A Conspiracy of Alchemists

by Liesel Schwarz

  Eventually she gave up on sleep and went to sit at the window, where the dawn light gently eased the gloomy gray into day. She looked across the canal and I felt her blood turn to ice. For in the shadows someone was waiting. He was wrapped in a gray cloak that covered his head and face. The watcher must have spotted her at the window, because he melted back into the shadows.

  With a sigh, she got up from her seat and started dressing. She fiddled with the bracelet around her arm. It was a gesture that was becoming a familiar part of her mannerisms.

  I could have shown myself at that stage, but I did not. I was angry with the girl. I was angry that she denied who she was. And I was sad, because her petulant denial, made yet more of the Shadow retreat. No matter how much I willed her to say yes, she didn’t.

  I sensed that others were sad too, so I stayed hidden within the diamonds, where it was safe. For no one could touch me while I rested there. Not even the sharp bite of the jeweler’s pliers.

  The girl would need my help soon, but the time for these things was yet to come. And so I let her be. Perhaps, if she suffered a little, she would come to her senses. Sometimes a little harshness helps to focus the mind.

  By seven o’clock, she rang the bell for coffee. A tray with pastries and the morning paper was brought and the girl flicked through the pages to distract herself while she ate. There was an article on the front page about a large pirate ship that had exploded in mid-air near Genoa, and the girl scrutinized the words, trying to discern what they said with the little Italian she knew.

  By half past eight, the girl had been ready for ages. Unable to wait any longer, she summoned the porters to take her luggage downstairs. She was ready to go to the station.

  CHAPTER 31

  In contrast to the medieval splendor of old Venice, the station was a squat building propped up by cast cast-iron pillars. It clung to the side of the Grand Canal as a crass insult to the gentle architecture around it. Porters jostled for tips as people embarked and disembarked from the boats and gondolas. Gypsies sold trinkets spread on blankets on the drizzle-laced steps that led up from the water, while their children stood watch.

  Elle was secretly grateful that she had decided to travel light as she made her way through the bustle and into the station with her portmanteau. The smell of coal smoke, coffee and unwashed bodies assailed her from all sides. She glanced round, but there was no one behind her.

  “Departure from platform one. It’s that way,” the station official said to her when

  she showed him her ticket.

  Elle stopped and stared in open admiration at the magnificent machine before her. The Orient Express sat at the platform like a dowager in mourning dress. Veils of gray steam laced with incandescent spark particles escaped from pressure vales that were situated just under the footplates. Every inch of her polished black flanks gleamed in the dull morning light.

  She walked along the platform until she found her carriage. She handed her ticket to a conductor dressed in dark green and gold livery. He studied it, took her bag and then stood aside so she could board.

  Elle needed both hands to hoist herself into the carriage. Moving about was not as easy as it looked when dressed in a long corset and skirts. She was already regretting the fact that her jodhpurs were packed away at the bottom of her portmanteau, along with the revolver.

  “First class is this way, madam,” the conductor said behind her. He shuffled off down the carriage, gesturing for her to follow. As she turned, Elle caught a glimpse of a gray shadow as it slipped behind a pillar. It looked suspiciously like the cloaked figure that had been outside her window earlier that morning.

  She peered out the window to get a better look, but the figure was gone, replaced by a newspaper boy, checking his stack of news sheets.

  She shrugged. Her nerves were getting the better of her and she was hearing voices and seeing cloaked monsters everywhere she looked.

  “Compartment three-oh-three,” the conductor said. At that moment, a whistle sounded outside and someone on the platform shouted in Italian. Unperturbed, the conductor waited for the noise to pass, before continuing. “For the lady on the left and the gentleman on the right. Will you have any staff attending?”

  “No, thank you. And I am travelling alone. There should be no gentleman in this compartment,” she said.

  “But madam, the gentleman is already here …” The conductor looked confused and pointed to a man seated in the opposite side of the compartment, engrossed in his newspaper.

  “Thank you, my good man. We will let you know if we need anything further,” Marsh lowered his newspaper. He seemed amused.

  “You!” Elle said.

  “A good morning to you too, Miss Chance.”

  “You!” she repeated. “I should have known you were up to something!”

  Great billows of steam rose up outside the windows.

  “I was starting to think that I was going to Constantinople on my own.” He gave her one of his electric smiles.

  “Mr. Marsh. Of all the arrogant men in this world, you are possibly the worst. And if you think I am going to Constantinople with you, you are sorely mistaken. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am leaving.” She picked up her portmanteau and her umbrella.

  At that moment, the train shuddered and started moving. Elle stumbled and had to grab onto the brass rail to stop herself from falling over. The Orient Express bound for Constantinople had left the station. Its steam engines propelled the machine forward with impressive acceleration.

  “The next stop is in Austria, so you might as well sit down.” Marsh said.

  Elle wrenched the compartment door open. A blast of cold air grabbed at her petticoats. The train was now over the long cast-iron railway bridge that connected Venice with the mainland. Slate-gray lagoon water whooshed past below her at a speed that was altogether too frightening for her liking. If she jumped, she would most likely drown.

