Nicholas Flamel 1 - The Alchemyst sotinf-1

by Michael Scott

  served the Queen in many capacities: as an advisor and a translator, a

  mathematician and an astronomer, and a personal astrologer. It had been left

  to him to choose the date of her coronation, and he had picked noon on

  January 15, 1559. He promised the young princess that hers would be a long

  reign. It lasted for forty-five years.

  Dr. John Dee was also the Queen s spy.

  Dee spied for the English Queen across Europe and was her most influential

  and powerful agent operating on the Continent. As a renowned scholar and

  scientist, magician and alchemist, he was welcomed at the courts of kings and

  the palaces of nobles. He professed to speak only English, Latin and

  Greek though in actuality, he spoke a dozen languages well, and understood at

  least a dozen more, even Arabic and a smattering of the language of Cathay.

  He learned early on that people were often indiscreet when they didn't know

  that he understood their every word, and he used that to his fullest

  advantage. Dee signed his confidential and coded reports with the numbers

  007. He thought it wonderfully ironic that hundreds of years later when Ian

  Fleming created James Bond, he gave Bond the same code name.

  John Dee was one of the most powerful magicians of his age. He had mastered

  necromancy and sorcery, astrology and mathematics, divination and scrying.

  His journeys across Europe brought him into contact with all the great

  magicians and sorcerers of that time including the legendary Nicholas Flamel,

  the man known as the Alchemyst.

  Dee discovered the existence of Nicholas Flamel who had supposedly died in

  1418 entirely by accident. That encounter was to shape the rest of his life

  and, in so many ways, influence the history of the world.

  Nicholas and Perenelle had returned to Paris in the first decade of the

  sixteenth century, and were working as physicians, tending to the poor and

  sick in the very hospitals the Flamels had founded more than a hundred years

  earlier. They were living and working virtually in the shadow of the great

  Cathedral of Notre Dame. Dee was in Paris on a secret mission for the Queen,

  but the moment he saw the slender dark-haired man and his green-eyed wife

  working together in the high-ceiling wards of the hospital, he knew who they

  were. Dee was one of the few people in the world who had a copy of Flamel's

  masterwork, The Summary of Philosophy, which included an engraving of the

  famous Alchemyst opposite the title page. When Dee had introduced himself to

  the doctor and his wife, calling them by their true names, neither had denied

  it. Of course, they also knew of the famous Dr. John Dee by reputation.

  Although Perenelle had had some reservations, Nicholas had been delighted

  with the opportunity to take on the English magician as a new apprentice. Dee

  had immediately left England and spent the next four years training with

  Nicholas and Perenelle in Paris.

  And it was in Paris, in the year 1575, that he had first learned of the

  existence of the Elder Race.

  He had been studying late at night in his tiny attic room in Flamel's house

  when a creature out of a nightmare had slithered down the chimney, scattering

  coal and wood as it crawled out onto the scorched mat. The creature was a

  gargoyle, one of the ancient breed of ghouls that infested the sewers and

  graveyards of most European cities. Similar to the crude shapes carved in

  stone that decorated the cathedral almost directly opposite the house, this

  was a living creature of veined, marble-like flesh and cinder black eyes.

  Speaking in an archaic form of Greek, the gargoyle invited him to a meeting

  on the roof of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Recognizing that this invitation

  was not one he could refuse, Dee followed the creature into the night. Loping

  along, sometimes on two legs, often on four, the gargoyle led him through

  increasingly narrow alleys, then down into the sewers, and eventually into a

  secret passageway that took him deep within the great cathedral s walls. He

  followed the gargoyle up the thousand and one steps carved into the interior

  of the wall that finally led onto the roof of the Gothic cathedral.

  Wait, it had commanded, and then said no more. Its mission accomplished,

  the gargoyle ignored Dee and settled down on the parapet, hunched forward,

  wings folded over its shoulders, tail curled tightly against its back, tiny

  horns visible as they jutted from its forehead. It peered over the square far

  below, tracking the movements of the late-night stragglers or those who had

  no homes to go to, looking for a suitable meal. If anyone had chanced to

  glance up, the gargoyle would have been indistinguishable from any of the

  countless stone carvings on the building.

  Dee had walked to the edge of the roof and looked across the city. All of

  nighttime Paris was laid out below him, thousands of winking lights from

  cooking fires, oil lamps and candles, the smoke rising straight up into the

  still air, the countless dots of light split by the black curve of the Seine.

  From this height, Dee could hear the buzz of the city a low drone, like a

  beehive settling down for the night and smell the noxious stench that hung

  over the streets a combination of sewers, rotting fruit and spoiled meat,

  human and animal sweat and the stink of the river itself.

