A Conspiracy of Alchemists

by Liesel Schwarz

  A sudden blast from a boat horn sliced through the warm air. They both jumped. A French narrow boat was slowly paddling up the river. The boatmen in their blue-and-white striped tops whistled and jeered as they came into view. One of them called out something particularly obnoxious and leery as they passed. Marsh rolled over her and shielded her from view with his body.

  He collapsed onto the blanket, laughing as soon as the sailors were gone. Elle smiled and rolled over to the other side of the blanket.

  “I’m sorry,” His voice was suddenly formal again. “It was wrong of me to distract you like that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She picked a stalk of grass and started picking the seeds off it. The warm air around them was suddenly stifling.

  “Tell me about your mother,” he said suddenly.

  She swiveled round in surprise. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

  He sat up and gently caught her face in his hands. “Elle, there are important things you need to know. And I’m not sure I know how to tell you or how much you already know.” He let his hands drop away. “What do you remember from when you were a child?”

  She frowned. “Well, there isn’t much to tell, really. My mother died when I was a baby. My father raised me as best he could. My family has a good name, but he is the younger son, so we are not wealthy. My uncle’s fortune and peerage is respectable, and my father lives mostly off his trust, but I have no money of my own.” She picked away at the grass stalk as she spoke. “My father hired Mrs. Hinges to look after me. My aunt did her best to teach me all the things a young woman of class and breeding should know. I think my father had hoped to marry me well, but I think we all eventually agreed that I am never going to realize that dream.” She threw away the stripped stripped-down stalk and picked another one.

  “I’m a bit of an odd duck, as you can see. With no inheritance or traditional accomplishments to speak of, I don’t exactly possess the qualities that would make a model wife.” She looked out over the field.

  “I think you are capable of far more than you believe,” He grew serious. “And I am not going to be the man who ruins things for you.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you are special. Just like your mother was.”

  “My mother is dead because of her own selfishness. And I am nothing like her.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She stared at him. “How would you know? You know nothing about my family. And what business is it of yours anyway?”

  “I am a Warlock, and so you are every bit my business. The reason why that is so is what I am trying to explain to you.”

  “So that’s what I am? A bit of business?” She felt her cheeks throb with the indignance. She threw away the second grass stalk and dusted off her lap. “I do not like to dredge up old stories about my family that have nothing to do with the present. And you, sir, have no right to pry into my personal matters.”

  “Elle, please listen to me for a moment.”

  “No. I don’t want to talk about my mother. Nothing good ever comes out of doing so.” She pulled away from him and stood up off the blanket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we are wasting time and; we have a long way ahead of us. The weather is not going to hold forever. I’d like to cover as much distance as I can before it rains.” She started piling things into the picnic basket. The wicker creaked as she slid the buckle shut. She stood and hoisted the basket into the air. “Please bring the blanket with you when you are ready.”

  He didn’t move. “Elle …”

  Elle ignored him. With a flick of her wrist, she yanked the blanket out from under him and he rolled onto the grass. She bundled the blanket up with the basket and walked away.

  How could she have been so foolish? There was no attraction between them not on his side, anyway. All he cared about was the stupid key around her wrist. She stowed away the picnic things and got into her seat. From the corner of her eye she watched him walk slowly towards the gyrocopter.

  “We’ll talk about this when you’ are ready,” he said as he got into his seat next to her.

  Elle did not reply. Instead, she cranked the starter lever and the engine hummed back to life. She did not want to think about her mother. She had some serious flying to do.

  CHAPTER 17

  Many miles away, a soot-blackened train belched steam from its flanks as it wound its way through the valleys that cleaved through the mountains of Carpathia. From beneath the sun-starved cover of pine trees, Shadow creatures watched on in hopeful silence. But the train had no intention of stopping: It was on its way to Constantinople.

  The sun-fearers shrank back and bowed their heads in respect as one particular carriage passed. Its finely cut Lalique windows were covered with black sheets of Indian rubber, sealing out all light.

