A Golden Fury

by Samantha Cohoe

  Despair lurched in my belly. It was too small a chance of success. Too great a chance I would lose the Stone. Lose everything. I had to do what Will insisted. I turned it over in my mind and forced down my revulsion. It was small comfort that I did not have to be married to him for long. Despite everything, I did not want to see him dead.

  I turned from the docks in time to see a tall, blond figure in a blue military-style coat walking away. I squinted after him for a moment. My heart stuttered with instinctive fear. Valentin.

  We were supposed to meet in Caen, not here, though it was no great surprise that he had chosen this port to sail from. I calmed myself. Then I followed.

  I thought I stayed far enough behind to remain unseen, but on the steps of a tavern, Valentin turned. He looked directly at me, skulking in the shadows across the street.

  “Thea,” he said.

  My first, foolish thought was to run. I reminded myself of what I had to gain. I stepped into the light of the gas streetlamp.

  “Is my father with you?” I called across the street.

  “Yes,” said Valentin. “Is Percy with you?”

  I did not answer at first. I knew what I needed from Valentin, but the old impulse to protect Will had not yet died.

  “Do not worry, Thea,” said Valentin. “I am here to do as you asked. Your father made a convincing case. I have brought Dominic, and we will all go to France with the Stone to heal your mother. When that is done, you will give me Percy, and the Stone. Just as you said, yes?”

  It was late. The street was still and dark. No one was out but Valentin and me, and yet the shadows seemed full of witnesses.

  “Yes,” I agreed. A lie. “But I need your help.”

  Valentin went very still. “What kind of help?”

  “He has put the Stone on one of the boats, but he will not tell me which one unless I … unless I do something I am not prepared to do. He requires…” I hesitated. Will deserved it. This was the only way. Yet still the word left a nauseous taste in my mouth. “Persuasion.”

  Even in the dim light I saw the grim satisfaction spread across Valentin’s face.

  “Tell me where he is,” he said.

  I swallowed hard. Will had broken quickly the last time Valentin had used his methods of persuasion on him. It would be the same this time. The threat alone might be enough. But …

  “He is close to death,” I said. “You will have to be careful. It would not take much to kill him.”

  Valentin crossed the street and stood before me, examining my downturned face. He held out his hand. I looked at it for a long moment. This was a hand that had held me against my will. I would be a fool to trust it.

  I took it anyway.

  We went into the tavern, and the heat of a roaring fire poured over me. That alone was enough to mark this place as a superior sort of establishment to the one on the dock. Four other Germans sat around the table nearest the fire. Between them, looking miserable and travel-worn, was my father. His eyes met mine and widened in alarm. I shook my head, hoping to reassure him.

  “Miss Hope requires our assistance,” Valentin said. He looked at me expectantly.

  “He is at the Gray Gull,” I said. “The inn on the point.”

  Valentin nodded to the burliest of his men, and two of them rose at once and left.

  I moved to sit at the table, but Valentin took my arm.

  “There is something you should see,” he said. “Herr Vellacott, as well.”

  It was not an invitation, but a command. The two remaining Germans escorted my father up the stairs ahead of us. We stopped in the hallway before the room. Even through the door, I heard the muted sounds of madness, bound and gagged. Thrashing. Hoarse, muffled screams. I had made these sounds, not so long ago.

  Dread pooled in my stomach like poison, leaching into my limbs and turning them to lead. For a moment there was nothing I wanted more than for the door to stay shut. I did not want to see the horror that had befallen Dominic, and my mother, and once myself.

  “Please,” I began. “I don’t wish to see him.”

  “I know. But I think I must remind you why you made the bargain with us that you did.” Valentin looked at me, then opened the door and pushed me through. “And why you must not break it.”

  Dominic was bound hand and foot, and a leather strap was tied between his teeth. His mouth was open, and his jaw and throat worked at screams that came out rough and nearly soundless. He must have screamed his voice hoarse. His face was scratched red and raw, and his eyes were as hot as comets falling to earth. The smell was overpowering.

