by M C Dulac
I was glad to hear that Price was free. I had done my last duty - I had saved him. If I had not shown him the path through the lemon trees he would have been captured. But then I realised that Price had abandoned me and left me to this fate. I cursed the day that I had met him on the Palatine Hill.
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked Schumann.
“Because you are the proof that the elixir of life exists. Men drop like flies in the sewer where you were imprisoned. You were kept in the cells of the condemned without bread or water. Yet you survived. The guards say your eyes burned in the darkness, like an animal. Another trait of the alchemist, Albert Price.”
Schumann began to cough. Carissa ran to him quickly. Her manner was tender and familiar. I was confused, and my hatred of her burned stronger.
“How did the elixir taste, Antonio?” Schumann said, when his coughing stopped, “Like fire poured through your organs? Pain and then more pain, and endless fire?”
“No, it was sweet like nectar. Like drinking sunshine.”
“Why did you destroy the elixir?”
“Price told me to. He did not know that I had drunk the elixir and I felt it was wrong to tempt God by drinking more.”
“But why did you throw out only one potion?”
“I was going to throw out both, but then you arrived.”
“You threw away the elixir of life, but left the green potion for us to drink. Was it not a trap?”
“I do not know what you mean, sir.”
“Why are you wasting time, Otto?” Carissa cried.
Schumann raised his hand, “I want you to write down everything you learned from Price. I want to know what you saw in his laboratory, what powders you brought him and what he showed you. I want you to read those books, until you know all his secrets. You are my servant now and if you try to run away I will have you arrested and hung. You have three days before I leave Naples.”
“Where are you going?”
“You are coming with me. I will seek other alchemists. You will assist them and me.”
I scratched my head. My hair was short, for the guards in the prison had cut it when they burnt my clothes. I looked at the solid walls of the cellar. I was in a better prison, but a prison, nonetheless.
“What was the green elixir?” Schumann asked.
“I do not know, sir.”
“Then find out,” he pointed to the books, “For it was not the elixir of life.”
He removed the cloak from his face. His skin was wizened and mottled, but more than that, all the life had gone from his being. He was moving, but he was a mere skeleton, like the rotting Colosseum that I used to draw from the Palatine Hill.
“I do not know what we drank,” Schumann said, “But you must find the cure.”
* * * * *
I spent the next few days reading the books. I was no scientist. I remembered simple steps, but Price had never talked about the elixirs except to say they were dangerous. I did not know that I had drunk the elixir of life or that next to it was the evil potion that was destroying Schumann and Carissa. It was pure chance that I had tasted the blue potion that night in Rome. Instead of waking to sunlight, I might have also woken to eternal night.
In Price’s books I found recipes for elixirs, for everything from restoring health to sharpening the mind. But I found nothing to explain Schumann and Carissa’s condition.
After three days, the door to the cellar opened. Schumann’s servants removed all Price’s possessions. Several hours later, the door opened again and I was ordered to follow.
In a room above, a coat, shirt and breeches, all of black silk, were laid out for me. The outfit was macabre, but more comfortable than my coarse rags. When I changed, I looked around for a mirror. Schumann had covered every looking glass. I lifted a cloak and inspected my appearance. All things considered, I did not look too bad.
The burly servant appeared again. He looked more like a soldier than a household servant. He guided me out of the room and down the stairs to the courtyard. The sun had set and the night was dark. A carriage was waiting. The servant told me to get inside, locking the door behind me. I tried the door on the other side, but it was also locked. The carriage moved off.
We entered the city gates, rolled through the silent streets and arrived at the docks. More men were waiting for me, taking me by each arm and leading me along the seafront. Ahead was a huge ship. I must have been the last part of the cargo, for when we boarded, the sailors untied the ropes and unfurled the sails.
Schumann and Carissa stood on the deck. Schumann was no longer the strong man who had watched the dawn, or fearlessly faced the storm on the bay of Naples. As he made his way to the bow, he was bent and sinister, like a cursed figure from mythology.
A shout went up as we set sail. Did I imagine it, or were the men on the shore furtively making the sign of the cross? What did they think of us strange travelers?
The moon was high in the sky and fell in shards across the smooth water. I gulped the fresh air as the ship glided across the bay. Lights twinkled on the cliffs as we turned south toward the Amalfi Coast, but it was soon clear we were heading out to the open sea. A sailor appeared and shoved me below decks. I was locked in a small cabin, where I remained for the next week.
I watched the inky blue ocean from the porthole. From the position of the sun, it seemed we were still headed south. After days of sailing, we stopped at a port, and I overheard the sailors say we were in Sicily, the island that marked the end of the Italian states. I waited for them to open the door and take me ashore but several hours later, we were sailing again. The land receded from view and there was ocean all around us. I did not know where we were going. What wild lands lay beyond Sicily?
That night there was a great storm. I lay on the floor of the cabin, fearing destruction. Surely the gods were angry with us. We had all drunk forbidden elixirs. I had already defied death and Schumann and Carissa were clearly being punished. Why would any benevolent power protect us from the seething ocean?