  Defeated, she slammed the door shut and sat down heavily on the brocade seat. She clutched her portmanteau to her chest with grim resignation. She was stuck in a confined space with Marsh. Again.

  “Told you so,” he said from behind his paper. From her seat she could see that he was watching her with a rather amused expression on his face. In that moment, she hated him with all her might.

  “Fine. But only until the next stop. And then I never want to see you again.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t you sometimes get a little tired of being so constantly outraged?” he said. “If I had wanted to harm or abduct you, I would have done so hours ago. Elle, you are as safe with me as you always were.”

  She glared at him. “And while we’re on the subject, where is my shadow? It disappeared yesterday and I haven’t managed to find it.”

  He sighed. “The divide between Light and Shadow is like a membrane. It separates every aspect of the two realms. But, as we move about, we leave our mark on the universe and a person’s shadow is that imprint on the barrier between the two realms. You are Pythia. You do not leave an imprint because you are the very force that holds Shadow and Light together.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “I promised your uncle I would take care of you, and so, against my better judgment, here I am.” He bowed his head. “At your service, madam.”

  “My uncle?” She felt herself grow cold.

  “Actually, I received a long-distance message from my good friend Lord Geoffrey Chance late last night. He said that he’d received a very concerning cablegram from his niece yesterday. Something about her going off to the East to rescue her father and that she was sending him an important dispatch and that he was to go to the papers if there was no further news. He was most perturbed by the message, but he knew I would be in Venice to meet the Council so he contacted me.”

  She felt her cheeks blaze. “And so you took it upon yourself to book two tickets?”

  “Well, your uncle was most concerned about you. I assured him that all was well, but that you felt he n
eeded to hold certain important information in case something happened to you, which is why you sent the dispatch. He accepted that but begged me to keep an eye on you. For your father’s sake. Apparently, you can be quite a handful sometimes.”

  “So you were spying on me! I knew it,” she said.

  “I did no such thing. But I did promise you that I would help you find your father, and I did promise your uncle to be your chaperon for this trip, and so I am settling my entire debt to the Chance family in one go.”

  “I don’t need your help,” she said.

  He snorted. “Tell that to the two men in gray I dispatched from outside your hotel this morning. One of them got away, but I think I saw him lurking about the station a little while ago.”

  “You are a devious man, Mr. Marsh,” she said in a low voice.

  He shook his head. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. But, as a token of good faith, I told your uncle that he should expect your dispatch and that he should deal with the matter as per your instructions. So your little insurance policy is in place. If I take one wrong step, the whole world will know.”

  She raised her chin. “Why are you doing this?”

  He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Regardless of what you might think of me, I swore an oath to protect the Oracle. It is one of the most sacred vows of my Brotherhood. Constantinople is a dangerous place. The Alchemists are a treacherous lot. And if hanging a sword of Damocles over myself is what it will take for you to trust me, then that is what I must do.” He pulled a sealed telegram from his pocket and handed it to her. “Your uncle sent me this to give to you.”

  She sat down on the brocade seat and took off her gloves. Her fingers trembled slightly when she opened the telegram. It was from her uncle, begging her to be careful. The telegram went on to instruct her in the strongest possible terms to refer to Lord Greychester on all matters and that she was in good hands as long as she followed his advice. He also said that if she needed anything, she should ask Marsh with her uncle’s blessing.

  Elle sighed and set her portmanteau down. “And what guarantees do I have that you won’t try to drag me off to your Council the moment I fall asleep?”

  “Elle, you have made your position perfectly clear. And I will not stoop so low as to make you do something that is against your will. In this, I have disobeyed the Council. They do not know where we are, nor do I intend to tell them. I give you my word as a gentleman that I will not speak of the matter again.” His expression grew serious. “But we will eventually have to face the consequences of your decision together, you and I.”

  Elle was silent as she took in what he was saying. Was he telling the truth? She felt little slivers of guilt and regret wriggle around inside her. Her uncle was a good judge of character and she was unlikely to get any further help from Lord Geoffrey now. Marsh was right. She was a woman on her own, in a strange country, with limited resources, and as much as it pained her to admit it, she really was going to struggle to find her father by herself. She needed help, and at present Mr. Marsh seemed to be the only help on offer—whether she liked it or not.

  She sighed. There was no way around it. She needed to swallow her pride and make what had happened between them right.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday at the sanctuary.” She bit her lip. “It’s just that I felt so ambushed; and I didn’t really stop to consider what I was saying and …” Her voice trailed and she took a deep breath. “What I mean to say is that I am prepared to call a truce, if you promise to do the same.”

  He nodded stiffly. “I was in the wrong too. I shouldn’t have presumed so much with you,” he said. “I was at fault for allowing my feelings to get the better of my judgment. For that, I apologize.”

  “Apology accepted. We have a truce. But if you try any of your tricks or if you say a word about me being the Oracle, then our agreement will be null and void. Understand?”

  “Understood.” He picked up his newspaper and opened it again.

  Elle took off her coat and hung it on the hook below the hat rack behind her.

