***
Usually in the early afternoon, one could see children frolicking in the Vélizy fountain and locals bustling about the neighborhood. However, most people stayed indoors as much as possible these days, nervous about the heavy presence of the German Army. The towers of the Vélizy factory loomed at the edge of town, surrounded by the heavy mechanical rumble of armored cars and a tank. I decided that visiting the local hospice, where visitors could purchase a room and a hot meal, would afford me a place to linger until nightfall. It could also serve as a means to gather information about the factory’s layout, if one of the factory workers was there. Clearly, the smoke that billowed from the factory’s towers was all for show—the only real work being done consisted of guarding the stockpile.
The effects of the deadly chemical, nicknamed The Plague by Ally soldiers, could be seen on the half-eaten faces and maimed bodies of former fighters who sat in the streets of Vélizy. Some of them bandaged themselves like lepers and sat clanking the change in rusted cans in hopes of receiving more. Others were too distraught to care about their appearance or, in some cases, preferred to use it to shame a benefactor into helping them. I shuddered at the thought of how many innocent bystanders were unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire. At least the soldier went in with training and a gun.
“Have pity on me, miss.” A young man approached—one of the ones without wrappings. A few wisps of blonde hair clung to his balding head, and his skin had a gray tinge. His dry lips parted slightly as he spoke and, though he did wear a jacket, I could see acid burns running down the side of his neck.
I acknowledged him with a quick nod and promptly handed him a few francs. I made sure not to touch his hand, but it wasn’t out of fear. I wasn’t about to forget that an alchemist had carefully crafted it to destroy the body on contact. The soldier was lucky enough to survive whatever had hit him. Maybe he had been far enough from the blast not to be immediately obliterated, but it didn’t mean The Plague wasn’t still working on him and slowly killing him.
“You’re afraid of me...aren’t you?” He took the money and clenched his fist. Two of his fingers were missing.
“If I were afraid, I would’ve ignored you like those two people ahead who just passed you by.”
He stared at me, and his left eye gleamed. “I’m Timothy.”
“I’m Noelle.” I crossed my arms just as he made a move to shake my hand.
“So, you’re not afraid?” He withdrew his hand.
When an alchemist altered and manipulated material to create something new or give it its own magical quality, he infused it with his magical energy. Most of the time this was harmless, but with effort you could sometimes trace an object or potion back to its creator. However, when you had an alchemist creating a deadly chemical used to eat away hundreds of soldiers like a rampaging monster—well, you didn’t necessarily want to go fiddling around with things like that without taking precautions.
“How are you holding up, Timothy?” I wondered if he had any family.
“Well,” he pocketed the money, “I can hardly hold down any food I am fortunate enough to buy and I don’t sleep anymore. Shall I go on?”
“I’m sorry.” I wished I could say something else, but nothing I could ever say would restore him. Everything I knew about Heilwig’s chemicals was in that dossier, and it suddenly became flesh and blood when I had to stare the results straight in the face.
“And where are you going on this fine day, Noelle?”
“The hospice. I’m looking for work.”
His eye gleamed again. “Be careful.”
“Thank you.” I bit my lip and felt a cold knot in the pit of my stomach. He stepped aside to let me pass, and I walked by, feeling like a boulder had been set on my shoulders.
No sooner than I took a few steps, I had to stop once more when the SS officer, Karl Manfried, approached. I was taken aback because he had apparently fallen into some type of disgrace since I last saw him. He no longer wore a uniform, but instead dressed in tattered and dirty rags. He reeked of alcohol, dirt caked his hair, and he had more than a few bruises. Although he drank from his small liquor flask as if it contained the Elixir of Life, he still retained awareness, and stood at full height.
“A few francs, for a German soldier who abandoned rank, and refused to cast his lot with his wicked brethren.” He slipped the flask into one of his pockets and stood directly in front of me.
Well, at least the lying jerk didn’t seem to recognize me. The other officers probably found him still under the influence of my mind control spell when they sorted out the explosion at the Paris office. They must’ve given him a good beating before stripping him of his rank and casting him out.
