The Alchemist of Rome

by M C Dulac

  Elise nodded, after a pause, “I can meet you here tomorrow. Maybe midday?”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  Rebecca watched Elise walk away into the night. She had no way of contacting Elise or Champillon. She had a feeling they existed in a very different world, a world she had no right to ask about. But she hoped Elise would meet her again. She needed to know how the story of Otto von Schumann ended.

  chapter twenty two

  Rebecca woke in Rome. The hotel room was different but the view from the window was familiar. There was a definite chill in the air and the trees in the courtyard were bare. In a few days the weather had turned and winter was on its way. The city was no longer a stranger now, as it had been when she arrived with Jane. She knew it well and was ready to say goodbye.

  She had breakfast in the hotel. Her eyes drifted to the courtyard. Would Elise really be there at midday? She had glimpsed a wonderful and mysterious world over the last few weeks, and she didn’t want to think that world was soon going to be lost forever.

  But when she ran downstairs at midday, she found Elise waiting.

  “Would you like to eat?” Elise asked.

  “I had a big breakfast,” Rebecca said, “Perhaps we can go for a walk instead. I guess you aren’t too hungry.”

  “That’s true,” Elise smiled and put her hands in the pocket of her coat, “I thought you might have some questions after your time with Antonio.”

  “Did Champillon find out about the elixir of decay?”

  A shadow passed Elise’s face, “Yes, he read every reference in the ancient texts. The elixir is unstoppable.”

  “What does that mean for Schumann?”

  “We are certain that Schumann is dead. Judging from the rate of the elixir’s decomposition, and the time since Schumann became ill, it is unlikely he is alive. Antonio was a skilled alchemist and had planned everything to the last minute. He knew when to take the elixir of the elements and when Schumann was on the point of death. We guess Schumann must have died that night or the next morning. The monster of Amalfi is no more.”

  Rebecca nodded. Even the death of a monster was sobering.

  “So it is all over.”

  “It is all over, thanks to Antonio. And you.”

  They walked in silence for a while. They had reached a park and the gravel crunched under their feet. The air was chill, but clear. The darkness had passed and the future awaited. And she was going for a walk with an alchemist.

  “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  “Not at all. You have been very polite not to ask so far,” Elise smiled.

  “So when you drink this elixir of life, do you become frozen in time?”

  Elise did not seem to mind her curiosity, “Yes. The elixir attacks the molecules that cause aging. Outwardly you don’t change. And because you do not age, you do not die.”

  “When did you drink the elixir?”

  “A long time ago.”

  Rebecca considered this, and decided not to think too hard. Although she was burning with curiosity, she did not want to ask outright how old Elise was. She had seen the evidence of the elixir of life with her own eyes, first with Antonio and now with Elise. She chose her next question carefully, “Did you know Albert Price before or after he met Antonio?”

  “Afterwards, in Paris. But that’s another story.”

  Rebecca wondered how long afterwards and what that other story was.

  “Why do you avoid sunlight?”

  “I believe the elixir affects the retina. It sharpens night vision, but reduces the time we can spend in daylight. The sun is the most powerful source of energy known to man. Sunlight and moonlight are essential for mixing the elixirs. Without that light, the potions do not work. Perhaps the sun intensifies the elixir inside us and makes it unbearable.”

  “Antonio wrote that he became very weak after he drank the elixir.”

  “His sensitivity to light came on much more quickly than usual. In Antonio’s Confession, he says that Price was still brewing the elixir when he drank it. Antonio was lucky - to drink the elixir in its early stages is very dangerous. That’s probably what killed Carissa. She drank the elixir in Malta when the reactions were still taking place.”

  “But Antonio did survive.”

  “You can almost imagine a magic hand at work.”

  “Does the elixir sharpen your abilities?”

  “Whatever talents you have, become stronger when you consume the elixir of life. From what I saw in Rome, Antonio was a great artist. But the only painting he showed in a gallery was ‘Albert Price, the scientist and his apprentice’.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t become an artist on his own, away from Schumann.”

  “Guilt seemed to crush him. He could have been free, but he was too frightened to open the door. He was born in a very religious time. Maybe we are all bound by the age in which we are born. It is a rare person who can adapt and move on.”

  They fell silent for a while.

  “Antonio often spoke of 1761, the age when all life ended. He was always lost in the past. That’s why I liked him so much,” Rebecca swallowed quickly, feeling sadness well in her throat. She changed the topic, “Otto von Schumann has no talent, besides being rich.”

  “Schumann survived for centuries without anyone suspecting what he was. He mastered the art of making gold. Perhaps that was his talent. He took Price’s books but learned nothing from them. He lived in the shadow of alchemy, a copy of what he should have been.”

  They stopped before a fountain, and Rebecca gazed at the marble statues, happily spouting water into the turquoise basin.

  “Antonio never ate,” she added.

  “That is also a side effect of the elixir. After a while you do not feel thirst or hunger. The elixir must affect the metabolism. There is so much even I do not know about the elixir of life,” Elise looked toward an avenue of trees, whose leaves had turned to autumn gold, “Does it have the same effect on the natural world? When Antonio poured the elixir in the sea, he wondered if there might be an immortal fish swimming in the ocean. Albert Price -” Elise paused, as though the name had great significance for her, “I once saw Price pour the elixir beneath a tree in Paris. He spoke of a tree that lived forever.”

