The Alchemist of Rome

by M C Dulac

  “What?” Schumann raised his eyebrow.

  “Something Antonio said to me once.”

  “He returned to me, once he realised the life I had given him and how much it cost to hang around with his new friends and their ridiculous music. He became a dutiful servant again. Until now, when he was diabolical and thwarted my recovery.”

  “There is no recovery, Schumann,” Elise said, “Your sickness is destroying you. You are never whole.”

  “You will see,” he said. Then he paused, “I think you have tricked me.”

  “Why, Schumann?” Elise’s voice was steady but tense.

  “Isn’t it your intention to keep me talking? I reminisce about the centuries. You know time is passing and I grow weak. Is that your plan? Does this other alchemist exist at all?”

  “Yes, and he will be here tonight.”

  “You tire me and want me to see the sun.”

  “Let me leave with Rebecca,” Elise said, “You have my word that Champillon and I will return.”

  Schumann rose from his seat. He opened the window. It was late, and all the street noises had fallen away, leaving only the quiet hours of the city.

  “You have offered me no help. Only promises.”

  “Believe me, Champillon is coming.”

  “I will give you an hour, no more,” Schumann said, “And maybe I will leave you to see the rays of the rising sun, for surely you have learned to fear those powerful rays too.”

  Elise fell silent and Rebecca saw a flash of fear in her eyes.

  “If he is not here soon, then I will proceed, as planned. Do not think that you can defy me. I am not as weak as I appear. And I must make my preparations, in case this other alchemist cannot help me.”

  He rose from his seat. Rebecca felt an overwhelming weakness, but then she was rising to her feet also. She followed Schumann like a sleepwalker. She was aware of the shadowy outline of the rooms and the glowing green elixir ahead. But everything was a blur, as though she were looking through an opaque window. Was she really moving?

  Then she stopped. Schumann had made her walk into the laboratory. Elise was reaching out, but she was fading. Schumann raised his arm. Rebecca felt the blow of his bones against her skull. The door was closing and the room was dark. The darkness reached in from the corner of her eyes.

  “Sleep,” she heard Schumann say, and she felt a fatigue deeper than she had ever known. She was back watching Laura sleeping in the hospital. Night was falling and she felt the despair that Laura would never wake. Sleep was engulfing her too. She struggled to stay alert but her eyelids were heavy. Rebecca closed her eyes and then there was nothing.

  chapter twenty five

  When she opened her eyes she was lying on a dusty floor. The room was full of the dank, rotting smell of the green elixir. She was all alone, and she did not know how much time had passed. She got up and opened the shutters. The windows were locked. The city had the stillness of a time long before dawn.

  The door rattled and then opened. Schumann appeared.

  “He will not speak to me, without seeing you,” he said, in a breath that was no more than a wheeze.

  The candelabra in the dining room shone brightly, and it was hard to see beyond its flames. Gradually Rebecca saw that Antonio’s book was on the table and Elise was standing near the windows.

  “She is here,” Schumann said, “Where is the master alchemist?”

  Champillon crossed the room into the light of the candelabra. He wore a modern suit, and his head was bowed thoughtfully, before he raised his chin and gazed at Schumann.

  His eyes shone blue and he exuded strength, more than Antonio had ever done. Rebecca sensed his intelligence for the first time. He had approached the secrets of alchemy with humility and respect, and his mind had grown as much as the elixir had enhanced him physically. He had the presence of a man from a different century, and the wisdom gained by years of reflection.

  Schumann’s arrogance and fury were now replaced by surprise. He paused, “You are the alchemist?”

  “Yes, my name is Jean-Louis Champillon.”

  “You are a nobleman,” Schumann said.

  “I was. Long ago.”

  “What era?”

  “I was born in the reign of Louis XVI in the year 1784.”

  “1784,” Schumann’s stringy muscles raised the corners of his mouth, “You are from the ancien regime. The nobility of France.”

