help, Monsieur.”

  “More than you know, Elise,” he smiled, “You do of course - burn the lists I give you?”

  I murmured a reply and hoped the shadows hid my frown.

  “I must take my leave,” he said solemnly, “My laboratory calls me.”

  I rose from my seat.

  “Sir, what are you doing?”

  “Many things,” he smiled, “Some of them very wonderful.”

  He was gone before I could reply. I ran to the window and watched him cross the courtyard into the garden house.

  What was I to think? All I had heard was that Price lived his life on the run, that he had fled Egypt after a man had been stabbed, that he had caused the death of Pierre, that he forged coins and kept bad company. How could he say what he did was wonderful?

  We continued this strange dance for the next few nights. Price appeared in the hall or the doorway. He asked politely about my day or the housekeeping. I was dazzled by his presence. I had no idea why he was so nervous of me.

  I was finishing my meal the following evening, when Price appeared again at the door. He sat down and picked up an apple. Despite his gentleman’s clothes, his manner was humble and he seemed at home in the simple kitchen.

  He turned the apple around in his fingers before he placed it on the table. Why did he not eat?

  A shadow passed his face as though he were debating whether to go on. His eyes had the look of an old man again. I did not know what he was thinking. What he said next however, was the last thing I expected.

  “Elise, I need your help.”

  He had used the very same words as Champillon.

  The blood rushed to my head and pounded in my ears. My face blushed with guilt. I had to remember that Price knew nothing of the last few weeks. He did not know about my meetings with Champillon, or my own suspicions and vivid fears.

  “How could I be of help to you, sir?”

  “Elise,” Price reached for my hand, then stopped himself. The old look was gone from his eyes, and he seemed young and enthusiastic again, “You have no idea how much you have helped me over these last months. I have seen you sometimes as you go about your duties in the house,” he paused, as if reluctant to admit it, “You are so bright and so diligent, Elise, and hardworking and helpful - and you do not know how rare that is!”

  I did not know what to say. I had watched Price and decided he was a villain. But he had watched me and thought I was some sort of angel.

  Price had a hopeful smile, “My work is often lonely and I have long wished for a confidant.”

  “A confidant?” my head spun.

  Price rushed on, “I have been working on this idea of steam power.”

  I had to stop myself from speaking. I could not admit that I knew about the engine. I had seen the men deliver the pipes and listened closely to the puffing and wailing machine. What would Price think of me, if he knew?

  “The only problem,” Price continued, “is managing the pressure in the cylinder. Elise, would you mind if I asked you to help me now?”

  I had the feeling all the certainties of my world were dissolving. I had decided only a few days before that Price must be stopped. But what did I really know about Price and his work? Champillon had asked me to spy on Price, I had decided to defy Champillon and now Price had asked me to help him.

  I gripped the back of the chair as I stood up, so that I would not faint. The wood was solid and restored me to reality.

  “You want me to help you now?” I repeated.

  “Come with me,” Price stood up, and offered his hand.

  “To your laboratory?” I said incredulously.

  “Yes, Elise.”

  My face must have betrayed my fear. Price did not know how much I knew but he had sensed my hesitation.

  There was a sudden steely look in his eye. The eager boy had gone and was replaced by the cold old man. He must have wondered if I really knew or suspected anything about his experiments. Perhaps I was not the innocent he presumed. His smile was welcoming and his voice was controlled. But his eyes roamed my face through instinct, for any sign of danger.

  He had no idea how dangerous I was. But at that time, I had no thoughts of Champillon or the men of the Academy. I slid my hand into Price’s as he took a candelabra and we crossed the dim courtyard to the garden house.

  His laboratory had become such a mythical, forbidden place, I could not believe that I was about to enter it.

  “Can I really go inside?” I asked.

  “Of course, Elise.”