  Rebecca wondered again where and when these events had occurred. They walked on, until they came to a triumphal arch that led onto a busy road.

  “I should ring Jean-Louis now, and see if he has reached Amalfi.”

  “Is he going to the palazzo?”

  “We will go together, later tonight. We will see what is left of Schumann’s elixirs, and make sure everything is destroyed.”

  “I felt it yesterday morning,” Rebecca said, “He was fading. The air was lighter.”

  “Then even Schumann is at rest,” Elise said, “I should go now. Goodbye Rebecca.”

  Rebecca nodded. She watched Elise walk away into the crowds. She did not follow, or call out, but she wished she had asked more.

  * * * * *

  Rebecca would be on the return flight home, just as planned. She had undertaken a journey from the tombs of Florence, through the sunlit hills of Rome and the mysterious Amalfi Coast - from the underworld to paradise. She had not wanted to return with Jane, for she had the feeling something was not complete. Her feeling was correct. She had an unwitting part to play in the history of Antonio and the famous Otto von Schumann. She had been necessary to free Antonio from his infernal servitude and to ensure that Schumann was finally destroyed.

  She was wandering aimlessly, losing herself in the architecture of central Rome, and had now reached the square before the Pantheon. A marvel of Ancient Roman engineering with its circular shape and vaulted ceiling, the old temple had adapted like the city around it, changing from a pagan temple to a Christian Church.

  It was to this square that Antonio had brought the girl. Mi dispiace. He had written of his agony and weakness, and his decision to warn her to escape. But then Schuma
nn had appeared, and it was too late.

  She would be the one, Schumann must have thought when he saw the girl, just as he thought when he first saw Rebecca.

  She would be the one.

  Rebecca shivered at a familiar feeling. The feeling that someone was watching her. But it must be her imagination. Here there were only tourists and ghosts.

  It was getting dark and thick clouds made it darker. She reached the broad boulevard of Corso Vittorio Emanuele. Across the river, a car with darkened windows was driving fast along the embankment.

  Schumann was dead, Elise had said. He had died in Amalfi, just as Antonio planned. There was no way he was still alive.

  Rebecca quickened her pace. She followed the narrow lanes and streets to her hotel, casting uncertain glances behind her.

  chapter twenty three

  It was dark when Rebecca reached her hotel. Her suitcase was packed, and she only took out what she needed. She showered and changed and lay down on her bed. Exhaustion overcame her and she found it hard to suppress a yawn.

  In her dreams, she was wandering along a sunlit path. She walked on and on through green meadows filled with wildflowers. At last she came to a forest. She descended into a valley, watching the sunbeams through the treetops. The tree branches became enmeshed, until she could no longer see the sun, and the paths went off in all directions. The further she walked, the further trapped she became. The trees in this part of the forest were dying. The sky was dim and night had fallen. There were voices in the woods, of girls warning her to go back. But she didn’t know where she had come from, or where she was going. The moon shone down and revealed the ruined palazzo on the cliffs.

  There was no need to be frightened, she told herself. Otto von Schumann was dead.

  And in the dream it was daylight again. There was a reason she was in this forest. There was something else she needed to find, something that Antonio had left behind.

  She started to open her fingers, glimpsing a bright light. Was it really a vial of blue elixir, which twinkled and blinded her with its radiance? Was this what Antonio wanted her to have, something that would protect her? Had he left it in the palazzo or in Rome? Had she glimpsed it in the hiding space in the roof when she found the book?

  He had said to beware magic, but that was not an absolute warning. Surely he wanted to share his secret with her. No, it was not in the palazzo on the coast. It must be in Antonio’s apartment, waiting for her.

  Rebecca opened her eyes. She had left the lights on and the walls of the hotel room were stark in the electric glare. It was just after eight p.m.

  Her fist was tightly closed. She opened her fingers slowly. Her palm was empty.

  She hadn’t eaten dinner and she was hungry. She got dressed and went downstairs. The streets outside were busy and the old buildings glowed in the streetlights. She had pasta in a restaurant not far from the hotel. When she had finished and paid, she put her hands in her pockets and began to walk. She did not want to return to the hotel yet, because she would spend so much of the next day in the airplane returning home. Her steps took her in familiar directions, as she passed fountains and ruins. She saw the Spanish Steps, still bustling at this time of night, and followed the narrow street to the Corso. She began walking towards the Piazza del Popolo. Even though it was getting late, there were plenty of people about and she felt no fear of the shadows. She was sure Otto von Schumann was gone now, and that feeling near the Pantheon had been an echo of the past.

  She took her hand from her pocket and stared at her palm. Was there really another secret to discover?

  Something brushed her cheek. A small feather fell to the ground. She picked up the feather and traced her fingers over the soft down. A feather like an angel’s wing. When she looked up, she realised she was outside Antonio’s apartment.

