A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow (9 page)

CHAPTER 13

The girl was being followed by ghosts. I knew those ghosts once. They were not malevolent—at least not to her. They were wise ghosts, with the knowledge of the ages within them.

I heard them whisper. They chattered among themselves in wonderment. Could it be that the girl was finally free of the constraints that kept her away from them and her true self? The ghosts were excited at the thought. There was much they needed to teach the girl. Would she listen to them?

I was not so sure. The years spent separated from the tethers that held them to this world had made the ghosts naïve. But ghosts rarely worry about the fate of the living, unless, of course, the living had something to offer that directly benefitted them. These ghosts had been silent for half a generation, existing like cowards in the realm of Shadow alone. It takes much to prompt them to rise up from the folds of reality where they dwell and they care little about progress and science. Those already dead feel little for those of us who must face the awful truths of our shrinking world.

But, these were matters of which the girl had no awareness. But I could tell that she sensed that something was amiss. That something would change within her, very soon.

Back in her room, Elle pulled at laces and layers of clothes until she stood naked in the half-light of the lamp. Grateful for the release from her stays, she took a few liberating breaths before throwing her cotton nightdress over her head. She padded over to the window and pushed it open. Cold air flooded around her and she shivered. In the moonlit garden, the plants and trees stood serene in the dark, their limbs stretched out in a silent invitation to her to run into the foliage where she could conceal herself, a place where no one would find her.

He’s coming for you. You had better run. Before it’s too late,
something whispered inside her. It made her shiver. She lifted the bracelet, still tethered around her wrist. “Is that you, little fairy?” she whispered back. No answer. She looked about, feeling decidedly foolish. Now she was talking to fairies too.

Annoyed, Elle closed the window with a thump. Lack of sleep was starting to unhinge her mind. She smothered her bedside lamp and bundled herself up under the covers. The greasy-metallic smell of lamp oil hung in the dark. Downstairs had spark lighting, but upstairs they made do with more traditional lamps and candles. Her father said that there was no need for expensive lighting in bedrooms, because they had their eyes closed for most of the time spent there anyway. Elle sighed and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. She would be of no use in the search tomorrow unless she got some rest.

… Darkness. Nothingness stretched above and below … A shiver ran through her. She was not alone. Cloaked shadows soared through the darkness. Rows of runelike symbols glowed against the black.

The image shifted. Marsh stood in the sunshine in a garden. She raised her hand to wave at him. He smiled at her and disappeared.

Then the shadows were back. Their awful eyes probed and searched for her. Their faces covered in symbols that scarred their skin. They swirled around her; faster and faster they moved until they were nothing but a gray blur. Above the swirling shadow she saw Marsh. He was looking for something, peering down into the darkness. The maelstrom of the gray shadows gained momentum. They threatened to draw her into their midst. She screamed, but no sound came …

Elle sat up in bed. It was very dark and quiet. Too quiet. A floorboard creaked. Something in the dark made her skin prickle. She strained her eyes and blinked, but it was so dark it felt as if her eyes weren’t working. Her fingers found the box of matches kept on the table beside her bed. A little flame sprang to life in a sulfurous burst as she struck a match and lit the lamp. The small pool of light that formed on the wick made the farther reaches of the room seem much darker.

Without warning, someone grabbed her by the throat. She felt her attacker’s fingers dig into her flesh. She tried to scream, but his palm slipped over her mouth to silence her.

“’ello, my lovely. You might remember me from Paris.” It was the poet from the Café du Aleix. “I can see you do.” He sneered at her. “Now, where were we, before we were so rudely interrupted?”

Elle felt a horrible choking sound escape from her mouth. She writhed and struggled against the man. They dipped to the side and she hit her head against the side of the little table beside the bed. Dazed, her fingers closed around the lamp she had just lit. She lifted it and smashed it against her attacker’s head. Time slowed down as glass shattered and she watched with fascination as flames leapt up where oil and flame and bedcovers met. And in the burst of light, she saw his face.