  In all those long nights of watching the blazing light from the laboratory door, I had imagined many things. The room I entered now however, was as somber and dim as a church. I realised the effect was produced by black curtains suspended from the ceiling. The curtains concealed most of the room, apart from the centre, where a light glowed ahead.

  Price strode toward a long table piled high with books and littered with bolts, cylinders and strips of metal. Before the table, rising as high as the roof itself, was a huge steel barrel, mounted on a platform.

  Pipes stretched out from its side, like limbs. At one side of the machine was the biggest container of mercury I had ever seen.

  “Is this the steam engine?” I said cautiously.

  “This, Elise, is the steam engine. When I first saw the Marquis de Jouffroy’s steamboat on the River Saône, I realised a great new discovery had been made. I have watched the scientific establishment push the limits of steam power ever since. But none have been able to create what I have done here!”

  Price ran up a staircase to a platform looking over the machine.

  “I will adjust the pressure. Tell me if the water in the bottom pipe drops below the red line.”

  I shuddered as a rumbling sound rose up from the floor. The mechanical beast had begun to shake.

  “Do not touch the pipes!” called Price, “They are hot!”

  Price pulled a handle. A low whistle started and hot steam shot upwards to the vent in the ceiling. As the machine shook, a small sphere at the side of the machine began to spin and glow.

  “Is the sphere moving?” Price shouted from the top of the platform.

  “Yes and there is a light inside it!”

  “How is the water level?”

  I tore my eyes away from the dazzling sphere. “Water? The water is above the red line.”

  “Excellent.”

  “But the mercury is boiling over.”

  The mercury, or the mixture he had created, was straining against the edge of the glass and shooting up a clear pipe. Price waited a minute more, then let the machine slow down. It growled to a halt and the sphere stopped spinning.

  Price skidded down the steps, “It is holding the pressure well! But the heat is unsettling the mercury.”

  “What will you use the engine for?” I asked, “If it works eventually?�
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  He opened a small door at the side of the machine and stared at some pipes, “If I can increase the pressure, then I can vastly accelerate my other experiments.”

  The curtain at the side of the platform was slightly open. Another bowl of mercury bubbled in a vat beyond. I was aware of all the curtains around us and the low hissing and bubbling noise. Perhaps Price saw me, for he quickly pulled the curtain across.

  “Help me take some more readings.”

  I stood by and looked at the water level on the machine, as Price tested it again. The machine continued to frighten me as it rattled and shook, snorting like a dragon. At last, Price slid down the bannister. He stood beside me and stared proudly at the engine.

  “I think we may be looking at the finest steam apparatus in Paris,” he bowed and skipped across the floor.

  Then Price’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, as though he had suddenly heard something, “There are only a few hours before dawn. I have some other work to attend to. I have kept you a long time and you must rest.”

  He guided me through the curtained passage to the door of the garden house. Outside, moonlight streamed on the cobblestones.

  “Thank you again, Elise.”

  Price was about to close the door and return inside. I had seen the machine, and Price had been pleasant and kind. But there was so much more I needed to know, after my weeks in the strange house.

  As he began to turn away, I cried out, “Monsieur, is that your only invention?”

  In the moonlight, his eyes had a faint blue glow. I must have imagined it.

  “I have brought you so many herbs and powders,” I went on quickly, “I wondered what becomes of them.”

  “I have many scientific interests.”

  “Monsieur, please wait. You are not unknown in this city. People say you are dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” he lifted an eyebrow.

  “Pierre Labou, your servant, was murdered. Monsieur, do you know the men who did this? Or did you yourself -”

  “You are worried about Pierre, aren’t you?” Price looked amused and then annoyed, “No, Elise. I did not murder Pierre. Pierre was not killed because he knew too much, he was killed because he was a boastful little fool. He spent my money in the taverns, flashing it around, bragging about his wealthy master. He returned with drink on his breath and half of what I asked him. I could barely trust him with my most basic errands, and had to do the rest myself. Was it so unusual the thieves would catch him?”