A Conspiracy of Alchemists

by Liesel Schwarz

  She leaned over and retched, but her stomach was empty. Her throat felt swollen and raw. She slumped against the wall and whimpered.

  Someone cleared their throat and she looked up. A large man with his face hidden in a gray cloak was standing by a wooden door.

  “Welcome to Constantinople, little one. I am so glad to see you.”

  She tried to say something, but her tongue was too swollen in her mouth to speak.

  He lifted the cowl off his head and a slow smile spread over his whiskered face.

  More nausea filled her and she retched again. “Patrice? What are you doing here?” she croaked.

  “Dear Eleanor,” he tutted, and shook his head. “Not feeling so well, are we?”

  Another wave of dizziness washed over her. “Help get me out of these things. Before someone comes.”

  He gave her an oily smile. “Silly girl. I am the someone who might come. But not to worry, pretty, you will find that you feel much better once the powder they gave you wears off in a few hours.”

  A sob escaped from her throat. “Untie me, would you?”

  “It’s taken so much time and effort to finally get you here. It would be a travesty to let you go. But I can’t bear to see a lady in so much distress, so I’ll untie you just a little bit. And besides, we need you alive.” He reached over and unlocked the shackles on her wrists.

  Elle cried out as the hot blood rushed into her fingers. Every nerve in her arms tingled. She straightened up and flexed her shoulders. Her arms felt dead and heavy, like lead. She leaned forward and took a few deep breaths to calm the panic that was rising up in her chest. Blood and air coursed through her, the fog lifted and her mind slid into gear.

  She looked up. “Patrice?” Her voice was rough and hoarse in her throat.

  “Yes, the brain is working now, isn’t it?”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “You know, I am very cross with you. You shot one of our best men. He died on the way here.”

  Elle started shaking. “Patrice, how could you? Marsh trusted you.”

  “Ah, good old Mr. Marsh. And how fares my former business associate? The last I heard, he was lying on the side of the railway tracks somewhere in Transylvania.” He looked at his fingers. “The wolves or one of the forest creatures must have got him by now.” He pursed his lips in a mocking pout.

  She stared at him. “I don’t believe you. You were supposed to look after Mrs. Hinges. What have you done with her?”

  Patrice chuckled again and shrugged his shoulders. “Believe what you want, it is of no consequence to me. But I must say how very noble it is of you to show such concern, given your current plight.” He flicked an invisible fleck of lint from his cloak. “Although the role of damsel in distress does not become you, my dear. You are looking rather peaky, if I might say so.”

  Elle just stared at him with naked hatred.

  “Oh, all right, then,” he said with some irritation. “The old lady is fine. She’ll wake up with a headache, but no serious harm has been done.” His hand went up to his head where Mrs. Hinges had hit him with the frying pan. “Quid pro quo, as they say. I’m not a complete monster, you know.”

  “What is this place?”

  “You are exactly where you need to be,” he said. “Especially given the trouble you have caused us. We were most disappointed in the service our pirate friends provided.”

  Elle let her head roll onto her chest. She was tired and very thirsty, but she could not give in quite yet. She needed to get more information from Patrice.

  “That was you? How did you get here?”

  “Always so stubborn. It’s almost painful to watch. You did make things rather difficult for us in Paris. You should have just let Chunk drive you to the sanctuary in the cab. It would have been so much easier. And setting poor Feathers alight like that … how awful.” He tutted and folded his hands behind his back.

  “Oh well, I suppose I might as well tell you, seeing as there won’t be anyone else to tell. While you and our friend Marsh were conferring with the Council of Warlocks in Venice and canoodling down the canals, I took a flight across the Channel and caught the Orient Express in Paris. You were kind enough to join me in Vienna.” His gaze flicked over her. “He was all over you right from the start, you know. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist you. My plan worked so beautifully. It was like watching a play. But none of that matters now.”

  She had never noticed how cold his eyes were.

  “So all this time you have been pretending to be my friend? Pretending to be close to me so you could steal this ability you say I have? .I thought we were friends,” she said between clenched teeth.

  Patrice laughed. “I am an opportunist. And you presented an opportunity too good to let pass. I’m sorry you have to get hurt. I truly am. You are a sweet girl, but business is business, I’m afraid.” He looked up at the vents above. “The moon will be full soon. We have been planning this for a very long time, you know. Waiting and watching you grow into the new Oracle. Just like your dear mama.”

  Elle glared at him. “You do not talk about my mother.”

  He laughed again. “Ah, but I do. The Warlocks are so spineless, don’t you think? All tied up in politics and diplomacy. Stealing your mother away from them was almost as easy as it was to steal you. She died fighting to protect you, the poor thing.” He looked up to the sky. “The irony of it all is so beautiful, don’t you think? The whole Chance family, sacrificed for our cause. And soon, oh, very soon, it will all come to fruition. You wait and see.”

  Elle felt her whole body flood with heat as anger filled her, blocking out the tiredness. “Where is my father?” she said.

  Patrice started laughing. “Your father has proven to be a most useful asset. His knowledge of the fusion of Shadow magic and electricity has been so informative. It would have taken us years to get there, were it not for him.”