  I approached Dominic slowly. He saw me, in a way. Enough to want to tear me apart. If he could have gotten free right then, he would have done just what my mother did. This was what had become of my only true friend.

  Will had done this. He had run away with the Stone and left Dominic to this madness.

  “Yes,” agreed Valentin. “It is bad. You know better than I, don’t you, Thea? You did the right thing, to ask for my help. I know you would not have asked if he had left you another choice.”

  “Oh, he left another choice,” I said.

  “What choice?” asked Valentin.

  At once, I regretted bringing it up. I did not want to say it. It was too vile, even for Will. I did not want to see the look on Valentin’s face when I told him. When I looked up, it was my father’s eyes I met. He stood behind me in the doorway. I would tell him. To my surprise, I found I wanted to.

  “He’s found a priest. He wants me to marry him in the morning. Then he’ll tell me where the Stone is.”

  My father’s eyes flashed with anger, then he closed them. When he opened them again, the anger had changed into something softer.

  “Oh, Thea,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  Valentin swore in German. “That beast,” he muttered in disgust. “Nothing is too low for him. Nothing.”

  He paced the room. Fury radiated off him. I looked at my father, trying to discern what feeling it was I saw on his face. Valentin’s fury I understood. To him, it was yet another demonstration of Will’s depraved character, and I was another girl, like his Ada, whom Will was bent on destroying. But my father wasn’t looking at me and seeing someone else. He looked sad. Sad for me.

  My mother had never looked at me like that, at least not that I could recall.

  My mother had told me I should marry Will, and called me weak for hesitating. My mother—

  Is that what you want? To be coddled like some infant? I thought what you wanted was the Stone. Your father would make you a child. I want to make you the last alchemist.

  Liar, I shot back at her. You wanted to be the last alchemist.

  “So…” said Valentin. He stopped pacing and wheeled on me. “Good. He will not have his way.” He glanced at Martin. The abuser. The torturer.

  The smell of the disinfectant they had used on Will’s fingers after they mangled them returned to me. The glint of fury in Valentin’s eyes filled me with fear. I had asked him to be careful, but there was nothing careful about the way his hands curled into fists.

  “It will be enough to threaten him. To frighten him. You haven’t seen him, Valentin. He’s much worse. Torture might not work.” Valentin snorted, and I continued in desperation. “Not because he is brave—just because his body might not last long enough under torture for it to do any good.”

  “I am willing to risk that,” growled Valentin.

  “But I am not!” I cried. “Please, Valentin! I can’t lose the Stone. I can’t.”

  “What is the alternative?” Valentin demanded. “If the threat of violence alone is not enough, what would you have us do? Do you propose to become Mrs. William Percy?”

  I looked away.

  “You are still protecting him,” said Valentin in disgust. “Why? For such an intelligent girl, you are quite a fool.”

  “Don’t speak to her that way,” snapped my father. Valentin snapped back, but the argument they fell into was dro
wned out by my mother’s voice in my head.

  The German is right. What do you care if Will is tortured? What do you care if he dies, so long as he gives up the Stone first?

  I care, I replied. Anyway, I thought you wanted me to marry him.

  The voice in my mind filled with exasperation. That was not unusual for my mother, but there was suddenly something else there, something unfamiliar.

  Marry him, torture him, kill him. What does it matter? Do what you must so that we can be together.

  I stood straighter. A prickle crawled up my spine, like some many-legged insect under my skin.

  We?

  I wanted to be wrong. I had accepted my mother’s voice in my head. It was some kind of lingering effect of the madness, I thought, or perhaps she really had somehow found a way to speak to me. But this—

  Who are you?

  You know, Theosebeia.

  And I did.

  I looked down at Dominic again. The dark signs of warning my mind had tried to glide over caught it, and held. The Stone was using my mother’s voice. My mother, whose mind it had stolen and feasted on. The Stone had a will, and intelligence. It devoured minds. It had done this to Dominic. It had done this to me. It could do it again.

