A Conspiracy of Alchemists

by Liesel Schwarz

  The dinner seating was in full swing when Elle and Marsh entered the room. More than a few people glanced up and nodded at Marsh as they were shown to a table.

  “Why are they staring at us?” Elle said out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Because I am Viscount Greychester and I am about to have dinner with a breathtakingly beautiful woman.”

  “What happened to the dowdy and eccentric Mr. and Mrs. Mason from London?”

  He smiled. “You and I make far too striking a couple for that disguise.”

  “You are so vain,” she scoffed.

  “Look,” he said softly, pointing at a mirror on one of the walls. Elle started at their reflection. Marsh was darkly handsome behind her. Her new dress was low cut and showed off more of her curves than she normally put on display. Bruises aside, the pink of the gown made her skin look soft and luminous.

  “You are like peaches and cream tonight,” he murmured behind her. Her whole body filled with languid electricity as his words passed over her. He was difficult to resist when he behaved like this. And it was dangerous. They were affectionate friends and she would have to take care not to let any of her fanciful thoughts show.

  The maître d’hôtel led them to a table in the middle of the room. Elle took her seat in the chair proffered by the steward; back straight, gloved hands folded on her lap as she had been taught.

  A string quartet started up, filling the room with soft baroque sounds—the unofficial music of Venice.

  “So tell me of the Council?” she said as soon as the waiter walked away.

  Marsh opened the red leather-bound wine card and flicked over the gold tassel that hung from its spine.

  “Politics. The Council is tied up in diplomatic conundrums. They are of no use to us right now.”

  “What does that mean? You are a member, could you not make them help us?”

  He looked up from the menu and his eyes softened. “The Council of Warlocks is an ancient one, Elle. They tend to think about matters in the long term. It’s a common affliction amongst the long-lived and the immortal.”

  Elle sighed. “Marsh, what does that mean?”

  “It means that they view your father as an incidental loss. It means that you and I are on our own in this endeavor.”

  “How can they say that? My father is one of the great scientific minds of our age. His work is invaluable.”

  “You have to remember that the Council does not care about science and progress. It is the very work that your father does that causes the Shadow to shrink and diminish. For each new miraculous modern invention that sees the light of day, a creature of magic in the Shadow loses its place in this world and disappears. At the rate we are going, the world will swing into an irreparable state of unbalance sooner than we think. In fact, come to think of it, the Council may even see the loss of a scientist as advantageous.”

  “Perhaps I should address them. Maybe I could appeal to them,” she said.

  His expression hardened. For a moment Elle could have sworn she saw fear in his eyes. He shook his head. “That is a very bad idea. Truly, we are better off on our own. Please trust me on this.”

  Elle looked down at the words on her inscrutable Italian menu as she fought the rising sense of despair that was threatening to overwhelm her.

  “I’m sorry, Elle. They would not be moved on the point.” He reached out to take her hand.

  “It’s hardly surprising,” she snapped. “I should have expected nothing less from Warlocks.”

  Marsh looked at his menu for a long time without answering. “The oysters look good,” he said eventually.

  “So does the smoked fish,” she said sarcastically. Suddenly her traitorous stomach rumbled, despite the fact that it was tightly laced up inside the boning of a long evening corset.

  As if in answer to her rumbling stomach, the waiter appeared.

  “Wine?” Marsh said.

  Elle nodded. “Yes, please.” She was going to need a stiff drink.

  He ordered a bottle of white burgundy. In ordinary circumstances, she would have been impressed.

  “I suppose we should celebrate the fact that the Council won’t help us, if anything,” she said once the waiter had poured their wine. She lifted her glass. “Good riddance to them. I would rather die than accept their help anyway.”

  “You will never know how wise your words are,” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” He smiled as if to reassure her. “So tell me, are you partial to Italian food?”

  She looked at the menu, somewhat perplexed. Conversations with Marsh took such giddy turns sometimes. There was definitely something he wasn’t telling her. And she needed to find out what that was. Preferably before the evening was over.

  “Yes,” she said. “There is a little place that I go to whenever I fly the Rome route. I am rather fond of their linguine. But then again, I suppose that I am less afraid of eating street food than most women I know. Mrs. Hinges would have an apoplexy if she found out. She is irrationally afraid of all foreign food.”

  Marsh laughed. “Street food? Is that what you call it?”

  “Well, it’s hardly fine dining.”

  The waiter appeared with a claret jug and refilled their glasses.

  Marsh handled his like a man quite accustomed to tasting wine. He smiled at her. “For now, let’s celebrate the fact that we are both still alive, shall we?”

  Elle sipped her wine. It was woody on her tongue. “I had almost forgotten that we nearly died today.”

  Marsh stared at her in surprise. “You are a fascinating woman, did you know that?”

  “Thank you. You are not so bad yourself, when you remember your manners.” The wine was warming her insides, loosening the tightly laced anxiety that had held her together thus far.

  The waiter reappeared and Marsh ordered for them.

  “We will find your father. I gave you my word on that,” he said once the waiter had retreated.

  “And how do you propose we achieve this?”

