And contrary to current rumors, Mother Margot did not throw me out just to get rid of me. Ha, given half a chance, I’d lift the purse of Louis the Fourteenth himself and show them all, but then our Sun King’s guards would scarce let a dirty street urchin like me get that close to his noble person.
So I guided the old man, a rich merchant, along the path winding from the banks of the Seine, out across the open dark land where ancient Romans had quarried building stones, an area riddled with pits and tunnels, and which was now used as a dumping ground for refuse, both the castoffs of men and the human outcasts who drifted here. Bull’s-eye lantern in hand, I led the merchant onward, up the slope of the Buttes Chaumont northeast of Paris proper and into an outbuilding in the ruins of the old Roman villa where most of our little community made our home. Here was our sanctuary from the king’s bailiffs.
I didn’t know if the men paying me were aware of it or not, but this greedy little merchant stumbling over the chalky gravel behind me did not appear to be a total fool. Evidently assuming that he might be sticking his head into a den of thieves, he had brought two bodyguards with him for his personal safety. And these two retainers were not coachmen or common house servants, but rather had the appearance about them of professional hired swords. I wondered where the old man had gotten them, as they were no one I recognized from the streets I worked. Something was afoot here, but I’d been left completely in the dark by both sides.
At the blanket covering the doorway into this part of the ruins, I barred the entrance with one outflung arm and inquired as my employers had requested. “Excusez-moi, monsieur, did you bring the silver coins as agreed?”
The merchant pushed my arm out of the way. “My business is with those inside, not a stripling like you.”
He and his two bodyguards thrust the blanket covering aside and entered the room, where a small blaze in a stone fire ring provided the only light inside. Erratic shadows played on the fitted stone walls and upon a second blanket-covered doorway near one of the rear corners.
I squeezed in behind them, as I was curious, plus I’d not yet been paid.
The merchant brusquely addressed one of the men across the room.
“Père Duval, I am here. I assume you have everything ready to show me?”
I looked to the opposite side of the room. There stood Jules, our self-proclaimed king of the Paris underworld, the one all in our little community paid tribute to lest we come to physical harm. On his right stood Blondel, one of his grim-faced assassins, slowly rubbing his gloved hands against each other as if the skin on the backs of his hands tingled and he wished to calm the twitch. An unconscious habit he had acquired of late whenever any kind of action might be required of him. And, there on a pile of rags in one corner lay Lebel, with his eyes closed as though sleeping or drunk. I saw no Père Duval.
Then Jules stepped forward a pace. “Oui, Monsieur ...”
The merchant thrust out his palm. “Do not use my name, lest the walls have ears.”
Jules paused but a second. “As you wish, a wise precaution on your part. All here is in readiness, but I fear that time grows short.” He gestured toward Lebel lying on the rags. “Unfortunately, the alchemist is dying and I don’t know how long he will be with us.”
The merchant’s demeanor now quickly changed to one of disappointment and maybe even distress.
“How long do we have?”
Jules shrugged his shoulders. “It is difficult to say. Notice the yellow cast to his face. He is an old drunk, perhaps it is the liver disease that kills him.”
I peered at the man lying on the rags. It was true that Lebel consumed much wine, and his features did appear slightly yellow tonight in the flickering firelight. But then Lebel had been fine all of this morning and into the afternoon. With my own eyes I’d seen him moving around in good health. I opened my mouth to reassure the merchant, except that Jules grabbed my arm in a tight grip and moved me back to the doorway.
“We won’t be needing you anymore,” he said.
“You haven’t paid me yet,” I protested.
“See me tomorrow and payment will be yours,” he replied in a reassuring voice. Then he thrust me back out through the blanket covering.
As soon as he released my arm, I rounded back to face him. It was on my mind to argue, but Jules slowly drew his right index finger across his throat, and I knew what that meant. More than one of our little enclave had met with his hard-faced assassins after dark on the path along the refuse pits. I took two steps backward.
He grinned and closed the blanket over the doorway so no light spilled out.
Muttering curses under my breath, I stood undecided for a moment. If Jules thought to cheat me out of payment, then I needed a way to get even. And, to do that, I needed to find out what scheme Jules had going on with the merchant. If I was not to get paid, then Jules should not profit either from this night’s business.
Careful to make no noise, I circled the ruins until I found a place where light showed between the long underside of the thatched roof and the bare top of one stone wall. By crawling up over the rubble, I was concealed from outside observation, yet could see a good part of the room’s interior and could hear most of what was said. Jules was the one speaking when I snuggled into my hidden perch.
“Like the boy asked, did you bring silver coins?”
The merchant nodded.
Jules held out his hand.
The merchant removed a leather purse from beneath his coat and undid the drawstrings. His right hand delved into the pouch and pulled out a handful of silver livre.
Jules waited, but the merchant seemed reluctant to part with his money.
“Tell me exactly how this works.”
“I understand your hesitation,” replied Jules. “That is why I’m willing to conduct a small demonstration of good faith before we move on to the more profitable business at hand. Merely lend me ten of your silver livre and I shall return one gold Louis coin to you this same night. As a businessman, I’m sure you can see the profit to yourself.”
