The Sorceress (11 page)

Sitting in the red leather interior of the car, he opened a manila envelope and read through the file he’d been sent by encrypted e-mail. A severe-looking white-haired man glared out of a black-and-white photograph. He’d been caught mid-stride as he crossed a street. The Eiffel Tower loomed over the rooftops in the background, and the date stamp on the bottom of the photograph revealed that it had been taken on Christmas Eve, six months ago. Idly, the young man wondered why the Dark Elders were watching one of their most trusted agents. This was the man they were sending to work with him: the European immortal Niccolò Machiavelli. The Elders’ instructions had been unambiguous—he was to offer
Machiavelli every assistance. He wondered if the Italian was anything like John Dee. He’d met Dee briefly and didn’t like him; he was one of those arrogant European immortals who thought they were better than anyone else, just because they were older than the United States. But reading through Machiavelli’s file, he found himself liking the man more and more. Ruthless, cunning and scheming, he was described as the most dangerous man in Europe.

He’d help Machiavelli, of course. He didn’t really have any choice; going against the Dark Elders was tantamount to a death wish. Personally, he didn’t believe he needed the Italian. Tossing the file on the floor, he turned the key in the ignition, pushed hard on the accelerator and spun the wheel, and the car fishtailed into a semicircle, billowing dust and grit in its wake.

Billy the Kid had never needed anyone.

he scrap yard was a maze.

Towering alleyways of rusting metal, with barely enough space for the car to drive through, stretched from the entrance in every direction. A solid barrier of tires, hundreds deep, leaned precariously out over the narrow spaces. There was one wall composed entirely of car doors, another of hoods and trunks. Engine blocks stained with dripping oil and grease were piled in a tower next to a bank of exhaust pipes that had been driven into the ground, making them look like an abstract sculpture.

Palamedes eased the black London cab deeper into the mountainous warren of crushed cars. Sophie was completely awake now. She sat forward on the seat, looking through the window, eyes wide. In its own way, the scrap yard was as extraordinary as Hekate’s Shadowrealm. Although it looked chaotic, she instinctively knew that there was probably a
pattern to it. Something fluttered to her right and she turned quickly, catching a glimpse of movement in the shadows. She was turning back when she saw a shadow shift and blink away. They were being followed, yet despite her enhanced senses, she couldn’t catch sight of the creatures, though she got the impression that they moved upright like humans. “Is this a Shadowrealm?” she asked aloud.

Beside her, Flamel stirred awake. “There are no Shadowrealms in the center of London,” he mumbled. “Shadowrealms exist on the edges of cities.”

Sophie nodded—she’d known that, of course.

Palamedes swung the car in a tight left-hand turn that led to an even narrower alleyway. The ragged metal walls were so close they almost scraped the car doors. “We’re not in the center of the city anymore, Alchemyst,” he said in his deep bass voice. “We’re in the slightly disreputable suburbs. And you’re wrong, too; I know two Elders who have small Shadow-realms situated in the heart of the city of London, and there are entrances to at least another three that I know of, including the best-known one, in the pool behind Traitor’s Gate.”

Josh craned his neck to look up at the towering walls of metal. “It’s like a …” He stopped. Somewhere at the back of his mind, the twisting layout fell into place and he abruptly realized what he was seeing. “It’s a castle,” he whispered. “A castle made of crushed metal and flattened cars.”

Palamedes’ laugh was a loud bark that startled both twins. “Hah. I’m impressed. There’s not many alive today who would recognize it. This layout is based upon a design created by the great Sébastien Le Prestre de Vauban himself.”

“That sounds like a wine,” Josh murmured, still mesmerized by what he discovered.

“I met him once,” Flamel said absently. “He was a famous French military engineer.” He twisted in the seat to look out the rear window. “Just looks like junked cars to me,” he said, almost to himself.

Sophie looked curiously at her brother—how had he known that the jumble was actually a castle? But then, looking up at the walls of cars, the pattern she’d glimpsed earlier fell into place and she could see the shape of the castle, the battlements and towers, the narrow spaces where defenders could fire down onto any attackers. A shape moved behind one of the spaces and vanished.

“Over the years we’ve built up the cars like the walls of a castle,” Palamedes continued. “The medieval castle builders knew a lot about defense, and de Vauban brought all that knowledge together to create the strongest defenses in the world. Then we took the best of all styles. There are mottes and baileys, outer wards and an inner ward, a barbican, towers and keeps. The only entrance is through this single narrow alleyway, and it is designed to be easily defensible.” His huge hand moved toward the wrecked cars. “And behind and between and within the walls there are all sorts of nasty traps waiting.”

The car vibrated as it ran onto metal. The twins both slid over to the windows and looked out to discover that they’d driven onto what looked like a bridge of narrow metal pipes suspended over a thick bubbling black liquid.

“The moat,” Josh said.

“Our modern version of a moat,” the Saracen Knight agreed. “Filled with oil instead of water. It’s deeper than it looks and is lined with spikes. If anything falls in … well, let’s just say that they’re not climbing out. And of course we can set it ablaze with the flick of a switch.”

“We?” Josh asked quickly, glancing at his sister.

“We,” the knight confirmed.

“So there are others like you here?” Josh asked.

“I am not alone,” Palamedes agreed with a quick grin, teeth white against his dark face.

