The Necromancer (10 page)

Saint-Germain nodded. “I smelled you.”

“So you’re saying I smell?”

“You smell of cloves. Ah, but it is good to see you, old friend,” the Frenchman said, using a Persian dialect that had gone extinct a century earlier.

“I wish it were in happier circumstances,” the huge shaven-headed man said. He eased Saint-Germain’s carry-on bag from his hands. The Frenchman tried to protest, but the Saracen Knight ignored him. “I sent a message to my master,” the knight continued in the same ancient language. Both immortals were too experienced to allow anyone to come close enough to eavesdrop on them, but they were equally conscious that there were more security cameras in London than any other city on earth. Anyone looking at them now would just see a London taxi driver picking up a fare.

“And how is your master?” Saint-Germain asked cautiously.

“Still angry at you. You seem to have a gift for upsetting people,” Palamedes added with a broad grin.

“Will he help me?” Saint-Germain asked nervously.

“I don’t know. I will speak for you. Shakespeare will, too, and you know what a great talker he is.” They stopped at a black cab and Palamedes pulled open the door to allow the Frenchman inside. “There will be a cost,” the knight said seriously.

Saint-Germain gripped his friend’s arm. “Anything. I will pay anything to get my wife back.”

“Even your immortality?”

“Even that. What is the point in living forever, if it is not with the woman I love?”

A flicker of immeasurable sadness crossed the knight’s face. “I understand that,” he said softly.

“T
his is my friend Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak,” Billy the Kid said as the small powerboat bounced across San Francisco Bay.

The sharp-featured man nodded to Machiavelli. “You’ll find it more convenient to call me Black Hawk,” he drawled. He was dressed, like Billy, in faded jeans, old cowboy boots and a T-shirt. Unlike Billy, though, who was thin to the point of scrawniness, Black Hawk was a solid mass of muscle. He handled the bucking powerboat with ease.

Billy tapped him on the shoulder. “Over there; my car is at Pier—”

“I checked. Your car is gone,” Black Hawk said, and then laughed aloud at the stricken look on Billy’s face.

“Stolen! Someone stole my car!” He turned to the Italian. “That’s … that’s criminal!”

Machiavelli kept his face expressionless. “I’ll wager the Sorceress took it.”

Billy nodded eagerly. “I bet you’re right. She’ll look after it, though, won’t she? I mean, she’ll know it’s a classic car and treat it with respect?”

Machiavelli caught Black Hawk’s eye and then had to look away quickly before he laughed. “I do believe I read in my files somewhere that Perenelle Flamel only learned how to drive recently,” he said innocently.

Billy sank down to the side of the boat as if he’d been struck. “She’ll ruin it. She’ll wreck the transmission and she’ll probably scrape the tires against the curb. Do you know how hard it is to find those whitewall tires?”

“If it’s any consolation,” Black Hawk said with a grin, “in about an hour, you’ll never need a car again. The last time I saw our master this angry was in April 1906 … and you know what happened then.”

Billy’s face set in a petulant snarl. “Well, I don’t know what you’re so happy about. I was going to leave you that car in my will.”

“Thanks.” Black Hawk shrugged. “But I’m not a Thunderbird person; I prefer Mustangs.”

S
ophie leapt out of her chair as Josh pushed open the driver’s door and climbed out of the red Thunderbird. Aoife’s hand fell on her shoulder, squeezing gently, but the warning was clear: she was not to move. Perenelle climbed out of the back of the car and Nicholas slowly pushed open the passenger door. It took some seconds before he straightened.

Niten appeared by Aoife’s side, two Japanese swords, one longer than the other, held lightly in his hands. “Be calm,” he said quietly, and Sophie wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to Aoife.

“Sophie, are you all right?” Josh went to step forward, but Nicholas stretched out his arm, stopping him.

“I’m fine,” she called, her voice echoing flatly across the water. The dock was slightly higher than the houseboat, and Sophie’s face was at the same level as her twin, but they were less than ten feet apart. Without turning her head, she said, “I told you he’d find me.”

“He is full of surprises,” Aoife murmured, then raised her voice. “How did you find me?” she called out, addressing the question to Josh, but it was Perenelle who answered, stepping around her husband and walking right up to the edge of the dock.