  “All that is gone now. Much was gone before I was more than a child.”

  “And you know the secrets of alchemy,” Schumann circled him.

  “Yes, Schumann.”

  Schumann fell silent. Champillon’s presence had caught him off guard. Schumann must have seen his own sunken reflection in the windows, for he flinched and turned away.

  “If only I had met you earlier, Monsieur,” Schumann said, “Since my betrayal I have been so alone. I have been forced to wander the earth with my secret, with no friend or equal. I have never known another alchemist, let alone a gentleman. We have so much to share and discuss.”

  “We have nothing to discuss, Schumann.”

  Schumann smiled uneasily, “Please understand, Monsieur Champillon, I have only met those of the lower orders. It was a Swiss, Albert Price, who did this to me. And then all I had was Antonio, a servant of the lowest intellect. For centuries I walked alone, a king without peers, never finding another who knew of the elixirs. Until tonight, when I met your servant.”

  “Elise is not my servant,” Champillon said.

  Schumann glanced at Elise warily, “Although, I believe she was your maid.”

  “That world has long past.”

  “Has it?” Schumann said, “Or are we at the cusp of a new era, when we will be masters again? The world is changing, perhaps back in our favour. I see the difference at once, between you and Price and the servants. Monsieur, you are the fellow alchemist I have been waiting so long to meet.”

  “You are not an alchemist.”

  Schumann’s smile faded slowly. He blinked painfully. Rebecca sensed confusion and anger brewing inside him again.

  “Where is your loyalty to your class? Do you feel no anger when you see what Albert Price did to me?”

  “Price did not do this to you,” Champillon said, “You drank the potion yourself.”

  “Price set a trap!” Schumann said, “He knew I would drink it.”

  He had stepped into the full glow of the candles and his face was crisscrossed with pain. He was the monster of Antonio’s drawings.

  Champillon swallowed hard as he stared at Schumann’s crumbling skin. But then he gave Schumann a clinical gaze. Schumann shied away, before relenting, allowing Champillon to see his face.

  “What can be done?” Schumann said.

  “The decay has taken hold.”

  “Is there an answer?” Elise said.

  “I do not think so.”

  “Not even in the books in Paris?”

  Champillon shook his head, “I have every alchemical text that is known to exist. All of them say the same thing. The elixir of decay cannot be halted.”

  “Not halted?” Schumann said.

  “It is the opposite of the life essence. It is the process of death.”

  Schumann shook, “But I am not dead. I discovered the secret of life without help from others. Doesn’t that make me a great alchemist?”

  “To take away others’ lives?”

  “What is life anyway? Why is it wrong if the poor and insignificant die so that the great can live?”

  “And you are the one who decides who is great?”

  Schumann scoffed, “You have betrayed your rank, Champillon. Where is your loyalty to the ancien regime? What would your forebears think of you? Were your motives that pure when you drank the elixir? Or could you as easily have become me?”

  Champillon adjusted his cufflinks. A shadow passed his eyes, “Alchemy is not about gold and power. It is about humility and the Great Work.”

  “
All the talk of devoting oneself to a Great Work is nonsense. Why don’t you recognise me, Champillon? We are both men of nobility. We both drank an elixir so that we could learn the secrets of the universe, so that we could reach the full potential of our greatness. At last, we have come together.”

  “We have not come together. I have come to take Rebecca away.”

  “No,” Schumann said, “She stays here.”

  “You must let Rebecca leave.”

  “I have already begun the process. She knows that sleep is coming. She will walk willingly to death when it comes.”

  Rebecca shook her head, but then stopped, as if Schumann had touched her chin. She was aware of an exhaustion sweeping over her.

  “He can make her move and fall asleep,” Elise whispered to Champillon, “It’s a psychic trick.”

  Champillon nodded, then spoke, “Let me see the elixir you created.”

  “Of course, Monsieur,” Schumann smiled.