He drove on, past the bridge, and another alleyway curved and ended at a solid metal wall of crushed and flattened cars. It was thick with blood-colored rust. Palamedes slowed but didn’t stop. He pressed a button on the dashboard and the entire wall shuddered and silently slid to one side, leaving just enough space for the car to slip through. Once they were inside, the thick rusted gate slid silently back into position.

Beyond the gate was a broad area of churned and muddy ground, dotted with water-filled potholes. In the center of the sea of mud was a long rectangular metal hut set up on concrete blocks. The hut was dilapidated and filthy, its windows covered with wire mesh, and the rust that dappled the metal walls made it look diseased. Curls of barbed wire ran around the edges of the roof. Two sorry-looking flags—a British Union Jack and a red dragon on a green and white background—flapped on slightly bent poles. Both flags were ragged and in need of washing.

Sophie bit the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face. “I was expecting something …”

“… nicer?” Josh finished. His twin raised her hand and he high-fived her.

“Nicer,” she agreed. “It looks kind of depressing.”

Josh noticed a pack of rangy wild dogs lurking in the shadows under the hut. They were the same color and breed as the huge dun-colored dog he’d spotted earlier, but these were smaller and their coats were dull, the fur matted. There was a spark of crimson light and he squinted hard: were the dogs’ eyes red?

Nicholas straightened. He yawned and stretched as he looked around, then murmured, “Why all the security, Palamedes? What are you afraid of?”

“You have no idea,” Palamedes said simply.

“Tell me.” Nicholas rubbed his face and sat forward, elbows on his knees. “We are on the same side, after all.”

“No, we’re not,” Palamedes said quickly. “We may have the same enemies, but we are not on the same side. Our aims are quite different.”

“How are they different?” Flamel asked. “You fight the Dark Elders.”

“Only when we have to. You seek to prevent the Dark Elders from returning to this world, whereas I, and my brother knights, go into the Shadowrealms and bring back those humans who have become trapped there.”

Josh looked from Flamel to Palamedes, confused. “What brother knights?” he asked. “Who?”

Flamel took a deep breath. “I think Palamedes is referring to the Green Knights,” he said.

Palamedes nodded. “Just so.”

“I heard rumors …,” the Alchemyst muttered.

“Those rumors are true,” Palamedes said shortly. He pulled the car in beside the long metal-roofed hut and shut off the engine. “Don’t step into any of the potholes,” he advised as he pushed open the door. “You don’t want to know what lives in them.”

Sophie climbed out first, blinking hard behind her sunglasses in the late-afternoon sunshine. Her eyes felt gritty and sore, and there was a ticklish dry patch at the back of her throat. She wondered if she was coming down with a cold. Even though she’d been desperately trying
not
to think about Palamedes, some of the Witch’s memories had percolated into hers, and she realized she knew a little about him. He was an immortal human gifted with the special ability to move freely through the Shadowrealms and yet remain unaffected by them. Few humans who went into the artificial worlds the Elders created ever returned. Human history—both ancient and modern—was full of people who had simply disappeared. Those very few who had somehow returned, or been brought back, often found that hundreds of years had passed on earth even though only a few nights had slipped by in the Shadowrealms. Many who came back were mad or had come to believe that the Shadowrealm was the real world while this earth was nothing more than a dream. They spent their entire lives trying to return to what they thought was the real world.

“You’re thinking again.” Josh jerked her elbow, distracting her.

Sophie smiled. “I’m always thinking.”

“I meant you were thinking about stuff you shouldn’t. The Witch’s stuff.”

“How can you tell?”

Josh’s smile turned grave. “For an instant, just an instant, the pupils of your eyes turn silver. It’s scary.”

Sophie wrapped her arms around her body and shivered. She looked around at the walls of cars surrounding the rust-dappled hut. “It’s a bit grim, isn’t it? I thought all these Elders and immortals lived in palaces.”

Josh turned in a complete circle, but when he looked back at her there was a grin on his face. “Actually, I think it’s kind of cool. It’s like a metal castle. And it seems to be incredibly secure, too. There’s no way to even get close to this place without tipping off the guards.”

“I caught glimpses of something moving as we drove through the maze,” Sophie said.

Josh nodded. “Earlier, Palamedes told me that the houses in all the streets surrounding this place are empty. He owns them all. He said there are something called larvae and lemurs in them.”

“Guardians.”

“I saw a huge dog ….” He nodded toward the pack of dogs lying completely still under the hut. “It was like those, only bigger, cleaner. It seemed to be patrolling the streets. And you’ve seen the defenses,” he added excitedly. “There’s a single heavily guarded entrance that funnels everything into
a narrow alleyway. So no matter how big whatever army you have is, only two or three soldiers can attack at any one time. And they’re also vulnerable from above because of the battlements.”

Sophie reached out and squeezed her brother’s arm tightly. “Josh,” she said sharply, blue eyes wide with concern. She’d never heard her brother talk like this before. “Stop it. How come you know so much about castle defenses …?” Her voice trailed off, the ghost of an unsettling idea flickering at the corner of her mind.

“I don’t know,” Josh admitted. “I just … sort of … know it. It’s like when we were in Paris—I knew that Dee and Machiavelli had to be on high ground controlling the gargoyles. And then, earlier today, when those three creatures were going to attack …”

“The Genuii Cucullati,” Sophie murmured absently, turning to watch Nicholas climb stiffly out of the cab. When she saw him reach in to pull out Josh’s backpack, she noticed that his knuckles looked slightly swollen. Aunt Agnes, back in Pacific Heights in San Francisco, had arthritis, and her knuckles were also swollen. The Alchemyst was aging fast.