The merchant stopped short of counting on his fingers as he muttered in a barely audible voice.
“One gold Louis is worth twenty-four silver livre, and you say the alchemist only needs ten livre to make one gold coin?”
“Correct.”
“That’s a profit of fourteen silver coins for each transaction.”
Jules now acquired the smile of a man selling horses in the market. “Remember,” he said, “you and I split the profit in equal shares.”
“Equal?”
“Yes. As partners, you provide the silver and I provide the alchemist. It was our agreement.”
“What share does the alchemist get?”
Jules shrugged for the second time that night. “He is dying, what does a dead man need with money? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”
The merchant tilted his head slightly to one side and peered up at Jules. “So it seems that in every business transaction there are those who gain and those who lose. The way of the world, I suppose, ever since time began.”
“A wise philosophy,” replied Jules. “We shall remember those very words for the future.”
I could see that on the morrow, I’d have to warn Lebel about the plan to cheat him on the profits. Yet, I’d had no previous knowledge of Lebel’s interest in alchemy, and wondered why he hadn’t used this talent before now, rather than becoming a common thief. Perhaps it was a developing talent he had only lately recognized. I needed to keep an eye on this.
Still, the merchant held back.
“If the alchemist can truly convert silver to gold, then why do you need me? Why don’t you do this yourself?”
Jules dropped his outstretched hand. “I’m a poor man. If I had the necessary silver then I would do it myself and have no need for partners. I can see that I’ve misjudged you. No matter, there is a certain merchant on the Rue du—”
“You’d go to my rival? No, no.” He held out his h
and with the ten silver coins. “Now show me how it works, and no tricks, else you will deal with my bodyguards.”
Jules glanced at both retainers, who placed their hands upon their sword hilts as if signaling their readiness for trouble. Then our underworld king bowed from his waist toward the merchant, a sweeping bow with his right arm stretched out to its fullest, white-plumed hat in hand.
I had to admire Jules’s aplomb. There he was, dressed in his best patched clothes, yet he acted the part of a gentleman while outnumbered and under pressure to produce for his wary client. It was a side of him I’d not seen before tonight.
He motioned for Blondel to rouse the alchemist. After being shaken by his shoulder several times, Lebel came round, and with Blondel’s aid managed to gain his feet. Shakily, with much dry coughing, Lebel wobbled to the fire pit where a canvas bag rested nearby. Out of the bag, Lebel pulled a thin metal bowl the size and shape of a topless apple, and set it on a flat rock. Other small pouches came out of the bag and were arranged at Lebel’s feet. Now, looking from the metal pot to his empty hand and back, Lebel seemed at a loss as to what to do next.
“What’s wrong?” asked the merchant.
Adopting an aloof position, matched by his tone of voice, Jules drily commented. “He needs the ten silver coins in order to proceed.”
The merchant thrust his hand with the coins closer to Jules.
Jules stepped back, with both hands held palm outward in rejection. “No, monsieur, I sense you have no trust in me. Give your coins to the alchemist direct. I will touch nothing during this scientific experiment.”
Wavering from one man to the other, the merchant finally gave the coins to Lebel. Now Lebel seemed to know exactly what to do. With all ten coins in plain sight upon his open palm, he gently dropped them one at a time into the metal pot, counting as each coin rang out on the silver one beneath it. Then he placed the pot onto a metal grill over the fire. From small leather pouches at his feet, he slowly added pinches and handfuls of various chemicals and crumpled herbs until the coins were completely covered. Throughout the ceremony, he chanted in what I took for Latin used by the priests at church, although it could have been some other foreign language for all I knew. Blondel stayed close at hand, opening and closing as needed the pouches at the alchemist’s feet.
“Get ready,” said Jules, “the transformation is almost complete. You will soon have your gold. Only one more chemical to add.”
Wide eyed, the merchant moved closer, as did his two swordsmen.
Lebel reached into his last pouch and brought out a handful of powder. Reciting more phrases from his arcane language, Lebel raised his hand over his head and flung the powder into the fire.
A bright explosion temporarily blinded me, then thick blue smoke rose up through the metal grill. Blondel jerked quickly away from the fire pit and stumbled backward onto the bed of rags where he fell. Confusion followed. I myself didn’t know what to think. As the smoke cleared, Jules loudly proclaimed, “It is done.” He pointed at the metal pot setting on the grill.
The merchant stared in astonishment. No one else moved. At last, evidently unable to control himself further, the merchant rushed forward and grabbed the metal pot. Immediately, he turned loose in pain and dropped it. One shiny gold Louis rolled out of its chemical and crumpled herb covering. The merchant licked his burnt fingers, yet somehow managed to wrap the hem of his long coat around the single gold coin before anyone else could touch it.
“It’s a miracle,” he exclaimed.
“Test it,” encouraged Jules, “make sure it’s real gold.”
Gingerly, the merchant tried the edge of his teeth against the coin. He seemed pleased.
“Now,” said Jules, “according to our agreement, you owe me seven livre. My equal share of our business tonight.”
“Of course, of course.” The merchant extracted seven more silver coins from his leather purse and handed them over to Jules. The gold Louis stayed tightly clutched in his other hand.