“You have few friends in the Americas, Aoife,” the Sorceress said, “and fewer still in this city. You had nowhere to go … except to the Swordsman, of course.” She bowed slightly to the Japanese man, hands pressed flat against her thighs.

“Sorceress,” he acknowledged. “I have heard much about you, and your husband, too.” He matched her bow, dipping his head, though his eyes never left hers.

“We called your dojo earlier and discovered that you had not attended morning lessons. Then we drove past your home: the moment I saw that the newspaper was still in your driveway, I knew you were not there.”

“You have my home address?” he said cautiously.

“I know all there is to know about you, Swordsman.”

“How did you know I was here?” he said.

“You come here most weekends to work on the boat.”

“How did you know that?” he asked.

Perenelle smiled but did not answer.

“I did not realize I had become a creature of habit and routine.” Niten bowed again. “There is nothing more dangerous to the warrior. Nor did I realize I was being watched,” he added.

“Not all of my spies were humani,” the Sorceress said.

“Even so; I should have spotted them. I must have become lazy in my old age.”

“And we know how dangerous that is, don’t we?” Perenelle asked. “Laziness will kill even the strongest warrior.”

“You will not be able to follow me again,” the Swordsman said, head tilted to one side, the faintest smile on his thin lips.

“I know that.”

“Why have you told me this?” he wondered aloud.

“Nicholas and I were content to monitor your movements, and once we were sure you meant us no harm, we left you alone. But what we did, others can do also … and you and your legendary swords would be quite a prize.”

“Well, this is all very civilized,” Aoife interrupted rudely, “but what—exactly—do you want?”

“We’ve come for the girl … and to talk,” Nicholas answered.

“And if I refuse?” Aoife demanded.

Nicholas sighed. “I am having a really bad day, and Perenelle is not in a good humor. Now, you really do not want to make us angry, do you?”

“You do not frighten me, Alchemyst,” Aoife snarled.

“I should,” Nicholas whispered. “And Perenelle should terrify you.”

“We should listen to what they have to say,” Niten said suddenly. “Only moments ago, you wanted to talk to them,” he reminded Aoife.

“Yes, but not here and not now.”

“Talk to them,” Sophie said.

“Be quiet.”

Sophie rounded on the woman. “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again,” she said, suddenly angry. She hated—absolutely hated—when adults dismissed her.

Aoife looked at her in surprise, but before she could reply, Niten stepped up to the edge of the houseboat and looked from the Alchemyst to the Sorceress. “Give me your word that this is not a trick.”

“I give you my word,” Nicholas said.

“And I,” Perenelle added.

Niten’s arms moved and the swords disappeared into matched sheaths he wore strapped to his hip. “Come aboard,” he said. “Enter freely and of your own will.”

“Hey …,” Aoife began.

“This is my boat,” Niten reminded her, “and the Flamels may be many things, but I believe that they have always kept their word.”

“Tell that to the generations of people they betrayed and destroyed,” Aoife muttered, but she stepped back and allowed Nicholas, Perenelle and Josh onto the boat.

“You need to learn how to trust a little more,” the Swordsman said to Aoife.

“And you need to learn to trust the right people,” she snapped. “And these are not the right people.”

“Your sister likes and trusts them.”

Aoife sneered. “I am not my sister.”

“N
one of these things are of any concern to me,” Aoife said finally. Nicholas and Perenelle had just spent thirty minutes explaining the events of the past few days, adding details that Sophie had forgotten or skipped over.

Niten had set up a wooden crate on the center of the deck and arranged an assortment of mismatched chairs around it. He’d placed a delicately beautiful, almost transparent white china teapot and matching cups on the crate and poured fragrant olive green tea. The Swordsman had not sat, however; he had stood behind Aoife, arms hanging loosely at his sides as Nicholas and Perenelle told their story, starting with the theft of the Codex from the bookshop the previous Thursday.

Aoife shook her head. “I just want my sister back safely.”

