A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow (27 page)

The smell of absinthe reached the fairy. With a flash of green, she turned to spirit form and disappeared into the flask. Marsh slowly turned the lid back onto the flask and put it back into his coat. He sighed. At least one of them was safe for the time being.

CHAPTER 44

Elle rested her head against the cool wall. She had tried to amuse herself by counting the stone blocks in the wall, but a dull headache was nibbling around the edges of her brain and the counting was making it worse. It felt like the air was pressing against her as it did just before a thunderstorm.

We are with you.
A voice spoke.

A shiver ran through Elle. “Who’s there?”

We are.

“Who are you?”

We are the voices of Oracles past. We are with you.

“Mother?” Elle whispered.

We are not one person, Cybele. We are Pythia. We are a small part of every woman who has worn the crystal. When you die, a small part of you will remain here too. It is your duty to keep us.

She shook her head. The sensation of voices speaking from within was making her dizzy “That’s all very interesting, but you might have noticed that I am in a bit of a pickle right now. A little help right now might be good?”

We can help. We can share what we know with you.

“I am in a dungeon somewhere. Perhaps some advice on how to escape might be more useful?”

There was a flutter of soft of laughter. The voices had a sense of humor, it seemed.

The Alchemists have always served their own purposes. Beware the alliance with the dark ones.

Elle sighed and ran her hand through her hair. She noticed that it was starting to grow greasy. She wished again that she had a ribbon to tie it up. “That’s true, but do you think you could contact someone and ask them to rescue me?”

All we can do is teach you our secrets so you may save yourself.

Elle closed her eyes. She was definitely going mad.

You must learn to use the energy that is channeling through you. You must complete the metamorphosis.

Elle’s mind was reeling. “How do I do this? And what is all this about people touching me and draining me?”

This is the way that the Oracle is used. If you give yourself over to the Warlocks, they will use you to channel the power they need for their rituals. They will see the paths that lie before them. Each Oracle is different. Some are stronger than others. Some wear out quickly. Others last for centuries. Every time someone draws power through you, your life essence is damaged. This is why the Warlocks have forbidden anyone to draw power from others.

Elle shuddered. “Yes, I know.” She thought of Marsh and how he stopped Rosamund from doing just that.

The Warlock fears that he will lose your trust in him.

“You can read my thoughts?” That was disturbing.

You don’t know how to shield your thoughts to those who can see. Your mind is like a painting for all to view. Not only us.

“Marsh did say that there was one more thing that I should know, but I was too angry to listen to him.”

If the Alchemists tried to use you right now, they would most certainly kill you.

“So how do I protect myself? I mean, from these people who would hurt me?”

It takes a long time to learn control. Most Oracles start their learning when they are girls. But the world is so different today. Everything happens so fast, so we do not know.

“Very well, then. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to know a few tricks.” She closed her eyes. “I’m ready.”

Then let us begin.

CHAPTER 45

A soft, incessant buzz from the inside of his pocket roused Marsh. He was stretched out on the sofa, thinking. Carefully he unscrewed the top of his hip flask and let the fairy out.

She was looking much better. Rest and the alcohol must have done her some good.

The fairy spoke and gestured at the window. Marsh frowned. Fairy was one of the most difficult of the known languages. Not only was it a very fast, language with many words difficult to pronounce, it took special skills to decipher the quick-fire communication.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

The fairy flapped her arms in frustration and started speaking again. Marsh considered using the last of his power to amplify and slow down what she was saying, but decided against it. It would tip him over the edge and he wasn’t quite sure what would happen once his power was all gone. He might turn into a heap of dust. There was no way of predicting the outcome.

He also wasn’t sure that going to the effort would be worth it either. Fairies were generally only interested in trivial quandaries, such as sleeping and finding sugar.

“I’m sorry, little fairy, but I can’t hear— you,” he started saying.

The fairy threw her head back in frustration. She looked about the room and spotted the polished desk by the window. The guards had brought Marsh an early dinner. On the tray was a pot of granulated sugar. She flew up to the sugar and pointed at it.

“Please help yourself.”

The fairy shook her head. She pointed at the lid.

“Very well.” He walked over to the desk and lifted the lid off the pot for her.

The fairy flew to the pot and started scooping sugar over the edge of the bowl.

“Careful. You are making a mess,” Marsh said.

The fairy ignored him and carried on scooping handfuls of sugar onto the table. When a respectable heap of sugar lay on the table, she stopped and dusted the granules off her wings. Then she fluttered onto the desk. Looking about, she found a matchstick wedged into the side of the leather inlay. She wrestled the matchstick out and carried it over to the sugar. She gave Marsh a reproachful look and started raking the sugar across the table.