  He had not taken his eyes off Rebecca, and now he guided her ahead of him. Elise and Champillon were talking so softly she could not hear their words. Schumann led them into the laboratory, where the green potion glowed in the dark.

  “This is my discovery,” he said, “My elixir of life.”

  Champillon dipped the spoon into the bowl and held it under the flame. He exchanged glances with Elise.

  “The elements are spinning,” Elise said, “Some reaction occurs.”

  “What do you think?” Schumann said.

  “If you were to add blood, it could keep cells from dying,” Champillon said.

  “Am I close to the real elixir?”

  “You are using the opposite principles. You are animating the decomposition, but you are not stopping the process,” Champillon shook his head.

  “But I have achieved something,” Schumann said.

  Champillon crossed the room, coming to the remains of Antonio’s rose potion.

  “This is the elixir of the elements,” Elise said.

  “The elixir which Antonio took?” Champillon knelt down to watch the glowing potion.

  “Do not bother with it,” Schumann said, “It was my servant’s work.”

  But Champillon poured some of the elixir into a small vial and watched it swirl.

  “Interesting.”

  Schumann glanced at him with anger, “So what do you think?”

  Champillon stared into the green elixir, “This is the primal decay of the world. You have created a form of liquid radiation, which is only found in nuclear waste or the decomposing swamps of the planet.”

  “How do you reverse it?”

  “It cannot be reversed. It is killing you and you are dying.”

  “But I am not dead!”

  “You are dying, Schumann. By interrupting the process you are prolonging the pain of death.”

  “Death?”

  “Yes.”

  Schumann breathed in and out for several moments. His breath tore the air.

  “Get out of my laboratory,” he said.

  Keeping Rebecca behind him, he guided Champillon and Elise to the dining room.

  “I am ill, Champillon,” Schumann said, “The elixir is almost ready. I know how I can survive.”

  “Listen to me, Schumann. You drank fire and it is eating you from within. But your solution has eaten your body and your soul.”

  “Fire? You could not survive the pain I have known. It will stop, once I drink again.”

  “I can’t let you commit murder.”

  “You accuse me of murder? Be careful what you say. I am a powerful man, Champillon. Alchemy is no longer a crime, for people have ceased to believe in magic. Nevertheless, if I had a real alchemist who could mix the elixir of eternal youth, there would be many prepared to pay for it.”

  “Then you are a blackmailer too.”

  “You are not as confident as you appear.”

  “If you knew the true secrets of alchemy, and what the ancient alchemists did to preserve and protect mankind, you would know what a vile abomination you are.”

  “I am sick of the talk of the good alchemists. Your potions destroyed me! And Carissa! And all those who have had to die for me!”

  Schumann would not shake the belief that Price had left the elixir of decay deliberately for him. Rebecca felt like saying so, but Schumann - now the ghost of the large, enthusiastic man who craved life - would never learn.

  “I thought perhaps fate had brought you here to save me. But you came only to watch me dying. But I will not die. I will drink the potion I discovered and renew myself,” he stepped closer to Rebecca. His gaze was distant, “Do you think I relish what I have to do? I let them fall into a trance, and then I extract what I need. After all, isn’t rest what we all crave, after the turmoil and injustice of this life? Leave now. I have wasted enough time this night. Remember who I am, Jean-Louis Champillon. I am sure you and your maid have other names. When I recover, be sure I will find you both again.”

  Elise glanced at Champillon, who stood silently in the candlelight. He was pale, as though he were defeated.

  “Get out,” Schumann said.

  “There is one more thing I brought.”

  Champillon reached into his jacket. He took out a vial of blue liquid. It twinkled in the moonlight with the lightness of dew. Rebecca thought of the magical liquid that Antonio had seen that night in Price’s laboratory. The same elixir she had seen in the dream that brought her here.

  “What is that?” Schumann whispered.

  “The elixir of life,” Champillon said.

  “Should you give it to him?” Elise said quickly.