But the sea grew calm and one evening we sailed into a great harbour. The ship glided past huge stone forts and palaces lit by flares. We were in Christendom, for I saw the domes of many churches glowing in the darkness. The harbour was deep and big enough for entire fleets. Many fine buildings lined the cliffs.
My door was at last unlocked. I climbed up to the deck. We lowered the sails as we drifted further and further along the seafront. The mysterious city rose all around us.
“Where are we?” I asked a sailor.
“Valletta. The city of the Knights.”
“What land is this?”
“We are on the island of Malta.”
We came to rest beside a long dock. Servants took our luggage while Schumann beckoned for me to join him and Carissa in a shiny coach.
We drove up a steep hill. I stared with fascination at the narrow lanes of this new city. Flares lit the buildings, which were made of golden stone. There must have been a festival, for the streets were strung with decorations. I heard music and glimpsed people dancing in the squares.
“We will find alchemists here?” Carissa whispered.
“Yes. Among the Knights of Malta,” Schumann reassured her.
The coach came to a stop before a tall townhouse. A servant ushered us inside, closing the massive wooden doors behind us. The courtyard was full of palm trees and plants I had never seen before. I could not see all the colours of the wondrous gardens in the darkness, but the air was sweet with the scent of flowers. Grand rooms overlooked the courtyard and a set of steps led to the rooftop. A starry sky lay overhead.
“Antonio,” Schumann bellowed, although his voice was only half of what it had once been.
The servants were carrying the crates into a cellar.
“Go,” Schumann said, giving the head servant a bag of tinkling coins, “Antonio, come with me.”
Our new cellar was carved out of the golden rock. Schumann broke into the crates. He was weak now,
and any effort exhausted him quickly. He soon doubled over in pain. I helped him unpack.
“Set up the apparatus.”
“Sir, you should not drink the elixir again.”
“It is killing me, but if I do not drink, it kills me faster.”
I looked away as he drank the glowing green liquid.
“I heard you tell Carissa there are alchemists here.”
“The Knights of Malta are an ancient order. They are brave in battle and have traveled to many lands. It is said they know great secrets. The current leader of their Order has extraordinary youth, although he is almost a century old.”
“Then go to the Knights now, sir.”
Schumann sat wearily on a chair, “We must be careful. Alchemy is forbidden here too. I have sent messages to my friends, and I hope the German Order in Valletta will help me.”
“How long do you have to wait?”
“I hope not long. I fear for Carissa. The potion has affected her mind as well as her body, poor child.”
Carissa was the last person I was worried about. Her hold over Schumann and Price was baffling.
Schumann was struggling for breath again. I tried not to stare, for his appearance was deeply unsettling. It was as though death itself was creeping through his bones.
Schumann took a deep, racking breath, “We shall scour the streets of the Knights’ city, searching for someone to help us. And you will work with me, and read all these books, until we learn the secrets of alchemy.”
I had already told him that I did not understand the books and I feared his anger if I failed him. But as he sat in the cellar that week, Schumann had a new determination in his eyes. He opened the books of alchemy and read them closely. He muttered to himself as he methodically placed the powders on the table. He wanted me there only as a sounding board, an echo of his own thoughts. I knew no more than he, so I agreed with whatever he said. I hoped he was getting closer to a cure.
He achieved some results, but the more complex elixirs remained elusive. I suspected that Price never wrote down everything, in case it fell into the wrong hands. The real secrets could only be found by someone with proper training in alchemy.
Carissa sat alone in the lavish rooms upstairs, her face covered by a fine lace veil. The festival continued and there were many revelers in the streets. The lively music drifted throughout the palazzo each evening, at odds with the gloom inside the house. Carissa told me to move her chair to the balcony, where she watched the dancers, night after night. The lady in black soon cast a chill over the celebrations and became a source of gossip among the servants. Our house was descending into a nightmare.
I rarely spoke to Carissa, for she had begun to frighten me. Her rage could be triggered by the slightest thing. I preferred the safety of the cellar, for Carissa never joined us there. As I worked side by side with Schumann, a strange camaraderie began to grow.
But we had no success with alchemy. When our experiments ended in disaster again one evening, Schumann told me to come with him. I helped him up the stone staircase to the rooftop. We had a fine view of the glowing fort and the inky black harbour. Schumann placed an empty glass on the table and filled it with the green elixir.
I watched a star overhead.
“When did you decide to destroy Price?”
“You speak impudently, Antonio. Remember you are a servant.”
“You are not a normal master, sir. And this is not a normal situation.”
“That is true,” Schumann looked over the starry sky and the flat rooftops.
“Why did you do it?”
“Why? Because I was bored,” Schumann stared at his glass, “The villa where I was staying was charming and my neighbours were good company. But there is only so much wine and luxury a man can take, before his mind begins to stray, before he wonders what lies over the next horizon. I saw that horizon one night, when Sir Walter’s wife said she had heard a scientist was staying in a palazzo on the coast. This scientist went by the name of Albert Price. All the servants had been dismissed and no one had seen Price since he arrived.