Marsh watched in amazement as she scraped the shape of a letter into the sugar. into

“L?”

The fairy nodded and started jumping up and down.

“You’ are trying to give me a message, aren’t you?”

The fairy raised her shoulders in exasperation and nodded again.

Clearly she thought Marsh was being exceedingly slow.

“Hold on, I have a better idea” He pulled his notebook and pencil out of his pocket. “I will go through the letters and when I hit the right one, you let me know.”

The fairy heaved her shoulders in a gesture that seemed to say
Finally!

“Right, let’s see.
A?
no?
B, C, D?
”

The fairy nodded.

Marsh wrote
D
in his notebook.

“E, F? G? H? I?”

The fairy nodded again.

They carried on for a while longer until Marsh had scrawled down the following message.

L

DANGER

DUNGEON

PARIS

MUST HELP

The fairy slumped down on the desk.

Marsh looked at the message. He puzzled over the words and then looked at the fairy with growing amazement.

“Are you trying to tell me that you know Elle? That she picked you up at Aleix’s in Paris?”

The fairy nodded.

“And you were with her when they took her?”

The fairy nodded again and turned her wrist from side to side as if she was were wearing a bracelet.

“Where is she?”

The fairy pointed at the notepad and they sounded out the words.

TOWER

FLEW UP

“Where? Where is the tower?”

The fairy looked around the room and hoisted up her shoulders. She pointed at the cage and shook her head apologetically.

“You don’t know, do you?” Marsh said with growing disappointment. “They caught you once you were on the streets and now you don’t know where you are?”

The fairy nodded. Then she started gesturing.

“The tower is big?”

The fairy nodded.

“And there is a tree?”

The fairy nodded again.

“So you would be able to recognize the tower if we were to walk past it?”

The fairy nodded again.

Marsh drew his flask out of his pocket and opened it. She pointed at the flask, motioning for Marsh to drink.

“I know you can make me see things if I’m drunk enough, but it won’t work. There isn’t enough wormwood in the flask. And besides, you’d have nowhere to sleep.”

The fairy dropped her head in disappointment. She pointed at his notebook.

“Yes, we will look for her, as soon as we manage to get out of here,” he said.

The fairy nodded and spirited into the flask.

Marsh closed the flask and carefully put it back into his pocket. “Rest now, I need to think of a plan, ” Marsh said, closing it and carefully putting it back in his pocket.

CHAPTER 46

Elle slumped forward so violently that the shackle around her ankle drew taught. She was exhausted and her head was pounding. “This is so difficult,” she said.

It is. You are the force that holds Shadow and Light together. There are very few who can reach up and grasp what lies in the universe above and below us. It is within the natural order of things that the ones who can wield such extraordinary powers are few. There are the lesser Shadow creatures and those who were created from a blend of power with this world, like the Nightwalkers and the wolves. Their magic is not pure though. It corrupts those it touches.

Elle frowned. “Nightwalkers are
lesser
creatures?” Blimey, she wouldn’t ever want to say that to one in person.

With such ability comes great responsibility. The existence of the world as we know it depends on maintaining the balance.

Elle nodded. “I appreciate that, but I need to rest, if you don’t mind.”

Of course.

Elle pulled her blanket up from around her. She needed to close her eyes for a just moment.

How long have I been sleeping?’

Too long.

“You are lucky that I am chained to this wall.” she said. “I can think of the bottom of a few lovely wells for you to visit.”

A fact we are well aware of. Now let us try again.

Elle sighed and lowered her eyelids. She waited for what she decided to call the rush. The nauseating sensation as if she was speeding through the air rose up inside her. She gritted her teeth. Her head felt like it was about to explode. Images flew past her eyes, some too fast to recognize. She opened her eyes and swooned.

“I can’t,” she panted.

Well done. Now rest.

Elle slumped back against the wall. She couldn’t ever remember being this tired. The voice started speaking softly.

While you rest, we will tell you a story. When the world was younger and people believed, those who practiced the Craft were in harmony with one another and the world. But then greed and the lust for power intervened, growing over the old ways. Ceremonies and festivals were forgotten. People no longer honored the forces that kept them safe. Practice of the Craft was torn apart, split between those who walked in the Light and those who walked in Shadow
.
But the Alchemists went one step further. They chose the path of darkness. In their quest for gold, they became slaves to those who would use them. Their souls turned black with hate, and thoughts of revenge filled their thoughts. They planned and schemed and waited.

Elle opened her eyes. “And what will happen now?”