  “That dress is very fetching. You look lovely,” he said quietly.

  Elle felt a fresh blush explode across her face. She had chosen a cream embroidered lawn dress with small silk buttons on the sleeves for the journey. The seamstress had convinced her to add a little straw travelling hat with a black ribbon to match the outfit. The little hat was now perched on top of her hair, which she had pinned up in a braided knot.

  “Thank you.” She studied the compartment to distract herself. The polished wood paneling that lined the compartment was set against the green of the upholstery. Crystal teardrop lamp shades covered the spark lights. They tinkled softly as the train moved along over the tracks. Even the windowpanes were engraved cut glass.

  “We are certainly travelling in style. Thank you for the ticket, by the way,” she added.

  He smiled. “This is not the Orient Express proper. We will be only join up with it once we get to Vienna.”

  “That’s good to know,” she said. “And we will be sleeping here, both of us?”

  “Allow me to show you.” Marsh put his newspaper aside and stood up to pull the lever situated next to the window. “The beds are underneath these benches.” The bench swiveled round to reveal linen sheets and soft wool blankets, all ready and made up. “Pillows in here.” He opened one of the wooden overhead cupboards.

  Elle leaned over and looked at the mechanism. It consisted of a series of gears and a coiled spring. “Hmm. Clever,” she mused.

  Marsh pulled the lever for a second time and the bench swiveled round to reveal the brocade seat. “Also, there is a screen divider that splits the compartment in two. To ensure propriety and privacy at all times.” He pointed at the folded screen, cleverly tucked away behind a curtain. Elle nodded, feeling quite relieved that she would not have to share sleeping quarters with him. They might be on speaking terms again, but that did not mean they were back to being affectionate friends.

  The morning lumbered along in stilted silence. Elle did her best to concentrate the book she had bought from the bookshop opposite the consulate yesterday, but she struggled to concentrate. A dull headache throbbed at her temples and the air around her felt heavy—as if a terrible storm was brewing. She set the book aside and settled down to watch the day roll by. The train left Italy behind. Houses and farms became sparser and the hills more wooded as the tracks wound into the Austrian mountains.

  She studied the gray clouds looming low over the mountaintops. “Looks like we might be in for some bad weather.”

  He looked up sharply from the folder of papers he was working on. “I beg your pardon?”

  She frowned. “I said that based on my observations of the low-lying cloud and the fact that autumn is soon to be upon us, that we might have some adverse weather and precipitation on the way.”

  He leaned forward and looked out of the window. For the first time since their argument yesterday, the tension that hung in the air between them abated. “I suspect that you might be right,” he said and then promptly went back to his papers.

  A trolley with refreshments rolled by. The waiter knocked on the door and asked if they wanted something.

  “Oh, look!” Elle cried out in delight when the waiter rolled the trolley into their compartment. Perched on the side of the trolley was a spark-powered steam-driven coffee unit. The steel and brass pipes gleamed and she could hear the boiling water gurgle somewhere inside the machine.

  “What can I offer for the lovely lady?” the waiter asked, delighting in Elle’s interest.

  “Ooh, could I have a cappuccino?” she asked.

  The waiter’s face fell.

  “Only if it wouldn’t be too much trouble;, I would so very much like to see how the machine works.”

  The waiter pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. He shook his head. “In Italy, no one drinks cappuccino after ten o’clock and it is now half past eleven.”

  “Oh, I
beg your pardon,” Elle said. “The machine looks so interesting and I wanted to see how you do the milk. Does it heat up using this nozzle?” She pointed at a brass spout at the side.

  The waiter’s scowl lifted. “Yes, that is the steam outlet valve. We fill the filter with water here.” He seemed to change his mind and pulled out a porcelain cup and saucer. “As we are no longer in Italy, and for a beautiful lady like yourself, I will make the exception. Watch and be amazed.” He pulled out jars of coffee and milk and started preparing the coffee by measuring the dark grinds into the pan attachment. After pulling and tweaking a series of levers, a jet of thick brown liquid poured into the cup. The compartment filled with the smell of fresh coffee. “Now for the milk.” He started blasting steam through the jug.

  A few minutes later Elle had a magnificent cappuccino sitting on the foldout table before her, accompanied by a feather-light almond pastry.

  The waiter looked at Marsh. “And something for you, sir?” he enquired. Marsh had been watching the cappuccino operation in amused silence from over the top of his newspaper. He gave another one of his half smiles. “A small coffee for me, please. I am not getting involved in the cappuccino debate.”

  The waiter gave him a knowing nod. “A very sensible decision, sir.”

  With another sequence of tweaked knobs and a hiss of hot water, the waiter placed a tiny cup of strong black coffee before Marsh.

  “See.” He pointed at the cup. “The secret is in the crema. That is what we call the golden foam that sits on the top. If that is rich and good, then the coffee will be excellent. In Italy we call this the tails of the rats because the coffee coming out of the machine should look like two tails of a rat. Otherwise,” he gestured with his hands, “it is no good.”

  Elle laughed with delight. “Thank you, sir, for the education.”