She opened her mouth and took a strangled breath to scream, but smoke filled her lungs and all she could do was gasp and cough. Flames sprung up everywhere around her. The poet’s face contorted with fear and horror as his coat burst into flame. He let go of her and staggered across the room, flames licking over his back and dripping onto the floor behind him. He flailed his arms, but the movement only made the flames roar even higher as they consumed him. Acrid smoke swirled all around. Elle coughed and stumbled out of bed. She dragged one of the blankets along with her, to throw over the man in order to put the flames out, but the poet howled and, with the crash of breaking glass, threw himself out of the window. She heard an awful bone-crunching thump and then everything went silent.

Elle buried her face in the blanket and stumbled toward the door.

“Eleanor—Miss Chance!” Marsh burst into the room, nearly knocking her over.

“Here, take this. Help me put out the flames,” she said, shoving the blanket at him.

She grabbed the water jug from the nightstand and poured it over the flames, stamping and patting the fabric with the base of the jug as she went.

“Are you hurt? What on earth happened?” Marsh said between coughs as they put out the last smoldering patches on the bed.

“I’m fine. I hit him with the lamp … and then … fire … he fell through the window,” she managed to croak.

He went over to the window, cursing as his toe nudged some of the broken glass on the floorboards. In her daze, she realized he wasn’t wearing shoes.

“Oh, my darling!” Mrs. Hinges said from the doorway. She started coughing.

“Careful, Mrs. Hinges. There is broken glass everywhere. Would you be kind enough to wake Patrice for us?” Marsh commanded.

“I am here,” Patrice said, peeking out from behind Mrs. Hinges.

“Patrice. Good, you’re up. Mrs. Hinges, please take Miss Chance downstairs. Perhaps a cup of tea with lots of sugar might help. Patrice, come with me,” Marsh said. “But first I think I need to find a pair of shoes.” He bundled them out of the room.

Downstairs, Mrs. Hinges wrapped an old paisley shawl around Elle. She set about stoking the range cooker back to life, from where it had been banked down for the night. “Let’s get a pot of tea brewing, shall we?”

“I need to see what happened,” Elle said.

“Let the gentlemen sort it out,” Mrs. Hinges said, but she was speaking to an empty kitchen. Elle had already disappeared out the door.

“What happened?” Elle said as she walked up behind Marsh and Patrice. Both looked up at her in surprise. In front of them, in a crumpled heap was what had once been her attacker.

“You shouldn’t be outside like this,” Marsh said.

“I’m quite all right, thank you very much. See, I have a shawl.” She lifted the fringed edge and stepped closer. “Let’s have a look, shall we?” Her voice was raspy and her throat ached from the smoke, and from the poet’s death grip.

Marsh shook his head in resignation and they turned to the body on the ground before them. Patrice held the lamp aloft. Horrible wisps of smoke and steam rose up from the center of the smoldering mass.

“Hmm, not much left of him, is there?” Marsh muttered. He lifted a strip of charred cloth off the body with the back of his pencil. The charred scrap of fabric fluttered to the ground.

“It’s him. The same man from Aleix’s Café in Paris.” Elle said.

They both looked at her.

“He was in my room. I don’t know how he got in, but there he was. Something woke me. It was like something was whispering to me in the dark. It was all very confusing. He was choking me. I reached out for something I could use to fend him off. And the lamp smashed … ” Her hand went to her throat and she rubbed her bruises. “ … then he went up in flames. I couldn’t do anything. He just leapt out of the window.”

“Good thing your father didn’t install spark lights across the whole house,” Marsh said drily.

“Now he’s dead.” She stared at the body before her. Small wisps of smoke still rose up from the bits that had been on fire. The smell was overwhelming. Elle turned her head to the side to stop herself from retching.

“Patrice, please keep an eye on things out here while I see Miss Chance inside. We need to clear this mess away. I don’t want the police poking their noses into the matter quite yet. Not until we’ve finished our investigations at least. When we are done here, I must contact the Council. But first, we need to find a shovel.”