The clouds are gathering.

“What does
that
mean?”

It means that for the first time in centuries, now that the energies are low, the barrier that was placed between Light and Shadow could fall. The outcome will change the world.

“But that is madness,” Elle said. “Would they kill one another over such power? Scientific principles suggest that Shadow power is energy and energy is infinite. Energy doesn’t disappear, it just goes somewhere else.”

You are correct. The challenge lies in finding where that next place is.

A rattle in the lock made Elle jump. She crawled backwards until she felt the wall against her back. One of the gray-cloaked guards stalked into the room and dumped another tray down. He glared at her and then stomped out again.

She slumped against the wall in despair. Where was Marsh right now? Was he even looking for her? Would he keep his promise to find her father? Surely there was no good reason for him to continue the rescue now that the Alchemists had her. The thought made her sad.

She was lost. The Warlocks would simply seek out another Oracle to train. No one was indispensable in this world, and she would disappear and it would be as if she had never existed.

She looked up at the grate and wondered about the fairy. The delicate hope that she had been cultivating was withering. She pushed the pool of self-pity forming inside her aside. If she was going to get out of this place alive, she was going to have to jolly well do something about it herself.

She picked up the spoon from the tray. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. She started rubbing the spoon against the bit of chain where it joined with the shackle. If she worked hard at it, she might wear the metal out. And once she was no longer chained to the wall, the options of escape would be far more varied.

CHAPTER 47

Marsh studied the ground below his window. It was a very long way down, too far to jump even if he could loosen the iron bars enough to escape. Something told him that the caliph knew how to keep prisoners.

He checked his pocket. The fairy was sleeping soundly in the flask. He hoped she could actually find the tower. He also hoped it wasn’t already too late. He peered at the guards. They both stared into space with looks of serene boredom on their faces.

Marsh reached into his cloak and pulled out the pistol. He held it in his palm, felt the weight of it. It was not enough to shoot his way out of here, but he had a plan. All he needed was a distraction.

The Colt made him think of Elle. But then again, everything made him think of her. No matter what he did, she never seemed to leave his thoughts. She had the most adorable dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. His thoughts turned to a few of her other curves that were also appealing, and he felt himself grow hard in places that were not entirely convenient at that moment. With some effort he cleared his mind. Now was not the time;, he needed to concentrate.

After what felt like an eternity, there was a commotion at the gate, and not long after, the vizier glided into the room with a guard on either side of him.

“Lord Greychester. I hope that you have enjoyed your stay here at the palace,” the vizier said. “I trust that all your needs were met?”

“Lord Vizier, how nice of you to drop by.”

The vizier gave him a cold smile and inclined his head. He gestured to one of the guards, who produced a leather folder. He handed it to Marsh.

“A first-class ticket to Paris, by dirigible. The flight leaves this evening. My men will escort you to the airfield. Their orders are to make sure that you don’t get lost and miss your flight. The streets of Constantinople can be so confusing to foreigners.”

“Of course. How very gracious of his majesty. But, unfortunately I must respectfully decline his offer.” In one swift movement, Marsh grabbed the vizier’s bony arm and twisted him around. He braced the man against his chest, lifted the Colt and cocked it. “Not a move or he dies.”

“Well played, my lord,” said the vizier. “But I doubt if this act of bravery is going to do you any favors.”

Marsh ignored him and started moving towards the gate. “Open it.”

The guards looked at the vizier. He gave them a curt nod and they complied.

“Put down your weapons while you’re at it.’

The guards hesitated.

“I said, drop your guns.” He tightened his grip on the vizier. He was dangerously close to losing his temper. The little man whimpered and squirmed.

The guards set their rifles down on the marble floor.

“Now show me the way out of here.”

The guards looked at the vizier. The man nodded again. “Do as he says. He won’t get very far once he is outside the palace and his majesty finds out that his hospitality has been abused.”

“Move! Take me to a side gate. Not the main entrance,” Marsh said.

The walk out of the palace was torturous. The vizier refused to walk and Marsh had to drag him along. The effort made his ribs hurt with each step, but he held out. After what felt like hours, they rounded a corner and exited a small courtyard. On the other side of the courtyard was a wooden door.

“Open it.”

The guard knocked on the gate and a key rattled in the lock. Another guard opened the door from the other side and peered at them in surprise.

“It’s all right,” said the vizier. “Do as he says.”

“Stand by the wall,” Marsh said to the guards. “And count to one thousand.”

The guards looked at him. “Count, I said!”

The guards started counting.

Marsh took the gate key from the guard and stepped through the door. Quickly he locked it.