  “I demand to see my father. Right now,” she said. Her voice wavered as another wave of dizziness flooded over her.

  Patrice laughed again. “You are not going to be demanding anything, my dear. In fact, it is only because I am somewhat fond of you that you have the luxury of this accommodation. They were going to throw you into the old well.”

  Elle clenched her teeth and concentrated on staying upright. She was not going to give this man the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

  Patrice picked up a jug of water and a plate of flatbread that had been

  left by the door. “Here.” He shoved it down in front of her. “Eat. As I said, they want you alive.”

  He reached over and picked up a chain from the floor. In one deft movement he looped and locked the chain into the shackle that was around her ankle. Checking to make sure that it was secure, he put his hand on her cheek. “I’ll be back for you later. Now, behave yourself while I’m gone.”

  Once the key turned in the lock, Elle counted to a hundred and fifty before she leaned over and grabbed hold of the jug. She raised it to her cracked lips and drank deeply. The first few swallows made her choke and she had to stop and cough. “Slow sips,” she said to herself.

  She drank almost half of the water at once. Then, careful not to spill any, she set the jug down and slumped against the wall. She closed her eyes and felt herself drift back into the darkness.

  The melodic sound of chanting filtered through the blackness. Elle opened her eyes and groaned. While she had been sleeping, life had returned to her limbs and now it felt like every bit of her body was filled with pins and needles. She pushed herself up against the wall, but she was shaking so much that she only managed to sit. Gingerly, she checked herself for broken bones and dislocated joints. Her muscles were stiff and she felt bruised, but she seemed to be in one piece. She did the same with her legs. There was a large shackle around her left ankle. She followed the chain to the point where it was tethered to an iron ring in the wall. She let the heavy chain drop and sat with her back against the wall again. There was n
o possibility that she would be able to break it.

  Elle took in her surroundings. The bare room around her was vaguely circular. The rough walls looked dusty and old. She ran her hand over the flagstones of the floor next to her. They were smooth and waxy with age and a dry chill rose up from them. There were no windows save for a row of vents high above her. Sunlight pooled in a dusty shaft in the center of the floor.

  What day was it? She wondered. Was it morning or afternoon? She had no way of knowing.

  She thought back to when Patrice had woken her. It had been light then too. It could be later in the afternoon or early the next morning, but there she could not tell how long she had been sleeping. The singing stopped. She looked up. There must be people about. That meant someone might be able to hear her.

  “Help! Somebody help me, please!” Her throat was so raw that all she managed was a hoarse croak. The thick walls swallowed up the sound.

  She felt a wave of despair rise up into her throat, but she could not allow herself the luxury of panic.

  Instead, she measured the length of the chain attached to her ankle. It was about twice as long as her arm. She crawled across the floor to see how far the chain would reach. Her legs felt like they were made of rubber.

  The chain reached as far as the pool of light in the middle of the floor, but it was not long enough to reach the heavy wooden door on the other side of the cell. There was a drain in the middle of the floor, but the grate was stuck. She tugged at it a few times, but it would not budge. She realized with growing horror that she would have to use that drain to relieve herself. She peered down into the darkness behind into the darkness of the grate. There was no telling how deep it was or how narrow. She wasn’t sure, but she could almost make out a strip of blue sky in the vent above her, but—even without the shackle around her ankle, she doubted that she could climb to the top. She returned to her place by the metal ring in the wall and sat down as calmly as she could. She was trapped with no hope of escape.

  Carefully she lifted the jug and drank more water. Her stomach felt hollow and soapy inside.

  She did not know how long it was since she had eaten. The last meal she remembered was on the train, with the baroness and Marsh. The feeling of despair rose again. Marsh. What if he really was dead?

  “No, I am not going to believe that you are dead, Mr. Marsh. You are far too annoying for that.” The silent room swallowed her voice. She thought of his eyes and his messy hair, and it filled her with a physical ache.

  Quite abruptly, her stomach rumbled. She picked up one of the flatbreads and started chewing on it. The bread was dry and the edges were very tough, but edible. She ate a little more and then finished most of the rest of the water. She wiped down her face and hands with the torn hem of her nightdress dipped in the remaining water at the bottom of the jug.

  The food and having a clean face revived her a little and she sat back looking at the grate above her head. The patch of blue was gradually turning a golden color. It would be dark soon. She was still dressed in her nightdress and there were no blanket, or anything to lie on. She would be cold tonight.

  The enormity of her predicament overwhelmed her like a dark, boiling mist. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head in her lap. No one was coming for her. And in that stone cell, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she finally allowed herself to cry.

  CHAPTER 41

  Elle woke to the sound of keys rattling in the lock. She struggled to sit up, her body stiff and sore from the night spent on the cold flagstones. The door creaked open and she braced herself for another encounter with Patrice. Instead, a young man in a gray habit entered the room. He set a tray of food down in the middle of the floor. Steam rose up from one of the bowls.

  “Please. You must help me,” she said. The young man shook his head and muttered something in a language she did not understand. He retreated hastily and she was left alone in silence.