  “It may restore some of his cells. It will not last but it will spare Rebecca. And there is nothing else I can think of, Elise.”

  “Is it real?” Schumann said.

  “It is the real elixir of life. I give you my word.”

  Schumann came toward the vial and closed his eyes. His eyelids were covered with spidery veins.

  “And I offer you this,” Champillon took out a second vial. It was Antonio’s potion of forgetfulness, “The elixir of the elements.”

  He laid the potion on the table, where Antonio’s book lay.

  “What is that?” Schumann stared at the book for the first time.

  “Your servant, Antonio, wrote a confession. We are the only ones who have read it.”

  “The boy wrote down my secrets? What did he say? I will burn it at once.”

  “It is not your crimes that I remember. But the description of a man, long ago, who woke one morning in the south of Italy and breathed the fresh air and stood in the morning sun. A strong man who loved life.”

  Schumann’s hand shook as he opened the cover.

  Champillon went on, “A man who crossed paths with an alchemist. A man, not without redemption, perhaps, but who made a terrible mistake.”

  Schumann flicked through the pages.

  “A man who loved the world so much, he did not know when he had had enough.”

  “It is all written, here,” Schumann murmured.

  “The poet Dante wrote of a journey taken in mid-life, that led down to the underworld, into the Inferno of hell.”

  “Inferno? A journey into hell? But I wanted to reach heaven,” Schumann said, “That is what I found in Italy. Before I fell...”

  Schumann turned the page and his lips moved as he read. Was he reading about those early days in Amalfi? The sea sparkling on the Bay of Naples? The evenings with Carissa? He read fast and his body began to shake.

  Champillon’s voice was soft, “You told me to remember who you are, Schumann. I already know who you are today. But I also know who you used to be. And perhaps who you could have been.”

  Schumann regarded him with a bloodshot eye.

  Champillon continued, “Alchemy is not about gold and youth. The highest transformation is within. Let us leave now. And I lay down two choices. The elixir of life or the elixir of forgetfulness. Drink whichever you choose.”

 
Elise whispered, “You have never given the elixir of life to anyone. What if he finds a way to make it?”

  Champillon raised his finger to his lips, then addressed Schumann, “I do not know if it will help you. The essence of life is powerful, but all things have a time and a cycle. The elixir of decay has been killing you for centuries. The elixir of life may be able to restore you, or your cells may be too far destroyed.”

  Schumann clutched the side of the table. He raised the vial and it shone with the same blue light that radiated from Elise and Champillon’s eyes. Rebecca thought of the night when Antonio had seen Albert Price lift the elixir into the moonbeams and drink. The elixir was so alluring she wished she too could taste it.

  “I leave you to make the choice.”

  “Go,” Schumann pointed to the door. He pushed Antonio’s book aside. Clutching the two vials, he walked toward the window.

  Champillon took the book and tapped Rebecca on the arm, “This way.”

  Rebecca looked back once. Schumann was staring at the elixir of life with wonder. Then he drank it as though he were a dying man in a desert. He leaned against the window sill and a blissful smile fell across his face.

  “Which one did he choose?” Elise asked, as they walked quickly down the staircase.

  “The elixir of life.”

  “Of course,” Elise looked glum.

  Champillon opened the door to the street. It was still an hour before dawn. The streets were silent and the sky glowed with the reflected light of the city. The silver car was parked under a streetlamp.

  “Should you have done it, Jean-Louis?” Elise asked.

  “I had no choice. He was dying. It may save him for a brief time.”

  “Before he goes back to his old ways. It is not impossible to break down the elements in the elixir and recreate it. You have given him our most precious secret.”

  Champillon frowned and lowered his head, “There was no other way to save Rebecca, Elise.”

  Rebecca stared up at the grand apartments. So Otto von Schumann would live. She was safe, but the monster whom Antonio wanted to destroy would go on. He had drunk the elixir of life at last.

  “I am glad you are safe, Rebecca,” Elise said, “We will take you back to your hotel.”