“We all want that,” Nicholas said firmly. “Scathach is precious to us, too.” He reached for his wife’s hand. “She is the daughter we never had.” He drew in a deep shuddering breath. “But Scathach’s return—Joan’s, too—is not our immediate priority. The Dark Elders have gathered together an army in the cells on Alcatraz. They plan to release them on the city.”

“So?” Aoife asked.

Perenelle leaned forward and a static charge rippled down the length of her silver-streaked hair, raising it off her back. When she spoke, her words were as brittle as the look in her eyes. “Are you so divorced from humanity that you would condemn them to annihilation? You know what will happen to civilization if these monsters are allowed to prowl the city.”

“It has happened before,” Aoife snapped. Tendrils of faint gray smoke leaked from her nostrils. “On at least four previous occasions that I know of, the humani were almost wiped out, but they rose to repopulate the earth. You are old, Sorceress, but you have experienced only a fraction of what I have endured upon this earth. I have watched civilizations rise and fall and rise again. Sometimes it is necessary to wipe the slate clean and start fresh.” She spread her arms wide. “Look at what this present batch of humani have done to the earth. Look at what their greed has wrought. They have brought this planet to the very brink of destruction. The polar caps are melting, sea levels are rising, weather patterns are changing, seasons altering, farmlands turning to desert …”

“You sound like Dee,” Josh said suddenly.

“Don’t you dare compare me to the English Magician,” Aoife spat. “He is despicable.”

“He said the Dark Elders could repair all this damage. Could they?” Josh asked curiously.

“Yes,” Aoife answered simply. “Yes, they could. Tell him,” she said to the Alchemyst.

Josh turned to look at Nicholas. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” the Alchemyst sighed. “Yes, they undoubtedly could.”

Sophie leaned forward, her forehead creasing in a frown. “So that means the Elders, the ones whose side you’re on, could also do the same thing?”

This time there was a longer pause, and when Nicholas finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’m sure they could.”

“So why don’t they?” Sophie demanded.

Nicholas looked at Perenelle, and it was the Sorceress who finally answered. “Because sooner or later every parent must let their children go to live their lives and make their mistakes. That is the only way they can grow. In generations past, the Elders moved among the humani, living with them, working side by side—all those legends about the ancient gods interacting with humans have some truth in them. There really were gods on the earth in those days. But humankind did not progress. It was only when most of the Elders retreated to the Shadowrealms and left the humani to their own devices that the race started to grow.”

“Think of all that mankind has achieved in the last two thousand years,” Nicholas continued. “Think of the inventions, the accomplishments, the discoveries—atomic power, flight, instant worldwide communications, even space travel—and then remember that the civilization of Egypt lasted more than three thousand years. Babylon was established over four thousand years ago, the first cities in the Indus appeared over five thousand years ago and Sumer is six thousand years old. Why did those great civilizations not achieve what this civilization has accomplished in a much shorter time?”

Josh shook his head, but Sophie was nodding. She knew the answer.

“Because the Elders—what the humani called the gods—lived with them,” Perenelle said. “They provided everything. The Elders needed to retreat so that mankind could grow.”

“But some stayed,” Sophie protested. “The Witch, Prometheus …”

“Mars …,” Josh added.

“Gilgamesh,” Sophie said. “And Scathach. She stayed.”

“Yes, a few remained to guide and teach the new race, to nudge them along the road to greatness. But not to interfere, not to influence and definitely not to rule,” Perenelle clarified.

Aoife grunted a bitter laugh.

“It is true that some Dark Elders tried to rule the humani, and the Elders fought with them, blocking their efforts. But everyone who remained had a reason to stay … except you,” Perenelle said suddenly, looking at Aoife. “Why did you choose to remain in this humani Shadowrealm?”

There was a long pause while Aoife’s eyes grew lost and distant. “Because Scathach stayed,” she said eventually.

A series of terrible images swirled through Sophie’s mind and a name popped into her head. “Because of Cuchulain,” she said aloud.

“Cuchulain,” Aoife agreed. “The boy who came between us. The boy we fought over.”

A young man, mortally wounded, tying himself to a pillar so that his very presence could hold a terrifying army at bay …

Scathach and Aoife together, racing across a battlefield, trying to reach him before three enormous crowlike figures swooped down on his body …