Patrice nodded and lit his cigar. For once the sweet smell of good tobacco leaf was welcome, as it covered the stench of charred flesh.

With gentle hands, Marsh steered Elle indoors. She looked back only to see Patrice run his fingers round the inside of the neck of the body. In a quick movement he pulled a silver pendant on a chain out from underneath the charred layers of skin and cloth. Carefully he wrapped it in a handkerchief and dropped it into his pocket.

CHAPTER 14

“Abercrombie,” Marsh said. He handed her a large brandy and poured one for himself.

Elle stared at him. “Aber-what?” She wrinkled her nose. It was very late and they were sitting on the dust sheets Mrs. Hinges had insisted on draping over the furniture in the front drawing room before going to bed. Even here, the smell of burnt things hung in the air.

“Sir Eustace Abercrombie. Industrialist and entrepreneur. Owns a chocolate factory near Manchester. Lovely chocolate, terrible place to work. Or so I am told. Apparently, he dabbles in exotic flavors derived from the Shadow side. He is also an Alchemist. A very powerful one.” Marsh rubbed the back of his neck and examined the dirt and soot from the fire and the impromptu burial they had just undertaken on his fingers.

“That sounds fascinating, but why are you telling me this?” Elle said. Her impatience was growing by the minute. It had taken forever to calm Mrs. Hinges down enough to send her to bed, but they were finally alone. She took a big sip of brandy and felt the liquor burn as it slid down her tender throat. “I want proper answers and no one is leaving this room until I know the truth about what has been happening.”

She saw a look pass between Marsh and Patrice as Marsh handed him a brandy.

The Frenchman shrugged and flicked a bit of soil off his coat lapel. “You might as well tell her. She is not going to give up until you do. Are you little one?”

Marsh sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I believe Abercrombie also happens to be the man behind the attack on your person last night. And, if I were a betting man, I would wager he is also behind your father’s disappearance.”

Elle blinked. “But why? My father and I are nothing to this man. We don’t even know him.”

“Have a look at this.” Marsh lifted a silver chain and pendant from his waistcoat and laid it on Elle’s palm. “It’s a talisman. Patrice found it on the body last night. It’s designed to give the wearer extra strength, which might explain the extent of those bruises.” He gestured at her throat.

Elle eyed the chunk of silver as it lay on in her hand. The metal felt alive against her skin. For a moment the dark images she had seen in her dream flickered before her eyes. Strange things started whispering around the edges of her mind. “Urgh … that’s creepy.” Repulsed, she dropped the talisman on the occasional table beside her.

“I always thought Alchemists were just old men with dreams of turning lead into gold,” she said, wiping her hands with her handkerchief.

Marsh narrowed his eyes as he watched her. “No one fully understands the true origins of alchemy, but it is thought that their order is as old as humanity itself. Some believe that the Alchemists’ knowledge was handed to them by a supreme being or force before the world split into Light and Shadow. We will never know. But what we do know for certain is that Alchemists have always drawn their strength from the power of darkness.”

She snorted. “What nonsense. If they were so powerful, why do they hide and skulk around like that?”

Marsh shook his head. “You underestimate these people at your own peril. They are more powerful than you could ever imagine.” He rubbed his chin. “Our recently departed friend used alchemy to disappear from the streets in Paris, when we ran into him yesterday, so I decided to contact my sources in London shortly after we arrived this morning to see what the Alchemists were up to. They have been watching the Guild for some time now. Blood ritual sites have recently been discovered. Some freshly used.”

“Blood ritual?” Elle frowned.

“Blood alchemy is powerful magic,” Patrice said. He puffed on his cigar. “They do terrible things to animals in their rituals and experiments, sometimes flaying them alive in order to capture the essence of the creature.”

She paled. “Do you think my father—” The question was too awful to ask. She shuddered. “Surely they wouldn’t do that to a human, would they?”

“We can only hope not.” Marsh’s voice softened. “Patrice is right. The craft of blood alchemy is not for the fainthearted.”