  Perched over the cathedral s famous rose window, Dee waited. The study of

  magic had taught him many things especially the value of patience. The

  scholar in him enjoyed the experience of standing on the roof of the tallest

  building in Paris, and he wished he d brought his sketch pad with him. He

  contented himself with looking around, committing everything he saw to his

  incredible memory. He recalled a recent visit to Florence. He had gone there

  to examine the diaries of Leonardo da Vinci. They were written in a strange

  cipher which no one had been able to break: it had taken him less than an

  hour to crack the code no one had realized that Leonardo had written his

  diaries not only in code, but in mirror image. The diaries were full of many

  amazing drawings for proposed inventions: guns that fired many times, an

  armored coach that moved without the need of horses, and a craft that could

  sail beneath the sea. There was one, however, that particularly interested

  Dee: a harness that da Vinci claimed would allow a man to take to the air and

  fly like a bird. Dee had not been entirely convinced that the design would

  work, though he wanted nothing more in the world than to fly. Looking out

  over Paris now, he began to imagine what it would be like to strap da Vinci s

  wings to his arms and sail out over the roofs.

  His thoughts were interrupted as a flicker of movement caught his attention.

  He turned to the north, where a shape was moving in the night sky, a black

  shadow trailing scores of smaller dots. The smaller shapes looked as if they

  could be birds except that he knew that birds rarely fly at night. Dee knew

  immediately and without question that this was what he had been brought up

  here to meet. He concentrated on the larger shape as it came closer, trying

  to make sense of what he was seeing, but it was only when the figure dropped />
  onto the roof that he realized he was looking at an ashen-faced woman dressed

  entirely in black, wearing a long cloak of crow s wings.

  That night, Dr. John Dee first met the Morrigan. That night, he learned of

  the Elder Race and how they had been forced from the world of men by the

  magic in the Book of Abraham the Mage, a book that was currently in the

  possession of Nicholas Flamel. That night, Dee learned that there were those

  among the Elders who wanted to return to their rightful place as the rulers

  of mankind. And that night, the Crow Goddess promised Dee that he would one

  day control the entire world, he would be master of an empire that stretched

  from pole to pole, from sunrise to sunset. All he had to do was to steal the

  Book from Flamel and hand it over.

  That night, Dr. John Dee became the champion of the Dark Elders.

  It was a mission that had taken him across the world, and into the many

  Shadowrealms that bordered it. He had fought ghosts and ghouls, creatures

  that had no right to exist outside of nightmares, others that were left over

  from a time predating the arrival of the humani. He had gone to battle at the

  head of an army of monsters and had spent at least a decade wandering lost in

  an icy Otherworld. Many times, he had been concerned for his safety, but he

  had never been truly frightened until this moment, sitting before the

  entrance to a Bel Air estate in twenty-first-century Los Angeles. In those

  early days he had not been fully aware of the powers of the creatures he

  served, but nearly four and a half centuries in their service had taught him

  many things including the fact that death was probably the least of all the

  punishments they could inflict on him.

  The armed security guard stepped back and the high metal gates clicked open,

  allowing Dee s car to sweep in on the long white stone driveway toward the

  sprawling marble mansion that was just visible through the trees. Although

  night had fallen, no lights were showing in the house, and for a moment Dee

  imagined that no one was at home. Then he remembered that the person the

  creature he had come to meet preferred the hours of darkness and had no need

  of lights.

  The car turned into the circular drive in front of the main entrance, where

  the headlights picked up a trio of people standing on the bottom step. When

  the car finally crunched to a halt on the white gravel, a figure stepped up

  to the door and pulled it open. It was impossible to make out any details in

  the gloom, but the voice that came out of the darkness was male, and spoke to

  him in heavily accented English. Dr. Dee, I presume. I am Senuhet. Please,

  come in. we've been expecting you. Then the figure turned away and strode up

  the steps.

  Dee climbed out of the car, brushed off his expensive suit and, conscious

  that his heart was fluttering, followed Senuhet into the mansion. The other

  two figures fell into step on either side of him. Although no one said

  anything, Dee knew they were guards. And he wasn't entirely sure they were

  human.

  The magician recognized the heavy, cloying scent as soon as he stepped into

  the house: it was frankincense, the rare and incredibly expensive aromatic

  gum from the Middle East, used in ancient times in Egypt and Greece and as

  far to the east as China. Dee felt his eyes water and his nose twitch. Those

  of the Elder Race were particularly fond of frankincense, but it gave him a

  headache.

  As the three shadowy figures led Dee into the great hallway, he caught a

  glimpse of Senuhet: a small, slender man, bald and olive skinned. He looked

  as if he was of Middle Eastern origin, from Egypt or Yemen. Senuhet pushed

  closed the heavy front door, spoke two words Stay here and then disappeared

  into the darkness, leaving Dee in the company of the two silent guards.