“Emma said that we had met Albert Price on the coach. She amused our hosts with her account of the journey. Although we all laughed, I noticed that Sir Walter frowned. As the servants poured more wine, he said he had heard of a man called Albert Price many years ago. Strangely, the circumstances were very similar. Price had been working in secret in a house on the Thames in London. But it could not be the same man, Sir Walter added, for Price was young then too.
“Although we did not speak of Price again, my curiosity was aroused. When Emma returned to Rome, I asked her to visit a scientist friend of mine. Her letter arrived a week later, enclosing a note.
“Be careful, the note said, for I had found a phantom. Albert Price had been known across Europe for the past fifty years, although if he were real or a legend, no one knew. His fame came from his ability to make gold. Price was not a mere scientist, but a genuine alchemist.
“Anyone else would dismiss this as nonsense. But I had seen Price in person. He was young and rich, and now he was working alone in a former armoury. Can you blame me for being intrigued? Was he really an alchemist? Who would not want eternal youth? Who would not want his own treasury? So I sat on the terrace drinking my wine, and began to dream.”
“Of capturing him?”
“Not at first. I had been unable to befriend him. I had to think of other ways to learn his secrets. My plan filled my days, more exciting than any military venture or social gossip. I thought of you, but the local people said you rarely came to town. I felt great subtlety was needed. I learned the villa next to the palazzo was empty. I could rent it, but I already had a villa, and such an obvious move would make Price suspicious. There had to be another way to gain his trust. The idea of a romance amused me. Price was so distant and reserved. To see him broken would be satisfying. Once in love, I felt certain that sort of man would soon talk.
“Emma had returned home and Price had shown little interest in her in the coach. I needed a different sort of woman - a dream, a mirage. I had met Carissa in Naples. She was parading along the docks under a bright parasol. At first I thought she was a lady, but I was very wrong. Not that I cared about that. She stayed with me for several weeks. It amused us both to see who she could fool, when she behaved and dressed as a rich lady. She was a quick learner, and what she did not know, she made up for in charm. I felt bad to return her to her lowly life.”
My anger grew as I thought of Carissa. She had fooled Price and me. I felt sickened at the way we had been manipulated.
Schumann continued, “She came to Amalfi when I summoned her. When she alighted from the carriage, even in her tattered silk, she had the air of delicacy I needed. Her life had not yet taken its toll on her face. I explained my plan over wine. She was pleased with the dresses I bought and the idea of living in a villa. She had lost much of her accent, and over the next week, I helped her smooth out any words that might give her away. Price was a foreigner and would not notice, but you might. I advised her to say as little as possible in Price’s presence, and let beauty be her weapon. When I sent her to the villa that morning, I was delighted with my creation.”
“And who is her ‘uncle’?”
“A painter of theatre sets, I believe. And an actor. He did a fine job as an aristocrat.”
“And the old guardian?”
“A seamstress from the theatre.”
“So it was all a lie.”
“It was a perfect plan. And it worked.”
“You betrayed Price for a bag of silver?”
Schumann shot me a warning glance that faded to fatigue, “I merely informed the local authorities of his experiments. The King did not want magicians and forgers in his territory. Nor did he want his rivals in Sicily to acquire more gold.”
“But he has the gold now.”
“Indeed, the King is happy. His treasury is full, and he has sent a warning to his enemies. I have been paid handsomely.
It was all better than I dreamed.”
“This was your dream?”
He stared at the green droplets in his glass and his smile was bitter, “I thought I held the elixir of immortality in my hands. After I drank it, I gave it to Carissa, so that we could live forever. Young, like Albert Price. I did not know the treachery of the alchemists!”
He lifted the green fluid to his lips. I looked away, for it seemed to destroy him at the same time it animated him.
When he recovered, he glared across the rooftops, “Now Price is gone, leaving me alone with my pain. But I will not be defeated, Antonio.”
I pitied Carissa and Schumann over those weeks, despite all their sins and weaknesses. They had been so beautiful and full of life. Now on the few occasions they ventured out at night, they covered themselves from head to foot. But if they did not want to attract attention, they failed. Whenever we entered a square, people stopped to stare. It was not the way they dressed, for in festival time their extravagant garments were not unusual. Their mere presence was eerie, in a way that defied description.
We explored both the golden piazzas and the dim alleys of that extraordinary city, where the glittering night sea was never far away. We walked down steep streets where the music and the voices had a ghoulish echo. Sometimes we found ourselves in utter darkness, with the harbour lapping before us. The city was grand and sad, lively and forlorn. But maybe that was because we were cursed strangers.
In the centre of Valletta one night, we found the Knights’ mighty church. Schumann and Carissa did not kneel as they entered. They stood defiantly in the aisle. The priest scowled, but their presence was so unnerving, he left them alone. They feared nothing. Not the wrath of God, nor the disapproval of the priest, nor the curse beneath the mosaic skeleton on the threshold of the church.