Patrice stood and poured out three brandies from a bottle Mrs. Hinges had left for them. “But you don’t think the professor is in any way involved with all this, do you?” he said.

“As I said, there have been a number of reports involving strange happenings and we have been keeping an eye on them for quite some time now.” Marsh sipped his brandy. “I believe that it is no coincidence that the henchman of such a prominent Alchemist was found smoldering on the garden path last night.”

“My father would never condone such things.” Elle suddenly felt sick with worry.

Marsh smiled tightly. “I made no suggestion that I think he would. But the Alchemists are definitely up to something. There are whispers about trouble with the Nightwalker treatise.”

“Nightwalker treatise?” Elle was out of her depth. She knew almost nothing about what went on in the Shadows.

“Alchemists are a strange breed. They are bound to serve Nightwalkers for all eternity, yet they behave with an arrogance that belies the fact that they are no more than slaves,” Marsh said.

“The treatise is still honored among certain of the more fanatical Nightwalker sects. The Alchemists have been the daylight keepers of the Nightwalkers for thousands of years,” Patrice said. “In recent years, a number of enlightened Nightwalkers have crossed over from the Shadow to the Light. They have severed the ties that bound them to the Alchemists in favor of their own private arrangements, but many hold on to the old ways.”

“Blood alchemy, summoning rituals, the disappearance of spark scientists.” Marsh shook his head. “None of this is good news.”

Elle felt a chill run up her spine. “What do you think it means?”

Marsh stared into his brandy. “I’m not sure, but I have a few good guesses.”

“And they have the box,” Patrice said. Marsh gave him a sharp look and Patrice shrugged. “Might as well tell her.”

“Quite right too. What exactly was in that box?” Elle said, seizing the opportunity to change the subject. “I am part of this now, whether you like it or not, Marsh.”

Marsh sighed. “The box contains a chunk of pure carmot.”

“And what exactly is carmot?” Elle said.

“Carmot.
Lapis philosophorum,
” Marsh said grimly. “The base element that constitute what Alchemists call the Philospher’s stone. It’s not
the
stone, per se, but in the wrong hands it could be used to forge such a stone. And with it, the holder could achieve any number of miracles. They could turn lead to gold. They could use it to brew the elixir of life. In fact, they could end up controlling the very time and space that holds our existence together.

“The search for pure carmot is as old as mankind. Many legends about its existence exist. Quite by chance, the box that was taken from you in Paris was discovered in the vault of an abbey in France a few months ago. It had been hidden there by Templars who took it from Jerusalem during the Crusades. Patrice and I liberated the box from the abbey and we were set to bring it back here so it could be placed in safe hands. We thought a discreet charter flight would be the safest way to achieve this. And so you were recruited for the task.”

“And you let someone in a café carry it around in their holdall?” Elle glared at Patrice.

“No one can open the box without the key. And it is the key that the Alchemists now seek,” Patrice said, eager to defend himself.

“And they think I have it, because I was the last one to hold the box?”

“My dear Miss Chance, you
are
the key,” Marsh explained.

“What do you mean I am the key?”

“The diamond bracelet you wear is the key. The bracelet is spell-wrought. Once fastened around the wrist, it cannot be removed until it is used to open the box.”

“You were only supposed to take his lordship and the box to London. We were going to remove the carmot from the box and let you keep the diamonds once we’d destroyed the box at the airfield. You were never supposed to even know what you were carrying,” Patrice said.

“Well, thank you very much, Patrice.” She was more than a little annoyed now.

“Patrice forgot to tell me about the little payment scheme the two of you operate. Perhaps now you might understand why I was so surprised to see you wearing the diamonds when we met in the café,” Marsh said.

So he had seen the bracelet. Elle felt herself cringe for being so silly.

“I will of course ensure that you are paid in full for your services once your father has been returned,” Marsh said.

“Isn’t there some way that I can just take off the bracelet ? You can lock it away in a vault and then no one will be able to open the box?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. The bracelet and the box are designed to seek one another out. There is no stopping the process once they are separated.”