  “I have many contacts here in Venice. We’ll start with them.” He took another sip from his glass. “The Alchemists will go where the Council has no influence. If my theory is correct, then they will seek out a place that has significance, but which is out of reach politically.”

  The waiter placed a plate of finely sliced smoked salmon in front of Elle and a platter of oysters for Marsh.

  Elle picked up her fork and pushed it into the wedge of lemon. “And who are these contacts?” The sharp citrus smell rose up and settled between them, like a conspiracy.

  “I think we should start at the Venetian archives. I know the chief scribe there. He’ is an old friend. If we narrow down the search to a list of places where a carmot stone might be wrought, then perhaps we will be able to deduce the location from the other clues. There are a few other possibilities, but I’d rather not talk about them tonight.”

  “I still say we should go back to England, but I’ve read some Greek and Latin, so I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have a look,” she said.

  Marsh gulped down an oyster. “I know you don’t believe me, but the answers are here in Venice,” he said as he set down the shell.

  Elle wasn’t so sure. She had the distinct feeling that there was more to the matter than her affectionate friend was letting on. The trick was to get him to tell her. And Marsh was not the type of man who was easily tricked. She would have to employ her wiles to make him let his guard down.

  She smiled sweetly at him and they finished their meal companionably enough. Despite the fact that she was feigning, Elle found herself enjoying dinner far more than she should, and on more than one occasion, he made her laugh louder than was strictly appropriate. She was in high spirits and a bit giddy from the wine when she finally put down her spoon. Her mouth was sweet with the taste of cinnamon-stewed pears.

  “It’s quite late, and I think I’d rather retire. It has been a terribly long day.”


  Marsh signed the bill of fare and placed it on the corner of the table.

  “The unstoppable Miss Chance wants to go to bed? Whatever will they say if the news ever gets out?” He smiled at her. “Come on, I have a surprise for you. It won’t take long. I promise.”

  He offered her his hand to help her up. She wobbled a little as she stood. Burgundy and tiredness were a lethal combination. “Oh, very well. Come along then,” she grumbled.

  Outside the crisp night air made them gasp as they stepped out of the hotel vestibule. Elle felt her head cleared as she took in the night air.

  Marsh said something to the concierge and then turned to her. Even in the dark, she could feel the intensity of his gaze. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to say thank you for saving my life today. Look!” He pointed at the canal as a gondola glided up beside the hotel jetty.

  “A gondola ride!” Elle felt excited despite herself.

  “I give you the most beautiful city of Venezia.,” Marsh spoke into her hair, sending little shivers up and down her neck that had nothing to do with the cold.

  She held on to her skirts as the boatman helped her into the gondola. He handed her a blanket to wrap around herself. Marsh settled in the seat next to her. He rested his arm casually along the back of the bench behind her.

  “How very proprietary of you,” she said, looking at his arm.

  She saw the side of his face lift slightly as he smiled. “We wouldn’t want you falling into the canal now, would we? The water might look pretty under the stars, but I would strongly recommend against a swim in it.”

  “I think I believe you.” She studied the undulating black surface next to the boat.

  “You should smell it in the heat of summer. Now, there’s something that would make a stone troll move.”

  She laughed despite herself.

  As soon as they were in the middle of the canal, the gondolier burst into song. It was a sad aria about lost love and a lady who threw herself into the river Arno.

  “The boats are all painted black, you know,” Marsh said, once the boatman’s aria had ended.

  “Really?”

  “They are—although there are many theories as to why. Some say it is out of respect for those who succumbed in the great plague. Others say it is in mourning for the fall of the Venetian state a few hundred years ago.”

  The gondolier nodded in approval and launched into a lively tune, ducking his head as they passed under a stone bridge.

  Elle rested her head on Marsh’s arm and watched the lime-stained bridge stones in the flickering lantern light make way for night and stars as the boatman’s song washed over her. Had things been different, this would have been the most perfect and romantic evening of her life. It was so easy to believe all the lies—so easy and so very dangerous. She pushed her thoughts aside. The clever thing to do was to play the game. Marsh was more likely to give away whatever he was hiding if he let his guard down, and so the best plan was to lay low and play her part, for now. She took another sobering breath of evening air. There would be ample time for battles later.

  CHAPTER 26

  Achoo! Elle sneezed and the ladder under her wobbled. They were in the back archives of the Venetian library of St. Mark. The morning sun was streaming in dusty shafts through the high windows above them.

  “Careful,” Marsh said. He reached out and grabbed hold of the rungs. Elle steadied herself against the polished beam of the dark-wood shelf and reached up again.

  “I just about have it.” She balanced on her toes, but the volume was beyond her fingers. “Damnation,” she swore as she tilted back on the ladder, nearly tipping over.

  “Here, allow me.” In two steps, Marsh climbed onto the ladder next to her. She felt the length of his big body stretch up against hers as he reached up past her to grip the book. They stood like that, coddled by vellum and wood panels, alone in a universe of books. Her body came alive with the electric sensation that coursed through her whenever he was near. Despite herself, she looked up at him and smiled. He looked like he was going to smile back at her, but then he looked away instead. Her heart contracted with disappointment when he cleared his throat, turned and stepped onto the ground.