“Uh...yes...here.” I didn’t know why I was giving money to this man. In fact, I should’ve just kept moving. However when someone looked so beaten down and pitiful, you just didn’t want to kick him when he was down. Besides, it didn’t look like he would do harm to anyone anytime soon.
“Thank you.” He took the money with one hand and quickly grabbed my left arm with the other.
“Let go of me,” I said.
“I remember you...you’re the fake Russian spy from that night.” His grip tightened, and he pulled me closer.
Great, all I needed was to draw attention to myself. “If you remember me, then that means you also remember what I can do. Care to try me?”
“Let go of her!” Timothy shoved Karl and looked ready to punch him. I was relieved that I didn’t have to fight Karl in the middle of town.
“Don’t mind me.” Karl backed away and took out his flask. “I’m just chatting with an old friend.”
“Do you know him?” Timothy positioned himself between us.
“No. I don’t.” I scowled at Karl.
He took a swig from his flask. “Careful, Tim. She’ll bewitch you too.”
Timothy shook his head and faced me. “I apologize for him, he’s a crazy drunk. Shall I walk you to the hospice?”
“Hospice, you say?” Karl eyed me with interest.
I shook my head. “I really don’t want to be too much trouble. I should go.”
I gently touched Timothy’s arm in a parting gesture. Even through the shielding of his jacket, I could feel the presence of the poisonous magic still eating away at him. It felt horrible.
“Tim...everyone...look! Look at the witch!” He began waving and gesturing, trying to grab the attention of anyone in the vicinity.
I grabbed Karl by the scruff of his neck and grunted, “What did I tell you earlier?”
“That you didn’t want to be too much trouble.” His smile looked like a sneer. “I’ll take you to the hospice.”
Timothy objected, but I cut him off. “It’s all right, he’s just a crazy drunk who wants to get a few more francs out of me. He can walk me there.”
“Are you sure?”
Hell no, but Karl would scream bloody murder if I didn’t let him escort me. I’d hit him with a spell once we reached the hospice. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
I glared at him one last time as he walked alongside me down the street toward the hospice. I could already see the beautiful two-story cottage just ahead.
“You’re awfully quiet, witch.”
“I’m not a witch. Why do you want to go to the hospice so badly?”
“Where do you think I get my drink from?” He swished the liquor around in his flask and took a final gulp before slipping it back into his pocket.
“Why don’t you go back to Germany?” Surely he wasn’t planning on remaining a drunkard in the town of Vélizy for the rest of his life.
“They’ll hang me or shoot me if I return home like this. I’m better off here, at least until the war ends, when no one will remember or care.” He smiled at a couple of children passing by, and they went scurrying down the street.
I looked back and saw that Timothy was gone, and gave Karl a sidelong glance. “What are you going to do, then?”
; “Why do you care?”
“I don’t...I’m just making conversation.”
“I have a little girl. Once the war is over, I’m going to see her.”
“Then take this.” I gave him some more francs. Call me crazy, but I was a sucker for dads reuniting with their children.
“I...” he seemed at a loss for words. He hesitated, giving me a strange look.
“Well, here we are.” I opened the gate and walked down the paved pathway toward the front door.
“Scheisse...” he hunched over and vomited.
I ran up the steps and opened the door. I turned to face him. “Not that I care, but you really ought to leave that liquor alone. You’ll want your little girl to see you sober and all cleaned up.”
He cursed in German. “Just leave me alone, witch. You make me ill.”
“Not until you promise you’ll be quiet,” I told him in a low voice.
He stood and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. “I promise. Just don’t bewitch me again.”
“Hey...where are you going?”
He shouldered his way past me to get inside, and went straight for the bar. I shook my head and sighed. I went in and took in the view of the large common room which had a fireplace, bar, and tables and chairs set up for those who wished to lounge or play chess. The scent of spicy soup and roasted meat caught my attention as I took my seat in a dim corner, but at that point I really wanted a drink, so I ordered a chilled champagne cocktail.