Need she tell Marsh about the absinthe fairy? It was probably better not to. This business was complicated enough as it was. And, for all she knew, by now the fairy was dead or long gone. Despite herself, she felt a little twinge of worry at the fate of the fairy. The poor thing must have had no idea what she was flying into when she decided to inhabit the bracelet.

“I need to meet with the Council urgently. If anyone knows what the Alchemists are up to, it would be them. They are gathered in Venice at the moment.”

“The Council?” Elle said.

“His lordship is a Warlock and a member of the Advisory Council of Nations,” Patrice said.

She looked at Marsh in surprise. “And when exactly were you going to tell me
that
little fact?”

Marsh shrugged. “You never gave me a chance. I’m almost certain that if we find the box, we will find the professor. And so I must take the first airship bound for Italy without delay.”

Elle shook her head. “Why not take the gyrocopter? If this machine can do what I think it can, then I could fly you there in a few days. If you went by airship or train it could take over a week.”

He considered this for a moment. “Do you think that things could really fly?” he asked.

“Yes, I really do. I spent all afternoon looking at it and I think I’ve discovered most of its inner workings.

“Well, it’s a terribly long way to go in an untested machine. Do you think it is even possible?” Marsh looked doubtful.

Elle felt herself become excited about the idea. “Absolutely. If we limit our luggage so we may carry extra water for the boilers, I believe we can.”

Patrice shook his head. “I don’t think that it’ is a good idea. No one has ever achieved a flight such as that which you are planning.”

“Just because it hasn’t been done before, does not mean that it is not possible,” Elle said.

“No, I think you should stay here in Oxford where it is safe, little one. I can remain behind and make sure that you come to no harm. His lordship could go by airship to meet with the Council. Once he has spoken with to them, he could send us a telegram. I could never live with myself if anything happened to you.” He smiled at Elle. “Not after what happened in Paris.”

“No, Patrice,” Marsh said. “We need the speed of the flying machine. We’ have already spent more time here than we should have. And besides, Miss Chance is safer under my protection. It is clear that the Alchemists are able to infiltrate this house. We cannot risk another attack like last night.”

“Surely they wouldn’t dream of sending another man, would they? That would be insane,” Patrice said.

Marsh shook his head. “Insanity is exactly what we are dealing with when it comes to Alchemists. Miss Chance must remain with me. I will not be moved on the point.”

“I will go,” Elle said. “He is my father and I am not going to sit around and do nothing. I’m sorry.

“No! I cannot allow it.” Patrice’s anger was quite disconcerting.

Elle placed a conciliatory hand on his shoulder. “Patrice, you are very sweet, but I can make up my own mind in this matter. If using the flying machine will help save my father, then I say we should use this opportunity. I will be perfectly safe with you and Marsh to protect me. And besides, I do believe that it would be more difficult for them to catch me if I don’t remain in one place.”

“For once, it seems as if you and I are in perfect agreement,” Marsh said. “Patrice, you have been outvoted on this one, old chap.” Marsh said. He winked at Elle. “See, I do believe in giving women the vote.”

Elle rolled her eyes at him and did her best to ignore the strange quickening she felt in her chest when he smiled at her.

Patrice shook his head. “This is madness. We cannot take her with us. And we don’t even know if that thing can fly. We could all crash to our deaths!” He was almost shouting now.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby, Patrice,” Elle said. The gyrocopter had solved her problem most admirably. She still was not completely sure whether joining forces with Marsh and Patrice was the right thing to do, but there was never any real possibility that she would have stayed at home while Marsh went looking for her father alone. It still meant that she would have to watch Marsh and Patrice every step of the way, but Mrs. Hinges was right: doing something seemed far better than doing nothing.

“Then it is decided,” said Marsh. “We leave tomorrow. Of course, all pilot’s expenses and incidentals would be paid.”

“Agreed.” Elle said. And as she did, she sent silent prayer that the gyrocopter would fly.