“You can let me go now,” said the vizier.

“Not quite,” said Marsh. “Let’s walk to the end of the lane, shall we?” They took one of the cobbled lanes that led to one of the bigger streets. At the intersection, Marsh stopped and looked at the vizier. “I must thank you for being such a good sport, old chap. I apologize for taking you hostage, but I have urgent business elsewhere.

“You won’t get far, you know. The caliph will have his entire guard comb the city for you as soon as you let me go. You stick out like a sore thumb. There will be no hiding. My men will find you. Be sure of that. And if they do, you will be a dead man.”

“That’s good to know. We might need the caliph’s guards once I find Miss Chance.” He hoisted the vizier up by his tunic. “Please tell the caliph that I thank him for his hospitality and that I apologize for any inconvenience caused. As I have rescued my friend, we will depart from this place as promptly as we are able.” He shook him for good measure. “Do I make myself clear?”

“I will be sure to do so.”

As soon as Marsh loosened his hold on the man, the vizier’s hand darted to his waistband. Quick as a fish he dragged a dagger from the folds of his tunic. With a vicious move, he tried to stab Marsh in the stomach.

Marsh swerved, as the dagger flew past his abdomen. Marsh let go of the vizier with one hand and with his other he landed a punch to the man’s jaw. The vizier dropped to the ground like a sack of turnips.

Then Marsh did what no self-respecting gentleman of breeding should ever do. He ran for his life.

Marsh wove through the evening crowds that thronged in the streets. A brightly painted tram-omnibus nearly ran him over as he sidestepped the traffic. As he walked, he kept looking for blue and gold livery in the crowds. He couldn’t go back to the hotel to collect his luggage, for the place would be watched and he needed to disappear. There was also no way of collecting Patrice’s reply to his telegram. Marsh shrugged his shoulders with irritation. He would try to send a message to the hotel later, but right now there was nothing he could do. He just hoped Patrice would have the sense to follow his trail without getting caught.

The city grew poorer and the wooden houses more dilapidated as he walked. It took some effort, but eventually he found a little guesthouse. Carved into the eaves of the building was the Warlock triangle. It was cleverly disguised by the decorations, but to Marsh it was unmistakable.

The owner of the guesthouse looked up from behind the counter. His curved horns were neatly hidden under a close-fitting hat, but there was no mistaking the fact that the owner of the guesthouse was one of the children of Pan.

“I need a room for a few days.”

The faun nodded.

“A quiet room,” he paused and looked the faun in the eye. “And you never saw me.”

The faun shrugged, picking up the notes. “I ask no questions, Warlock. These are dark times and one good turn deserves another.”

Without taking his eyes off Marsh, the faun said something to the back. A woman with large hips and a face that was fading in its beauty came out from behind a curtain. She was carrying a large bunch of keys. She motioned to Marsh, who followed her up the stairs.

“We don’t want any trouble here,” she said.

“Then we want the same thing,” Marsh replied.

“My son will help. He will be with you in a minute,” the woman said before going downstairs. A small boy appeared at the door, and while he was somewhat odd-looking with his mother’s dark eyes and his father’s pointy face and curly brown hair at least he appeared to have escaped the burden of having horns like his father.

A few quiet words, and a few more notes handed to the boy, procured a white linen shirt and trousers, a baggy waistcoat and a red fez.

Marsh dressed quickly. He stowed the Colt inside his coat and patted his pocket. Money was the currency of secrecy in this world. He had enough cash with him to tide him over until Patrice got to Constantinople. If Patrice managed to track him down, that is.

The boy reappeared and eyed Marsh in his disguise. He stifled a giggle. Marsh smiled back.

“What is your name?” he said.

The boy grew shy. My name is Inut,” he said solemnly.

Marsh extended his hand and shook the boy’s. “How do you do, Inut? I am Mr. Marsh, and I need to find a certain tower as soon as possible,” Marsh explained. “An old stone tower with a tree growing outside in the courtyard. Do you think you can help me find one like that?”

“There are many old stone towers in the city,” the boy said. “We could spend weeks visiting each one. But I will help.”

“Splendid. Let’s try the area near the airfield first.”

Hours later, in a dusty alley, Marsh kicked an abandoned wooden crate in frustration. It set a series of dogs barking across the silent city. The almost-full moon simmered above them. Marsh looked up at the white disk in the sky and despaired.

“Damn it to the underworld and to damnation.” They had been wandering around for hours.

The half-fawn boy sat down on a doorstep. He rested his head on his knees. The fairy was hanging her arms out of Marsh’s pocket, her head drooping down. It was almost midnight.