  Inside the carriage, Eustace Abercrombie sat in a wingback chair. He moved his face out of the pool of lamplight as a waiter in a white jacket and gloves entered. Careful to not to stare, the waiter placed a little silver tray bearing a telegram before Abercrombie. The waiter bowed and retreated as unobtrusively as he could manage.

  Abercrombie opened the telegram, meticulously lifting the sealed edges of the envelope. As he scanned the contents, his face contorted with anger. Uttering a curse, he crumpled the paper and threw it at the wall. It bounced off the wallpaper and hit one of the lampshades, making the crystal teardrops tinkle.

  His companion moved silently from the shadows beyond the lamplight. His inky hair was tied with a leather strip at the neck and hung down his back in a simple braid. Pale skin stretched over his aquiline features.

  “What news, Eustace?” He spoke with a slight accent. Parisian, if one listened carefully.

  “My lord Aleix. You are awake.” Abercrombie took a sip of Arabic tea from a delicate tulip-shaped glass and pulled a face. “Feathers is dead.”

  “And the girl?”

  “She lives. The Warlock is with her. They are on their way to Venice. They have managed to mobilize one of the professor’s flying machines.” Abercrombie looked at his companion. “They are outrunning us.”

  “The Council is in Venice.”

  Abercrombie slammed his hand down onto the table, “Damnation! Don’t you think I know that?” His tea-glass toppled over with a little tinkle.

  Aleix stepped back and bared his fangs. “There is no need for anger now, Alchemist. Is there?” His stare grew very cold.

  Abercrombie glared at him. “I sometimes don’t know why we bother with your kind. I really don’t.”

  “You bother because you need us. We are the princes who inherited the night and you are our keepers,” he said, carefully avoiding the word servant.

  “And best you do not you forget who keeps you from turning to dust by the sun, princeling. Don’t you forget.”

  Aleix flashed his fangs again. “It is because of our money that your Guild has thrived. So it may be best for you not to forget who feeds you, Alchemist.”

  Abercrombie picked up his empty glass and set it aside with some irritation. He reached out and pushed the brass service bell.

  A man dressed in black hurried into the compartment.

  “Mr. Chunk, I regret to inform you that Feathers is dead. The Warlock has killed him. Please make arrangements to have him replaced by someone suitable.”

  A look of surprise crossed Mr. Chunk’s broad face but he seemed to know better than to comment. He bowed. “Yes, master.”

  “How is the professor?” Abercrombie asked.

  “He is fine, master. We checked on him a quarter of an hour ago. Sleeping like a baby. Them draughts you gave him work powerfully well.”

  “Good. But I want you to wake him now. See to it that his needs are met. I want him to start working immediately. We have no time to waste.”

  Aleix leaned forward. “Do you think that is wise? He may escape.”

  “And make sure he remains shackled.
At all times,” Abercrombie said through gritted teeth, his eyes not leaving Aleix’s face.

  “As you wish, master,” said Mr. Chunk.

  “Very well. Dismissed.” Abercrombie waved his hand. “And tell the waiter to bring me another drink. I don’t care what he brings, as long as it is not tea.”

  “Yes, master.” Mr. Chunk bowed and left the room.

  “I knew it was a bad idea to use the box as bait for the trap,” Abercrombie said as soon as Mr. Chunk was gone.

  Aleix shrugged. “Our plan almost worked, you know. If only they hadn’t followed the cab, we would have had ourselves a fresh young Oracle by now.”

  “And for our efforts, Feathers is dead,” Abercrombie said.

  Aleix leaned over and helped himself to one of the blood-filled chocolate truffles in the box on the table. He bit into it and chewed for a second with his eyes closed. “Feathers was a fool.”

  Abercrombie grabbed his wrist. “He was my nephew,” he hissed.

  “Let … Go … Of … Me.” Aleix bared his fangs again. They were covered with blood and chocolate.