Out of the corner of my eye I watched Karl get his flask refilled, and I wondered if at any second he’d go into another frenzy. I noticed a group of patrons lounging on a long sofa by the fireplace. Their backs were turned to me, but I could tell there were three men and a woman. Two of the men wore berets, which Bernard had told me enabled a Maquisard to identify himself to another without arousing suspicion. I sat in my solitary corner thinking of how I would grab the attention of the two Maquisards. When my drink arrived, I kindly thanked the hostess, but she declined payment and said that the men on the sofa had paid for me. Still, I slipped her a few extra francs and asked her about the men by the fireplace.
“I don’t know much,” she said. “They arrived here a week ago. They haven’t caused any trouble though, and as long as they pay their room and board, I’ll not complain.”
I eyed her with sympathy when I saw her frown in Karl’s direction. “I thought perhaps I’ve seen them somewhere before. Thank you.”
She smiled as she took another franc from me. “If I find out anything more, I’ll be sure to tell you.”
I drank half my cocktail before the plainclothes man, a dark-haired handsome fellow who introduced himself as Marc, asked me to join them. One of the Maquisards pulled up an extra chair for me and smiled.
“Good afternoon, welcome to Vélizy-Villacoublay! Are you a visitor as well?” The Maquisard who guided me to my chair flashed me a warm smile.
“Yes, I’m looking for work.”
“There’s not much to be had, I’m afraid.” The other Maquisard, who looked to be in his fifties, took out a pipe and lit it.
The woman glowered and looked me up and down. “The factory is not hiring, if that’s what you were thinking.” She wrapped her arms around Marc. Her body language, manner of dress, and the fact that there weren’t “any jobs to be had,” led me to conclude that she was a prostitute.
“What are you good at, mon ami? Perhaps we can help.” The younger Maquisard folded his hands and gave a serious look.
I raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m afraid I’m not good at whoring.”
The Maquisards kept their laughter to a low rumble, while Marc looked unconcerned. The woman glared at me and shifted away.
“With such a quick wit, I’m sure you can do many things, isn’t that right Pierre?” The Maquisard inhaled from his pipe and blew out a puff of smoke.
“Yes, Rodrigue...indeed.”
Marc leaned in and kissed the woman. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner. Now, run along.” With one last indignant look thrown in my direction, she stood and stalked toward the steep staircase that led to the guestrooms.
“Mademoiselle,” Rodrigue extinguished his pipe and tapped the top of his beret. “Do you recognize this?”
The whole setting just felt odd to me, and their characters seemed unsavory. “Yes, it’s a very nice beret.”
“Don’t be coy, you know what it means.” Marc sidled next to me.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you are getting at.” I gave him a sidelong glance when Marc stroked my cheek.
“We are Maquisards,” Pierre said. “We can help you with whatever you need. Whether it’s money, a place to stay...is there someone you need to get out of jail? Just tell us.”
Suddenly I felt lightheaded, and my stomach lurched. I stood to leave, but Rodrigue’s hand shot out and grabbed my arm, forcing me back down. I scanned the room for help, and saw the hostess with a frightened look on her face as she stood behind the bar pretending to clean wine glasses. Karl watched us from his stool at the bar. He looked like he was in pain.
“You don’t look well.” Marc’s hot breath was on my neck. I shivered as I felt a sensation that I hadn’t experienced since that night at Éclat—this man was a Cruenti. He probably sensed traces of magic emanating from me as well.
Although I kept a stoic expression, inside I wanted to scream like a madwoman. The growing terror combined with the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach made me swoon.
“Do you think she’s a Maquisard?” Pierre asked in a hushed voice.
Marc’s response was firm and resolute. “She’s coming with me.”
I wanted to vomit and proclaim that I’d take my chances with either Pierre or Rodrigue. I tried to counter the drug in my system with my body magic, but the drug dazed me to where I couldn’t completely purge it. I grew more ill by the second.
“If you ask for more than ten, I’ll cut your tongue out.” Rodrigue stuck his pipe back in his mouth and pulled out a wad of francs.
Karl approached, and refused to look in my direction. “I...I think I made a mistake.”
Pierre laughed. “What mistake? You don’t make mistakes. You find them, and you bring them to Marc. Understand?”