  The door to the building was ajar. Rebecca crossed the cobblestones and peered inside. An electric chandelier glowed in the hall and people were talking on the landing high above. She felt the urge to see Antonio’s apartment door one last time. A feeling of mystery and anticipation washed over her. Elise had warned her about alchemy. But maybe Antonio had left her a vial of blue liquid. The elixir of life, that defeated death.

  That was the message of her dream, the secret she held in her palm. She ascended the stairs without thinking. Then she felt a rush of fear, that she should not be climbing these stairs, that this was like a dream too, that it was so strange that the apartment door was unlocked, and that pushing open the door was a mistake. But then she was standing beneath the dim frescoes in the hall, and she was wide awake. Everything was just as she remembered. Antonio’s easel was in the corner and his paints lay on the table. The drawings were on the wall, even the portrait of the girl, Mi dispiace, whose panicked eyes were now hidden in the shadows.

  Rebecca walked through the rooms, feeling a lull of contentment, thinking of the night when Antonio had seen Price drink the elixir, and then of that other night, when he had lifted the drink to his own lips.

  Everything had come around in a circle. She was walking through the same rooms as Albert Price, where only a few weeks ago she had stood with Antonio.

  She didn’t know where the light switch was, or if there had ever been electricity installed in the apartment. Her eyes adjusted to the world of grey and shadow. She had the feeling she was falling asleep again, that this was just a dream, and that she really should turn around and get far away from here. But her feet kept walking as though she were being summoned.

  A marble bust was on the desk in the furthest room. She was sure it had not been there before. Then the head moved and she realised it was not a statue at all, but a man. He raised his chin and a glow came from his eyes. Not the gentle blue of Antonio and Champillon, but a pale, sickly yellow.

  He was no longer tall and strong, as Antonio described. But what he lacked in physical strength, he made up for with his intense and determined energy. His breath was dry, like wind through a field of brittle grass.

  He nodded slowly and may have smiled, for she could only see the outline of his worn features.

  And then she knew that he had called her here, right into his trap. He had sent the alluring images through her dreams and the feeling of false calm, just as he had manipulated events from afar, all along. There was no blue vial, no secret to discover. It was not Antonio’s spirit which had called her here, but his thoughts.

  “You have come at last,” Otto von Schumann said.

  chapter twenty four

  She would be the one.

  The same thought that had blazed through Rebecca’s mind, as she had stood on the street corner in Rome, all those weeks ago.

  Not this time, Antonio had replied. But Antonio was gone. And all the things he had done to save her and all the warnings he had given, were nothing now, for it seemed her story was about to end.

  The moonbeams streamed through the apartment windows. Schumann rose from the desk and stepped into the shadows. His breath came in rasps, breaking the silence.

  “Rebecca,” he said, “Antonio told me that was your name. I trusted him when he said that he would bring you to me. I believed him when your arrival was delayed. He left me that morning and I waited for him to return. But he did not. He betrayed me. He wanted me to die there, all alone. For two days, I lay on the cellar floor, fearing that all was over. I had no choice but to summon my driver. I had to promise him bags of gold to take me out of those ruins and back to Rome. I do not like my servants to see me this way.”

  He had moved closer, “But I must do what I have to do, so that I may be renewed and rise again.”

  Antonio had written of the hypnotic powers which Schumann had practiced on the servants in Malta. The dread that now raced up and down her spine and the weakness in her legs was emanating from him.

  “I could of course have found another young woman,” Schumann went on, “It is hard, but not impossible, in this century, in which the authorities waste so much energy on finding miss
ing persons. It would not be long before I came across a lost girl on the roads or beaches. But I will not let Antonio win. Even beyond the grave, he must know that I cannot be disobeyed. In whatever part of hell he now exists, he must know that it was all in vain. I shall live because of you.”

  Rebecca had begun to swoon. She placed her fingers on her temples.

  He tilted his head, “I can see into your mind. I feel your grief and pain. You lost someone close to you. It was your sister. She was young, like you. She had an illness in her blood, destroying her. It is sad,” he nodded, “But who will be surprised if you go missing? You are so far from home, all alone. Your family will feel guilt, but they will believe it was your choice. Don’t you dream of sleep?”

  Her eyes were closing. To steady herself, she took in every detail of the room, from the tall windows to the wood panel walls. She glanced at the ceiling, wondering which panel concealed the hiding space. What else was in there? A brocade coat and a telescope. She took deep breaths and thought of Antonio’s story. Her fear subsided and she looked at Schumann with detachment. It was hard to see any of the charismatic Otto von Schumann who had traveled south with Albert Price. That man had been energetic and vital, with an audacity that made him rush forward without thinking. He had a confidence and fearlessness that nothing could go wrong. Through Antonio’s words, she had seen Otto’s fine clothes and thick hair, and imagined a face that could turn from charm to manipulation. He must have been handsome once. But the old man before her was broken and wary. She sensed his anger and bitterness - anger at the delay and bitterness at his fate. And she also felt the fury that she did not fear him, but that somehow she knew his secrets.

  His eyes narrowed, as though he read her thoughts, “It is time,” he said.

  She followed his gaze as if he had turned her head. In the furthest room, the room that had once been Price’s laboratory, was a table, where a bowl of green liquid glowed.