  Abercrombie released the Nightwalker and sat back in his seat. Aleix stood up gracefully and went to stand by the window. He closed his eyes. “Darkness approaches. If you’ll excuse me, it is very late and I need to get some sleep before sunset.” He straightened his smoking jacket and picked up another truffle. “These are very good. I think there is definitely a market for them,” he said as he disappeared into the shadows.

  The waiter came in with another glass of tea and set it down on the table.

  “Here,” Abercrombie picked up a pencil and started scribbling on the envelope of the telegram. He grabbed the waiter by the lapel, looked into the man’s eyes with his dark stare. “See that this message is dispatched as soon as possible.”

  The waiter paled and started shaking. “Yes, sir, we have mobile transmitter on the train.”

  It is a matter of life and death, Abercrombie said into his mind. And get that tea out of my sight. I said, no more tea!

  The waiter bowed and ran from the compartment, tripping over the rug at the door on the way out.

  Abercrombie rested his chin on his hands and brooded into the pool of lamplight before him. “Let’s see how you like my next move, Warlock,” he snarled out loud “Your little expedition is about to be blown completely off course.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The city of Nice came into view shortly before sunset. Elle took in the majestic curve of the Promenade des Anglais, which was tinged in shades of pink and lavender in the setting sun.

  “See if you can spot a good place to land,” she yelled at Marsh over the din of the ’copter blades.

  People out on the promenade were looking up as the copter whizzed over them. Some were holding on to their hats and pointing at the spectacle above.

  Elle turned the gyrocopter so she could survey the rooftops. She spotted a lead-gray roof on one of the buildings as they flew over it. It stood out quite starkly in contrast to the red tiles that covered the buildings further into the city, but more importantly, the roof looked new and it was flat. Trelliswork around the edge suggested a roof terrace, now closed up, a signal that summer was at an end.

  “Hold on, it’s going to be tight!” She positioned the ’copter over the roof and started easing it down. The gyrocopter set down on the terrace with a slight thud. She opened the steam-release valves and powered down the reactor.

  “Now, that’s what I call making an entrance.” Marsh pulled off his goggles. “I’ll see if I can find a way off the roof. We may even have found our lodgings for tonight.” He winked at her. “You hold the fort. This will only take a minute.”

  Elle sat back in her seat and listened to the hiss of the steam escaping from the engine. The enormity of what she had achieved today made her tremble. She had flown her father’s machine, but he had missed seeing the moment of fruition of his life’s work. The thought filled her with a sudden sense of sadness. She hoped he was alive and unhurt, wherever he was. Thinking about it made her chest ache.

  The view from the roof terrace was magnificent. From where she was sitting, she could see the whole of the escarpment, all the way to the rocky hill that sat to the side of the city. She watched the people on the promenade walk along, taking the air, while lazy seagulls circled through the rose-colored sky. Ladies with parasols and beautiful hats, on the arms of gentlemen in summer suits, walked along the rails and stared out over the sea.

  Marsh arrived after a few minutes, with an openmouthed hotel porter in tow. He opened the door and helped Elle out of the cockpit. “We are in luck. It is the end of the season and I have secured lodgings for us.”

  “Welcome, madame,” the porter said, while doing his best not to gape at the flying machine.

  Marsh opened the storage hatch and pulled out their bags. He handed them to the porter.

  Elle pulled the crank handle that started the engine out and unhooked it. “Just in case,” she said to Marsh.

  “Good thinking. The hotel has instructions to allow no one onto the roof,” Marsh said with a wry smile.

  “Cheat,” Elle mouthed at him as they followed the porter into the hotel. He led them down a few flights of stairs and into one of the corridors until they came to a set of doors. He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the doors for them.

  The hotel room was decorated in the prettiest wallpaper of a delicate cornflower blue and gold. Elle breathed in the smell of lavender furniture oil and fresh linen. Outside the French windows was a little balcony fringed by ornate trelliswork.