  What would it mean, to join myself to a thing like this?

  It will mean that you are the last alchemist. The only adept to achieve their heart’s desire. The final maker of the Philosopher’s Stone. The only one to ever be truly mine.

  “Thea!” My father’s hand was on my shoulder, pulling me from the Stone’s enticements. “He is here.”

  A German was in the doorway, talking to Valentin.

  “Here, I think, Otto,” said Valentin, in response to a question I hadn’t caught. “No need to soil another perfectly good room.”

  Otto called down the hallway, and moments later a big German with a scarf knotted tight around his neck came in carrying Will in his arms like an infant. Martin pulled a chair forward, a small, horrible smile twisting his mouth. The big German—Karl, the one whose neck I had slashed—set Will down in the chair. Will nearly fell out of it, collapsing into helpless coughing. Martin bound his hands behind him, then left the room. Now Will could not even cover his mouth while he coughed. Blood and spit dripped down. He slumped forward, looking at no one. He looked barely alive. I knelt beside him.

  “Will, please,” I said. “Just tell them. Don’t make them hurt you.”

  He opened his eyes, and the ghost of a smile flickered on his bloodstained lips.

  “When I said you should punish me,” he whispered. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  Guilt writhed like snakes in me. “I don’t want this, either, Will,” I said. “Please.”

  Martin returned with a leather satchel. He opened it, revealing a wide selection of knifelike implements.

  My father made a guttural noise of horror and disgust.

  “Valentin, is this really necessary?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” said Valentin. “The moment he tells us where the Stone is, we stop.”

  Martin selected a slender silver instrument with what looked like a sharp scoop at the end. I stared at it, eyes wide, and pictures of what it might be meant for formed in my mind, one shuddering horror after another.

  “Ah yes,” said Valentin. “We won’t start with the fingernails. That took so long last time. Martin is very patient, but I am not.”

  Martin took Will by the chin with one hand and tilted his head back. The other hand held the scoop.

  “Let’s see how attached you are to your eye,” he said in German.

  He laughed. It was some kind of joke, apparently. He brought the instrument to Will’s face. I jumped to my feet and pushed him back. Martin stepped back and glared at me.

  “Karl!” he snapped.

  Karl took me by the arm and pulled me back. I struggled in vain. Martin took Will’s face in his hand again. In the abstract, the thought of Will facing torture in this state had been enough to make me ill. But here in front of me, it was unbearable.

  “No!” I screamed. “Valentin, stop him!”

  But Valentin’s face was set.

  “Will! Tell him!” Will squirmed. His shallow breath came in frantic gasps. Martin brought the scoop to his eye. “I’ll heal you, I swear it. Will, please, please—”

  Will coughed, spraying blood on Martin, who stepped back, grimacing with distaste.

  “I’ll tell,” he wheezed. “No torture necessary. I’ll tell.”

  I stopped struggling. I stared at him, hope warring fear in my chest.

  “The truth,” said Valentin. “Or Martin will take you apart piece by piece.”

  Will nodded, almost imperceptibly. “The Sweet Margaret. Captained by John Blake. It’s anchored offshore now. Won’t reach the dock until tomorrow.”

  Valentin looked at Otto. “Go to the port master,” he said. “Find out if there is such a ship scheduled to dock.”

  Otto nodded and left. I pulled against Karl’s grip, and he let me go. Will was coughing again. I went to untie his hands. My own were shaking. My heart thudded low in my chest, weighed down by despair.

  This was a foolish idea. Now they will kill him.

  “No, Thea,” said Valentin. “He will wait right there.”

  Valentin turned to Karl and started issuing instructions. I knelt beside Will and looked into his eyes. He closed them, and a shudder passed through his frail frame.

  The Sweet Margaret was the name we had given the splintery rowboat we puttered around the Comte’s pond in. It wasn’t a real ship. Will had lied. Otto would find out soon enough and come tell Valentin.