  She crept up to the tray. On it was a steaming bowl of what looked like porridge, and another jug of water. The tray was resting on top of a gray woolen blanket. She took the blanket and wrapped it around herself before picking up the bowl. She couldn’t identify the porridge, but it smelled faintly of cinnamon. There was no spoon on the tray, so she slurped the gruel straight from the bowl with her fingers. It was warm and creamy and possibly the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted.

  She drank more water and then settled down with the blanket wrapped around her. The clasp of the diamond bracelet caught on the blanket. She stared at it. The stones looked so very out of place here. She moved the bracelet with her thumb to ease it out of the wool.

  As she rubbed it, she felt her skin tingle. The diamonds glowed with a greenish light. The light intensified and then, without much ceremony, a crumpled absinthe fairy appeared before her.

  Elle started with surprise. “My goodness, have you been in there all this time? I thought you had escaped a long time ago.”

  The fairy shook her wings and shrugged. Elle stared the creature’s blue-green skin. Fairies didn’t often let people get so close to them, but judging by the frayed edges of her wings, this one was definitely a bit worse for wear.

  The fairy surveyed the cell. She twittered with dismay as she took in the stone floor and the bare walls.

  “I know. It is bad, isn’t it?” Elle said.

  The fairy nodded.

  “Do you think you might be able to undo this lock?” Elle raised her ankle. “If I can get free from this chain, then maybe we can work out a plan of escape.”

  The fairy examined the shackles. She put her hands on the keyhole and peered into the lock. She looked up at Elle and nodded.

  Elle moved her leg so the fairy had more space to work. The fairy closed her eyes and strained until a small puff of green magic escaped from the keyhole … but the shackle remained fast. The fairy looked up at her and raised her shoulders. She gestured at Elle, miming the act of unlocking the lock.

  “I’m sorry, but they took me from my bed. I don’t have anything to pick the lock with. Not even a hairpin.”

  The fairy tried again. Her face scrunched up with concentration as she strained against the metal. There was another puff of green and the fairy slumped down next to Elle. She made a small, frustrated noise.

  It was hopeless. The lock was too heavy and there was no way of knowing whether the shackle had been hexed beforehand.

  “Here, have some water.” Elle held the water jug up for the fairy to drink. The fairy scooped some water from the jug and took a few sips. She wrinkled her face in disgust.

  “I know, not quite what you are accustomed to, but that’s all there is.”

  The fairy shrugged and settled down next to Elle. They sat in silence for a while.

  Elle looked up at the vent. The sky was turning a rich blue. It was perhaps about mid-morning right now. In the distance, she heard noises. Carts rumbled. Horses neighed. There were definitely people about. The fairy sat on the flagstones with her legs crossed. Her chin rested on her fists.

  “Do you think you can fly up to the grate?” Elle pointed upwards at the vents.

  The fairy looked up at the grate and nodded. Then she smiled.

  Elle was suddenly filled with elation. They had a plan.

  “Fly and go find help. Please. Find help. Find people who are able to get us out of here.”

  The fairy stood up and shook her wings. She straightened her shoulders and, with a soft flutter, she flew up to the vent.

  “Be careful,” Elle murmured as she watched the fairy disappear through the grate.

  She slumped down again and closed her eyes. A wave of loneliness flooded through her. Was it her fate to follow this path? If she got out of here alive, should she give herself over in service to the Council? Surely, working for the good of all was a noble and honorable thing to do. But her chest constricted at the thought.

  And what about Marsh? They were incompatible on so many levels. She was not in his
social class. Then there was the whole matter of living until you are nine hundred years old. How would she deal with growing old alone while he stayed more or less the same?

  But she loved him. That was the awful truth of it. He had made her fall in love with him, and then he’d rejected her. And there was nothing on Earth she could do about it. The thought made her insides ache and her eyes sting.

  She leaned back against the coolness of the wall. She didn’t think it was possible to feel so much despair. Then, the light started flickering. This time she did not bother to fight it. Images raced through her mind and she clutched at her temples and gritted her teeth as the vision passed.

  … Alchemists. Great flashes of fire. Confusion. Nightwalkers with bared fangs. The A blood moon rising in the sky. Dark shadows moving across the countryside. People running and screaming in the streets. She needed to warn someone that something terrible was about to happen, but she was too tired to move. Everything blurred to gray.

  Elle opened her eyes. Trouble was on the way.

  CHAPTER 42

  No one paid the slightest attention to me as I slipped out through the tallest window of the old stone tower, barely a flicker of light that glided down to the street from above. I landed on the bare branch of a Judas tree and breathed in the air. For the first time in years, I was outside. I felt the spirit of the tree reach for me in greeting as I touched it. It was glad of my presence, for not many of my kind were ever allowed in this place.

  The tree stood watch over a little square. Below, people were going about their business on the Byzantine-cobbled street. Not one of them looked up or paid me even the slightest heed. Judging from their clothes and the smell in the air, I was a very long way from Paris. The thought filled me with so much fear that I wrapped my arms around myself to stop the shivers that overtook me. I was tired, for the vent was a lot higher than it had looked, and my need for wormwood was growing stronger. I would not last very long out here on my own. And this was a place that did not tolerate fairies.