“Are you satisfied with the results?” inquired Jules.
“Yes, yes,” replied the merchant. “How often can we do this?”
At the merchant’s statement, Lebel had a sudden fit of coughing, and then collapsed. Blondel caught Lebel’s arm and helped him back to his rag bed in the corner. Now, Lebel lay limp with his eyes closed again.
Jules turned his back to that corner and lowered his voice. “I fear the alchemist’s end of time is not far off. We may only be able to do this once more. What do you propose under these circumstances?”
The look of grave concern on Jules’s features was now reflected in the merchant’s face.
“A physician,” suggested the merchant, “we must find a good doctor to extend the man’s life.”
Jules shook his head as if in sadness. “No, he’s seen several physicians, but none can cure him. That option is hopeless. What else can you think of? We may only get one more transformation to turn silver into gold.”
“Then we must take advantage of that one more transformation.”
Jules pursed his lips as if in deep thought.
“Yes, well reasoned, but how?”
“Well ...” started the merchant.
I saw a slyness creep across his face.
“... does the alchemist have a larger metal bowl?”
Now the corners of Jules’s mouth seemed to twitch, but he controlled it and turned toward Blondel.
“Is there a larger bowl we can use?”
“I’ll look.”
Blondel quit rubbing his gloved hands together and dropped to one knee beside Lebel’s belongings. From a large wooden chest, he eventually retrieved two metal pots, one the size of a man’s head and the other as large as a gentleman’s washbowl. He set both pots in plain sight by the fire. “Which one do you need?”
The merchant hesitated.
“We need,” interrupted Jules, “to know what size so we can acquire the proper amount of chemicals, otherwise the transformation fails. And, you should know, with your permission of course, that I will add the seven silver coins you paid me tonight along with three other coins of my own to whatever amount you place in the pot tomorrow night. I, too, would like to be able to hold gold in the hand.”
“Perhaps,” replied the merchant, “we should use the larger bowl.”
Jules’s eyes fairly gleamed in the firelight.
“Then we shall see you tomorrow night. Come at midnight when the full moon shows you the pathway. Do you require the boy as a guide again?”
At that, I started quietly down the rubble and away from the building. Wouldn’t do for Jules to know I’d been eavesdropping on his business of making money. I hurried to the fallen wall of another outbuilding several meters away and sat down facing their entrance as if patiently waiting in case I was needed.
The merchant and his two bodyguards lifted the blanket covering, and came out of the room, into the pale moonlight. I stood up to offer my services, but they ignored me and made their own way down the slope of the Buttes Chaumont. Evidently, my part in this business was done.
My plan was to sneak back up to my hiding place in the rubble under the eaves in hopes of hearing more about Jules’s game, but our underworld king had other plans in mind for now. He stared at me from the blanket doorway, until I understood he wanted me gone.
I wandered away, my mind full of questions and no answers to go with them. My feet, acting without benefit of my preoccupied brain, soon took me to the three-walled room which I shared with two others: Josette, a young woman who had taken me in off the streets of Paris and placed me in Mother Margot’s school so that I could learn a trade to feed myself, and the Chevalier, a human peacock who called himself Remy. This Remy was a son of fallen nobility, come to us after the Sun King’s lavish spending on building projects had taxed and bankrupted the Chevalier’s family fortune. He was not alone, as the fortunes of several other noble families had also gone to ruin by the king. I had no love for this Remy. Since he’
d arrived, Josette tended to lavish all her attentions on him with smiles and soft laughter, while I was left unnoticed. True, I was several years younger than her, but no matter that to me. I loved her deeply, she need only open her eyes beyond the Chevalier to see that. In time, I would find a way to rid myself of this rival for Josette’s affections, much as I would get even with Jules for his lowly dismissal of my services.
As I entered our open-front dwelling, laughter dropped into silence. Remy removed his arm from around the waist of Josette and sat down on a large rock by the fire.
For my part, I tried to ignore him and found my own sitting place.
“Why the downcast face?” he inquired. “What troubles you?”
“Nothing,” I retorted.
The Chevalier shrugged, then proceeded to relate a tale to Josette of an intricate burglary he was planning near the university. Always trying to impress was our Remy. Well now, I too had exciting events to relate. Words blurted from my lips before I could stop myself.
“Tonight, I saw silver turned into gold by an alchemist.”
Josette turned to stare at me.
Remy fell silent in mid sentence, then acquired a thoughtful look on his face. Eventually, he spoke.
“In medieval times, alchemists attempted to turn lead, not silver, into gold. The conversion was never successful.”
“Well, I saw Lebel put ten livre into a metal pot on the fire and when he was finished, one gold Louis came out.”
“You saw Lebel do this?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know the gold was real?”
“I saw the merchant test it with his teeth. He said it was good.”
Both Josette and Remy now seemed to have a great interest in my tale.
“What merchant?” inquired Remy.
“The rich one that Jules paid me to bring to him tonight in the old ruins to the east of us.” I ducked my head to avert their eyes. “Well, Jules hasn’t actually paid me yet, but said he would tomorrow.”
Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine 01/01/11 Page 14