  Dust puffed up from under Elle’s boots as she landed on the floor next to him. She watched him lay the volume down on the table and take a seat. Gently he eased open the pages.

  “So what exactly are we looking for?” She rested her chin in her hands.

  “Any reference to places with mystical or magical properties where Alchemists might forge a carmot stone.” He spoke without looking up.

  “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down, does it?” She turned to the shelves and scaled the ladder again. Dusty sunbeams from the high windows above bathed the room in soft light. The entire library was bedecked in rich frescoes held up by marble columns.

  Elle dragged another volume down. She stepped off the ladder and opened it. “The Pythia Scrolls,” she read. She turned a page and peered at the text.

  “Here follows the chronology of the first Pythia and those Pythias that followed …” She read the words slowly, translating from the page.

  She has found it. A small voice whispered in the back of her head. Elle closed the book and stepped back. She felt slightly dizzy for a moment.

  Marsh looked up from the volume he was studying. “Go on,” he said. There was a strange intensity in his voice as he spoke.

  “The translation of this text needs quite advanced Latin, so I might have it wrong.” She walked over to the table and laid the book down on the polished wood. They both studied the page in silence.

  “Looks like vellum. It must be a medieval copy. Quite a magnificent document. Rare too, by the looks of it. Not many occult works were copied during those times. Fewer survived the purges. It’s a miracle any actually escaped the clutches of the inquisitions,” Marsh said.

  Elle read further. She rested her chin on her hands as she translated.

  “… and since the earliest days, the Earth goddess Gaia dwelled in the place they called Delphi … and so Gaia took as her guardian, sorry, a hero …” She stumbled over the words. “… the snake-god Python to be her lord and protector.” Elle sat back in her chair. “I thought that Delphi was supposed you have been built in honor of the Greek gods.”

  “The Greeks came later. The mythologies were written down by those who had little knowledge of the world of Shadow before it was split from the Light after the Dark Ages, and so it can be a bit misleading. My Order teaches that it was in Delphi where the power of the Brotherhood was first discovered. The gift of healing. The power of the sun. The first Warlocks worshipped Apollo. But that was long after the first Pythia.”

  Elle rolled her eyes. “You make it sound almost noble when you say it that way.” This conversation was becoming very odd indeed.

  “The Oracles were the ones who showed us the way” He leaned forward, his eyes suddenly bright. “Don’t you understand? The Warlock Orders would not have risen to power had it not been for a woman named Pythia and all her daughters of the same name.”

  She sighed. “These tales are all very charming, but they are not helping us find my father, now, are they?”

  “Maybe they are.” He turned the pages of the book. “Look. Here.” He pointed at a row of illustrations. “The Oracles influenced almost every important event in the ancient world, until the Romans came.”

  “And then they disappeared. Logic and reason triumphed. And thank you to the Romans, I say.”

  “Not entirely. The Oracles may have left Delphi, but their gift lived on. When they scattered across the world, they spread the knowledge and our Order flourished.” He stared at her fiercely. “Elle, they endured.”

  Elle closed the book with a thump. “Don’t start with all that preposterous Oracle nonsense again. My mother might have been taken in by these lies, but I am not Pythia or Cybele or the Oracle or whatever it is that you call these women.” She prodded the cover of the book
with her finger. “For goodness’ sake, I can’t even predict what I’m going to have for breakfast, let alone prophesize to an army of sorcerers!”

  Marsh looked at her intently. “Have you ever tried?”

  “Tried what? Gaze into a crystal ball? Hold a séance? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He shook his head. “Those things are all parlor tricks. Have you ever tried to use your gift?”

  “How many times do I need to say this? I. Don’t. Have. A. Gift.”

  “I think you do.” She was making him angry, judging by the lines next to his mouth.

  “Oh, please, Marsh. You might be taken in by these occult lies, but I have half a brain, and I know it’s all nonsense. And besides, how would you know if I had magical powers?”

  “I met you in the dream plane, Elle. I was quite enlightened by what I experienced there. Surely you must remember the golden meadow where we met?”

  She felt herself flush with embarrassment. “How dare you?” she snapped. “Even if what you are saying is true—and I’m not saying it is—how unbelievably caddish of you to mention it. If I recall, you invited yourself into my innermost thoughts without a care for what that might do to me and then abandoned me in the dark. I had to find my own way home. What a gentleman you are, Marsh.” It was not often that she allowed herself to lose her temper like that, but this thing had been brewing between them for a while.

  It was his turn to blush. Color played across his cheekbones before he looked away. “You are quite right. It was impertinent of me to speak of it. But you are making it so very difficult for me to help you.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Elle, I don’t know what else to say to convince you. You have the gift. You are capable of so much more than you allow yourself to believe. I just wish you would stop being so stubborn and listen to me!”

  “I think our work is done here.” She closed the book with a thump. “Sitting in a dusty library is not going to help find my father.” She picked up a few volumes from the table and shoved them back onto the shelf.