  Fix this. However you must. If he dies, you lose me.

  I stood. I backed away from Will, toward my father. I gathered my thoughts. I had to get Will out of here before Valentin discovered he had lied and tore him apart. Will wouldn’t survive whatever came next, and he knew that I knew it. He had left his fate to me, forcing my hand yet again. Something brushed my shoulder, and I started.

  “All will be well, Thea,” said my father.

  It was a kind, useless thought. Nothing would be well, unless I somehow made it so. I looked toward Dominic, thrashing in vain against his bonds. Across the room, Valentin leaned back against the wall, beside the door. His eyes were narrowed on Will. I could almost see the tortures he had planned in his furious glare. Martin and the other German stood near Valentin. It was good to have an ally in my father, but it would have been even better to have one of Valentin’s sort—broad, muscular, military. While the four Germans were arrayed around the door, escape was not possible.

  You need a distraction. He would make a fine one.

  I turned my attention back to Dominic and shook my head sharply. I couldn’t use Dominic. He had begged me to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else.

  Lose me and he will remain as he is forever.

  I made the decision hardly knowing that I did. Will began to cough. The Germans turned their faces away from his uncovered mouth. The fit was loud, and lasting. I whispered in my father’s ear, certain the Germans wouldn’t hear me.

  “I need you to distract them. Argue with them. Draw their attention away from Dominic.”

  My father’s eyes widened in question, then in dismay. He started to shake his head.

  “Please, Father,” I whispered. “I must.”

  He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded.

  Will stopped coughing, and my father took a step toward him.

  “That’s enough of this.” He sounded stern, almost outraged. “It’s barbarous to treat a dying man this way. He told you what you wanted to know. Untie his hands! Give him water!”

  My father walked to Will’s left side and placed a hand on his shaking shoulder. Dominic was in the right corner of the room. I moved as quietly as I could while my father continued to shout.

  “Are you men or beasts?” he demanded. “Look at him!”

  I moved quickly. I undid the straps at Dominic
’s feet. They were threaded through the board he’d been placed on. It would take a moment’s thrashing for him to pull the straps through their holes and free his legs. I moved to his hands, and Valentin saw what I was doing.

  “Are you mad?” he cried, and ran toward me. My father threw himself into Valentin’s path. In the few seconds it took for Valentin to toss him aside, I had untied Dominic’s hands. Dominic hurled himself forward, onto Valentin. The strap still between his teeth muffled his screams, but not the impact of his body against Valentin’s, and then of both their bodies on the ground. I ran past their scrambling forms and seized Will by his bound arms. I pulled him to his feet.

  Martin lunged for us, but my father had seized a chair and swung, connecting with his head. Martin wheeled on my father, away from Will and me. I threw open the door and pushed Will out, then hesitated on the threshold. I looked back into the chaos in my wake.

  Martin had easily wrested the chair from my father and thrown him against the wall, where he crumpled. Martin turned back toward me, a feral growl on his lips. But an even more feral noise behind him stole his attention. Dominic had risen to his feet. His arms were spread. His hands were bloody. Valentin scrambled backward, violent red scratches drawn down his face. The other German lay facedown in the corner, unmoving.

  “Martin!”

  Valentin screamed for help as Dominic hurled himself back on top of him. Martin ran to his captain’s aid. My father braced himself against the wall and pushed himself to his feet. He staggered toward me. Took my arm. Pulled me through the door out of the room.

  Don’t hurt Dominic.

  I didn’t know who I was pleading with. The Stone? Could it protect him, somehow? And if it could, would it?

  “Don’t hurt him!” I called to Valentin.

  My foolish, useless words were cut off when my father slammed the door behind us.

  Don’t hurt him? What choice had I left them but to hurt him? They would try not to. Just as I had tried not to hurt my mother. As Dominic had tried not to hurt Bentivoglio.

  Will was already hurrying down the stairs, clinging to the walls, then the bannister.

  We ran after him, my father and I. We left Dominic. Again.