  Marsh gave the porter a coin and he disappeared.

  Elle turned to Marsh and raised her eyebrows at him. There was only one bed in the room.

  “We are registered as Mr. and Mrs. Mason from London—for the sake of appearances,” he said quickly. “This hotel is quite new, but they still have ladies’ suites.” He pointed at a wallpapered panel. “See, the maid’s room is through there. The bed in there is quite serviceable and I will sleep there in adequate comfort without raising suspicion.”

  Elle snorted. “And you think landing on the roof in a flying machine hasn’t attracted enough attention already?”

  “The world is full of eccentrics and a hotel such as this one is quite accustomed to catering to the whims of their more colorful clientele. But suspicions aside, I can be here with you in a second, if you need me.” He smiled at her.

  Elle felt her heartbeat quicken, but she resisted the urge to respond. She wasn’t going to flirt with him. Not after what had happened earlier.

  Marsh, entirely unperturbed by her awkwardness, donned his hat. “Let’s stretch our legs with a walk on the promenade before dinner, shall we? Would you care for some dinner, Mrs. Mason? I know a place that makes a bouillabaisse that is so delicious it will move you to tears.”

  Elle felt her stomach rumble at the thought of fresh seafood and she put her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Mason,” she said, playing along with him. “If you’ll allow me a moment to change into something more suitable before we go.” She pushed him into the maid’s room and shut the door. “You wait in there. I’ll call for you when I am ready.”

  CHAPTER 19

  That night Elle dreamed of burning men, and huge hands with thick fingers closing around her throat. Gray specters with black eyes searched for her as they passed overhead, spreading an eerie chant around them. Someone was out there. She could feel it. She tried to open her eyes, but darkness folded all around her.

  “Who’s there?” she whispered.

  “It’s me,” Marsh spoke. She felt his presence next to her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “This is a dream.”

  “But I am awake. And what are you doing in my bedroom?”

  He laughed softly. “You are dreaming that you are awake and you are awake while you are dreaming. It’s complicated. Everything here is a bit complicated.”

  She felt them float together in s
ilence. “Where is here?”

  “We are in the realm of Shadow,” he said.

  “The place mystics talk about? This is where the world of Shadow originates, isn’t it?”

  “The very same.”

  “I’ve always wondered about other places. Other realities. I always thought they were figments of the mind.” she said.

  “This place is as you would imagine it,” he said.

  “And why exactly are you here? I can manage to dream my own dreams, you know. I have done so for years. And if you ask me, this dream is rather dull. There doesn’t seem to be anything here. Except those creepy things flying about over in the distance.”

  “How wrong you are. Everything is here. Shh. Listen.”

  Chanting sifted through the air, leaving luminescent tendrils of sound in the blackness overhead.

  “What was that?”

  “Alchemists. Those are scry-spells.”

  “Scrying? As in the parlor trick performed at séances?” she snorted. “Why can I see those sounds?”

  “Everything is different here. We perceive things differently. Now be quiet or they’ll see you.”

  Elle felt a shiver of scrutiny wash over her. “What are they doing?” she whispered.

  “They’re looking for you. I heard their howling in my dreams too. Which is why I’m here. I thought you might appreciate a little help.”

  Elle suddenly felt cold. The dark was turning menacing. She looked up. More silver tendrils unfurled above her. She felt strangely drawn to the patterns and she reached up, to touch the silver lines with her fingers. She felt herself drift away from Marsh.

  He grabbed her and dragged her back to him. “Stay close. Time and space work differently here. What looks like a few inches could end up being a universe away.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “But the shapes are so pretty,” she murmured as another wave of luminescence passed over them. This one was purple.

  “Pretty, and deadly. Now close your eyes and let it pass over you. Don’t try to fight them. They can see you only if you draw attention to yourself. If you stay still for long enough they will give up and stop searching. You have to trust me. Here they come. Get down!”