“Why didn’t you tell me Constantinople was so full of old stone towers?” Marsh said.

Inut stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes. “I did,” he said. “You didn’t believe me.”

Marsh couldn’t argue with that.

Inut yawned. “The city is old. Many wars. Many towers, even after earthquakes.”

“Fair enough, but where is the next one?”

Inut dragged himself up and stumbled.

Marsh looked at his pocket. The fairy was now curled up in the bottom and was fast asleep. He rubbed his face. He felt like he had sand in his eyes.

“Maybe we try the one by the money lenders,” Inut mumbled. He started walking down the road, swaggering like a drunkard. The sight of the faun-boy asleep on his feet brought Marsh to his senses.

Marsh walked up to him and stopped him. “I’m sorry, Inut. This is not fair. It is very late and—right now I think we could walk be looking straight past the tower and not see it,” he said. “Perhaps we should try again tomorrow.”

Inut eyed him gratefully. “We look again tomorrow.”

“Yes, we look again tomorrow. But first, let’s go home. Your mother must be worried about you.”

He lifted the half-asleep boy in his arms and headed back to the guesthouse.

The next morning he woke as the sun came up. He washed and dressed quickly, pausing to check his injury. The apothecary’s salve had worked and the wound was nearly knitted up, but yesterday’s scuffle with the vizier and carrying Inut home had taken its toll. He examined the blue-black bruising with a grimace. Whatever those Alchemists had used, it was nasty.

He started dressing. Thoughts of Elle’s hands on his collar flooded his mind. He shouldn’t have played that game with her, but the liberal after-dinner brandies had made him bold, and she was the one who started it. He would have to apologize to her about turning away from her like that when all this was over. He only hoped he got the chance, and that it wasn’t too late. He pulled on his waistcoat and put his flask into his pocket. The fairy had not stirred yet.

He was busy working through the contents of his bag when there was a soft knock on his door. Inut entered timidly. “Excuse me, sir, but my mother says to tell you that breakfast is ready,” he said.

“Oh, splendid.”

“Can we go hunting for towers again, sir?”

“As soon as we’ve had our breakfast.”

Inut sped out the room and down the stairs as fast as he could.

Marsh followed him downstairs. His felt his stomach rumble as the smell of strong Turkish coffee met him halfway down the stairs. He found Inut’s mother in the dining room, clearing a few dishes away from the table.

“Good morning … again,.” Marsh greeted her.

“Good morning,” she said politely.

“Many guests?”

“Not so many,” she replied, putting a plate of bread in front of Marsh. “Most are peddlers come to the city to find remedies to sell.” She shrugged.

“I see,” Marsh helped himself to a fresh fig from a wooden bowl on the table. He bit into the fruit, tasting the sweetness.

Inut’s mother watched Marsh from the corner of her eye. Marsh carefully put his knife down.

“I must apologize again for keeping your son out so late last night.”

She nodded. “Inut is a good boy. We don’t want any trouble.”

“There is no trouble, but I need to find this tower. It is a matter of life and death.”

Inut came into the dining room with what looked like a rolled-up piece of paper. “My father says we should use this.” He handed it to Marsh.

Marsh carefully unrolled it, and smiled. It was a map of Constantinople—carefully drawn, with illustrations to show the landmarks. He felt his hopes rise. Some of the illustrations looked like towers.

“Tell your father I say thank you. Thank you very much indeed.”

“I will.” Inut also smiled.

Marsh pointed at the map. “Now show me the towers we found yesterday.”

An hour later, armed with the faun’s map and dressed in his traditional disguise, Marsh took to the streets, this time without Inut.

He paused to straighten his fez and checked the map. The streets were filling up with traders and people going about their business of the morning. Not many paid attention to a tall man walking down the road and looking up at the buildings.

Shortly before the noon hour, Marsh stepped into a square. A fountain that trickled grayish-looking water greeted him. An old man was at the fountain, watering his mule.

Marsh stopped under the branches of a Judas tree. They were a common sight in Constantinople. The trees mostly looked like they were dead, with their black leafless limbs reaching up into the sky. Then, as soon as spring arrived, they would burst into blossom, covering the city in soft pink petals before their leaves sprang forth. He Marsh looked up at the branches. There were no pink flowers and the leaves were turning brown and dying. They crunched underfoot.

He pulled his flask out of his pocket and opened it. The fairy morphed into fairy form and fluttered her wings. She looked at Marsh with annoyance.

“My apologies for waking you again, but is this the tower?”

The fairy shook her head, her eyes downcast, and folded her arms as she hovered before him.