Karl looked at the floor and scratched the back of his head. “I haven’t used it until today. I must’ve read it wrong. She’s not what you’re looking for.”
“Let me see.” Marc gestured toward Karl, and he tossed him the flask. I could see a small script carved toward the top, and for a moment the words glittered with several colors.
“I...I’ll take her outside if you want—”
“It works just fine,” Marc said. “Even if it didn’t, I could still tell. Just like she can tell what I am.”
“Watch out!” Rodrigue nearly choked on his pipe, and ran for cover, but Karl aimed his revolver and shot him in the back. Before Pierre could even get out of his seat, he got a bullet in the chest.
I tried standing again, but my legs collapsed beneath me and I hit the floor. Marc sprang to his feet and seemed to jump into the air. The sofa blocked my view, but I heard a few more gunshots and then a physical struggle. I quickly reached into my side pocket and unsheathed my steel knife. I carved a symbol into the hardwood floor: a triangle with a horizontal line going through the top, and then a second one, except it was upside down—Air and Earth. The symbols barely held because of my weakness, but I went ahead and fed every last bit of energy into them. I heard the hostess scream. There was a hard thud on the floor.
“Karl!” I hushed my heavy breaths and listened.
Nothing.
“Hey, Karl!”
I heard slow and deliberate footsteps coming in my direction.
“Marc, what did you do to him?”
I shrieked when Karl’s head landed next to me. I turned away from the gruesome sight so that the image wouldn’t be branded into my mind, and I felt worse than if I had touched a thousand Timothies.
Mar
c came around the sofa, his mouth and chin dripping with blood. “Nothing, compared to what I’m going to do to you.”
He raced toward me and I released the energy I had built up. He immediately froze in place because of the Earth-Air symbols. He struggled at first, but after realizing that it was futile, he decided to attack me in other ways.
“It’s unfortunate I had to eat your little hero.”
“You didn’t have to kill him...” I felt both rage and sickness. Cruenti usually left people without powers alone. They preyed on wizards.
“When you lose control of your spell, that’ll be the least of your worries.” He licked his lips.
I forced myself onto my hands and knees and backed away. Marc laughed. If I weren’t drugged and sick to my stomach, I’d probably try to blast him away. What was he doing here? He wasn’t an ordinary Cruenti; I had never run across one with the ability to mask his powers like that.
I groaned when I saw Karl’s body near the sofa, but kept moving because I felt like I would lose consciousness. When the doorway seemed just within reach, I decided to try standing on my feet again. My legs and arms shook, but at least this time I managed to stand. Just as I made it to the exit, Ken swung the door open and grabbed hold of me. I collapsed into his arms as he took me outside, where Bernard already had the car running. I would’ve torn myself out of his grasp, asked him what he was doing here, and why Bernard was with him, but I was ready to faint.
“What did they give you?” Ken opened the car door and squeezed in after me. He took off his coat and withdrew a small case that held four different vials of liquid from one of its pockets.
“I don’t know...they put it in my cocktail.” Although I counteracted the drug enough to remain conscious, it didn’t spare me from other side effects.
“I know that look...it was probably chloral hydrate. Here, take this and get the rest of it out of your system.” He opened one of the vials and tilted it toward my mouth. I still didn’t know what he was doing here, and it couldn’t have been just a coincidence that he found me here and now.
I turned my head away and rejected the vial. “I don’t need it.”
“Come on...”
“But I—” before I could finish my sentence, he poured the vial’s contents down my throat.
Bernard hit the accelerator and took off, not holding back his invective. “Those pathetic excuses for men back there were traitors working for the Gestapo. I’m sorry, Noelle. Those weren’t Maquisards.”
It was nice to hear him say that in a sincere tone. My chest tightened, and I felt a pang when I thought of Karl.
“You’ll feel better after some rest.” Ken pushed my hair back as I pulled his coat to my face and vomited. When I was done, he slid the soiled coat onto the floor.