  Dee looked around. Even in the shadowy half-light, he could see that the

  hallway was bare. There was no furniture on the tiled floor, there were no

  pictures or mirrors on the walls, no curtains on the windows. He knew that

  there were houses like this scattered across the world, homes to those few

  Dark Elders who liked to walk in the world of men, usually creating mischief.

  Though they were extraordinarily skilled and dangerous, their powers were

  extremely limited because of the proliferation of iron in the modern world,

  which served to dull their magical energies. In the way that lead was

  poisonous to humans, iron, the metal of mankind, was deadly to the Elder

  Race. Dee knew, even without looking, that there would not be a scrap of that

  particular metal in this house. Everything would be made of gold or silver,

  even down to the door handles and the taps in the bathrooms.

  The Dark Elders valued their privacy; their preference was for quiet,

  out-of-the-way places small islands, patches of desert, countries like

  Switzerland, portions of the former Soviet Union, the arctic reaches of

  Canada, Himalayan temples and the Brazilian jungle. When they chose to live

  in cities like this one, their houses were secured behind walls and wire, the

  grounds patrolled by armed guards and dogs. And if anyone was lucky or

  foolish enough to actually reach the house, they would encounter older,

  darker and more lethal guards.

  This way.

  Dee was pleased that he d managed to control his fright at the sound of

  Senuhet s voice; he hadn't heard the man return. Would they go up or down? he

  wondered. In his experience those of the Elder Race fell into two neat

  categories: those who preferred to sleep on roofs and those who preferred

  basements. The Morrigan was a creature of attics and roofs.

  Senuhet stepped into a puddle of light and Dee noted now that his eyes were

  painted with black kohl, the top lid completely blackened, two horizontal

  lines running from the corners of his eyes to his ears. Three vertical white

  lines were painted on his chin, beneath his lips. He led Dee to a concealed

  door directly under the broad staircase and opened it with a password in the

  language that the boy king Tutankhamen would have spoken. Dee followed the

  figure into a pitch-black corridor and stopped when the door clicked shut

  behind them. He heard the man moving ahead of him, then his footsteps

  clicking on stairs.

  Down. Dee should have guessed that the Dark Elder the Morrigan had sent him

  to see would be a creature of basements and tunnels. I'll need light, he

  said aloud. I don't want to fall down the stairs in the dark and break my

  neck. His voiced echoed slightly in the confined space.

  There is no electricity in this house, Dr. John Dee. But we have heard that

  you are a magician of note. If you wish to create light, then you are

  permitted to do so.

  Without a word, Dee stretched out his hand. A blue spark snapped to life in

  his palm. It buzzed and hissed, spinning about, then it started to grow, from

  the size of a pea to that of a grape. It gave off a cold blue-white light.

  Holding his hand out in front of him, Dee started down the stairs.

  He began to count the steps as he descended, but quickly gave up, distracted

  by the decorations on the walls, the ceil
ing and even the floor. It was like

  stepping into an Egyptian tomb, but, unlike any of the countless tombs he had

  seen, where the artwork was faded, chipped and broken and everything was

  coated in a fine layer of gritty sand, here the decorations were pristine,

  brilliant and complete. The colors, slightly distorted by the blue light he

  was carrying, looked as if they had just been laid down, the pictographs and

  hieroglyphs were vivid and crisp, the names of gods picked out in thick gold

  leaf.

  A sudden updraft caused the blue-white ball of light to flicker and dance in

  his hand, sending the shadows leaping and darting. Dee s nostrils flared: the

  wind carried the stench of something old old and long dead.

  The stairs ended in a wide, vaulted cellar. Dee felt something crunch and

  snap beneath his feet with his first step. He lowered his hand and the

  blue-white light shone across the floor which was covered with countless tiny

  white bones, blanketing the ground in an ivory carpet. It took Dee a long

  moment before he recognized the bones as those of rats and mice. Some of them

  were so old that they crumbled into white powder when he disturbed them, but

  others were much newer. Unwilling to ask a question to which he really did

  not want an answer, Dee followed his silent guide, bones crunching and

  crackling with every step. He lifted his hand high, shedding light across the

  chamber. Unlike the stairwell, however, this room was unadorned, the walls

  streaked black with moisture, green mold gathering close to the floor,

  sprouting fungi dappling the ceiling.

  Looks like you have a problem with damp, Dee said unnecessarily, simply to

  break the growing silence.

  It is of no matter, Senuhet said quietly.

  Have you been here long? Dee wondered, glancing around.

  In this place? The other man paused, considering. Less than a hundred

  years. No time at all, really.

  A shape moved in the shadows. And we will not be here much longer. That is

  why you are here, isn t it, Dr. Dee? The voice was a cross between a sultry

  growl and a purr, shaping the English words with difficulty. Almost against

  his will, Dee raised his hand, allowing the light in his palm to illuminate

  the tall, slender figure that moved in the gloom. The light moved over bare