I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. Ken helped me sit upright and offered me a canteen of water. I wiped my mouth and took a few gulps, then handed the canteen back to him. So...it really was an antidote that he gave me. Maybe I was just paranoid, or maybe I had misunderstood Ken’s words that day. Maybe he had been mad at Penn because he would have to go out for a second time to find his contacts, and maybe he had taken Badru’s money for a good reason.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked.
“That car that my Boss wanted me to take a look at—turns out it’s the Vélizy factory.”
“It’s not a real factory.” I shook my head. “It has Veit Heilwig’s chemical weapons.”
“I just found that out. I couldn’t decode that message Penn gave me, so I had to go to a codemaster to get it deciphered. The problem is, the only codemaster I trusted in this area was sitting in a jail up in Rouen.”
“You went all the way up north?”
Ken nodded. “So I get there, and I find out that the guy had been guillotined.”
“Ouch…” I frowned. I supposed the SS wanted to break up the monotony of firing squads.
“But I found out he left three notebooks of ciphers with his assistant before being arrested.”
“Where was the assistant?”
“Erm...in jail, but he was in Mantes.”
“Wait, didn’t you start off in that area?”
“I know, makes you want to punch something, doesn’t it?”
Bernard laughed. “He’ll probably end up punching me.”
“You two know each other?” My gaze went between Ken and Bernard. I wondered if the older man even knew “Drake’s” real name and if they were close friends.
“Do I know him?” Bernard shot Ken a quick glance. “If it weren’t for me, Drake wouldn’t know how to make it down the street in Paris.”
Ken smirked. “Bernard’s one of the first Maquisards I ever met. He thinks because he pulled me from a burning car, that I need to be looked out for.”
Bernard gestured toward the backseat. “Lucky for you, I saw those spectacles in the back, Noelle. I don’t meddle with wizards’ possessions and needed to bring them to you.”
“Thank you, Bernard.” I faced Ken. “Now, are you going to tell me about the assistant?”
“I found him drowned in the Seine River.”
And I thought I was having a frustrating day. “So how did you end up decoding the message?”
“I went to another codemaster—Mathieu Perrine.”
I could just imagine what a meeting between them would look like. “You’ve met Mathieu?”
“Yeah, and it looks like you did too. It didn’t take long to figure out you had passed through, so I headed out this way, and that’s when I ran into Bernard. We came out here when he said he needed to get your emerald spectacles back to you. When I saw you in the hospice with that warlock, I knew I had to get you out of there quick.”
“Those spectacles were real emerald?” Bernard eyed us with interest.
“Don’t get any ideas, old man. Remember, you don’t mess with wizards’ possessions?” Ken placed his arm around me and I finally began to relax.
“I’m glad you were there,” I told him with a serious look in my eye, “but next time...you might not want to rush into the middle of something like that.” Marc would’ve torn through Ken just like he did Karl Manfried.
Ken threw me an incredulous glance. “What are you talking about? You needed help. You couldn’t even walk on your own.”
“Just be careful,” I said. Sometimes I wished he’d take a step back and analyze what was going on in a situation rather than rushing into something because he felt it was the right thing to do.
“It’s good to have you back, Drake—it’ll be like old times. And I’m glad we found you, Noelle.”
“I’m glad you’re both here.” I reached for Ken’s hand and held it tightly, secretly wishing that “here” was anywhere other than Nazi-occupied Paris. I would’ve felt like an idiot if I had confronted Ken or accused him of anything.
“I’m glad you’re alive.” He squeezed my hand in return.
“Where are we going?” I leaned into him.
“A Maquisard safe house.” Bernard slowed the car. “Tonight, we’re going to hit the factory.”
“I’m coming too. It’s the only way I’ll find the laboratory I’m looking for.”
“You need rest first.” Ken frowned at me.
Bernard pulled up to a large house just southwest of the factory. It had no gate, and looked like it might have once been a beautiful country house. As soon as we stepped out of the car, a Maquisard woman greeted us. A young man who didn’t even look old enough to drive came out and took Bernard’s keys.
The two exchanged a few words and Bernard patted the young man on his back. “Take care of it, will you?” After he watched the young man drive off, he turned to face me. “Well, whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”
The Tower's Alchemist (The Gray Tower Trilogy, #1) Page 15